London's Most Wanted Rake

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘What, may we assume, constitutes “‘accordingly”?’ Eagleton asked.

  ‘What a fine question.’ Alina gave him a smile for him alone, something for him to bask in while she played with Seymour. ‘I have left three sets of instructions in three different locations that certain documents be released to The Times immediately. These documents contain names of your former clients and the amounts of money you obtained against their properties. These documents will also be released if Channing Deveril ever comes to harm. Furthermore, should either of the two events I’ve described come to pass, a warrant for your arrest is waiting to be carried out, not just for swindling and intent to defraud, but for murder.’

  Alina gave a cold smile, her hand fingering the low-hanging pendant at her neck, drawing Seymour’s eyes to her cleavage. Her voice was husky when she spoke. ‘You kill me, but I’ll kill you next. When I say, I’ll see you in hell, Mr Seymour, I literally mean it.’

  She watched Seymour’s eyes slide sideways towards Eagleton. He was nervous. Her threat had got to him. ‘Perhaps we can negotiate—’

  ‘Negotiate, my foot,’ Eagleton interrupted roughly. ‘She’s bluffing. She doesn’t know half of what she’s claiming.’

  Alina sat her hip on the corner of the desk and turned her charms full force on Seymour. Now was the time to divide and conquer. She ran a finger down the line of Seymour’s jaw, her eyes holding his, her voice low, private, as if Eagleton wasn’t in the room. ‘You disappoint me, Roland. Is this how you run your business, by letting others run it for you? You led me to believe you made all the decisions,’ she purred.

  ‘Perhaps we can create a mutually beneficial agreement,’ Seymour sputtered, arousal evident in his eyes. The allure of danger and sex combined to make a potent aphrodisiac and he was desperate to salvage his pride, to prove he was in charge. ‘You agree not to release any of your information and we’ll drop the threat against Deveril.’

  ‘I’ll need to have that in writing.’ Alina rose from the desk and stepped away. Her heart did a little leap of victory, but she couldn’t celebrate too soon. She still had to get out of the room and she couldn’t leave without securing the agreement.

  ‘She’s bluffing, I tell you! Seymour, don’t be a nodcock. She’s playing you,’ Eagleton argued.

  Alina gave Eagleton a cold smile, her hand resting lightly at her throat while she played with the chain of the pendant. ‘Do you think you can afford to find out, Mr Eagleton?’

  Eagleton eyed her with a beady stare. She’d overplayed her hand. Eagleton was not as easily distracted as Seymour, or as easily cowed by the suggestion of ruin. ‘The real question is, can you?’ Something silver flashed in the weasel’s hand. ‘Let me assure you, my gun is not a bluff.’

  In a fluid motion that gave no warning, Eagleton aimed the pistol and fired. Seymour slumped forward on his desk, shot through the head. Eagleton put the gun on his desk. ‘Now, you were saying?’

  Alina fought back the bile rising in her throat, her mind trying to grasp the horror of the cold-blooded act she’d just witnessed. Seymour hadn’t been warned, but she had. She was going to die just like that, her life snuffed out in a fraction of a second as if she’d never existed, unless she came up with something extraordinary in the next few moments. She gathered all of her courage and leaned forward, letting the bodice of her gown gape a bit. ‘I was saying, Mr Eagleton, that you and I are going to need a new arrangement.’ She trailed a hand lightly down her throat to the exposed neckline of her gown. ‘Something just between us. We can strip away any tendency towards pretext.’

  He gave her an oily smile, lust rising in his eyes. ‘I find the prospect of doing business with you a very seductive one, comtesse.’

  Alina stepped back from the desk. She pushed the sleeve of her gown down one shoulder and then the other. There were still the guards to contend with, but she’d worry about that later. Once she had the gun, they’d change their minds. For now, let them watch. She could do this. She was the Comtesse de Charentes. She’d done worse and she wanted to live so very much.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Channing heard the gun fire, but only barely. If he hadn’t been expecting trouble he wouldn’t have been on the lookout for it. No one else was. Fleet Street was crowded with clerks and businessmen bustling about their day. Carriages and wagons jammed the street. Noise was everywhere: the yells of men, the rumble of drays, the neighs of horses. A gunshot would easily be missed.

