The Rogue's Last Scandal: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 3)

by Alina K. Field

  And her intended had arranged to be seated at the far end of the table, so he could not even whisper what he’d discovered that afternoon.

  She thrust her fork into a piece of meat, nodded politely at something Lord Shaldon said, and waited for the interminable meal to end.

  “What did you learn?”

  Charley drew in a long breath of fragrant tobacco and crushed the cigarillo under his heel before turning.

  The shivering girl had naught but a thin shawl wrapping her shoulders. He took off his coat as he drew her under a garden lamp.

  “There is no need for your coat. We may go back inside.”

  “And argue in front of family and guests?”

  He settled his coat around her, glancing around. The deserted garden was quiet. If there were grooms and footmen out here, they’d all gone to ground.

  “All right.” He leaned on the stone rail. “Llewellyn’s visitor today was a woman, wearing veils.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “The Duquesa. She was outside when we left.”

  “That’s a possibility. But I don’t think so.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Because you know her so well.”

  He paused and studied her. He couldn’t yet trust her with the truth. He couldn’t trust her not to speak her mind if provoked. “Father has a man on her.” Or with her. He suspected one of the Duquesa’s men was also Father’s. “Also, I can’t see the mutual benefit there. Kincaid thought it might be a…er…mistress.”

  She huffed. “So quickly? He has only just arrived in town. She was likely a mere prostitute.”

  He turned away and hid a smile. Gracie had not had a sheltered childhood.

  “Yes well, I made inquiries this afternoon and couldn’t find anyone who knew something about that.”

  Her mouth dropped and she huffed again, and then laughed. “Well at least you are honest about visiting brothels.”

  “I did not visit brothels.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  “No. I have sources among…among the people who run that, er, trade.”

  “I see. And how will we find who this woman was?”

  “For now, we are having him followed.” As well as the Duquesa, but the less he mentioned her, the better.

  “Could it have been a man sent in dressed as a woman, as Roddy was?”

  He shook his head. “Anything is possible, but I doubt it. Ours was a ruse to see what kind of trap was laid. In this case, the woman was merely hiding her identity.”

  “Perhaps.” She gripped the coat more tightly around her and sniffed at the lapel absentmindedly.

  He bit back a smile. “I did visit a shop today.” He rummaged in the pocket near her hip. “Here, my lady.”

  The lapel flopped back as she took the box and opened it. Her breath caught.

  “It is an engagement gift.” A damn fine one that he’d spent too much time deciding upon.

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “It is a lovely necklace, Charley, but I cannot possibly accept it.” The case snapped and she thrust it at him.

  Well, and he’d expected this reaction, hadn’t he?

  Dredging up a dramatic sigh, he took the box. “If this is a ruse, it’s one that must be played out. And even if you won’t accept that I can love you, desire you, and honor you, you may still show the world that I know enough to buy my fiancée an engagement gift.”

  She pulled off the jacket. “You are pressuring me.”

  “I am not.” He pocketed the box for a later attempt. “A sensible woman would take a gift of jewelry.”

  “When I may access my funds, I will buy my own jewelry.”

  “Of course you may. But your jewels won’t come with a promise of love.”

  “There will be a promise of freedom,” she snapped. “And we are finished talking.”

  In the mews, a horse whinnied, and another answered.

  “You are a stubborn, stubborn girl.” He shrugged into his jacket. “Inconstant. Fickle.”

  She stepped back and yanked her shawl tighter, then turned on her heel and marched toward the house.

  “And a terrible actress,” he called after her.

  The door slammed, and he turned back to gaze into the night. A man trundled down the walk with a lantern, and he recognized one of the under butlers.

  “Tell Lloyd, best set a good watch tonight,” Charley called. With Gracie in a sulk, and Llewellyn aware of her presence here, there might be trouble.

  The man saluted and headed for the kitchen entrance.

  He pulled his flask from another pocket and tipped it back, the liquor burning a path down his gullet.

  Swiving women for the Crown had brought him to this—the one woman he wanted didn’t want him. And he was done being used.

  But if it was Gracie wanting to use him—well, he’d be atoning for every time he’d led a woman down the garden path. He’d made a promise to her and he damn well would keep it. She was stuck with him, and he would protect her from Kingsley, and Carvelle, and Llewellyn, and—damn it—from herself, no matter the cost.

  Tomorrow, he would visit Bond Street and purchase his other gift. Perhaps it would be better received by the queen of the nursery.

  In the wee hours of the morning, Graciela heard a child’s cry. She rushed from her bed, throwing on slippers and a robe, and ran up the stairs to the nursery. By this time, the crying had stopped.

  She found Francisca standing over the small bed, fully dressed. Reina slept, thumb in mouth, curled in upon herself.

  Francisca pulled Graciela into the nursery playroom, mouth pressed into a thin line. “She had a bad dream.”

  A maid hovered in the corner. Juan’s pallet was gone.

  “Where is Juan?”

  “He has gone to the stables to keep watch and to listen.”

  Her nerves prickled. “Listen for what?”

  “I told you. There are strange people snooping about.”

