A Dangerous Lord

by Beers, Laura

  “In this shabby place?”

  Corbyn huffed. “It is sufficient for my needs.”

  “You are embarrassing the family,” Simon asserted as he came to sit across from him. “You can’t keep going on as you have.”

  “There it is,” Corbyn declared. “In what way am I embarrassing the family?”

  “You are nearly thirty-two and unwed, have little by way of prospects, and are living in a ramshackle townhouse,” Simon declared.

  “As to why I am not married, it is because I don’t need an heir, since I am only the spare,” Corbyn pointed out.

  “Right now, you are my heir presumptive because Catherine hasn’t been able to get pregnant.”

  “You have only been married for a few years.”

  “It has been five years now,” Simon corrected, “and I am starting to lose hope.”

  Hearing the sadness in his brother’s voice caused his stance to soften a little. “Don’t give up yet,” Corbyn encouraged. “These things can take time.”

  “It is frustrating, because Beatrice hasn’t had the same problem.”

  Corbyn lifted his brow. “I thought you ended things with her once you married Catherine.”

  “I did, but I went back to her since I couldn’t get Catherine pregnant,” Simon revealed.

  “Does Catherine know?”

  Simon shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but it is her fault that she hasn’t been able to fulfill her duty.”

  “You are despicable,” Corbyn remarked.

  “I will be a duke one day,” Simon said with a frown. “I refuse to be the only duke without a mistress.”

  “I thought you cared for Catherine.”

  “I do.”

  “You have a funny way of showing that, Brother.”

  Simon took a sip of his drink. “I did not come here to fight with you about Catherine.”

  “No?”

  “I have come to tell you to fulfill your duty and return to our townhouse.”

  “My duty?” Corbyn repeated. “What makes you think I am not already doing that?”

  “Your duty is to your family.”

  “No, my duty is to King and country.”

  Leaning forward, Simon placed his glass onto the table that sat between the two settees. “And working a meaningless job at the Home Office is sufficient for you?”

  “How do you know what I do at the Home Office?”

  “Father made some inquiries to the Home Secretary, and he informed him of your position within the agency,” Simon shared.

  “Ah, I see,” Corbyn said. “I must admit that I am not surprised that Father is spying on me.”

  Simon smirked. “You can’t possibly think that you can have any secrets around us, do you?”

  “I can’t?” he asked, amused.

  “Father is a duke and a very important man,” Simon stated. “Besides, everything you do is transparent.”

  “I hadn’t realized that.”

  Simon looked smug. “That is the problem,” he said. “You don’t think things through, and you are letting your foolish pride rule your life.”

  Corbyn let out a sigh, wishing this conversation could be over. “Will you please inform Mother that I will not be returning home?” He rose. “If you will excuse me—”

  “Father is sick,” Simon blurted out.

  Corbyn paused. “Pardon?”

  “He has wasting disease, and it is only a matter of time before he succumbs to his illness,” Simon explained.

  “Why wasn’t I notified before of this?”

  “He didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “But I am not ‘anyone’,” Corbyn said, his voice rising. “I am his son!”

  Simon had the decency to look ashamed. “I understand, but you know how Father gets.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t one of Father’s tricks to get me to come home?”

  With a shake of his head, Simon replied, “I have spoken to the doctor myself, and Father has been bedridden for the past few days.”

  Corbyn lowered himself onto the settee. “I know I have been at odds with Father for a long time, but I would never wish death upon him.”

  “You need to come home and see him before it is too late.”

  “I understand.”

  Simon rose and tugged down on his maroon waistcoat. “Perhaps when you return home to speak to Father, you will remember that you belong there.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Please think it over,” Simon said.

  There was something in his brother’s voice that caused Corbyn to hesitate. It almost sounded like a hint of a plea, something he would never have thought possible.

  “I will,” he promised, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

  Simon tipped his head. “I shall see myself out, then.” He walked over to the door. “Mother is struggling right now, and she could use your support. I am not entirely sure why, but you have always been her favorite.”

  “I don’t believe that to be true.”

  “She writes you every week, without fail,” Simon said. “Whereas we have gone weeks without speaking to each other, and we live in the same home.”

  “That is because I am the prodigal son.”

  “It is more than just that.” Simon placed his hand on the door handle. “Sometimes I wonder who the lucky one is,” he mused, glancing over at Corbyn with sadness in his eyes.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “My future has been predetermined, but you have the freedom to choose.”

  “We both have the freedom to choose,” Corbyn pressed.

  “I don’t,” Simon replied in a low voice. He blinked, and his expression became hard again. “It is time that you recognize that we honor our father by doing right by him.”

  “Even if our father is wrong?”

  “You have always had a skewed sense of reality, Brother,” Simon mocked, opening the door. “Father is not the villain that you make him out to be.”

  Corbyn let out a disbelieving huff. “Give my regards to Mother.”

  “Give them to her yourself when you attend Aunt Diana’s ball tomorrow evening,” Simon stated. “You are planning on attending, aren’t you?”

  “I am not sure yet.”