  He waved for Nick and Jocelyn to join him, his heart pounding. Was he too late? They’d gone into the office building only to find nothing. The address the solicitors had acquired for the syndicate’s ‘office’ was nothing more than a room with a table and chairs in it. They might meet occasionally, but they did not do business there. Channing had suspected something of that nature. It would have been too easy. But they’d been obliged to check it out, just in case, and it had cost them time. Too much time, by the sounds of the gunfire. ‘It came from the alley.’

  ‘At least now we know where she is,’ Jocelyn offered as they jogged through the crowded pavement, weaving between people. It was some consolation. Channing had feared they wouldn’t know where to look next. If the office was a front, Seymour could have taken her anywhere. Then the search would have taken on a needle-in-the-haystack mentality.

  At the alley, Channing slowed. All of his instincts wanted to dart down the narrow strip between the buildings but his brain counselled caution. If Alina needed him, he would do her no good charging in like a bull. ‘Wait,’ he told the others. ‘Let’s do a little reconnaissance first. See if there’s a door, see if there’s anyone in the alley.’

  They joined the crowd passing by and casually scanned the alley. There was a door, but no men. Channing was thankful there was just the one door. There could have been more and that would have taken time they might not have. His gut churned even now, thinking that Alina could be lying somewhere, hurt, unable to help herself.

  Jocelyn put a restraining hand on his arm as they reached the door. ‘Keep your wits about you. We don’t know what or who or how many we might find behind that door.’

  Channing nodded. ‘The element of surprise will be our best weapon and we’ll only get to use it once.’ All three men drew their pistols. Their initial entrance would be a show of force. In the early moments of their arrival it would be crucial to survey the room, take stock of how many were present and who was in charge. If they were outnumbered, it would be crucial to focus their efforts on putting the leader at risk.

  It was decided Nick and Channing would enter first, followed by Jocelyn, who would protect the door, keeping it clear for a smooth retreat. Nick and Channing exchanged a quick glance. ‘You don’t have to go,’ Channing said at the last. He was thinking of Annorah and the baby. Perhaps he should not let Nick risk this.

  ‘You can’t wrap me in pink wool, Channing.’ Nick grinned. ‘But thanks for the thought anyway.’

  Together, they burst through the door, using the noise and the suddenness of their appearance to catch the room’s occupants off guard. The force of the door ploughed down one of the guards, Channing’s pistol, used as a club, took the other one. ‘Alina!’ Channing’s eyes found her immediately, but the weaselly-looking man was closer, faster, and Alina had made a tactical error that put her within his reach. Instead of using their entrance to retreat, Alina had used the distraction as a chance to grab for the gun on the desk.

  The man’s reflexes had been excellent. He seized the gun and dragged Alina to him, a shield and leverage all in one. Three well-built, armed men to one skinny weasel suddenly meant nothing. It could have been fifty to one and still meant nothing as long as the weasel held Alina. ‘Looking for something, Deveril?’ The man laughed and jabbed the gun at Alina’s temple.

  That was when Channing noticed Seymour’s form crumpled over the other desk. The weasel
was certainly bloodthirsty. And full of lust, too. Now that the initial force of the attack was over, he took in the details: Alina’s gown in disarray, her hair falling from its pins. Her eyes were twin blue flames, but her face was pale.

  ‘The comtesse and I were just reaching an accord,’ the weasel said. ‘I think, my dear, we’ll have to put that on hold.’ He yanked hard on Alina’s hair, pulling her head up, her gaze forced away from Channing’s. Channing watched her exposed throat work as she swallowed her fright.

