by Lucy Adams
Prologue
“Did you really think you could escape?”
The voice was low and filled with all manner of evil but still, he did not turn around. Giving no sign of fear, or even of awareness that he had heard the voice of the man speaking, he remained calm and steady, walking along the cobbled street with short, quick steps.
“The danger is all around you. Can you see it?”
The voice held a teasing note now, a dark sweetness that sent a shiver down his spine, but still he said nothing. The path was gloomy, with barely a flicker of light making its way down from the lanterns. He kept his steps hurried and his gaze determined. He did not look to the left or to the right but rather straight ahead, knowing that sanctuary would soon be his.
“I know what you did.”
Those words forced his feet to stop. He could barely take another step; such was the trembling in his limbs. Turning his head slowly, he looked directly into the darkness, seeing nothing but weaving shadows and feeling his heart begin to beat furiously as a tremor ran through him yet again.
“You’re not going to be able to escape from this one.”
So this was to be his end, was it? He had thought that the words being thrown at him were words simply from the dark cruelty of London’s vagabonds, had believed that he was being threatened in the hope that he would willingly turn and hand over whatever coin he had on his person, but now he realized that there was much more to this than he had ever anticipated.
“What are you talking about?”
His voice was not as strong as he wanted it to be, his courage failing in the face of the grim horror that now swirled around him.
A harsh cackle lifted the hairs on his neck.
“You know very well what I mean!” the voice said, mocking him all the more. “Do not think you can pretend that you know nothing of what I speak.” The speech had become more refined now, making him frown as he wondered just who was speaking. It was clearly not a thief nor a drunkard seeking to steal whatever coin they could from him. This was someone who knew him, who knew more than he wanted. The secret he had been carrying was no longer a secret, it seemed—but he was not about to give anything away. Attempting to sound scornful, he let out a laugh of his own.
“And you expect me to believe your words without question?” he asked, mockingly. “You know nothing.”
Something small, something hard, hit him directly across the face. He blinked for a moment, stunned, only to feel his stomach sinking to the floor.
“Pick it up.”
Why he obeyed without question, he did not know, but he found himself bending forward, scrabbling at his feet for the one thing he knew would reveal the truth to him. His fingers found it, the cool, smooth metal of the locket burning his skin as he picked it up. His heart twisted furiously, his eyes closing tightly as a wave of nausea washed over him.
“What do you want?”
His question was not a statement of acknowledgement, nor an expression of guilt. He did not say that this fellow, whoever he was, was correct in his judgments, nor did he say that he was wrong. Even though he knew now that the locket he held was proof that this man knew what he spoke of, part of him wanted to pretend that there was no truth in the matter at all. All he asked was what was required of him, what would be needed, knowing that there was no wisdom in admitting aloud to what he had done.
The laugh that followed sent another thrill down his spine but he stood tall and steadfast, half expecting a pistol shot to sound, then feeling the warm sensation of blood spreading out across his chest.
“You are much too willing,” came the voice, with a small shrug. “Much too willing indeed.”
He cleared his throat, setting his jaw and thrusting aside all manner of fear. He would not give in to it now. “I asked you what it is that you want,” he stated, his tone low and his hands now curling tightly into fists. “Answer me; else I shall be on my way.”
Another low chuckle but he did not respond to it. Lifting his chin, he stared angrily into the darkness, wishing that his tormentor would reveal himself.
“You will obey.”
The three words were hissed towards him but he did not move. Choosing not to speak, he waited for more to be said, for more to be explained, even though questions began to pour through his mind.
“You will be told what to do,” the voice said, still echoing towards him from the darkness of the dank London street, “and you will do it without question. Else all will know of your shame. All will know of what you have tried to hide.”
Licking his hips, he took a small step back. “And how long will such an expectation be held over me?” he asked, realizing that in asking such a thing he was already revealing his guilt. “How long must I do as you ask?”
There came no answer. The darkness seemed to grow even thicker as he asked the question again, the sound of his voice disappearing into the gloom. No answer came, no explanation was given. Instead, there was nothing but silence, the quietness sealing his fate.
It was clear now what he had to do. He had to obey. What it was he would have to do or say, he could not even begin to predict, especially when he did not know who the man was that had spoken to him. His mind began to race as he turned on his heel unsteadily, his hand holding the locket tightly. Was it someone he knew? One of his friends, mayhap? A member of her family? Although why she would have told anyone what had occurred, why she would have shared her pain and suffering with another, he did not know, particularly when it would ruin her reputation and her future. He had done his level best to tie up the matter completely, to ensure that none would be aware of what had occurred, and as such, he had believed himself to be entirely successful.
Now, it seemed, he had been mistaken in that belief. He was not correct. He was wrong. Entirely so. There was nothing but suffering waiting for him—although part of him now believed that this suffering was well deserved. He knew very well he had done wrong, that he had not acted with honor but yet he had been glad to have escaped it all.
“I am no longer my own.”
