The man who had wanted a drink reached the end of his patience. He lurched to his feet. “My lord,” he began respectfully but forcefully, “we’re charged with investigating some serious crimes.”
David arched a brow. “Indeed.”
“Yes, sir,” the man charged ahead. “It’s come to our attention that certain thieves have been stopping coaches and committing outrages against the passengers.”
“Thieves committing outrages. Indeed.”
“My lord, this is serious business we’re about,” retorted the man. “One of these thieves, the leader of the gang, is quite a distinctive fellow. He wears a large plumed hat and a gold ring. He calls himself the Black Duke.”
Even though David’s heart had fallen at the mention of a ring, he kept his face impassive. He waited without moving as the men peered closely at him, knowing they were expecting a guilty start of sorts. “And?” he drawled in his best imitation of Marcus. “Do you require my assistance in catching the fellow?”
The man’s mouth thinned. “No, your lordship,” he replied. “We’ve come to let you know that Bow Street is aware of his doings. Highway robbery, my lord, is a hanging offense.”
“I should hope so,” said David.
“We’re also aware that the ring he wears bears your own family crest. Three witnesses described it.” The man’s jaw lifted in challenge.
David waited. He knew, from long experience, that simply being stared at did terrible things to one’s composure. Usually, though, he was the one being stared at in disapproval, and it seemed his stare didn’t have the same effect that Marcus’s did. The Bow Street men didn’t flinch or squirm. “How fascinating. Do you mean to accuse me?”
“It’s a topic of interest to Bow Street, my lord. We’d like to know what you have to say on the topic.”
Ware tilted his head back, as if admiring the ceiling. “Of course, you’ve substantial proof. Bow Street wouldn’t dare accuse the duke of Exeter’s brother of something so serious otherwise.”
The man hesitated. “We’ve a great deal of proof, Your Grace,” he said with a bit more deference. “We have several witnesses, all of whom saw the highwayman and his ring. Their descriptions of the ring agree quite closely. We know you, my lord, were yourself on a coach robbed quite recently in a manner very like the one employed by this villain. We know your finances are somewhat unsteady. We know you’ve not been out and about in town of late, as has been your habit.”
“In other words, you’ve nothing conclusive.” David leaned back in his chair. “My ring, bearing my family’s crest, was stolen in the robbery you mentioned earlier. Perhaps the methods are the same because the villains responsible are the same.”
“What we’ve come to ask, sir,” said the second man, breaking his silence at last, “is an accounting of your doings of late.” David let his eyebrows rise. “It’s our duty, sir,” added the man, respectfully but firmly. “The evidence is convincing. There is a great outcry for us to arrest this man at once. We have been most circumspect, sir, in calling on you. This villain wears a signet ring with your family crest. Your absence from certain places has been noted. And it is a well-known fact, sir, that your finances have been precarious for years, but of late they are greatly improved. In light of all these facts, sir, as well as others I’m not at liberty to disclose, we’ve a duty to inquire.”
“I have been here, at home, and at Exeter House,” David said.
“Is there anyone who might testify to that?”
“The staff,” replied David, his voice even colder than before. “What is your name?”
“Collins, sir,” said the man, unfazed. “Deputy to Mr. John Stafford of Bow Street.”
“Collins,” said David, “I would be the greatest fool in England were I to rob coaches on a public highway wearing a ring easily traced to me. Either you take me for a fool, or you are so desperate for any person to clap in irons you have leaped to conclusions which any barrister worth his periwig would tear to shreds. Which is it?”
Collins’s chest filled, then deflated. “Neither, my lord. We are merely making an inquiry.”
“Then you have had the answer to your inquiry.” David rang for Hobbs, getting to his feet in the same motion. “Good day.”
Collins and his companion bowed and left, followed out by Hobbs. Slowly, like a puppet being lowered to the ground, David sank back into his seat. Good God. Accused by Bow Street of highway robbery. This was a new low, even for him. “I hope you’ll take a drink now, Ware, for I need one quite badly.”
