No Earls Allowed

by Shana Galen

  “You have my unending gratitude, Porter,” Rafe mumbled from the cushion of his arms.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Rafe lifted his head to sip the brandy and stared into the faces of Neil and Jasper. The men had moved noiselessly across the room and taken seats at Rafe’s table. Rafe groaned, sipped the brandy, and put his head down again. “Go away.”

  “Something bothering you, Beaumont?” Neil asked.

  Rafe didn’t answer.

  “He looks in high dudgeon to me,” Jasper drawled.

  “I’m happy as a lark. Now go away.”

  “So the brandy is celebratory?”

  Rafe looked up. “If I say yes, will you go away?”

  “No.” Neil poured two fingers of brandy for himself and Jasper. Damn Porter for bringing them snifters as well. “We’ll celebrate with you.”

  Jasper Grantham sipped his brandy. He had dark blond hair and a ragged scar across one cheek. Rafe was used to the scar, but Jasper usually wore a mask to hide it when he was in public. Neil Wraxall, on the other hand, was dark of hair. He had the coloring of his Italian mother and clear blue eyes that always saw too much.

  “What are we celebrating?” Wraxall asked.

  “Don’t you have a wife and about two dozen children waiting for you at home?”

  Neil shook his head. “I trust Mrs. Wraxall has everything well in hand.” Which was the most ridiculous statement Wraxall had ever made because his wife was a walking beacon for trouble. And Rafe should know because he’d once had to babysit a dozen orphans while Neil sorted out some sort of trouble she’d caused. And that was before she’d burned down an orphanage.

  “And how are things with you, Beaumont?”

  “No rum dell on your arm tonight?”

  “If by dell you mean woman, Grantham, then the answer is no.”

  Neil and Jasper exchanged looks. Rafe could all but read the silent conversation. Finally, Neil spoke, his voice incredulous. “This isn’t about a woman, is it?”

  “A plague on the whole species,” Rafe said.

  Jasper sat back and crossed his arms, his expression smug. Neil looked perplexed and confused. He leaned forward, like an eager student. “Did you compromise someone’s virginal daughter?”

  “Ha!” Rafe drank again. “Nothing so simple.”

  “You agreed to marry one of them. Again,” Jasper guessed.

  “Hell’s teeth. I told you never to remind me of that…incident.”

  “Was there another fight? Your hair looks more disheveled than usual.” This from Neil.

  “It is fashionably tousled, and no. No women were fighting over me.”

  “Did two of them proposition you again and you had to spend all night being pleasured by them?”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “No.”

  “Tell us about that time anyway.” Jasper drank again. “I can’t remember all of the details.”

  “Stubble it,” Rafe said. “This problem pales in comparison to those.”

  “Is this problem a brunette?” Neil asked.

  “With large…” Jasper made curving motions in front of his chest.

  Rafe opened his mouth and closed it again. For the first time he realized Miss Fournay was exactly the sort of woman he preferred—beautiful, dark haired, and with ample charms. He’d been so focused on her as a mission, he hadn’t looked at her as a woman. Not that he hadn’t felt an attraction to her. When he’d been about to kiss her on the terrace, not everything he said had been pretty words designed to seduce her. He had been imagining his body pressed to hers and his mouth on hers. What man wouldn’t imagine it? Her plump lips and the straining of her bodice tonight were enough to give any man ideas.

  Jasper and Neil exchanged a look. Neil mimed the hammering of a nail.

  “What’s the problem?” Jasper asked. “Can’t decide whether to roger her on her back or against a wall?”

  “The problem is she’s a mission,” Rafe said. He had no compunction about revealing this here. The Draven Club was entirely safe. The men could talk about anything here and it would never leave the confines of the building. “Draven himself asked me to tease information from her. She’s suspected of being in league with the French.”

  “That sounds simple enough for you,” Neil said. “I gave you a score of assignments like that when we were at war.”