  Channing went rigid with fury at the sight of the bastard’s mouth at Alina’s ear. He would shoot the man right there if it weren’t for the risk to Alina. He had no compunction about doing it, but there was no shot to take. Channing searched his mind, his vast stores of knowledge about human nature. He was usually so good at reading people. He’d been reading them all his life, his business thrived on his ability to do so. Everyone wanted something. What did this man want?

  His eyes fell on Seymour’s corpse again. ‘I can see you’re a man of action,’ Channing stated, an idea coming to him.

  ‘I will shoot her, too.’

  ‘I’m sure you would.’ Channing kept his voice calm, his tone casual. ‘But that would be shortsighted.’ He began to pace the room.

  ‘Shortsighted?’ The weasel pivoted with him. It was what he hoped for. It would be awkward to pivot and hold Alina to him. If Alina saw an opening to escape, would she take it? If the movement exposed her captor, Channing would take the shot, or Nick would. Jocelyn had to keep his sights trained on the guards in case they recovered consciousness.

  ‘We’re not here for the comtesse. We’re here for you. You can only shoot her once and then your shield is gone.’ Channing frowned. ‘I can see you thought to use her for leverage, but that only works if we came for her.’

  ‘You’re bluffing, just like her,’ Weasel sneered. ‘I didn’t believe her and I don’t believe you.’ He tightened his hold on Alina and she fought back a gasp.

  Channing shrugged and moved. ‘She’s working with us, certainly, but make no mistake, we were here for Seymour. You’ll do just as well.’ Channing would use the man as leverage against himself. Self-preservation had motivated the Weasel’s shooting of Seymour. Anything he thought he could do to save his own hide he would do.

  Channing reached the end of the room. He had to turn and Weasel would have to turn, too. It would be the one place in the room where he’d be vulnerable. There would be an angle, a moment, where Channing would have his chance. ‘Alina, my dear, you know what to do,’ he said, hoping to give her some kind of warning, oblique as it was. ‘You know your part in this.’ Let that give Weasel something else to worry about. Weasel was a coward at heart.

  The turn came and Channing orchestrated it as carefully as a turn in the ballroom, partnering Weasel every step of the way. Weasel made the turn, his clumsy movement putting Alina off balance. She stumbled. She used her weight to drag herself down and away from Weasel while he groped for a chair to stay upright. His shoulder, the left half of his body was exposed for the slightest instant. Channing shot. There was no time to aim, only react. He just had to make contact. He didn’t have to kill, only wound.

  The idea must have occurred to the Weasel as well. He heard Jocelyn shout, saw a blur of movement out the corner of his eye, the report of his pistol seemed extremely loud and he was down, pain searing his shoulder. He dropped his pistol, his hand instinctively going to the source of the hurt. It came away coated in red. One thought occurred to him as his strength ebbed. He had to get to Alina, had to get her away before he couldn’t any more. ‘Alina.’ His voice was a hoarse rasp. He tried to speak louder and couldn’t.

  Alina was beside him, Nick and Jocelyn on the other. ‘Get him up, Alina, let’s get out of here.’ Nick was gruff. ‘Help me out here, Channing, get your legs under you. We have to get you home.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’ he tried to joke, but his words slurred and the world spun into darkness.

  Alina screamed his name. ‘You will not die for me, Channing, do you hear me? You will not!’

  No, he would live for her. Somehow. But not right now. Right now he had to rest. Alina was safe, Seymour was dead and he had to rest. He sagged against Nick’s arms.

  * * *

  She was going to kill him for scaring her to death. The last three days had been the worst three days of her life. She still showed signs of it, Alina thought, checking her appearance in the mirror. She’d stayed by Channing unceasingly until he’d regained stable consciousness and there was no sign of fever. The doctors had been confident from the start that if he could avoid fever, the wound would heal well. It had looked worse than it was and Channing had been lucky. The bullet had gone straight through. Not that Alina would ever be convinced of that.

