LORD OF MISCHIEF
SASHA COTTMAN
Copyright © 2018 by Sasha Cottman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Sasha Cottman
The Duke of Strathmore Series
To Dean and Laura
Chapter One
LONDON 1817
Eve Saunders wrapped her black woolen cloak about her shoulders and softly closed her bedroom door.
“Are you ready?” she whispered into the darkness.
Her brother Francis stepped out from behind a nearby pillar, a finger held to his lips. “Ssh, Papa is still awake and working in his study. If he hears us there will be the devil to pay.” He pointed toward the main staircase, motioning for Eve to follow.
She lifted her skirts and hurried after him.
When she reached the bottom of the wide marble staircase, Francis pulled her into an alcove.
“I have checked the rest of the house and no one else is about the floors. Papa suddenly decided he needed to work on some papers for a shipment of tobacco which is arriving from Brazil on the morning tide,” he said.
Eve grinned. Her father could stay up until dawn for all she cared, just as long as he didn’t catch her and Francis sneaking out the house.
They had been stealing into the night for as long as she could remember. Occasionally they could entice their sister Caroline to tag along, but she was no night owl, preferring the joy of going to bed early and sleeping late. The nights when it was just Francis and Eve were always the best.
London late at night was a different place. The soul of the city stirred from its daytime order and dared all who ventured out into the dimly lit streets to become someone else. Being out among the crowds at night stirred the heat in Eve’s blood.
“Come on, we don’t want to be late,” urged Francis.
They headed into the garden of their family home and slipped out into the rear laneway through a small gap in the fence, which was hidden behind a bush. Every time the head gardener made noises about repairing the hole, a coin or two found its way into his hand and he managed to find some other more pressing task to take up his time.
Five minutes later Eve and Francis were running down Dover Street, laughing. The hood of Eve’s cloak fluttered behind her in the cold night air.
“Papa would skin us alive if he ever caught us!” she laughed.
They crossed over to Hyde Park Corner and found themselves in the middle of a crowd, which was growing by the minute. The crush of bodies all jostling for the best vantage point was thrilling.
“I take it the race is still on,” said Eve.
Rumors of a secret bareback horse race along Oxford Street and down to Hyde Park Corner had been circulating throughout their various groups of friends for almost a week. Excitement had now built to fever pitch.
Eve couldn’t wait to see who was reckless enough to ride in a horserace through the middle of London in the dead of night. The threat of arrest would deter all but the very wild at the pursuit, and if there was one thing that set Eve’s pulse racing, it was wild men.
She smiled to herself. There were not enough wild men in London society; she craved a man who could sate her wickedness.
“This will be the best vantage point to see them as they come through from Park Lane,” said Francis.
Eve pulled the collar of her cloak up around her ears. It was only September, but already the nights were chilly. There had barely been a summer to speak of, and now autumn was showing all the signs of a long horrid winter to follow.
She stretched up on her toes, straining to get a better look as the crowd began to cluster tightly around the corner of Hyde Park. She managed to find a gap through which to see Park Lane. Along either side of the street, people held flaming torches to guide the riders.
A ripple of cheers and applause ran through the crowd as the riders finally came into view at the top of Park Lane.
“Here they come!” she cried.
As the horses neared the end of Oxford Street, a sickening feeling of panic began to rise in Freddie Rosemount’s mind. He was going to have to do something quickly if he was going to win.
From the moment he’d leapt onto the back of his horse he’d regretted his decision to bareback horse race through the wet, slippery streets of London.
He had been all of ten years old when he last sat on the back of a horse without a saddle. It had been a quiet ride around the mounting yard outside the stables at his family home in Peterborough—a race in the dark against a skillful opponent was something else entirely.
“Blast!” he muttered as his opponent’s horse drew ahead. If he didn’t do something now, the race would surely slip from his grasp.
He settled down lower over the reins and dug his heels into the side of his mount. He was not done by a long shot. He was not going to lose the first of the Bachelor Board challenges.
“Ha! Come on!” he urged his horse.
His horse lengthened its stride. Freddie gripped on tightly. It would be a disaster if he was to fall.
Slowly but surely, the gap between them and the lead horse closed. Freddie dug his heels in one last time and his horse kicked into another burst of speed.
At the end of Oxford Street, they drew level. Freddie chanced a look at his opponent and his heart leapt.
