England's Perfect Hero

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Good enough.” Shaw cuffed him on the shoulder. “I’ll be about, then. And you?”

  “I’ll be here. Hopefully, out of sight and within earshot.” He turned away, but Bradshaw caught his arm before he could vanish into the crowd.

  “And please tell me,” his brother said, a slight grin on his face, “where you found those clothes.”

  “In the back corner of the stable. I didn’t want to be recognized.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

  His goal had been to look like one of the men working the stables at Tattersall’s. To that end, aside from the battered hat pulled low over his eyes and the dirty clothes, he’d borrowed a pair of John the groom’s mud and manure-covered work boots. Thankfully, they fit well enough that he wouldn’t cripple himself any further wearing them. Now, as long as no one recognized him, he’d be able to wander fairly freely about the grounds, virtually unnoticed. And not smelling particularly inviting, either, but if anything, that helped his disguise.

  Once he emerged onto the crowded grounds he hung along the fringes, waiting for Saint and Evie to arrive. Belatedly it occurred to him that with the combination of the hordes of milling people and the tension running through him, he should be on the verge of a blind panic. It stayed at bay, though, back in the dark recesses of his mind that he simply didn’t have time to contemplate at the moment.

  He spotted Shaw almost immediately, up on a nearby balcony and chatting happily with a pretty young lady there. Robert grinned. That figured. Somehow Bradshaw always knew how to make the best of a situation.

  As he finished a circuit of the grounds, he saw Lord and Lady St. Aubyn arrive. He still couldn’t believe they were willing to do this for him. Apparently he had better friends than he knew—or deserved.

  Saint looked perfectly at ease, but he was more used to subterfuge than his wife. Evie kept peeking over her shoulder, gazing into the crowd, obviously looking for him or Bradshaw. He started to approach, to let them know that everything was in place, but the crowd didn’t move aside for a horse handler. It took a few moments, and some apologies, before he reached them.

  “Good morning, milord, milady,” he drawled, tipping his hat at them.

  Evelyn covered her mouth. “Wh—For heaven’s sake! You startled me.”

  Saint, though, grinned. “You smell,” he noted.

  “It’s part of the plan. Shaw’s up over my shoulder.” He focused on Evie. “Try not to notice either of us. We’re not here, remember?”

  She drew a breath. “I remember. Lucinda sent a note that she would try to persuade Lord Geoffrey to accompany her here, but I haven’t heard anything since. I’m certain she’ll manage it.”

  “So am I.”

  Lucinda meant to help them, meant to help him. He tried not to grin like an idiot as he faded back into the crowd, but he wanted to smile, and sing, and dance. She’d made her decision. Of course in truth it only meant she didn’t trust everything about Lord Geoffrey, not that she’d chosen him above Society’s golden boy. She’d be a fool to do so.

  If she did suspect Geoffrey, though, she was also being foolish to put herself in his company. For that, Robert blamed himself. If it looked as though Geoffrey suspected anything, he would end the charade himself—even if it meant having to flee England. He wouldn’t let Lucinda be hurt. Not for him, not for anyone.

  He sensed her arrival before he saw her. Warmth ran soft along his skin, like an unseen breeze, and when he turned around, she was there. With him.

  She’d worn a low-cut, close-fitting muslin that clung to her figure and drew his attention to the soft, creamy curve of her breasts. His mouth went dry. No wonder Geoffrey seemed so attentive, and no wonder Robert wanted to smash the man’s face into a pulp—whether he’d turned traitor or not.

  As Evie beckoned to the two of them, he worked his own way closer. Everyone shook hands and exchanged hugs, as friendly as if they were just out for a day at the horse auctions. Robert found himself studying Geoffrey, looking for some external sign that he could possibly have done what they now suspected. Amiable and handsome, he looked the embodiment of the perfect English gentleman.

  Perhaps if Robert had looked—had behaved—more like one himself, the ton wouldn’t have been so quick to believe the rumors. He glanced at his rough, smelly clothing. No one would have any trouble believing the worst of him at the moment. All he could do was hope no one recognized him.

