Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  But she did not care! She would give away the entire fortune if she could find her brother alive. That is why, when she left the hotel, she did not try to follow Brynmore and Yojo, but went in the opposite direction. Instead, she was going to the chateaus where The Order had performed its evil ceremonies. A place where her suspicions and dread were leading her too, after hearing Yojo alluding to sacrifices and murders. She was spurred on by the question, why were all the men Brynmore was searching for still missing?

  Those questions were why when she reined in her lathered horse outside the Chateaus; she did not stop to go inside, but asked directions to the property’s graveyard.

  “How did I know?” Kit cried, kneeling before the fresh mound of a grave. She would never understand the strength of her suspicions knowing this fresh grave, or the others, would be there. Later, someone she would come to respect would tell her it was a logical assumption, but now it felt unearthly.

  There was only one fresh grave with a marker that read some esteemed nobleman’s name. She did not let that stop her as she began to dig with her fingers, clawing at the freshly turned earth. It was morbid and disrespectful, but nothing would halt her, as tears streamed down her face, while she dug.

  It took her only a moment to find the first bit of debris. It was a man’s gold ring that she had never seen before. Then, she found a cuff link, next a broken piece of a pocket watch, later the skeleton of a hand, but not attached. It was black with soot. Unnerved, she set it aside with her insides crawling, and her mind crying horrors. But she did not stop. No matter how gruesome it was, she kept digging.

  Then.

  “Oh my God, no!” Kit cried. “No! No!” she wailed, as she pulled out a gold cross on a long chain. It was the length a man would wear around his neck and the cross was lavishly embellished.

  “No, God, oh please, no,” she sobbed, holding it up to the sunlight. “Clay!” she screamed...

  My Lady Gambled Book Two

  By Shirl Anders

  Chapter One

  Drummond caressed his wife Gabriella’s soft belly. They lay sprawled nude on their linen-tumbled bed after a rambunctious bout of ardent lovemaking. He was just breathing evenly, while his wife hummed small purrs with something obviously on her mind. Blast! Women were so energetic after sex, as if it infused them with life’s vital élan, while men’s very bone structure fell limp and their minds turned to mush. He knew, of course, what was likely on his lovely wife’s enterprising mind.

  He supposed in the end he’d played his reluctance for all it was worth, while receiving the many varieties of his wife’s sexual favors as she tried to influence him. Not that their normal sexual intimacies were lacking at all, however Gabriella became very creative with sex when she wanted something.

  Drummond smiled into the pillow. She always got it, too. Nevertheless, far be it from him to inform her that he could deny her very little. Drummond opened one eye like a lazy cat and looked at Gabriella’s plump white breasts as she lay, still entirely naked, on her back beside him. She was playing one of her long painted fingernails around her lips and he could just see her mind whirling. Hmm, he thought, never before had discussing his intended spying mission been so visually enjoyable. He could get use to this.

  “Uh mm, Drummond, amour.”

  “Mm, yes, love,” Drummond responded with a slow drawl.

  “Chloe spoke to me again and I have finally been able to read between the lines.”

  Drummond rose up on his elbow and moved to lean over Gabriella, looking down at her. “Really?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “I could tell you if I were involved,” she hinted.

  “As I see it, Orchid, you are already thoroughly enmeshed despite my misgivings,” he said, as his hand gently cupped the underside of her breast and he caressed it gently.

  “Drummond, I know you are worried over safety issues. It will be dangerous. However, I am quite certain your superb mind can overcome most of that.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere and from what I have heard all the Archangels wives and lovers have been flattering their men to distraction, until we are all left as puddles at your collective feet.”

  “Oh, Drummond,” Gabriella exclaimed. “You will not regret letting us help you destroy The Order! And as far as danger, each of us now married and in love, worry over each of you as much as you worry over us. How you dealt with things such as this in the past needs to be revised, though. It is time now, with all the changes in our lives. I believe this wholeheartedly.”