  An ache started up in her head and she rubbed at it. “We must leave.”

  “And go where?” Francisca laid a thin hand on her arm. “You have seen Llewellyn?”

  They had not had a moment alone to discuss her visit with the Captain. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head and sought the right words. She could not lie to Francisca, who knew her so well, but she also did not want her to fear.

  “He is in league with Lord Kingsley, then?”

  Francisca had always been shrewd.

  “Juan said your father always was careful of him,” Francisca said.

  “He was Papa’s friend. Mama’s too.”

  “No. Not a friend. A man he did business with, and a rival also. He had designs on your mother, many years ago, and then when he saw you growing into a beautiful woman...” She shook her head. “You are in grave danger, Graciela. I fear you must marry this lord’s son.”

  “Charley Everly? You hate him.”

  The maid shrugged. “I do not come to this lightly. I think of the greater good. He and his family are strong. They have treated us well, even down to the servants. The lord himself came up to the nursery and visited with Reina.”

  “We will be stuck here. You and Juan will never see home again.”

  “Our home is with you.”

  Her heart twisted inside her.

  “He...he does not love me. And…we have had a great argument.”

  “Pah.” She waved that away. “Even if you did not lie to yourself about this, marriage is not about love. You bring money, and he brings protection. I have looked at it from all angles. No matter that you stabbed that pig with the foul mouth, you cannot stab every man sent by Lord Kingsley. You must remove yourself from his power.”

  “And put myself in another man’s power?”

  “Yes. That is the way of the world.”

  The way of the world was unfair. “I fear he has another woman.”

  Francisca’s face darkened in the la
mplight. “It is the way of some men. You must make up your mind to take him to the altar.” She huffed out a great sigh. “Do not pretend he does not excite you, Graciela. Go and do what you must. Marry him quickly. Marry him soon, and make him forget his lover.”

  Francisca nudged her out the door of the nursery suite and closed it behind her. Graciela nodded to the footman guarding the nursery, and found her way to a quiet corridor.

  She leaned against the wall trying to breathe. Francisca did not understand. Francisca did not know the truth.

  She pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to push down the panic. Charley was wrong about her. She was an excellent actress, shoving the past down so deep, she’d fooled Papa, and Juan, and even Francisca.

  She needed to think.

  Groping her way down the dimly lit corridor and stairs, she waved away the night porter and carved a wobbly path to the library, to the room where Lady Sirena had been attacked and had jumped out the window, and the room where Charley had kissed her with so much passion, so many nights ago.

  So many? It had only been last night. When she pushed open the door, the room was mercifully dark. She felt her way along the shelving, the rich scent of leather and vellum filling her nose and…

  Her skin prickled warmly. Another scent. The scent of a man. Not just any man.

  He might have just left. Someone had recently snuffed out a candle. The smoke of it still touched the air. She held very still and explored the room with only her consciousness, without seeing, without breathing.

  A chair creaked. A large body shifted. A spark struck.

  The candle wick came to life and illuminated his face, his beautiful face.

  “I thought we were finished talking.”

  The flat tone of his voice pricked her awareness. He sounded…tired, distant.

  Had she, in truth, lost him?

  “I-I did not come here to see you. I did not know you would be here. I will leave.”

  “Don’t.” He unfolded his long length and came to loom over her. “I shall yield the room.”

  Do what you must. She reached for his arm. “No. I wish to....”

  “What, Miss Kingsley? Will you berate me for faithlessness? Insist you don’t want to marry me? Or are you here to tempt me with kisses and then throw me away?”

  His hand closed over hers and he drew her closer to the light.

  “You are crying.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to tremble, casting about for her reason, her backbone.

  “You must know the truth,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “What truth?”

  He was still distant, reserved.

  Her heart raced. She struggled to fill her lungs.

  No one had known the truth except Mama and Consuela. No one.

  Trembling, she shook off his hand and wrapped herself in her own arms.

  And Rigo. Rigo, who so many years earlier had been like a big brother. He knew.

  “What truth, Miss Kingsley?”

  The chill of her English name on his lips brought her out of her weakness. She would share this truth with him. He would reject her, and she would convince his father to get her money for her, and she would go home to look for Papa. If the very worst happened, and she had to stay here, she would find a way to do so until she reached her majority and could go on with her life.

  She straightened her back and firmed her shoulders.

  “My name is Maria Graciela Kingsley y Romero. That is who I am, even though you English ignore my first name and give no import to my mother’s surname.” She lifted her chin. “Shortly before we left for England, my mother died of the fever in Veracruz, as did Consuela, who was our friend, and who was known as the mother of Reina.”

  “The mother of Reina,” he said, biting off each word.

  She held her breath, watching him. He knew. Charley knew.

  Well then. Let him know everything.

  She untied her belt and threw off her robe, watching his hard eyes. She untied the string at the neck of her night rail and those eyes narrowed more, focusing doggedly on her face.

  “You must know everything.” She let the bodice drop to her waist and turned quickly, pulling her plait forward over her shoulder.

  His gasp gave her hope. “There will be more scars here on my back, yes? It will never be beautiful.”

