The Earl Next Door: The Bachelor Lords of London

by Charis Michaels

  “And so I have thought, all right. Perhaps I will honor this request because you were always so loyal and useful to me.” He held up a fat, gold-ringed finger. “But, before you go. I will need this one, final favor. Get me the money from this desperate man.”

  Trevor closed his eyes, breathing deeply and dropped his head. He felt his throat closing and heard ringing in his ears. He saw his future, and Piety’s future, and whatever hope he had for freedom and a happy bloody life floating away on the Berkshire breeze.

  “You understand?” Straka asked.

  “No.” Trevor sighed, shuffling the papers he’d been handed.

  “If you want to be released, you must do this, or my gratitude for your previous service will rapidly fade away.”

  “But Janos,” Trevor said, frustration rising.

  “But nothing.” Straka let out a hiss, low and final. “Make this happen or . . . Well, I don’t have to elaborate on the result, if you deny me.”

  Trevor drew breath to challenge him, but Straka cut him off.

  “Ah, ah, ah! And don’t go telling me you are unmoved by my threats. Maybe you are, maybe you are not. But I know one person who will be, and that is your new lady wife. No, forgive me, your fictional lady wife.” He chuckled. He raised his knife, balancing the handle in his palm. “If you cared enough to marry her, then you will care enough to do this thing for me. To ensure her safekeeping.”

  Trevor stared, the anger pulsing with every heartbeat. He fought the urge to grab the knife and drive it home.

  Straka laughed and pointed in the distance, at the gentle hillside beyond the cemetery wall. A rabbit hopped into to view, stopping in a puff of clover to feed. Straka smiled, delight clear on his ruddy face.

  “Ah, look a moving target. My preference.” He gripped his knife, leaned back, and hurled the blade at the rabbit in the grass, stabbing it in the neck, and killing it dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The moment Trevor was out of sight of the Greeks, he ran flat out, mounting his horse in one lunge, digging his heels into the stallion’s flanks, and bolting down the hillside. He rode hard through the village and down the tree-lined drive to Garnettgate, not allowing the animal to rest until he clattered into the stable, flinging dust and rock.

  Inside the house, he took the staircase three at a time, down the landing, and around the corner to the door of Piety’s chamber.

  Joseph waited dutifully outside, alert but sitting on the floor. The boy scrambled to his feet when he saw him.

  “Wait here,” Trevor said, knocking once before throwing open the door.

  Piety was inside, thank God. Trevor allowed himself to draw his first conscious breath.

  Logic had told him that she would, of course, be safely here, especially if Joseph was at his post, but he was flooded with relief. He’d needed to see her with his own eyes.

  Miss Breedlowe attended her. They were bent over a pile of trunks, discussing a heap of garments on the bed. Her head popped up at the sound of the door, and she studied his face.

  It took every ounce of self-control not to yank her against him and bury his face in her hair, to assure himself that she was safe, that she had not grown to resent him already.

  Instead, he nodded curtly and said, “I’m sorry, Piety, but we must leave within the hour.”

  Her face fell. “Well, that’s impossible. I won’t even be dressed in an hour. Let alone packed.”

  “You must be, and you will be,” he said. “I have new, pressing business in London that prevents me from lingering in Berkshire, even until afternoon. It’s eleven o’clock. I give you to twelve thirty. Pack whatever you can in that time, and then send for the rest.”

  Piety raised her chin. “If you must go, then go. Miss Breedlowe and I will follow later today. Or tomorrow.”

  Trevor sucked in breath. Absolutely, that would not happen. “No. We go together and we go by twelve thirty. You are a married woman now, Piety—married to me—and you must do as I say.

  “I will be too busy,” he continued, looking away from her stunned expression, “to show my gratitude to the marchioness. May I count on you to make our farewells and thank her on my behalf?”

  Piety stared at him a long moment, searching his face, clutching a stack of linens to her chest.

  Do it, he willed in his head. Do everything I say, exactly as I say it, so that I may keep you safe. Do not argue. For once. Acquiesce.