  Simon gave him a disbelieving look. “You would be willing to forego our aunt’s ball and dishonor her so tremendously?”

  “Calm down, Brother,” he mocked. “It is only a ball.”

  “Why is it that you haven’t been seen in Society lately?” his brother asked with a raised brow.

  He shrugged. “I am not interested in mingling with members of the ton.”

  “I hope to see you there,” Simon said, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Corbyn reached into the pocket of his green jacket and removed a pile of missives. He placed them on the desk and sat down.

  As he reached for the first one, he found himself shaking his head. There was a reason he had moved out of his father’s townhouse. It was a place filled with painful memories, ones that he would prefer to forget. No. He would never go back to that place.

  Despite his father’s insistence that he would never amount to anything, he was running a spy agency at a young age. He had made something of himself, and he refused to feel bad for working for his income. His duty was to King and country. Nothing else mattered.

  His job was important, and he worked hard to ensure his agents were supported and protected in the field. So why couldn’t he just bury his past?

  Botheration!

  He knew he needed to go visit his father one last time. If not for him, for his mother. He owed her that. He owed her so much more. But he refused to linger at their townhouse. That is where he would put his foot down.

  Leaning back in his chair, he wiped his hand over his mouth. Now on to the next issue. How he dreaded balls. He would rather be back fighting Napoleon’s army than attend a pointless social gathering, but he knew he couldn’t forego his Aunt Diana’s ball. S
imon had been right. He refused to dishonor her so tremendously by failing to appear.

  Drats!

  He would also be expected to dance at least one set.

  At least he had work. That filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. He unfolded the paper in his hand, read the contents, and moved on to the next one.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Corbyn walked purposefully towards Hawthorne House. He wanted to see if Oliver had made any progress in his case and, truth be told, he wanted to ensure that Jane was well.

  He had no doubt that Baldwin had given her a thorough scolding for her impulsive decision to leave the orphanage and follow Oliver through the rookeries. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel some sympathy for her plight.

  Jane was inquisitive, much like him. He had to admit that he admired her for wanting to discover the truth of her brother, but that was not likely to happen. It was much simpler if she never learned the truth of it all.

  Corbyn tipped his head at the guard as the man opened the gate for him and headed across the cobblestone courtyard. As he approached the main door, it was opened, and Pratt greeted him politely.

  “Good morning, milord.”

  “Good morning,” Corbyn said as he stepped into the entry hall. “Is Lord Hawthorne available for callers?”

  “He is,” Pratt replied. “He is in his study.”

  Jane’s voice came from the doorway to the drawing room. “You should know that he is with Oliver.”

  Corbyn turned to face her. “When did Oliver return home?”

  “Only moments before you arrived.”

  “Is that so?”

  Jane had a look of disapproval on her face. “His clothes are terribly wrinkled, his hair is disheveled, and he smells awful. It almost appears as if he slept on the street in the rookeries.”

  “At least he is home,” he attempted.

  “But for how long?”

  Corbyn’s eyes roamed over Jane’s lovely face. “How are you faring?” he asked.

  Her face softened. “I am well.”

  “You are looking lovely today.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, smoothing down her dark blue riding habit.

  He found himself taking a step closer to her. “Did Baldwin give you a lecture yesterday?”

  “It was nothing more than I could handle.”

  Smiling, he replied, “I imagined that would be the case.”

  “It was rather impulsive of me to leave the orphanage, but I do not regret my actions,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “Did you ask Oliver why he went to The Gutted Fish?”

  She shook her head, causing the small curls framing her face to sway back and forth. “Baldwin requested to see Oliver the moment he arrived home.”

  “I see.”

  The dowager marchioness stepped into the entry hall and a smile came to her lips. “Lord Evan,” she greeted. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  He bowed. “Good morning, Lady Hawthorne.”

  She came to a stop near her daughter. “Will you be attending Lady Greenan’s ball this evening?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “But you must,” Jane pressed. “I will be so dreadfully bored without you there.”

  He grinned. “I don’t believe that to be true.”

  Lady Hawthorne gave her daughter an approving look. “I have no doubt that Jane will be inundated with admirers.”

  “Is that so?” Corbyn asked as he felt his jaw clenching.

  “If Jane would just put forth some effort, she could easily marry by the end of the Season,” Lady Hawthorne said.

  Corbyn worked hard to keep the frown off his lips. “Is that what you desire?” he asked Jane. “To marry?”

  “No, but my mother wishes for me to take matrimony more seriously.”

  Lady Hawthorne bobbed her head. “It is time for her to consider her future.”

  Jane offered him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, if you will excuse me, I am off for my morning ride.”

  “I hope you have a pleasant ride,” Corbyn remarked.

  “Thank you,” Jane replied.

  As Jane walked away, Lady Hawthorne said in a low, hushed voice, “I am worried about Jane.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She doesn’t seem to have any desire to be courted.”

  “Lady Jane is still young,” Corbyn attempted.

  Lady Hawthorne’s thin lips pressed together. “She is twenty-one and has never even entertained a suitor.”