  “Then we come back to Harrison,” Drummond said. “You know we all had to kill, but he performed cold-hearted assassinations.”

  Gabriella pressed her fingers to his lips stopping his words. “I know, my amour, but you can see how that would destroy him now. Really, it would any one of you.”

  “Yes, I felt certain that was what was troubling, Harrison. And, Chloe, confirmed that I take it?” Gabriella nodded. “Yes, Gabriella, we have moved beyond war where outright assassinations appeared more acceptable.”

  “I know, but I also know that you can find a different way, Drummond. I have faith in that extraordinary mind of yours.”

  Gabriella patted both his cheeks with encouragement. He was going to need encouraging if he were to devise a plan to destroy The Order of the Satyr, while trying to keep everyone safe. Even more so with the women involved, and do it all while allowing no outright assassinations. Of course, he could not order assassinations anymore. This was not war and he was no longer a spy for England. If he did it now, they could charge him with murder. Be that as it may, he’d already been thinking quite extensively.

  “I have called, Brynmore, back from St. Petersburg. He has found Incubus, who is basically remaining low-key, hiding and cowering.”

  “So it begins soon?” Gabriella asked, rubbing his chest.

  “Yes, love. The first step does. We need to infiltrate the new cult that The Order has resurrected and moved outside of London.”

  Chapter Two

  “Mrs. Birmingham, I certainly appreciate your answering my questions.” Kit looked at the pleasing, rotund lady sitting next to her in the tasteful front parlor of her home in London.

  “Of course, my dear, and you must call me, Maddie. Your father was a great friend of ours. My husband, George, always regales me with tales of visiting your father in America those many years ago. Then I turn George’s ear right back with tales of the visits your father made here to London. Of course by then, George and I were married and George was right here with us, but still we love telling them.”

  Lady Maddie Birmingham sighed with an over-fond light in her eyes. “We will miss him greatly. Your father, Rolston Montoya, was an extraordinary man, so different from any of the English men I’ve ever known.”

  Kit was a bit surprised. If she were younger and less experienced than she was now, she might have missed the undercurrent. Yet it was obvious to her that Lady Birmingham had, had a crush on her robust father. Kit quelled the urge to discover if it were more. That was not her purpose for coming here. It was odd to think about one’s parents in that way. Kit shook off the odd feeling and turned the conversation back to her interests.

  She found herself lying smoothly. It was a testament to the fact of how far she’d come and how serious she was. “There are several people my father spoke about that I would like to contact while I’m here. Unfortunately, London is so large.”

  “Oh, just tell me their names, dear. I am certain I will know the names.” Maddie looked particularly proud and eager to showcase her London social standing, with her in-the-know knowledge.

  Kit felt the tiny rush of moving forward in her goals, as she asked, “One is, Lord Brynmore Duneagan. Do you know of him?” Kit held her breath.

  “Oh yes of course, dear, I know, Lord Duneagan. I will tell you at one time I thought my oldest daughter, Matilda, had Lord Duneagan’s eye. But the man will simply not give our society events enough chances. I lament that fact to
him on the few times I see him attending.”

  Kit could see that Lady Birmingham intended to relate the tale of the missed courtship, so she interjected quickly. “And, Lord Duneagan, has a residence here in London then?”

  “Oh yes, some smaller bachelor’s place you know. Fashionable though. Only a few blocks from our famous Mayfair on Newburg Place. Really, Mayfair is the place to be in London,” Maddie informed Kit, while patting Kit’s hand.

  Thirty minutes later, Kit stood outside a three-storied mansion on Mayfair not far from Lord Duneagan’s residence. With a surge of intuition, Kit felt certain that it was owned by the one she sought. She could have contacted Brynmore, but she did not trust that he wouldn’t try to turn her away again, as he had done so easily in Paris. Needless to say, she was a different woman now, even from such a short time ago. Revenge did that. It enraged determination. So, she was going to bypass Brynmore and go for the nameless friends that he’d spoken of. Although, it had not actually been hard to guess, once Lady Birmingham informed her that Lady Joelle Zurka was a guest at the home of Lord Duneagan’s longtime friend, the Duke of Kittridge.