  He held his breath.

  “Fine,” she said at last, glancing regretfully at Miss Breedlowe. She waved him away. “It will be as you wish. My lord. Leave us, so I can meet your deadline.” She turned away.

  Trevor nodded and fought a second urge to go to her.

  In the hall, he motioned for the Joseph to follow him into the shadows.

  “Did you find him?” Joseph asked.

  Trevor nodded. “He’s asked me the bloody impossible.”

  “What does he want? Do we have to return to Athens?”

  “No. He’s cooked up a scheme that has me blackmailing a rich viscount.”

  “Blackmail.” Joseph chewed his lip thoughtfully. “But what will we do?”

  Trevor smiled, in spite of himself. Joseph was loyal to the end. “At the moment, I’ve got no plan. There’s no appointed time to return to Straka with the money. He’s said he will contact me. This means we’re being followed. He’s watching us—all of us. So, above all, starting now, Lady Piety may never be left unprotected. I’ll not have Straka or his spies anywhere near her. We cannot leave her, even for a moment, do you understand?

  “Added to that,” he said in a rush, “I must be careful to not appear to be too involved with her or her daily routine. Not affectionate, especially. I’ve told him that I have no access to her money, because ours is a marriage of convenience. I’ve told him that we intend to live apart and eventually separate. Because of this, you and I will return to the empty house in Henrietta Place, and Piety will return to her renovations next door.”

  “But you will tell her why you must live apart. You’ll tell her you cannot be seen too attached because of Straka?”

  Trevor shook his head. “I will not. If she knew, I could not prevent her from paying Straka herself, with her own fortune.” He looked at her closed door. “Because she would do it. God love her, she would do it in a second.”

  Joseph made a sound of frustration. “But maybe she should pay him, Trevor. I think she would rather part with the money than to go along, believing that you wish to live apart.”

  “We were always meant to live apart, Joseph. We are merely carrying out our plan. It was all decided before I agreed to marry her. In name only. This was the pact. She knew it would be this way.”

  Joseph shook his head, “But at the wedding? And then last night? I thought . . . ”

  Trevor growled in frustration. “There’s no time to explore the wedding or last night or what anyone thought, don’t you see? Our very lives are in danger. I must get rid of Straka before anything else can be addressed. I must rely on you to help keep Piety safe. To keep my dealings with Straka unknown to her and anyone else.”

  “Yes, yes, my lord—Trevor. Of course, you can rely on me.”

  Trevor took a deep breath and straightened, looking around. He nodded. “Very good. I must ready the horses, see to the carriage. You remain outside this door until she emerges, and then do not leave her side.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He studied Trevor with a frustrated mix of disappointment and devotion.

  Trevor walked him back to his position by the doorway and said, “I could not do this without you, Joseph.”

  “And I would never do it if you weren’t forc—er, asking me. Not this way.”

  To that, there was no answer. Trevor looked once more at the door and strode away.

  By Trevor’s edict, they were on the road to London by half-past noon. The journey took two days, even at Trevor’s punishing pace.

  For the duration, Jocelyn sat beside Piety in the ca
rriage, while he rode on horseback outside. It was a ridiculous arrangement, as ridiculous as it had been to leave Berkshire in a blind rush, especially in the spitting rain. But Piety dare not quibble.

  How much wiser and less hurtful to do it his way, to ride in the rain rather than be tempted by each other. But, how could she pretend?

  In fact, she thought again, how can he?

  His resolve to push her away served only to magnify her broken heart. Not to mention, he was distracted and impatient and cagey.

  He is only your husband for a time.

  Jocelyn tried to cheer her, speculating about the changes to her house. Mr. Burr’s last letter had assured her it was nearly complete, and she could reside comfortably in any room instead of making camp. Piety clung to this, but when they arrived, it was too dark to see beyond the open front door. Fumbling around in the dark was the last, proverbial straw, and Piety summoned Joseph to fetch Mr. Burr. She would have a tour, she told Jocelyn, even in the middle of the night. Trevor opposed this, naturally; he only spoke when he could be contrary, but Piety asked him what else they intended to do, alone together, in an empty house after dark.