Lord Godwin Mewburton was wielding his whip like a madman. From his mouth came a never-ending stream of abuse, all directed at his horse.
Unsurprisingly, the abuse did not have the desired effect. Freddie’s mount edged forward into the lead.
By the time they reached the turn into the top of Tyburn Lane, Freddie’s horse was half a body length in front. Lord Godwin had gone too hard too early and was now paying the price for his uncalculated move.
Tyburn Lane was dark with only houses on one side and Hyde Park on the other. The gaslights on the side of the street added little to light the way. Freddie squinted in the dark and prayed his horse had better eyesight than he did.
He lifted his head and caught sight of a series of lit torches near Hyde Park Corner. The finish line was in sight. Throngs of people crowded the finish line. They cheered and waved, urging the riders on.
Freddie grinned as his horse entered the start of Park Lane. He was in the lead. The cheers were for him. He was going to win.
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The second rider crossed the finish line less than a minute after the winner, but Eve barely noticed. Her attention was already captured and held fast by the dark-haired victor who leapt off the back of his stead as soon as they crossed the finish line and was now accepting the congratulations of dozens of well-wishers who were singing his name. Freddie! Freddie!
The grin on his face had her smiling.
Francis took hold of Eve’s arm. “I thought I had lost you in the crowd. Did you see the finish?”
Eve nodded, but her gaze remained firmly fixed on the winner. The very sight of him took her breath away. He had dark, wind-ruffled hair, which was the perfect level of sexy wildness. He was tall and perfectly built. Her only disappointment was that in the dark she could not make out the color of his eyes.
“Who is he?” she asked, enthralled.
Francis huffed in disgust. “Freddie Rosemount. Second son of Viscount Rosemount, he was at Eton the same time as me. Just come down from a first-class degree at Oxford and looks like he is planning to tear up the town. And from your lovesick look, break a few hearts in the process,” replied Francis.
“Oh, please. I am just excited to see a dashing young man on horseback. You cannot blame a girl for dreaming of knights and their mighty chargers.” She brushed her brother’s words away as yet another of his good-natured teases, but at the same time, she knew Freddie Rosemount had already captured her imagination. She mentally checked her ‘must have’ list for a potential husband.
Viscount Rosemount was one of the richest men in the country so Freddie had the issue of wealth covered. He had a university degree, so he was no dunce. He was devilishly handsome and had an obvious wild streak.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. He met all the criteria on her list.
Now she had to discover whether a passionate heart beat beneath that broad chest. She was determined to marry before the year was out, but a dull, safe husband was the last thing she desired.
With her heated blood pumping strongly through her veins, she no longer felt the bitter chill of the night air.
Eve placed a hand over her heart and made a silent vow. She would do whatever it took to meet this handsome devil. If he was half as interesting as the way he rode, his name would be added to her list of potential husbands. The list in its current state was both short and disappointing.
Eve tightly fisted her hand. She was not going to see out the year as an old maid. She was determined to find love. She would do everything within her power to beat her sister Caroline to the altar. The next family wedding was going to be hers.
Hello, Freddie. You might just be the man I am looking for.
Chapter Two
Freddie Rosemount crawled out of his bed as late as he could the following morning. The post-race celebrations had gone well into the early hours. After his third glass of champagne he had switched to brandy and stopped counting his drinks.
He sat on the edge of his bed and stared down at his bare feet, softly chuckling at the notion of how those feet were walking a different path to the one he thought they would. The dull ache in his head was the victor’s price for glory.
He dressed and headed into the breakfast room of his family’s London townhouse in Grosvenor Square. The single setting for breakfast was placed at the head of the long, highly polished oak table. As he took his seat, he smiled. With everyone else in his family still in residence at Rosemount Abbey, he had the run of the London house all to himself for the first time in his life.
While waiting for the servants to bring him breakfast, he surveyed his surroundings. He’d always sat further down the table. His father’s seat offered a different perspective of the room. Paintings of long-dead family members, which were normally out of sight in his usual place, were now in full view.
He gave the portrait of his great-great-grandfather a respectable nod. The lucrative horse breeding program at Rosemount Abbey had been established by his ancestor in the early part of the eighteenth century, and it now afforded the family a position high in the rarefied air of the haute ton.
Being a second son, Freddie would never hold the seat at the head of the table as his own. It was nice to enjoy the pleasant fantasy of being lord of the house even if only for a short time.