  She smoothed the skirts of her apple-green afternoon gown. She was unexpectedly, but perhaps understandably, nervous. This would be the first time she’d seen Channing with both of them fully recovered. He’d been given permission to sit upright in a chair for a few hours and she’d slept last night for the first time since the confrontation. The danger posed by Seymour was past, but much else remained unsettled between them. She walked the short distance between their rooms and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

  Channing was ready for her and the sight of him brought a smile to her lips. Not even a shoulder wound could dim his golden good looks. His hair was brushed and he was dressed in shirt and waistcoat. A jacket was difficult to manage, but he was otherwise his usual, immaculate self.

  She went to him. She knelt in front of him and took his hand, wanting to touch him, wanting to assure herself he was real. ‘You are a sight to behold, Channing Deveril.’ She smiled, overwhelmed by the waves of relief sweeping her. She’d not thought to be so moved by the sight of him healthy and safe, her beautiful, golden English lion. Then, horror of horrors, she began to cry for the second time.

  ‘Why the tears? It’s all over, Alina. Eagleton told Finn and the solicitors everything they needed to know. The syndicate is destroyed.’ Channing’s good hand played with her hair.

  ‘All I wanted was for you to be safe. They were going to kill you.’ Alina’s tears wouldn’t stop.

  ‘You should have told me about the note,’ Channing scolded softly. ‘You were very brave, but very foolish, too.’

  ‘I couldn’t risk you. I could never risk you. I have to know you are out there in the world somewhere, all golden and goodness.’ She kissed his hand. ‘I’d never met anyone like you. That first day in Paris, I felt like you knew me, that when you looked at me you saw all of me and all of me was enough.’ Her eyes dropped. ‘But I knew, too, that I couldn’t have you. It would have to be enough just to know you were out there.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be that way. I believe there’s a proposal on the table.’

  Alina looked up. ‘Are you sure? There’s no need. The crisis is passed, the sacrifice is not necessary any more.’ She’d understood Channing had been willing to cover her in his name, not that she would have allowed it.

  Channing held her gaze. ‘There’s no need, only want. You may find it hard to believe, but I do not consider marriage to you a sacrifice. The only sacrifice is having had to wait this long to do it.’

  Alina smiled. ‘I don’t know, Channing Deveril, marriage to me will be very demanding. The sex might kill you.’ Saying yes would be the bravest thing she had yet to do. It took strength to reach for one’s dream even if that dream sat just inches from her.

  Channing laughed. ‘I certainly hope it does. Does that mean yes?’

  ‘What do you think?’ She slanted him a coy look and reached for him. She had his trousers open with a flick of her hand.

  Channing let out a satisfied moan. ‘I think taking a bullet for you was worth it.’

  Epilogue

  London’s finest rake ha
d married splendidly. It was the best kind of wedding: big, spectacular, complete with a handsome groom, a beautiful bride and enough gossip to make it interesting. Among the guests were the bride’s parents. Her father gave her away, her mother cried and her sister stood up with her in a pretty dress of primrose. But London had turned out to see the other two sets of guests: Nick D’Arcy and his wife, Annorah, and Jocelyn Eisley and Cassandra. Even with such notoriety in attendance, it had regretfully not been enough to deflect any attention away from the main focus.

  Alina assured Channing he’d better get used to it. A beautiful woman and a handsome man were always interesting. Alina had garnered all the attention. She’d worn her signature colour, the bright blue that brought out her eyes, and people were already speculating about the enchanting blue-eyed children that would come of that union sooner or later. One of those children would come into that world rather promptly, Channing thought, if Alina was correct. It was a bit early to tell, but Channing hoped she was right.

  They would spend their honeymoon at the Deveril hunting box in Scotland, enjoying the autumn colours of the Highlands in peace and quiet. But there was a stop they needed to make before they could leave London behind.

  * * *

  Channing’s travelling coach pulled up outside Argosy House. He helped Alina out. ‘What are we doing here?’ she asked.