  “Yes, but…” Rafe sipped his brandy again, then poured more. “But something is wrong with this woman.”

  Jasper raised his brows. “Wrong how?”

  “She rejected my advances.”

  Silence hung in the air for a long, long moment and then Neil and Jasper burst out laughing. Jasper all but fell out of his chair.

  “Hell’s teeth.” Rafe gathered his brandy and stood. He should have known better than to confide in those two.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Neil said, grabbing Rafe’s arm and wresting the brandy away. “I apologize. This is very serious.”

  And then he and Jasper started laughing all over again.

  “You think it’s so amusing? I’ll tell Draven to assign one or both of you. See how you do.”

  “I won’t live through one night. My wife would murder me.”

  Jasper gestured to his cheek. “I’d scare her away.”

  “You couldn’t do any worse than I am.”

  Neil grabbed Rafe’s arm again. “Sit down. It can’t be all that bad.”

  “She tried to knee me in the groin.”

  Both men flinched. “So she has some spirit,” Neil said.

  “I wouldn’t have known it until now. She barely spoke before. I could have sworn the chit was tongue-tied every time she looked at me. But she had plenty to say at the ball tonight. And all of it about hedgehogs.”

  “Is that a new cant phrase? I don’t know it,” Jasper said.

  “Perhaps she is presenting you with a challenge,” Neil said. “You’re not used to that. She wants to be chased.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I know that game, and this is not it.”

  “Then have you considered she really does have something to hide?”

  “Why do you say that?” Rafe asked Jasper.

  Jasper shrugged. “That’s the opinion of the Foreign Office. Maybe she fears you’ll pull the plug and all her secrets will spill out.”

  Rafe rested his hand on his chin, tapping his fingers on his lip. “She does seem skittish. I called on her last week, and I could have sworn she intentionally tipped over the tea tray.”

  “You were too close to something she did not want to tell you?” Neil speculated.

  “Or something she did not want me to see.” Rafe thought about the desk in Lady Ravensgate’s drawing room. It had been covered with an assortment of letters and papers. What if one of those had been from her French contacts? Something that might tie her to Fortier? But why would her father ask her to spy? He’d been an ally of Napoleon and now the Bourbons were back on the throne. Or what if the royalists had killed Fortier and threatened to kill her too if she did not work for them? But that made no sense. She could easily run away. Lady Ravensgate was not keeping that close a watch on her.

  Rafe sipped the brandy again. “Say she does have something to hide. There were plenty of women on the Continent who had secrets to hide. I managed to persuade them.”

  “Married women.” Neil pointed at him. “This one isn’t married. She might have limited experience with men.”

  “Then my task should be simple.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jasper said. “Your methods of seduction are not exactly subtle. You might scare her.”

  “You are schooling me in methods of seduction?”

  Jasper grinned. “Best day ever.”

  “You need to take another approach,” Neil said. “If she fights seduction, come at her another way.”

/>   Rafe swallowed his brandy and slammed the snifter down. “Hell’s teeth, but I don’t know another way! You called me the Seducer for a reason.”

  “Try gaining her trust. Become her friend.”

  Christ. The last thing Rafe wanted was to become friends with a woman. But, as he’d told Porter, up was down today and perhaps the last thing he wanted was the thing he needed.

  Or…perhaps he should approach her as though the world truly was upside down.

  “Look at the way his eyes lit up,” Jasper said in a mock whisper. “He has an idea.”

  “Who would you say is my opposite?” Rafe asked.

  “I don’t know.” Neil looked at Jasper. “You mean one of the troop? Guy was quite shy. He stammered every time he tried to talk to a woman.”

  Rafe felt a twinge of pain, remembering Guy. He’d died in an ambush during one of their suicide missions. “And I talk to women easily. I talk…”

  “Ewan,” Neil said at the same time Jasper said, “The Protector.”

  “Of course. I should stop trying to figure out how to seduce this woman. It doesn’t work. If everything I do is wrong, everything Ewan does must be right.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Neil interrupted.