“Thank you, I will.”
David got up and poured two more glasses, his hands only slightly unsteady. He handed one to the duke and resumed his own seat. Bow Street, in his own house. David still couldn’t quite believe it, and sipped his drink without noticing.
“Someone is pressuring them,” Ware said in the ensuing silence. “The scandal rags are hardly full of the Black Duke. I daresay not one person in ten in London would recognize the name.”
“Trevenham,” said David.
Ware put his head to one side. “That is unlikely, if only because a man like Trevenham doesn’t invite scrutiny, public or private, from Bow Street. If I were to hazard a guess—based purely on conjecture, you understand—I would name old Percy.”
For a moment David was shocked; his good friend’s father? But of course it was a very good possibility. Sir James Percy detested David as a bad influence on his son, and always had. From the moment they had met and become friends at school, Sir James had advised Percy to avoid scoundrels and rogues like David. Percy had read the letters aloud to all his friends, and everyone had been highly amused that David was considered the worst of the lot. David had never been invited to the Percy estate on holiday from university, and Percy had never been allowed to accept an invitation to Ainsley Park. Even now, Sir James regularly scolded Percy for his association with David.
“He’s quite outspoken on the issue of prison reform,” Ware went on. “He takes a keen interest in the workings of Bow Street, and constantly proposes improvements and funding for them. A highwayman posing as nobility would be sure to excite Percy’s interest.”
David nodded, fairly certain Ware knew why else old Percy might have pressed Bow Street to inquire into David’s actions, but thankful the duke didn’t say it. No doubt the latest gossip spread by Trevenham and others about David would enrage Sir James, particularly when his son continued to stand loyally at David’s side. “I should hope Bow Street would operate on more solid grounds than the urgings of one man.”
“No doubt they do. It was a rather polite invitation to confess. Had they any real proof, it would not have been so,” said Ware idly, examining his empty glass.
“They have the wrong man,” said David with an edge. Would no one believe him innocent? Of highway robbery, for God’s sake?
“Of course,” Ware agreed at once. “Still, men like Collins can be terribly…inconvenient. They are rather difficult to shake. I expect you’re being watched.”
That was probably true, he realized, and wondered what they’d seen. For the first time it occurred to him that he was not the only one who could be in danger. If they discovered Vivian, and linked her to the robberies—she, who was actually guilty of thieving—she would hang. There wouldn’t be much he could do to help her, especially not if he himself were under suspicion as well. A familiar surge of resentment rose inside him, that a man like Marcus or Ware could step in and control events with just a glance or a word while he…
David let out his breath slowly. While he was suspected of being up to his old habits. Perhaps he might have some of that power if he hadn’t wasted his life to date on drinking, gambling, womanizing, and other activities that were in fact illegal. He had no one to blame but himself for his situation, and no one to turn to for help but himself. Even if he wished to, Marcus was in Italy, more than a month’s travel away. David would have to see to it himself.
“Ware,” he said. “I am not the Blac
k Duke.”
“I never thought you were,” said Ware. His voice was the same as before, but his gaze sharpened.
David leaned forward. “I want you to know. I am not the Black Duke. That ring was stolen from me weeks ago. I visited pawnbrokers all over London looking for it, but it never turned up. I had given it up for lost.”
“I see,” murmured Ware.
“I’ve not left London in weeks,” David went on. “I have been occupied with Marcus’s business as well as affairs of my own. Not only my servants but all Marcus’s staff can vouch for my presence at Exeter House nearly every day, from morning until evening. I want you to know this, in case events conspire to prevent me from sharing it. On my word of honor, I would never debase my family name in such a manner.”
“Of course not.” With a graceful nod, Ware got to his feet. “I shall see what I can do.”
David rose also. “My thanks.”
The duke bowed slightly, and left. David stared at the door. Right. Ware would do what he could to shake up and slow down Bow Street. Ware had influence, and could do that much. But David would have to do the rest.