  Mr. Burr arrived presently with workmen and lanterns and candles and led them through every room. The restoration was stunning, even unfinished and lovelier than her wildest dreams. Piety clapped her hands together and raved at each new appointment, but in her heart, she merely followed along. All she saw, room after room, was herself alone without Trevor, closed in by four walls.

  Trevor trailed behind them, saying little or nothing at all. Mr. Burr took care to point out the earl’s many contributions, but he barely had the courtesy to nod.

  “You know, we haven’t seen the solarium,” Piety told Trevor, thirty minutes in. “Lady Frinfrock will return within the week, and seeing it will be her first request.”

  “Consider the hour, Piety, please.” Trevor checked his timepiece. “Why not allow Spencer to continue the tour in the proper light of day? When you detain him late into the night, you set back his duties for morning.”

  “Don’t bother on our account, my lord,” Spencer said jovially. “The solarium is not so far along, but they have begun to reset the tile in the mosaic. Quite lovely, that mosaic.”

  “I should love to see the mosaic, Mr. Burr,” Piety said pointedly. She turned away.

  Trevor grabbed her by the arm. “Piety?”

  She stared at his hand on her arm and then back at him.

  “I have to go out,” he said.

  “Out?” This was a surprise, indeed. As far as she knew, Trevor had never caroused the streets of London at night.

  “It’s this business I have,” he said. “It cannot wait, even until morning. We left Berkshire at breakneck speed for a reason.”

  “I suppose I should count myself lucky that you spared precious minutes to take this tour.”

  “I would not leave you until I was satisfied with the security of the house,” he said tiredly.

  She considered this, studying him, willing him to say more. After a moment, she said, “Is something the matter, Trevor? What’s happened? What business?”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing with which to concern yourself. A loose end with my uncle’s estate. Joseph will remain here to keep watch. Do not dissuade him or send him away, Piety. Please.”

  She studied him a moment longer. All day, she’d wondered about the weariness in his eyes. A different weariness than ever she had seen before. Was it desperation? Regret? She felt the first pangs of concern. It was not like him to be vague. Even when she did not like his words, he had always been explicitly honest. Now, he hedged, she was sure of it. The look in his eye, the evasiveness? This was something else. Was he afraid?

  “When will you return?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know—late.”

  “Will you return to me here, or . . . ”

  “You will be asleep when I come in, but I won’t disturb you when I . . . ” He looked away and then back. “I will return to my uncle’s house.”

  Piety blinked. And there it was. Hot tears stung her eyes.

  Trevor opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.

  “Very well,” she said, nodding her head tersely and raising her chin. She would not try to persuade him.

  “Piety, I . . . ”

  She waited half of a second more, willing him to confide in her. He hesitated, and she turned away. She felt him watch her as she disappeared around the corner and into the solarium beyond.

  Trevor bolted from Henrietta Place on horseback. The tour had been interminable, but he couldn’t leave Piety in an unfinished structure with bricks propped against doors instead of locks. It was difficult enough to leave her at all. She was heartbroken and confused, and it pained him, but his sole focus must become locating Viscount Rainsleigh, the bloody target of Straka’s bloody blackmail plot, whomever he was.

  The preliminaries for blackmail were simple, and God forgive him, Trevor knew them well. Devote several weeks to learning the target and setting up the meet; then designate a smaller window of time to close in and demand the money. Trevor had every intention of working around the crime instead of committing it, but a double-cross would take twice the work in half the time. Discovering Rainsleigh’s location and routine, his known associates and his vices should have already begun.

  The two gentleman’s clubs in St. James were an obvious first stop. Trevor had never set foot inside Brooks’s or White’s, but his uncle had been a legacy member of both, and the dues were paid through year’s end, thank God. These clubs teemed with well-heeled gentleman, all of whom should be drinking swiftly and talking freely by this hour of night. Trevor flipped a coin and started at White’s.