The words he spoke aloud wrapped around his heart, leaving him shuddering with a deepening sense of foreboding as he walked back along the pavement, glancing over his shoulder as though the fellow he had been speaking to was lingering there, finally ready to step out into the light. But there was nothing and no-one, leaving him to turn back to his path without any satisfaction. Questions poured into his mind, leaving him all of a tremble as he tried to make his way forward with as much confidence as he had done before. What was it he would be asked to do? What would happen if he obeyed? And just what difficulties might he find himself in thereafter?
You could tell someone.
Shaking his head to himself, he turned his eyes towards the door that he had thought would lead him to a good deal of merriment and contentment, even though he knew now that he would feel no sense of joy or happiness but rather fear and anxiety over what he might be asked to do at any given moment. Sighing, he pulled his hat from his head and climbed the steps into Whites, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he walked into the warmth of the rooms. At least here, he would not have to face a disembodied voice speaking out towards him from the shadows, would not have to fear the wrath that might thunder down around his shoulders without explanation. Handing his hat and gloves to a waiting footman, he set his shoulders, drew in a long breath and walked a little further into the room. Perhaps all that he feared would come to naught. Perhaps there might be nothing worrisome at all. Perhaps all he had to worry about was the mere threat of what had been said. Perhaps this Season would continue on without anything more coming of it.
Or perhaps everything was just about to come crashing down over him, burying him beneath the weight of his guilt.
All he could do was wait.
Chapter One
“I hear congratulations are to be offered to you!” Robert beamed at his friend, who had gone a gentle shade of pink. “Twins!” he continued, slapping Lord
Monteforte hard on the arm, as the man nodded. “And both healthy lads from what I hear.”
“You hear correctly,” Lord Monteforte replied, with a smile. “My lovely wife has done very well.”
“That, she has,” Robert agreed, a touch more solemnly now, aware of the deaths that could come to both mother and child when there were such births. “You must be very proud of her.”
Lord Monteforte’s smile broadened. “I am indeed,” he answered, quietly. “She is quite wonderful and to have blessed me with such a gift is all the more delightful. I confess that I did not want to come to London and would have stayed with her and my sons at my estate, but….” He trailed off, smiling somewhat ruefully now at Robert, “but my dear lady is also a trifle stubborn and insisted that I did not neglect my duties.”
“And for that, I am sure we are all very grateful,” Robert answered, with a chuckle. “I am sure you will be able to return to them soon. How old are they now?”
Lord Monteforte’s expression grew somewhat wistful. “They are but three months of age,” he said, sighing heavily. “When I return, they will be almost six months old!”
“I am sure that you will be able to return to them sooner than that,” Robert said firmly, seeing the wistfulness and realizing just how much Lord Monteforte wanted to go back to his wife and sons. “I know that The King’s League must always continue our work with diligence but that does not mean that you cannot step aside for a short time, especially when you did so much last Season.”
Lord Monteforte chuckled. “That was a very trying time, I admit,” he answered, as Robert grinned. “But I was blessed with a wife of my own and a love between us that has made almost everything else fade to dross.” Sighing, he arched one eyebrow at Robert. “And you yourself, Lord Franks? Have you no eagerness for such a state?”
“A state of matrimony, you mean?” Robert replied, with a wave of his hand. “No, indeed, I do not!” He chuckled, finding himself recoiling at the idea. “To have to take a wife is something that is a requirement, yes, but one that I, at present, shy away from.” As much as he saw the happiness that swirled about his friend and as much as he was glad for his joy and for the blessing of his two sons, there was no eagerness in his own heart to find the same thing. Not after what had happened earlier that year. “I find that I am quite contented to be on my own at present.”
Wanting now to change the subject onto something entirely different, Robert began to speak of some interesting information that had been uncovered of late. During the little Season, there had been three men found to be working together in an attempt to bring shame upon the monarchy in one way or another. However, their plans had been poorly executed and had very little consideration and thus, they had been very easy to bring to a swift conclusion. There had also been the matter of one of the merchant ships going between England and France, where the captain had been discovered to have more loyalty to one side than the other. That too had also been swiftly dealt with, although Robert was not quite certain that the matter was entirely resolved, for some of the ship’s hands had disappeared before they had been able to speak to them about what had been going on.
“Then you have been busy with the League?” Lord Monteforte asked, tilting his head. “I heard that, only last month, you brought a fellow of great importance to justice.”
Robert shrugged. “I had a few men with me,” he said, humbly. “We discovered that a baronet was receiving a great deal of money in exchange for passing on as much information as he could about those he was acquainted with.” He gave Lord Monteforte a grim smile. “Including the nephew of the King.”
Lord Monteforte lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed,” he said, looking a little surprised. “Was there an intention for this nephew?”
“Ransom, mayhap,” Robert replied, remembering how relieved he and the other gentlemen had been when the baronet had been caught knee-deep in his illegal affairs. “All in all, a very satisfactory summer in that regard.”