His feet heavy, David went up the stairs in search of Vivian. He found her in her room, sitting in the window seat with her knees pulled up in front of her, holding a book to the light. At his entrance, a glorious smile bloomed on her face.
“Have you read this?” she demanded. “Oh, it’s marvelous—I never knew a man could write such lovely stuff, and about a woman, too! Listen:
That for they Insolence—And that for thy Jealously—And that for thy Infidelity!
Oh happy Figaro—Take thy Revenge, my dear, kind, good Angel; Never did Man or Martyr suffer with such Extacy!
Can you imagine a man saying such?” She laughed.
For a moment he couldn’t speak. The excitement on her face as she read aloud, slowly and carefully, had tightened his throat until he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. She was like a landscape grown hard and coarse from lack of care; a little tending, a little encouragement, and her mind and spirit blossomed and flourished. To see her smile, with her hair unbound and her bare toes peeping from beneath her skirts, he would count the damned signet ring a good loss.
If only that were all there was to it.
Vivian’s smile faded as the silence dragged on, and David simply stared at her, his eyes dark and bleak. “What is it?” she asked, pressing the little book closer to her chest as if to cling to its lovely words and funny characters and outrageous antics. “What’s wrong?”
Without answering he pulled a chair over and sat on the edge, bracing his hands on his knees. “Vivian,” he said in that low voice that made her skin tingle. “I’m in a spot of…trouble.”
“Trouble?” She didn’t like that word, not a bit.
He nodded once. “Someone, it seems…Someone has been robbing stages on Bromley Heath.” He gave her a level look. “He calls himself the Black Duke and wears a signet ring remarkably like the one I lost.”
Vivian felt her mouth fall open in dismay. “Flynn,” she managed to say. David nodded, looking more and more grim. “That black bastard!”
“No doubt. Did he ever sell stolen goods himself?”
She shook her head. “I did. All of it.”
He closed his eyes for a second. “Then he probably didn’t sell the ring. He must still have it.”
“Yes,” she said, growing angry. How dare that fool do something so flashy, so bold, so stupid? And Simon—her heart contracted with fear. Simon would have to go along with it, for she wasn’t there to shield him any longer. She put down the book and swung her feet to the floor. “That no-good rat-catcher’s been flirting with the rope for years,” she said. “Of all the—”
“Vivian.” He gave the tiniest shake of his head. “That’s not the problem.”
She paused, wary. “No?”
“No.” He pushed his hand through his hair in that gesture she secretly loved, the one that made him look a bit tousled and wild. “They think I’m doing it.”
It was so shocking, she couldn’t even frown in response. “That’s the bloody stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she blurted out.
“Isn’t it?” he said wryly. “Unfortunately, it’s true.”
“No, it’s not, it’s a mark of lazy Runners,” she snapped. “Why, you haven’t left London in over a month!”
“I told them that. I have no proof, though.”
“I can prove it,” she declared. “Haven’t I seen you here every day?”
“Yes, but.” He sighed. “You can hardly march down to Bow Street and tell them. At best they’d think you were my mistress and not trustworthy, at worst they’d begin to wonder who you really are.”
That shut Vivian’s mouth. Oh, dear. That was a problem. It would hardly help David if people learned he was harboring a thief in his house. And it wouldn’t do her any good, either.
“I can’t let you risk that,” he added. “And they’re no doubt watching the house even now, to track me if I should leave.”
“That’s no problem,” she said automatically. “If you want to leave, there are ways to get around the charleys.”
He looked at her sideways. “Where were you when I was young,” he muttered, then shook his head. “Just leaving the house isn’t the question. They’ll want to collect as much evidence as they can before arresting me—I do have friends, and Marcus would likely take down the government if he were here. They won’t do anything until they are absolutely certain.”
“But they won’t hang you,” Vivian said. “You’ve got funds. It’s true enough that a man with five hundred pounds is a man who won’t hang.”