He couldn’t begrudge Thomas his role as future Viscount Rosemount. Thomas’s life was set out for him. He was already in possession of two sons of his own. With an estate to run, tenants to manage, and a huge Elizabethan period house to maintain, Thomas would never have the same opportunities as Freddie in deciding his future. Of one thing Freddie was certain: his brother would never have been found racing at breakneck speed around the streets of London in the middle of the night.
Yet it burnt deep within to know that up to this point in his life he had always been second. The second son to attend Oxford. The second son to finish with a first-class degree. Nothing he had achieved so far had been uniquely his own. He was destined to be a footnote in his family’s long and proud history.
A footman brought him a small tray with two boiled eggs on it, which he wasted no time in finishing. When the second cup of coffee did not shift the cobwebs from his brain, he promised himself he would make it early to bed that night.
Grabbing his coat, he walked out the front door, crossed Grosvenor Square, and headed toward St James Street en route to the Houses of Parliament. A cadetship at the House of Commons had unexpectedly come his way via one of his old university professors. The cadetship was only for a few months and it was a rare chance to see the inner workings of the English political system. It was the perfect role for him while he was still finding his feet within London society.
The morning walk gave him time to enjoy the movement and life of London during the early part of the day. With a scarf wrapped around his neck and his hands kept warm inside a pair of dark brown leather gloves, he was well rugged up against the biting wind.
Crossing through St James’s Park he looked to his right and gave a respectful nod to Buckingham Palace off in the near distance. The flags were flying. The royal family were in residence.
“Your Majesty,” he whispered.
Upon reaching the offices of the parliamentary cadets in Barton Street, he signed the day book and went in search of his fellow cadets. Barton Street to the Palace of Westminster was a five-minute stroll through narrow streets behind Westminster Abbey. He walked in through a side door.
“Caesar has arrived! All of Briton is now mine for the taking,” he announced as he stepped into the small meeting room, which had been assigned to the cadets during their short tenure.
“You, sir, are no conqueror. You are a first-class lunatic!” replied Lord Godwin Mewburton. He slapped Freddie hard on the back. “I nearly had you as we reached Strathmore House, but your horse damn well kicked away.”
Freddie laughed and gave a wink. Godwin could tell himself all the stories he liked, but they both knew once Freddie’s horse had caught the lead, he was never going to yield it.
“I may be a lunatic, but I won the first of the challenges, which means I have one hundred points toward my seat on the Bachelor Board. I tell you, at this rate, I shall be a fully-fledged member before the week is out,” replied Freddie.
Seated in a nearby, deeply padded leather chair, the Honorable Trenton Embry snorted. “Yes well, just be grateful my sister and her husband insisted I attend their dinner party last night, otherwise I would have shown the pair of you how we in the west country ride.”
Freddie and Godwin exchanged a mutual raising of the eyebrows. In the short time they had known the second son of Viscount Embry they had discovered he was a man prone to little speech, and even less action.
“So, what do you think we will be up to today?” asked Godwin.
Freddie threw himself down onto a nearby couch and placed his boots on a conveniently placed coffee table. If today was anything like any other day at the House of Commons it would be boring meetings, copious amounts of alcohol, and getting up to all m
anner of dangerous hijinks. And not necessarily in that order.
Freddie promised himself to follow up on a long-standing offer of a role at the British Library once his cadetship was ended. The Harleian Library collection had writings from Ptolemy he was itching to get his hands on.
“Our fearless leader will soon tell us, once he has scraped himself up from whichever gutter he frequented last night,” replied Freddie.
They all chuckled.
The man responsible for leading the new cadets at the English parliament, Osmont Firebrace, was a man who led a life strictly by the book. In his case, a small black leather-bound book.
While Osmont was happy to encourage his protégés to make a mess of themselves, he was not one to partake in a single drop of alcohol. Even his weak cups of tea were often left to go cold.
On cue, Osmont Firebrace entered the room.
He was dressed in a black jacket, black trousers, and black hessian boots. His shirt was pure white linen. It was the same outfit he wore every day. Under his arm was tucked the black notebook.
“Gentlemen. I trust you had a successful evening,” he said.
His gaze was locked firmly on Freddie as he spoke. When Godwin attempted to mention his own efforts in the race, Osmont put up his hand.
“Second means nothing, Lord Godwin. You either win or you may as well have stayed home and had an early night. The Bachelor Board does not reward also rans.”
Lord of Mischief Page 1