Rogue for Hire

by Sasha Cottman

  The wicked grin he gave in response to her words had Alice swallowing deeply. She was drawn to this dangerous man—wanted to know so much more about him. He was the most interesting man in the room.

  He set his champagne glass on the floor and she followed suit.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she ventured. Harry was the son of one of the richest men in all of England; he shouldn’t have to work. Everyone knew the Duke of Redditch got about town in a gilded coach.

  “Hmm. And the answer is I need the money.”

  How had he known what she was going to ask? Am I that easy to read?

  “I did some things which did not sit well with my father. I am a fourth son. We are usually relegated to the church, or the army, or some far-flung foreign post. I refused to do any of that, and he didn’t take too kindly to my impertinence,” he explained.

  “So, he cut you off?” Alice had heard of such things, but until now had never actually met a disinherited son. She had thought they were simply rumors put about by parents to make their offspring behave. But in Harry she was getting her first real glimpse of what refusing to toe the line could mean to the son of a noble house.

  “Yes. Not a penny. Threw me out of the house almost a year ago and told me not to come back. Two days out from Christmas Eve, if you don’t mind. Fortunately, I have friends, and we’d already been working on a plan to make money. We each use our particular skills to earn a living. In my case, that is scandals. I used to start them; now I manage them.”

  Hearing his words, Alice’s heart grew light. Harry Steele might well be the most bizarre and uncommon man she had ever met, but there was something about him that gave her the courage to continue. Strengthened her resolve to save Patience from making a grave error. “Harry, if you can rid Patience of her blind devotion to Cuthbert Saint, I will double your fee,” she said. She held out her hand, intending it to be for them to seal the deal.

  Harry took one look at it, grabbed a hold, and pulled Alice to him. Before she could object, he had placed a soft, tender kiss on her lips.

  Harry’s arm went around her waist and he held her captive in his embrace. As his tongue slipped into her mouth, Alice thought to slap his arm. His behavior was outrageous, beyond the pale. She was his client. They were in Viscount Ashton’s home. The whole thing was simply impossible.

  And yet, she was powerless to stop him.

  All her sense of control and decorum went straight out the window as Harry deepened the kiss. What he was doing with his soft, warm lips set her heart racing at a furious pace. If she fainted away in a deep swoon it wouldn’t surprise her in the least.

  And I wouldn’t care, just as long as it was in his arms.

  Alice could have sworn her heart let out a pained whimper when Harry finally released her from the kiss and loosened his hold. She held a hand to her pounding chest, sucking in deep breaths. What on earth had just happened?

  When their gazes met once more, a pair of cool green eyes stared back at her. There was a mischievous light in them—one Alice didn’t trust.

  As a sly, knowing grin crept across Harry’s face. The happy bubbles which had danced delightfully in Alice’s stomach only a moment ago burst. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  In their place sat a burning, simmering anger.

  “See, I knew you were the sort of girl who a man could kiss in public and she wouldn’t stop him.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Alice, darling, I understand you better than you think. You can try and deny it all you like, but deep inside you know given half a chance, you would hand your soul over to a man like Cuthbert Saint. Or even a man like me.”

  Alice’s hand landed at high speed on Harry’s face. The bright mark which immediately colored his left cheek was deeply satisfying.

  Bloody, self-assured, arrogant . . . urgh!

  “I take back my words of praise. You, Lord Harry Steele, are nothing better than a scoundrel.”

  He lifted a hand to his reddened skin, then slowly shook his head. “Not a scoundrel—just a rogue.” His eyes glinted with danger. “And the only man with the skills and daring to save your sister.”

  CHAPTER 6

  HARRY MADE his way over to the offices of the RR Coaching Company in Gracechurch Street the following morning. The small coaching business which operated as the cover for the group’s illicit operations was situated next door to the Spread Eagle Coaching Company.

  But while their neighbors ran a highly respectable establishment, managing coach routes all over England, the small office door marked RR fronted a more secretive and less reputable place. It was the perfect setting for the Rogues of the Road to conduct their dubious business transactions.

  The old coach which had been abandoned in the rear yard was now repaired and being used to transport smuggled goods up from Portsmouth. If things all went well and they had enough money, Harry and Monsale intended to launch a legitimate passenger service in the near future.

  However, on this overcast morning, Harry’s thoughts were not of coach timetables but rather Cuthbert Saint. Who was he, and where had he come from? Only once he had a firm understanding of the man would Harry be able to put together a plan to unmask Patience North’s paramour and bring the blighter down.

  After tethering his horse in the rear mews, Harry scraped the thick Thames River mud from his boots. He had ridden most of the way over on the main roads, but walked the last half mile along the riverbank, turning north just near London Bridge. As per standard procedure, he checked over his shoulder as he stepped away from the river and headed toward Gracechurch Street. Anyone foolish enough to be following him would be easily spotted.

  Making his way over to the wooden steps which led to the top floor of the sixteenth-century stone building, he touched his fingers to his cheek. Alice North had a fearsome temper on her. He was sure he could still feel the sting from when her palm had landed on his face.

  “Ah yes, you had to get a blow in for propriety’s sake, Alice, but we both know you enjoyed it,” he muttered.