“Whereas I have had very little to report,” Lord Monteforte said, somewhat heavily. “The estate has required my attention and I have had very little opportunity to –”
“You are a newly married gentleman!” Robert interrupted, not wanting his friend to feel any sort of guilt. “You must not give even a momentary consideration to such things. You have been doing right in giving your attention to your estate and to Lady Monteforte, especially when she was in such a delicate state with her pregnancy. Now you are returned and I am sure that there will be a good many things for us all to consider and examine.” He lifted his brows. “And let us hope that we are successful, for the sake of the Crown.”
The meeting had not yet begun but already Robert was tired. He had spoken to his friends and felt his heart content in the joy of seeing them all again, but there was still a sorrow there that bit hard at him. A sorrow of what had occurred within his own life and his own heart over the last few months, which he had not spoken of to anyone. That was why he knew he could not consider matrimony, not when he had been so close to something, so near to a state of contentment that he had been certain would have brought him a good deal of happiness.
But no, he thought to himself, meandering towards the window and letting his gaze rest on the shadows that flickered this way and that in the dull light. No, he would not permit himself to be so caught up in his melancholy that he forgot his current responsibilities. He was a part of The King’s League and as such, his duty was to seek out those who sought to harm the Crown, who whispered secrets back to those who wanted nothing more than to conquer England in any way they could. That was all he needed to think on over the next few weeks and months. Mayhap it would take his thoughts away from what had occurred in the past. It might allow his heart to rip free of the confusion and doubt that had plagued him.
And then, his eyes caught something and all thoughts left his head at once. Leaning a little closer, he narrowed his gaze and looked harder out into the gloom, wondering what it was he had seen and why his heart was already slamming out a warning.
“Something wrong, old boy?”
Lord Watt wandered towards him, but Robert did not lift his eyes from the view. “You appear to be –”
In that instant, something caught the light and, on instinct, Robert shoved hard against Lord Watt, pushing him away from the window. Lord Watt stumbled back, crashing into a small table and knocking a good many glasses of whisky and brandy to the floor, some of which shattered. Everyone in the room turned to face him, everyone turned to watch Robert and to stare down at Lord Watt—and just as he was about to explain, the glass behind him shattered.
Everyone moved at once. Gentlemen crouched down, their hands over their heads, whilst some moved towards the door, ready to run out into the London street to find the perpetrator. Robert, pinning himself to the wall beside the now shattered window, stared furiously at Lord Watt, who was still attempting to push himself up from the floor.
“Stay there,” Robert shouted, feeling the cool night air come spiraling towards him through the broken window. “Do not move. There is no reason to believe that the fellow has gone.”
He had only just finished speaking when another pane of glass shattered, the bullet whizzing across the room and embedding itself into the wall opposite Robert. Then there came all manner of shouting, the sound of running feet and the loud exclamations from the gentlemen who had gone in search of the person shooting the gun at the house.
Slowly, Robert peeled himself away from the wall, looking around the room in horror. One of the gentlemen from the League had his hand pressed to his shoulder, blood seeping out from between his fingers. Apparently the first bullet had found a mark.
“Lord Millerton,” Robert muttered, hurrying towards the man and having no concern that another bullet would come given what had just happened outside. “Are you all right?” Seeing the footmen come pouring into the room, Robert threw a glance towards Lord Watt, who was finally on his feet, brushing glass from his clothes.
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“Send for a doctor at once,” Lord Watt demanded, as one of the footmen began to nod. “And have more brandy sent up. This glass will need to be cleared away. Bring a towel and a bowl of water. Hurry now!”
The footmen turned, as Robert pulled out a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it against Lord Millerton’s shoulder. The man let out a grunt but did not say anything more, his teeth gritted hard against the pain.
“Shot, then,” Lord Watt muttered, looking towards his window with a dark expression on his face. “By someone unknown.”
“Let us hope that those who went out after him manage to find the man in question,” Robert answered, darkly, praying that the doctor would not be long. The wound to Lord Millerton’s shoulder was not deep but it would require cleaning and stitching, he was sure of it. “There must be a reason for someone to shoot into the house like that, although what their intention was, I could not say.”
Leaving Lord Millerton in the hands of another gentleman from the League, Robert rose and accepted the bowl of water that Lord Watt had sent for, taking it and a small, white towel to one side of the room. Washing his hands, and seeing the water turn pink from the blood that had stained his hands, Robert closed his eyes for a moment, feeling shock run through him. Gentlemen of the League were required to have strong constitutions, to have all manner of strength and inner determination, but there was still that sense of shock over what had just occurred. Behind him, he could hear the other gentlemen of the League begin to speak about what had happened, hearing them trying to come up with some sort of explanation.
“Someone must know that we are meeting here as The King’s League,” said the first. “We are meant to have a secrecy about us that is not broken by anyone, and yet someone has done so.” There was now an accusatory note in the gentleman’s voice and Robert winced, drying his hands quickly and then turned back to where the other gentlemen were now standing, all crowded together close to the fire. Some were sitting, some were standing, and one or two were pacing up and down. The drapes were now pulled closed on each of the windows, and Robert knew that the staff would soon be attempting to board up the hole in the window where the bullet had shattered the glass. He winced inwardly, knowing just how costly it would be for such a thing to be replaced.