  “…make a purchase for the general’s birthday, but you know how particular he is,” Lucinda was saying, her hand around Geoffrey’s arm.

  “It’s always good to know who’s producing the quality animals,” Geoffrey returned, “whether you buy one today or not.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Saint took Evie’s arm and led the way through the crowd toward the front of the bidders. “One good horse from a breeder doesn’t necessarily mean the rest will be of the same quality. If you see one you like, you should purchase it. You can always sell it again later, if your father doesn’t approve. Don’t you think so, Lord Geoffrey?”

  “Just Geoffrey, please. And while I admire the sentiment, I tend to be a little more cautious in my purchases.”

  “That’s right, you’re the fourth son, aren’t you?” Saint said, striking just the right tone between commiseration and insult. “I don’t know Fenley well at all, but the rumor is that his grip can be rather—how shall I put it—tight.”

  Geoffrey chuckled. “Yes, it can be. It’s always been his philosophy that the ‘extra’ sons make their own way.”

  “That’s rather severe.” Lucinda gave him a sympathetic look. “I hope he’s proud that you’ve done so well.”

  Robert wanted to kiss her. She was playing the game. From what he knew and what he was learning, Geoffrey wanted a promotion, and the choice of assignment the rank would gain him. If he couldn’t get it through marriage, a war would be his next most likely opportunity. Of course if he married he would have to have someone else take the blame for the thefts—which was probably where Robert and the rumors had come in extremely handy.

  Flashing his famous smile, Geoffrey lifted Lucinda’s hand to kiss her knuckles. “He’ll be even more proud to see me settled and with a tenable career.”

  “Which career would that be?” Saint asked. “You’re still in the Army, aren’t you?”

  “I am. And there are still opportunities there. I intend to take one, and make it my own.” He smiled again at Lucinda. “As I intend to make Lucinda my own.”

  Bastard. If he wasn’t guilty, Robert was going to have to seriously consider several methods of getting rid of him anyway. He edged closer, leaning against a wagon wheel and lowering his hat brim past his eyes.

  “I’ll wager the Carroways wish that Robert hadn’t chosen a career with the Army,” Saint drawled.

  Evie flushed. “Saint! Georgiana’s my friend. That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “It’s also true,” he returned.

  “I…have to admit, this whole thing’s made more than enough problems for the general,” Lucinda said slowly.

  Robert looked up. She gazed straight at him, and for a moment his heart stopped. Then she deliberately faced Geoffrey again. “Robert is my friend, and I won’t forget that, but it would be nonsense to say that we’re all happy this happened.”

  “They’re almost finished with the teams,” Saint announced.

  Lucinda looked startled. “So soon?” Facing Geoffrey, she extricated her hand. “Will you excuse me for just a moment?”

  “Of course. You shouldn’t go anywhere alone, though. Shall I fetch your maid from the carriage?”

  “I’ll go with you, Luce,” Evie said. “I could use a bit of refreshment myself.”

  Thinking fast, Robert pushed away from the wagon, leading the way toward the nearest building. The alley behind was empty, and he turned into it. Lucinda and Evie followed a moment later. He couldn’t help smiling as Luce appeared. “How in the world did you
know I was—”

  She grabbed his lapels, leaned up, and kissed him. Robert wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, but even as he remembered how filthy he was, he heard Evelyn gasp.

  “Lucinda,” he managed as he backed away, kissing her once more because he simply couldn’t help himself. “Careful. Someone will see.”

  “I saw,” Evie noted, her eyes still wide. “How long has this been going on?”

  “I don’t think we have time for that right now,” Lucinda returned, her gaze still on him.

  What he saw in her clear hazel eyes filled him with more hope and more terror than anything he’d faced in the past five years. He stroked his fingers along her cheek. “I’m sorry to put you through this. I know you didn’t want to be involv—”

  “I changed my mind,” she interrupted, then took a moment to run her gaze down the length of him and back. “You look…interesting.”