  Rafe ignored him. “I should ask myself, what would Ewan do? Better yet. I’ll ask the man himself.” He rose and started for the door.

  “Good luck wheedling a half dozen syllables from him,” Jasper said.

  Rafe looked over his shoulder. “Good point.” But at least none of those syllables would be about hedgehogs.

  If Ewan wouldn’t talk, he’d just have to make the man show him.

  * * *

  “That’s her,” Rafe said, pointing across the park to where Lady Ravensgate and Miss Fournay strolled. Miss Fournay certainly did not look like a spy in her apple-green walking dress and matching spencer and parasol. She was beautiful—much more so in the bright daylight than the yellow gloom of candlelight. The sunny day brought out the pink of her cheeks and the glints of gold in her hair. “The one on the green,” Rafe said, since Ewan hadn’t made any indication he knew who Rafe meant.

  Ewan nodded. Rafe waited. And waited. In a moment he would have to rise from the bench and follow her, as she and Lady Ravensgate were moving out of sight. “Do you have anything to say?” Rafe prodded.

  “You dragged me away from the studio for this?” Ewan and Draven were joint owners of a boxing studio. As it opened recently, it had nothing like the reputation of Gentleman Jackson’s, but Rafe had no doubt Ewan would win the hearts and minds of the pugilism enthusiasts in no time. For his part, Rafe could think of other pursuits far more enjoyable than taking a swing at another man in a ring. But Ewan Mostyn, otherwise known as the Protector, was big and brawny with platinum blond hair and a square jaw. If ever a man had been born to smash sculls, it was Ewan.

  “I should think you would thank me for taking you out into the fresh air and sunshine. It’s a fine day, and that’s a rare thing.”

  Ewan continued to glare at him.

  “I will have you back to knocking men’s brain boxes loose in no time. I simply want your opinion.”

  Lady Ravensgate and Miss Fournay had paused to speak with an older woman, the wife of a Cabinet member, if Rafe was not mistaken. The exchange looked innocent enough, but who knew what state secrets Miss Fournay might be stealing?

  “Why?” Ewan asked.

  “I thought I explained all this, old boy.”

  “Explain again.”

  Rafe sighed. “As I told you, the world is upside down.”

  “This time make sense.”

  Rafe scowled at him, which had absolutely no effect on Ewan. “I can’t make sense because the world makes no sense.”

  “You are giving me a headache.”

  “No, that’s from all the skull smashing. And since your brain is probably scrambled, let me be brief. Up is down, right is left, and if I can’t change the world, I’ll trick it. Which means, obviously, I must become you.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And so you must tell me what you would do in…well, in your place.”

  “I do not have to be you?”

  “No. Why would you be me?”

  “Thank God.”

  “Ewan, pay attention. There is the chit. What would you do right now?”

  “Go back to the studio.” He started to move away, but Rafe grabbed his large arm and pulled him back. Rather, Ewan allowed Rafe to pull him back.

  “What would you do about Miss Fournay?”

  “Nothing. I’m married.”

  “Yes, but what if you were me?”

  “I’d probably kill myself.”

  Rafe was about to pull his hair out when he caught the quick smile on Ewan’s lips. The man was toying with him. One could never tell with Ewan. He was so stone-faced. No doubt he was enjoying frustrating Rafe. Rafe tamped his annoyance down. “Fine. Don’t help me.”

  Ewan tipped his hat and started to walk away, back toward the corner where they had exited the hackney.

  “I’ll have Draven order you to attend the next soiree with me.”

  Ewan stopped.

  “Or perhaps my next engagement is the opera. I know how you enjoy the opera.”

  Ewan walked back. “Do it and I will squeeze the air from your throat and crush it with one hand.”

  “Tell me how to approach her. Nothing I have done has worked.”

  Ewan stared at Miss Fournay across the green park. His pale blue eyes were so intense, Rafe wondered that the lady did not turn and look back. “I asked you to help me, not scare her away.”