  She had kissed him back, even relaxed into the embrace. Her response to his ungentlemanly behavior had been exactly what he had hoped for; she had a passionate heart. She was stubborn as a mule, but that was part of her charm. Easy wins were not worth having.

  And yet you still chased after her when she left the alcove and headed back into the main ballroom. You couldn’t let her go without getting a final word in.

  He paused as his foot settled on the bottom step. That kiss had simply been to confirm his suspicions about Alice, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Lord knew he had kissed plenty of women in the past. Harry was the master of loving and leaving, and not always caring about breaking the occasional heart.

  As he climbed the stairs, a cold sense of dread began to fill his mind. Alice had affected him in a way he couldn’t decipher. She was different, and it scared him more than just a little.

  While her assessment of him being a scoundrel was close to the mark, he wasn’t completely devoid of emotions. He had just perfected the art of keeping them well under control.

  Or I thought I had.

  At the height of their kiss, he had sensed his power slipping, shifting. The moment she had offered up her tongue and touched his, it was Alice who had taken command. And he had let her.

  What is wrong with me? I need to go home and have a tonic as soon as I am finished here. I must be coming down with something.

  He pushed the thought of her deep hazel eyes to the back of his mind. He didn’t need a hand mirror to know that a worried look sat on his face, and he most certainly didn’t need his friends asking what was troubling him.

  If I told them it was a woman, they would laugh themselves sick.

  Reaching the top of the steps, he stopped and considered the heavy oak door. On the other side of it was the one place in all of London he felt welcome and safe. He took a deep calming breath and reached for the door handle.

  “Get a hold of yourself,
man. You are a rogue. Act like one.”

  Harry pulled hard on the door, and with a tight smile on his lips, made his way inside.

  The moment he set foot in the room, he was greeted with the familiar smell of cigars and burning wood. He was home.

  Two other members of the RR Coaching Company were seated around the long walnut dining table. Almost every inch of its surface was covered in knife marks, but at least it was now kept clean. Stephen was lounging on a nearby Chesterfield sofa.

  “Morning all,” Harry said.

  Stephen gave him a chin tip. Monsale and George each lifted a finger. The only member of the Rogues of the Road absent this morning was Gus. He and the coach were currently somewhere between London and Portsmouth, bringing in another illegal shipment from France.

  Monsale stepped away from the table and came to greet his fellow rogue. They shook hands, after which Harry handed over a small bag of coins. “My contribution to the rent. I should have more money by the end of the week.”

  Monsale tucked the bag into his coat pocket. “How did the ball go last night? Did you make much headway with the North sisters?”

  Harry shrugged. It was rare for him to reveal much of his current projects, but for the notional leader of the band of miscreants, he would make an exception. He had asked Monsale to help with some of the preliminary investigations.

  “I got a good look at Cuthbert Saint; he strikes me as a rotten little shit who needs some violence brought upon his person. And of course, Patience North is utterly besotted with him,” he replied.

  Monsale turned up his nose. “What about the other sister? The one who engaged your services? Could you make use of her?”

  Now there is a double entendre just waiting to be spoken.

  Harry had thoroughly kissed Alice last night, but he was still a gentleman. He may well be thinking of what he would like to use her for, but he wouldn’t dare give it voice. “She has a sensible head on her shoulders and is determined to separate the two young lovers. It turns out the North parents are some free-spirited new money romantics who think nothing of leaving their unwed daughters in England while they trip off to Europe for a grand tour.”

  George tutted his disgust. His father was a member of the judiciary, and as a result, George was probably the most traditional thinker of the group. If anyone wanted to know how society would view their misdeeds if they ever came to light, they could rely upon him. What his magistrate father would say if he were ever to discover his son’s career as a professional thief was, of course, another matter.

  “What is your plan?” asked George.

  Harry had been mulling a few details in his mind during the journey over from Grosvenor Street. Picking holes in Cuthbert’s history seemed the obvious one.

  “I’m going to press Miss Alice into service, and through her, get close to our Mister Saint. A few difficult questions dropped in at the pertinent time should give him something to worry about. From the way the younger North sister was staring all doe-eyed at him last night, I think the sooner I move the better.”

  Stephen rose from the sofa and gave a yawn. “Which means, you will be thinking to pay a visit to Cuthbert Saint’s current place of residence. I have managed to locate him at the Grand Hotel in Covent Garden.”

  Harry let out a low whistle. The Grand Hotel was one of London’s premier establishments. A man would need coin to be able to stay in such a fine place.

  “That’s interesting. If he can afford the Grand, one has to ponder the question of how he is funding himself right now. I will do some more digging and see what I can find. Meanwhile, I sent word this morning to Miss Alice, asking her to bring her sister to a charity do this evening,” he replied.

  “I thought you avoided charity events like the plague,” said Stephen.

  “Yes, well, I’m not exactly flush with funds,” replied Harry.

  Monsale sighed and put his hand into his coat pocket, retrieving the coin purse. He handed it back to Harry. “For heaven’s sake, man, make sure you hand that over when you get in the front door. It doesn’t look good for one’s image if you appear to be miserly with your money.”