  “I could be wrong,” Kit muttered, approaching the mansion at a steady walk. She was arriving unasked and unannounced. Quite unacceptable and more so if she was mistaken. “But I’ve never met a Duke before.”

  It seemed that the butler who answered the door was unperturbed that a lone woman should arrive upon the doorstep without a calling card or any invitation, asking to see the Duke of Kittridge. In fact, the butler solicitously invited her inside to wait in the foyer, while he went to inform his master of her presence. Kit knew all these actions were uncommon by London society’s strict rules of etiquette. It depicted the Duke to be perhaps relaxed and slightly more malleable. Much more like the society in America, Kit thought, where a single woman could move about by herself more freely without ravaging her reputation.

  The butler returned shortly, his face nonplussed, with an invitation to the Duke’s study and Kit was feeling optimistic when she went through the opened doorway. The butler stood aside for her and waited for her to enter, then he closed the door behind her. Kit did not bother with digesting the decor of the room other than it appeared richly attired with a warm feeling. Her concentration centered entirely on the distinguished and quite handsome silver-haired gentleman that sat behind a large mahogany desk. The Duke had the look of a Duke, but more, he was a man’s man as her father use to say.

  “Kit Montoya,” Lord Kittridge said. “I have been expecting you.”

  Kit felt like rocking back on her heels in surprise, yet she managed not to, while she felt the satisfaction of having guessed right. This was the leader. His attractive arrogance showcased it admirably. She knew its presence from her father, who had the same quality.

  Bull’s-eye, as her American ranch hands would claim. “And you, Lord Kittridge, are exactly what I anticipated,” Kit said, walking further into the room.

  Lord Kittridge nodded his head slightly at her parry. “You, however, can only be guessing,” he said. Then, before she could attempt a retort, he intervened, saying, “Please sit, my dear.”

  When Kit came to one of the ornately tufted chairs before his desk, the Duke stood until she had seated herself. Once seated, she smoothed the brown silk skirts of her gown, peeking out from the edges of the cloak she still wore.

  “As I was saying, Miss Montoya, I had decided, with recent private events spurring me on, that when you appeared I would not try to, shall we say, sidestep you. Your appearance here shows your determination and were I not to invite you into the fold, as it were, I can readily see stumbling over you at every inopportune moment.”

  Kit nodded her head in agreement to Lord Kittridge’s statement. The excitement rising in her was a hardened one. The Duke was correct. She would continue to try to destroy The Order and its leaders with or without his, Brynmore’s, or their friends associations.

  “The fold?” she asked, with leading keenness.

  Lord Kittridge leaned his elbow on his desk, then two fingers to his fuller bottom lip as he gazed at her with piercing intent in his charcoal gray eyes. This was not a man to trifle with, Kit realized, stifling a shiver up her spine. There was an edge to him, once again of the type she’d seen in her father. She had better get used to it at any rate, because Lord Kittridge was the first of many dangerous people her goals would lead her to encounter.

  “Former spies, Miss Montoya. The monarch’s own. Six of us, Brynmore included.”

  Kit was unsure what her thoughts about these friends of Brynmore’s might be. As accomplished as Brynmore, surely. But, spies? She had hit the jackpot. It caused her to sit straighter in her chair, since it also occurred to her what would be Lord Kittridge’s next parry in trying to eliminate her. For once, she was thankful for being her father’s daughter. For learning so much about powerful men at his knee that she could intellectually hold her own in the presence of what she was certain she would discover was Lord Kittridge’s extraordinary mind. However, she did allow him the lead before the fall, and entrapment, by letting him expound without interrupting him.

  “So you can see all of your concerns about The Order of the Satyr and your brother’s whereabouts will be well met and dealt with by professionals. I can assure that I would keep you informed and I will put finding your brother on the top of my priorities.”