  “Um, excuse me, but if you don’t have time to tell me what’s going on, you certainly don’t have time for this,” Evie put in. “We need to get back. Did you hear enough to convince you?”

  “Almost,” he returned. “Evie, I need a moment.”

  Lady St. Aubyn grimaced. “Yes, of course you do. I’ll be over there.” She stalked back to the entrance of the alley, folded her arms across her chest, and turned her back on the two of them.

  “What do you want to know?” Lucinda asked, tugging at his sleeve.

  “You’re the reason I have another day, aren’t you?” he murmured, searching her eyes.

  “We’d best be right about this, Robert,” she whispered back, “or I will have a great deal of apologizing to do to my father.”

  “Speaking of General Barrett, I…need to know if you would be willing to ask him about the source of the rumors again. No one else needs to hear about it, but it would answer the last question for me about this.”

  “About Geoffrey, you mean,” she said quietly.

  “Lucinda, I don’t know how else to do this. I’m sorr—”

  “My father told Geoffrey about you and Chateau Pagnon. It had to have been the day before he went to his meeting,” she interrupted. “It was before I confirmed that you were the one who told me, but he already knew it was you.”

  White-hot relief pierced through him. They’d been right. It had to be Geoffrey. His lips curved in a smile, even though he knew it wasn’t appropriate, even though he knew how much she had to have hated asking her father the question. “Thank you.”

  “I like that,” she whispered.

  “Like what?”

  She lifted her hand, running her fingers along his mouth. “When you smile.” Leaning up, she kissed him again, slowly, as if she savored the touch as much as he did. “We have to get back.”

  “And I have an errand to run. Can you keep him occupied?”

  “Yes. Be careful, Robert. And if you have to leave the country to save yourself, then leave. But you had best get word to me about where you are.”

  He touched her cheek. “You’re the reason I smile,” he murmured, and strode away. He had a house to break into.

  Chapter 23

  When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it.

  —Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein

  “Stop stalling,” Robert snapped, stalking back and forth. “I don’t like leaving Lucinda there to keep that bastard at bay.”

  “I believe St. Aubyn and Evie are with her,” Tristan said dryly, his gaze on the small house beyond the row of shrubs. “And I prefer not to be seen breaking in somewhere.”

  “He’s not home, Dare. That’s the point. Jesus Christ.” Robert pointed at the leopard-shaped face piece Tristan held in one hand. “And we have masks. Let’s go.” Their third companion leaned against an elm tree, but he wasn’t watching the house. Rather, he’d been staring at Robert for the past three minutes. And it was becoming rather annoying. “What?” he finally snapped, turning.

  The Duke of Wycliffe tilted his head. “I’m merely trying to get used to a few things,” he drawled. “Your clothes, for one.”

  “I told you, it’s a disguise. Bloody hell.”

  “And your increased vocabulary, for another.”

  “Get used to it later.” Robert threw up his hands. “I’m going. You two can talk each other to death if you want, but don’t expect me to listen to it.”

  Grumbling, he drew the tiger mask over his face and started across the street. A moment later he heard Wycliffe and Tristan fall in behind him, and he increased his pace, trying not to limp. If anything could give him away, it would be that.

  “Ready?” he murmured, lifting his hand to the door knocker. “Office first, then library, and then bedchamber. If it’s not any of those places, we tear the damned house apart.”

  The other two nodded, and he knocked at the door. A moment later it opened. The butler, a dignified older man, gave them one look and shrieked. “Robbers!”

  Scrambling backward as Robert pushed his way into the house, the butler grabbed a walking cane and swung it. Robert intercepted, blocking the blow with his arm and then wrenching the cane from the butler’s hands. “Get in there,” he growled, gesturing at the closet off the morning room.

  “But—”

  “Inside,” Wycliffe echoed in his lower rumble, half lifting the servant off his feet and tossing him into the storage room.

  A pair of footmen emerged from the servants’ hall. Pointing the cane like a pistol, Robert advanced on them. “Both of you, in there with the butler.”