  “You mean Viscount Rainsleigh?” repeated an old baronet, an hour after he arrived. He’d chosen the old man for his flashy cuff links and big mouth. Trevor had allowed him to win at cards twice.

  “That’s right,” Trevor said casually. “Happen to know the fellow?”

  “The father or the son?”

  “Father is dead, or so I’m told.”

  “Quite so,” said the baronet, “drowned in a stream. He was a wastrel and a letch. Not fit for decent company. But the son’s a different story.” He stabbed a cheroot in his mouth. “Built a bloody shipyard in Blackwall. Made enough to dig the estate in Wiltshire out of hock.”

  “Quite unseemly for a gentleman to work,” Trevor suggested, fishing.

  “No life of leisure for that one. Got his nose in his ledger all the bloody time.”

  “Is he ever seen here—or across the street?”

  The baronet laughed. “God no, I’ve never once seen him out. He does not socialize, as far as I know. Keeps himself away from spirits, gambling, turtledoves—no fun at all, really. He makes a point to be as righteous as his father was corrupt. ‘Lord Immaculate,’ they call him.”

  “Of course they do.” Trevor sighed, and raised his glass. In his head, he cursed Janos Straka to hell and back.

  His next stop was the river—the docks along Blackwall, where Rainsleigh was building his shipping empire. Trevor ambled from pub to pub, leaning against bars; lurking near boisterous, crowded tables; playing darts. Finally, a stumbling group of steelworkers fell into an argument over a serving wench, and Trevor stepped in. He bought a round of drinks for the men and tipped the girl enough to take the rest of the night off.

  “Aye, we know Lord Rainsleigh,” said a burly steelworker when Trevor settled in to share their ale. “Knew him before he was a fancy cock o’ the walk, too. Worked right alongside him on the docks for years without even knowing he was waiting to become a lord. He lived in London then.”

  Trevor choked. “Does he not still reside in town?” It had not occurred to him that he might have to leave London to find this man.

  The big man shrugged, but another said, “He came into a mansion in Mayfair when his father went on. But he sold it, straight away, and moved to the country. Wiltshire, ma
ybe?”

  A third man spoke up, “He was a hard worker, that one. Always up for a job. Course he owns half the river now.”

  The first man continued, “Aye. I’d look for work in his shop if he’d have me.”

  “Hmm,” Trevor said thoughtfully, “has all the help he needs, does he?”

  The men around the table laughed, and his informant’s face turned pink. The big man narrowed his eyes as if deciding whether to take offense, but then he shrugged and threw back his drink. “Can’t meet his bloody standards, guv’nor,” he admitted, slamming his tankard down. “The viscount only takes the most skilled trades. Me? I work hard, but I’ve had no proper training.”

  “Is that right?” Trevor signaled for another round of drinks. “Sounds like a hard man.”

  “He’s all right,” finished the first man. “Builds a beauty of a ship. Treats his men fair. Doesn’t suffer laziness or fools.”

  “That cuts us out!” said another man, and the table burst into more laughter. Trevor smiled weakly, barely able to fake it, and paid the tab.

  By the time Trevor rode for home, he had a frustratingly clear picture of “Lord Immaculate.” Hard working, fair, principled. The most difficult possible blackmail mark. He might as well have been a priest. He reached Henrietta Place bone tired and plagued with worry, but he would not rest until he checked on Piety. He entered his own house for the benefit of Straka’s spies and then crept through Piety’s rear garden.

  “No trouble, then?” he asked Joseph when he found him. “Were you able to see a watch in the street?”

  “No, but I can’t guard her and prowl around.” The boy looked around the kitchen and yawned. “You’re back now; I’ll make a loop.”

  Trevor shook his head. “No, get some sleep. I did a thorough round just now. Nothing’s amiss. It’s almost morning. The doors are locked. We will begin again tomorrow.”

  “Did you find the viscount?”

  Trevor took a deep, weary breath and let it out, rehashing the facts he discovered over the course of the night.