  “She looks lonely.”

  Rafe’s brows shot up. “Does she?” He glanced at her again. She smiled often enough, but Ewan was right. The smile did not meet her eyes.

  “She’s in a foreign country surrounded by strangers. She needs a friend, a confidant.”

  “Yes! That’s what I have been trying to do. Become her confidant.”

  “No, you have been trying to get under her skirts and wondering why she doesn’t respond. You have to give her something to receive something in return.”

  “Say again.”

  “It’s like fighting.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Ewan ignored him. “When you and an opponent are equally matched, let him land a punch.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer my face free of bruises.”

  “Let him land several blows. Then, when he’s feeling confident, when he thinks he has you beaten, you pummel the hell out of him.”

  Rafe stared at Ewan a long time. Ewan started moving away again. “You can thank me later.”

  “Not likely!” Rafe called after him.

  He let out a sigh and began to follow, quite slowly, the progress of Miss Fournay and her chaperone. Give her something. Let the opponent land a punch. “Then pummel the hell out of him,” he muttered.

  Was pummel a metaphor?

  Was he really trying to read something into Ewan’s words?

  Not that he had any better ideas.

  Miss Fournay was lonely. Rafe would give her something without asking for anything in return. He’d give her friendship. He’d take her around London, call on her, and…and whatever else friends did. Then when she trusted him, when she counted him as her friend, he’d take advantage of that trust and pry the information he needed out of her.

  Rafe frowned. And some men accused him of being manipulative. Ewan’s methods were cold indeed. But with his country at risk, Rafe couldn’t afford scruples.

  “Mr. Beaumont?”

  Rafe looked up. He’d been so lost in thought, he’d practically run into Miss Fournay and her chaperone. Lady Ravensgate looked at him quizzically, while her charge pretended he did not exist. “Lady Ravensgate.” He bowed. “Mis
s Fournay. What a pleasure to encounter you both here.”

  Miss Fournay snorted and looked away. She was decidedly unfriendly.

  “The pleasure is all ours,” Lady Ravensgate said. “How is your ankle? Should you really be walking on it?”

  “My ankle?” He glanced at Lady Ravensgate, then Miss Fournay, in confusion.

  Miss Fournay rolled her eyes. “You sprained it at Lord Montjoy’s ball, monsieur. You had to leave early.”

  “Yes. I did. I sprained it.” He lifted one foot as though his weight on it pained him.

  “It was the other ankle, monsieur.”

  Miss Fournay had a smug look on her face. Rafe wanted it gone. “Imagine that. They both feel as good as new.”

  “I wish I could say the same.” Lady Ravensgate moved toward a bench and sat, arranging her skirts carefully. “I tire easily these days.”

  “Shall I sit with you and keep you company?” Rafe asked.

  “No, no. You two young people continue to stroll. I will wait here for you.”

  “But I can’t leave you!” Miss Fournay protested.

  “Oh, I am tired, not dying. Go ahead.”

  Miss Fournay opened her mouth, obviously struggling to think of another excuse to avoid his presence. Rafe didn’t give her the opportunity. He offered his arm, and she had little choice but to take it. “I will bring her back shortly, my lady. I promise she will have no better friend than me.”

  When they had walked a little distance, Rafe commenting on the trees and the sky and the weather, they finally paused near a small pond, where ducks swam. The pond was somewhat sheltered from view by the low-hanging branches of trees, and Miss Fournay snatched her arm away immediately.

  “I meant what I said, you know,” he told her.

  “About the summer breeze or the oak trees?”

  “About being your friend. I’d like to be your friend.”

  She glared at him, her dark eyes wide and full of fire. “My English may not be as good as yours, monsieur, but even I know friend is what men often use to refer to their paramours.”

  “Actually, the term is usually special friend, and that is not what I had in mind at all.”

  “I am not that naïve.”

  “Good. Then you will understand that there are times when men and women might simply be friends.”