  “You can’t rush these things.”

  “No, I suppose not…” Lady Hawthorne said, her words trailing off. “I apologize for keeping you. I assume you came to see Baldwin.”

  “That I did.”

  “Then please, do not let me hold you up any longer.”

  Corbyn smiled. “As usual, it was a pleasure to chat with you.”

  “I do hope to see you at Lady Greenan’s ball,” Lady Hawthorne remarked. “Perhaps you would even consider saving a dance for Jane.”

  “It would be my pleasure, assuming I attend.”

  He tipped his head towards the dowager marchioness and headed towards the rear of the townhouse. The door to the study was closed, so he knocked on it.

  “Enter,” he heard Baldwin say.

  Corbyn opened the door and stepped into the room. He saw that the brothers were both sitting on settees near the fireplace. “I hope I am not intruding,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  “Never,” Baldwin replied. “What brings you by this morning?”

  Corbyn turned his attention towards Oliver, and his eyes perused his disheveled appearance. “I wanted to see how your assignment is progressing.”

  “It’s going well,” Oliver said. “I have started gaining their trust, and they are bringing me into their confidences.”

  “That’s good,” Corbyn praised.

  “I intended to write you a missive before I took a soak, but Baldwin called me into his office,” Oliver informed him.

  “I did,” Baldwin said, “because we have a problem.”

  Oliver lifted his brow. “We do?”

  Baldwin nodded. “Our dear sister saw you walking in the rookeries and decided to follow you to The Gutted Fish.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “Why was she in the rookeries?”

  “Jane was at the orphanage and saw you pass by,” Baldwin explained.

  “What in the blazes was she thinking?” Oliver asked, his voice rising.

  Baldwin glanced over at Corbyn, then revealed, “She wanted to discover where you have been disappearing to.”

  “That is none of her business,” Oliver said firmly.

  “We all agree, but Jane isn’t easily pacified,” Baldwin remarked. “I fear that she might become a liability if you keep going on as you are.”

  “Meaning?” Oliver asked cautiously.

  “You need to tell her a vague version of the truth,” Baldwin advised. “Keep it simple, but believable.”

  “I daresay that wouldn’t be too hard, especially since she already thinks the worst of me,” Oliver muttered.

  Corbyn came to sit down next to Baldwin on the settee. “Fortunately, I happened to be near the docks, so I escorted her back to the orphanage.”

  Baldwin huffed. “Only after you saved her from two ruffians in the alleyway.”

  “That is true,” Corbyn said, “but I found I enjoyed the bout of fisticuffs. I haven’t punched someone in ages.”

  “You could always join me at my boxing club,” Baldwin suggested.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have time,” Corbyn replied. “I’m attempting to keep England safe at the moment.”

  “That is a never-ending task,” Baldwin stated.

  “I agree.”

  Oliver untied his cravat and let the ends hang down. “I’m afraid I am eager to get out of these clothes and into the bath,” he said. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  C
orbyn nodded. “Have either of you heard anything about counterfeiters?”

  “I have not,” Oliver replied.

  “Why do you ask?” Baldwin inquired.

  “Hannity asked one of my informants if she’d received any forged banknotes,” he explained. “I don’t know what lead he was chasing down, since his assignment had nothing to do with counterfeiters.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what was his assignment?” Baldwin inquired.

  “It was similar to Oliver’s,” Corbyn shared. “These blasted radical cells are popping up all over England, and we have to determine which ones are legitimate threats.”

  “Most are just schoolboys expressing their discontent with society,” Oliver expressed.

  “I would agree, but we can’t dismiss them outright without investigation,” Corbyn said. “I was thinking of assigning Sanders to the case.”

  “Sanders?” Oliver asked. “Do you think he is ready?”

  “I do. After all, he is a competent agent.”

  Oliver bobbed his head in agreement. “That is true, but has he recovered from his injury?”

  “I relegated him to desk duty these past few weeks due to his broken arm, but I believe he is ready to go out into the field again,” Corbyn said.

  “I have no doubt he will be pleased by that,” Oliver remarked.

  “Sanders’ assignment will be relatively simple,” Corbyn shared. “He will try to determine what Hannity was up to.”

  Baldwin gave him a knowing look. “Have you made any progress on the note that was left for you at Hannity’s?”

  Corbyn shook his head. “Not yet, but I have been rather busy,” he admitted. “I’m hoping Sanders’ investigation will yield some clues as to where the note came from.”

  “I hope you are right,” Baldwin said.

  “Regardless, I don’t have time to take all the threats on my life seriously,” Corbyn stated wryly.

  “You have had more than one death threat?” Oliver asked.

  Smirking, Corbyn replied, “You don’t get to my position without making some enemies.”

  “I suppose not,” Oliver remarked as he stood. “I will think on what I shall say to Jane about why I was at The Gutted Fish.”

  “Make the lie believable,” Baldwin pressed. “Jane is clever.”

  Oliver grinned. “That she is, but she is blinded by her annoyance of me.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “I shall see you gentlemen later.”