  The Duke of Monsale was always far more concerned with keeping up the appearance of wealth than the rest of the group, something which Harry often put to good use. He took the money. “Alright. I shall make certain that people see me parting with coins. But I still consider this month’s rent paid.”

  After a quick drink, he hurried back downstairs, eager to follow up on Stephen’s lead and visit the Grand Hotel.

  Tossing the bag of coins in the air, he chuckled. “Two birds, one stone.”

  He had money for the charity donation; now he just had to get Miss Alice North to agree with his plans and hand over more of her lovely coin.

  I wonder if she might throw another kiss in with the bargain?

  Harry headed for the stables and his horse. Thoughts of Alice and the delight of spending yet another evening in her company would have to wait. Right now, he had another matter to concern himself with—Mister Cuthbert Saint and his lavish lifestyle. Why would a man with apparent means be haunting Patience North’s footsteps?

  He snorted at the obvious answer. “Because one can never have too much money.”

  CHAPTER 7

  THE GRAND HOTEL, Covent Garden, was a favorite of the ton, and certainly lived up to its name. It offered the sort of lavish suites that few other hotels in London did. Many well-to-do families stayed there when visiting town.

  Even the rear mews, where coaches and horses were stabled, were of a higher standard than what was normally found in the usual run-of-the-mill coaching and travel inns. It cost Harry the princely sum of a shilling to tip the stable boy. He was still grumbling about the coin as he made his way inside.

  Then he caught sight of the hotel foyer and his eyes lit up.

  Oh, this is rather nice. Reminds me of home.

  His gaze took in the deep green-and-gold-striped carpets, as well as the matching drapes. From the style of the elegant silver chandeliers which lit the foyer, Harry was certain the hotel had engaged the same overpriced decorator his mother had used to refurbish her grand drawing room at Redditch House.

  The place oozed money. It was exactly where a man hoping to create a façade of wealth would choose to stay.

  A footman hurried over and greeted him. “Good morning, sir. May I have your luggage brought in from your coach?”

  “Thank you, no. I am here to visit a friend who is staying at the hotel. A Mister Saint,” he replied.

  “Ah, of course. Should I have a note sent up to him to let him know you have arrived?”

  “Well, actually, this visit was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing. So, my friend isn’t expecting me. If you let me know which room he is in, I could just nip upstairs and give him a big surprise.” Harry dug into his coat pocket and withdrew a shilling. He handed it to the footman who, after taking one look at it, promptly cleared his throat. Harry sighed, and with great reluctance, reached into his pocket and retrieved a second coin.

  Two shillings. I could buy a pair of stockings for that!

  “Mister Saint is in room one hundred and twelve. If you take the stairs and turn right at the top, you will find his room located along the hall,” replied the footman, slipping the coins into his waistcoat.

  Harry and his ever-decreasing purse quickly headed upstairs. He found Cuthbert Saint’s room soon enough—but kept walking as he passed.

  The door suddenly opened, and he barely had time to scoot into a nearby alcove before Cuthbert stepped out. He closed the door behind him and locked it. Harry risked a peek from his hiding spot and caught a glimpse of Cuthbert’s back as he made his way to the stairs.

  Talk about perfect timing.

  He now had the golden opportunity to do a little light snooping around Cuthbert’s room. He was fishing around in his pocket for his set of skeleton keys when Cuthbert made an unexpected reappearance, trailed by the footman. Harry darted out o
f sight, praying he had not been seen.

  “I assure you, Mister Saint, I sent your friend up here not five minutes ago. Are you certain you didn’t pass him on the stairs?”

  Bloody hell. I forgot about him. Talk about being too damned efficient at your job.

  “No. I saw no one. Could you describe the man for me?” replied Cuthbert.

  Harry’s morning was quickly descending into farce. So much for his plans for a simple spot of breaking and entering.

  “Average height. Dark hair. Well-dressed,” said the footman.

  Harry gave a small sigh of relief. The footman’s description could very well match any other guest in the hotel, as well as half of London.

  “Well, he is not here. Perhaps he headed back downstairs,” replied Cuthbert.

  After waiting until the sound of footsteps had disappeared, Harry then stepped out from the alcove. He dared not risk taking the main stairs, nor trying to break into the room. Getting out of the hotel unseen was now his main concern. Taking the skeleton key from his pocket, he headed for the door at the end of the hall. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time he would leave an establishment by way of the servants’ entrance.

  It was only as he was exiting the hotel grounds that Harry’s luck finally took a turn for the better. He caught sight of Cuthbert Saint climbing into a hack on the other side of Bow Street.

  In a flash, he was across the road and hailing the next carriage. “Follow that one in front and don’t lose him,” he said.

  What had started out as a sly piece of reconnaissance had morphed into an unexpected chase.

  The hack slowed and moved to the side of the street. Harry pressed his face to the glass and smiled as his second piece of fortune came into view.

  Jones and Son. He had never been happier to see the sign with three gold balls hanging over the doorway of one of London’s foremost pawnbrokers. An establishment which Cuthbert Saint had just walked into.

  This is a spot of brilliant luck.