He shook his head. “They might as well hang me if I have to live the rest of my life as a suspected highwayman. Society is not very gracious to those who take from them. I want to prove that this time, this one time, I am completely innocent. I intend to find the real Black Duke.”
Vivian pursed her lips and said nothing.
“Will you help me?” he pressed, taking her hand and cradling it between his.
She tugged free. “Are you certain you want to? Flynn will hardly stroll into the magistrate’s office with you and confess.”
David laughed. “No? I was counting on that.” She rolled her eyes, and he stopped laughing. “Of course he won’t. But if I catch him wearing the ring, in the act…” He paused significantly as Vivian’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Have you lost your bloody mind?” she gasped. “He’s like to shoot you if he sees you again, just so you can’t finger him to the constables.”
“I wouldn’t go out looking like this,” he said. “I’ll be a country farmer. You say he’s not a bright fellow; he’ll never guess it’s I.”
“Being a bloody idiot doesn’t mean he’s not observant,” she argued. “He’d have been left to rot in chains and irons long ago if he hadn’t kept his eyes and ears open, at least while doing a job.”
“How else can I prove I’m innocent?”
Vivian paused. “Well, they must be out to catch him—the Black Duke, that is. Just wait. Sooner or later the constables will get him. Then all will know it wasn’t you.”
David rocked back in his chair, beginning to look impatient. “Wait! Wait, while Bow Street becomes certain I’m the culprit. Wait, and hope the constables around London suddenly grow determined and vigilant. Oh, yes, and pray Flynn’s fool enough to keep robbing coaches in the same area under the same guise. If he decides to decamp to York or Wales or Ireland tomorrow, they’ll never catch him and I’ll be suspect forever, if not arrested and convicted.”
“If Flynn goes away, there’ll be no more robberies,” Vivian pointed out. “How could they arrest you then?”
“It will be better if I point them in Flynn’s direction, or better yet, bring him to them. They may take me off to Newgate at any time. It’s much harder to persuade people of one’s innocence from inside the prison walls.”
“You’re daft,” she insisted.
“’Tis a daft idea.”
“You’ve no love for Flynn,” he said, puzzled. “Wouldn’t you like to see him in prison?”
Vivian ran her finger up and down the spine of the book, avoiding David’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“How?” He reached out and tipped up her chin, so she had to look at him.
She didn’t want to tell him. Secrecy was so ingrained in Vivian, it felt physically difficult for her to open her mouth and explain that her brother was with Flynn, and that she’d die before she did anything to put her brother in prison. Flynn could rot there for a hundred years for all she cared, but not Simon. “There’s others besides Flynn,” she muttered. “I don’t hate them all.”
“Ah.” He sat back. “The big man, and the boy.”
She flinched at the last word, but merely nodded.
“All the more reason to go out looking for them myself, then,” David said. “I only want the ring back, to put an end to the Black Duke. I wouldn’t mind seeing Flynn sent to Botany Bay, for what he’s done to you if nothing else, but if he just leaves off calling himself a duke and gives back the ring, I’ll be satisfied.”
Vivian closed her eyes and frowned. For what he’s done to you. Simon was the only man she could ever recall being protective of her, and he was too young to be much protection. It made her heart ache all over again. “Flynn…He’ll be angry to lose that ring. He’s bull-headed, see, and has a temper, and he’ll…” Her frown deepened into a scowl. “He’ll take it out on the boy.”
After a moment, the puzzlement faded from David’s face, to be replaced by something more compassionate. He leaned forward. “Who is the boy, Vivian?”
She looked up fearfully. “He’s my brother,” she whispered. “My younger brother, Simon.”
David’s eyes closed. He nodded once, slowly. “I see now. You’ve been protecting him all this time.”
“And I won’t help the charleys to him now, no matter what!” she declared. “You can hand me over to them if you want, but leave Simon al—”
What a Rogue Desires Page 20