  “Six servants total,” Wycliffe called, releasing the butler’s neckcloth.

  “And only three of you,” the larger of the two footmen said, fisting both hands.

  “We’re not after anything that rightfully belongs here,” Robert snapped, losing patience, “and we don’t want to hurt anyone. But don’t get in our way.”

  “Bugger that.”

  The footman swung at him. Ducking, Robert brought the cane around and thwacked it into the side of the man’s head. He dropped like a stone. Robert looked at the second man. “In the closet or on the floor. Your choice.”

  With a grimace the man lifted his hands and sidestepped toward the storage room. Tristan crouched to grab the downed servant under the arms and drag him inside, as well.

  “Next time,” he said, panting, “only knock out the scrawny ones.”

  “Three more,” Robert said, heading down the servants’ hall toward the kitchens. “Check upstairs.”

  He heard Tristan pound up the stairs while Wycliffe kept watch on the three in the closet. It was doubtful the servants knew anything about Lord Geoffrey’s activities, but neither did he want them fleeing the house and bringing half of Bow Street back with them. The search needed to be done quickly, and they needed to be gone before Geoffrey returned.

  A cook and her helper washed pots in the kitchen, and it only took a moment’s persuasion to convince them to join their fellows. Dare came downstairs at the same time, a large, panicked-looking-housekeeper preceding him. As soon as the servants were closed in, Wycliffe locked and barricaded the closet door.

  “All right,” Dare muttered. “Let’s find those damned papers.”

  “That’s a fine-looking bay,” Geoffrey said, leaning so close to Lucinda that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “Yes, he’s lovely,” she agreed, using every ounce of willpower to keep from edging away from him. “I’ve seen him at auction before though, haven’t I?”

  “You have,” Saint agreed. “He threw Lord Rayburne last week, and that was after he bit Totley’s son last autumn.”

  “Hm. Probably a bit headstrong for Papa, then.” She’d spied Bradshaw a few moments earlier, seated on a balcony with half a dozen young ladies of questionable reputation. With Saint beside her and Shaw keeping a watch, she should have felt perfectly safe. She couldn’t help thinking, though, that the man standing next to her had
been inside her house, had chatted and lied about God knew what with her father, had even kissed her and asked her to marry him.

  And if they were right, he’d stolen papers that could have no purpose but to start a war. he’d spread a rumor knowing the damage it would do to another man—counting on the damage it would do. Why? Had Robert just been convenient? Or had Geoffrey considered his victim, and figured that Robert would be an easy target? Either way, they were in the process of proving him wrong.

  “Half the fun with a headstrong animal is breaking it,” Geoffrey observed.

  Lucinda kept her gaze on the pen before them, hoping he’d been speaking in generalities and hadn’t meant to send anyone in particular—her—a message. And she knew that wasn’t so.

  “Lord Geoffrey, you’re hoping for a posting in India, are you not?” Evie said brightly.

  “Yes, I am. Wellington served there, and it didn’t do him any harm.”

  “And would you wish your spouse to join you there?”

  Geoffrey turned his pretty green eyes on Lucinda. “I expect that she would wish to be by my side.”

  But her father had made it clear to Geoffrey that the decision of whether or not to travel to India would be hers. She couldn’t mention that, though, without him realizing that she’d been eavesdropping. How odd, though, that even before she’d known about his involvement in this mess, the idea of Geoffrey going off to India without her for several years hadn’t caused her a moment of hesitation—while just the thought of Robert fleeing London sent her into a panic of yearning and need.

  Thank goodness this friendly conversation was only a pretense now. She forced a smile. “I’ve heard so many enchanting things about India. The spices, the music—it all seems so exotic.” She paused as another thought occurred to her. As long as they were looking for evidence…“I’m certain the general would enjoy it there, as well.”

  Something passed behind those emerald eyes, so quickly she couldn’t be certain what it was. “General Barrett? He’d be welcome, of course, but I hardly think he’d find it interesting. None of his old cronies would be there, after all, for him to regale with his stories.”