  “As long as I am around, no one will harm you again.” He pulled at the nightrail attempting to draw it up, but she slapped his hands away and turned, her breasts bare.

  Let him see that her nipples were brown, not pink, like a virgin girl’s.

  His jaw was an iron clasp holding in what looked like anger. She took a deep breath.

  Charley would not hurt her.

  “You must s-see everything,” she said.

  After Veracruz, she had never exposed more than her back to anyone, not Francisca, not any other maid sent to help her. With another deep breath, her hands opened and the loose gown dropped to the floor.

  Charley’s gaze did not fall from her face, nor did he breathe. “I am only human, Miss Kingsley.”

  “I am not trying to seduce you, Mr. Everly. You must look.”

  “Stop this—”

  “Look. You must.”

  His gaze dropped. His mouth opened. He fell to his knees and his warm palm covered her there, in that place where her belly swelled, where a hot iron had branded her.

  Chapter 21

  Dear God. Dear God. Dear God.

  The phrase rattled in Charley’s brain, and he did not know whether he said it aloud or not. Blood raged through him, and then ran cold, and his rock-hard erection shriveled to nothing. She’d been grievously hurt. She might even now be in pain.

  He’d instinctively covered the puckered scar―crossed bars under an oval, much like a Jolly Roger.

  “I know. It is very ugly,” she said gravely.

  He took his hand away and kissed her there, wanting to laugh at her startled gasp, wanting to laugh at himself. He’d kissed his way down many a woman’s belly, but never to provide this kind of comfort.

  “It is but a scar,” he said, drawing on all his very British reserve, keeping his voice calm, making himself study it. The burn had been deep enough that the skin had stretched and buckled around it and across her abdomen, between her navel and her thick thatch of pubic hair.

  He was instantly hard again.

  “More scarring. I see. That’s what you meant.” Hands gripping her hips, he gazed up at her. “Are there more?”

  She lifted a shoulder.

  He turned her. Her hips, her lush backside had small scars from scratches and cuts, but were otherwise unblemished, as were her shapely legs.

  The rest of the scars were not on the outside.

  He rose, pulling her gown up with him, helping her arms into the sleeves and tying the ribbon at her neck. His hands trembled in an unmanly way, in anger, and shared sorrow, and lust held at bay. He helped her into her robe and watched her knot the belt with her own shaking hands. He longed to take her, to hold her, to comfort her.

  He stepped back and waited.

  “Reina has the cleft right here.” She pointed to the middle of her own perfectly smooth chin. “Just like Consuela, who was, before her marriage, Consuela Cruz y Ontiveros. Have you noticed it?”

  His skin prickled. A truth was coming, but he was not sure what it would be. Reina did have a small fetching cleft in her chin, along with dark auburn tones and eyes more amber than brown when one looked closely. “You have said she is Consuela’s child.” Consuela Cruz y Ontiveros.

  The pounding in his ears started up again. The truth was working its way out like a festering splinter, poking against the back of his eyes. Cruz: cross. And Ontiveros: O.

  “Consuela had a husband…with the same initials,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Her husband was a fine man who died just before we left Tampico to journey to Veracruz. That was the reason she was able to travel with us.” She swallowe
d hard and fought for a breath. “She and her brother.”

  He must find a way to bear this story. “Come.” He tugged her over to the chair and sat down, helping her onto his lap. “Tell me.”

  “Rigo. Rigoberto Cruz y Ontiveros. He had come for her husband’s funeral and stayed for a while. My mother received some news and decided we must leave for Veracruz and try to meet up with my Papa there. Just before we left, Francisca and Juan were called away to her village to care for her dying sister. And then, Mama couldn’t find a ship to take us. Rigo offered to escort us overland, and Consuela came with us.”

  A long silence ensued before she finally spoke again.

  “I had known him as a child, and then he went off to work on a rancho, and when he came back, he acquired a small parcel. He wanted to establish himself, and he wanted a wife.”

  “You were still a child.”

  “No. I was close to my fifteenth birthday. After that, many girls marry.”

  Dread stirred in him along with a darker emotion. “Did you want to marry him?”

  “To settle forever with a cruel man on a cattle ranch? No. Never. Nor did I even imagine I loved him. And it wouldn’t have been what Papa wanted for me had he been there. My mother knew that, but after a very few days, she saw that she must be careful. We were trapped with him on this journey, and she had more caution than I. More experience with rough men, I guess. She told him we must wait to reach Veracruz and speak to my father, and that he must act honorably toward me to have any hope.”

  “And he didn’t.”

  “My mother was a very beautiful woman. If you say I am pretty, Charley, I am nothing to what she was. The first night he arrived in San Diego on his ship, my father danced one dance with her and went straight to her uncle to ask for her hand.”

  The beast had attacked her mother also. Somehow, he kept his muscles from jumping from his skin and waited.

  “Consuela had not seen him in a few years, and she did not know what he’d become. He had hardened in the company of rougher men. He drank very much, all the time, and one night, he...” She took a deep breath. “She tried to stop him. He beat her very badly.”

  He forced his eyes to stay open, to see what it cost her to tell him this.