  “My brother is dead.” Kit allowed no muscles to move in her facial expression as she stared at Lord Kittridge. She also noted on some level that this revelation did not surprise him.

  “I see,” Lord Kittridge murmured. “So your intentions have changed.”

  Kit gripped her gloved fingers together. “They have and I come bearing leverage of something quite weighty that you will want to see ... if we come to an agreement.”

  “Proof of your brother’s death?” Lord Kittridge half asked, half astutely stated.

  “Proof of his and many others. However, the proof that theirs was murder, as you and I know it was, might or might not be proven in an expert’s hands, which I’m sure you have access to.”

  Drummond looked at Kit Montoya. He could easily tell that her proof of the many murders The Order had committed was irrelevant. It was the truth, but it would be impossible to prove who did the murders without straight confessions. The fact that a person or people within The Order had committed murders was heinous. The murderers themselves, one of many reasons to destroy The Order and in some form eliminate its major leaders. Nevertheless, the fact of the murders themselves and proof thereof, would not be the nail in the coffin that destroyed The Order.

  Lawful men would attempt that route, to try to prove the murders and hang those guilty. He also entertained the idea, until he realized that it was worthless and he was grateful that he and his companions had no hesitations about being unlawful. Drummond knew he could tell Miss Montoya all this. Take away the leverage that she perceived she had. He could try to dissuade her with words, with threats. However, after meeting her, seeing her, reading her, he now had the information about her that he needed. Because he knew, this side of kidnapping her and locking her up, she was not going to stop doing everything in her power to eradicate The Order.

  And that was exactly what he needed.

  A woman who was unknown to The Orders participants and with an impetus to shed most of her self-preservation instincts for the higher goal of destroying The Order. The personal sacrifices this woman would have to make would be unthinkable to most women and he regretted the need for them. Be that as it may, he also knew Kit Montoya would do so with or without the Archangels collaborations. What price was revenge worth? What value could be placed upon allowing The Order to continue on its merry, murderous, and perverted way? High! As high as the goals of men.

  “I will not dissuade you, Miss Montoya, but offer to use you.”

  Kit’s fine eyebrows arched as she gazed at him through steady, but dark and dusky blue irises. A thought occurred to him that this Americ
an woman’s entire social upbringing might bring many surprising qualities, far different than the normal English ladies with whom he was more accustomed.

  “I want them destroyed, Lord Kittridge. Use me,” Kit answered succinctly.

  Chapter Three

  Brynmore watched Drummond’s fingers tap the small table beside his chair. There had been extra chairs brought into the Kittridge library to accommodate all eleven people gathered, which included the six Archangels and their five women.

  Brynmore had arrived from St. Petersburg last night after finding and doing surveillance on The Orders former, from all appearances, money man, Lord Incubus, who was now living under another fictitious name and title, Lord Markus Zurfoff. It seemed Incubus-Remior-Zurkoff had picked up the identity of a Russian Count this time and he was keeping a subdued public persona at the moment, almost sedate.

  Through observing him, Brynmore had come to the opinion that Incubus was hiding and that meant to Brynmore that Incubus was afraid of something. The logical conclusion was that Incubus was afraid of Hellion’s wrath. Deadly wrath, Brynmore wagered and he hoped the blackguard Incubus strangled on his terror.

  Still, he was glad to be back in England, at the center of the investigation again. It appeared events were on the move. He’d already ribbed each of his male companions for their inability to keep their women out of this, before they’d gathered in the library. He did not take a chair, but stood leaning against the end of a bookcase, whose size reached well over his head to the ceiling. The ladies were all dressed in somber, businesslike attire, leaving behind the lace and bouffant frills along with no intimate cuddling, hand holding or lap snuggling with their men. They were deadly serious about this and he was glad to see it. Yet, for some reason, he had a strange, odd-man-out, feeling. They were all couples, he realized, and since Saxon’s return with his new lady, Joelle, making them a couple, they had never been gathered like this. Brynmore shifted his shoulder against the end of the bookcase — his single status seemed to glare at him.