by The Rogue
“Who did he marry, Papa?” Augusta asked tearfully.
Uncle Harold shrugged. “Black-haired girl, the one he quit the game to dance with.”
“I saw her!” Serena declared, as outraged as if the girl had stolen Tremayne from under their very noses. “She wasn’t even pretty!”
Jane had seen her as well. The new Mrs. Tremayne was not a classic beauty, it was true, but Jane had thought her quite arresting and especially graceful. However, Jane had slightly more pressing questions on her mind at the moment. “You said the other interesting gentleman was ineligible?”
“Oh, Papa must be talking about Mr. Damont,” Serena said knowledgeably. “You remember, the place card?”
“Serena, that’s enough,” Aunt Lottie admonished sharply. “We do not discuss our guests in that manner.”
Uncle Harold grunted. “Don’t know why not. It’s only the truth. He won’t be a guest of ours again. Bloody piker took the pot!”
“Harold!” Aunt Lottie gasped.
Jane didn’t know why Aunt Lottie still bothered to object to her husband’s vulgarisms. One would think after twenty-odd years of marriage that nothing would surprise her aunt.
Unfortunately, Uncle Harold ran the house, and if he said that Mr. Damont was never coming back, then it was so.
Unless . . .
“Quite right,” Jane said stoutly. “You certainly don’t need a fellow like that coming around to beat you so soundly at cards. It would be much wiser to stay away from anyone so much more proficient.”
Uncle Harold slid a cold glance in Jane’s direction. She blinked in dismay. Suddenly, she had a deep desire not to be seated at his right any longer. It would not do to underestimate this man.
“I never said he was ‘so much more proficient,’ Jane girl,” he said, his voice low. “And I’ll thank you not to tell me whom to invite to my own house and whom to exclude.”
Jane nodded quickly and looked away. “Of course, Uncle. Forgive me.”
Uncle Harold grunted and turned back to his eggs. “And he didn’t beat me soundly either. I almost had him. I’ll bring him back to play again tonight and this time I’ll thrash him, see if I don’t.”
“Of course, Uncle,” Jane agreed carefully. At least it seemed she’d had the ban against Mr. Damont lifted—
Abruptly, Jane caught herself. Why had she done that? Wouldn’t it be best if Mr. Damont never darkened her doorway again? He’d seen—well, nearly everything.
She’d been particularly counseled by Mother not to call that sort of attention to herself. “You must seem as decorative and demure as possible. Outspoken women are too often the object of curiosity.”
What if he spread the tale about? What if even now he was entertaining his friends with the story of how he’d plucked Lady Jane Pennington—if he had indeed recognized her—from a tree like a piece of indecently clad fruit? Mortification heated Jane’s cheeks at the thought of his hands on her, lifting her down, and the way her body had slid against his, and the way he’d leaned close enough to—
Mortification, definitely. Nothing else. Pure, unadulterated embarrassment.
He wouldn’t tell, he couldn’t—yet Serena had said he was not a gentleman. He was just an ordinary man, who could not be expected to live up to the finer code of ethics demanded by a gentleman’s status. He might very well tell the story, having no idea that he should not. How would he know better, after all, a man of his background?
And yet, he’d not pressed his advantage, not exactly. He’d been a bit fresh, of course, but then again, she’d been very rude not to thank him more sincerely. He seemed—
There was no help for it. She truly had no idea what sort of man he was. She needed to meet him again, speak to him, gain some assurance that he would never, ever, speak of what had happened.
Of course, the fact that she burned to look into Mr. Damont’s eyes and see if Serena had been correct about that lonely, soulful gaze had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
Chapter Four
Ethan was bloody tired of being followed.
Although he himself had never officially joined the private gaming hell called the Liar’s Club, he knew he’d find Collis Tremayne there. Collis and that bloody intimidating uncle of his—the other one, not the friendly, stout old sod Ethan had helped rescue—had something going on in that club. Ethan didn’t know what, he didn’t want to know what, he didn’t bloody care—but he wouldn’t stand for being watched like this.
He stormed past the doorman, who merely bowed and opened the door swiftly—which only fueled the fire more. The doorman knew him, and didn’t the bloke look familiar from that riverside jaunt they’d all taken to stop that ship? Ethan shook it off. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to be left alone.
He let the doorman take his hat. “I want Tremayne,” he demanded brusquely.
“Yes, sir.” The bland-faced doorman nodded, then turned away.
Ethan stomped into the main gaming room and threw himself into a chair at an empty card table. The club was just beginning to fill. This sort of place was dead in the early evening, though if he recalled correctly it was lively enough in the early morning hours. A drink was set down before him. He took a sip, just to tell. Yes, his preferred label of brandy.
Bloody spooky lot, these Liar’s Club blokes.
He toyed with a pair of dice from the craps table, rolling them simultaneously through the fingers of one hand, as though they were traveling from fingertip to fingertip of their own volition. Then he amused himself by making them disappear and reappear.
They felt odd to him, so he idly took a throw. They rolled to a stop an inch before they ought to have. He picked them up again and examined them closely. He kept track of every make of dice used in the more popular hells and made sure to bring his own whenever possible.
He had never seen this particular make before.
Collis Tremayne slid into the seat beside him, although Ethan’s old schoolmate had not been in evidence before. “Good evening, Damont,” Collis said easily. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Ethan tossed the dice down and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded. “You bugger, Tremayne.”
Collis grinned. “Sorry, not to my taste. But in this part of town, I’m sure we could arrange for it.”
“Stop grinning at me, Collis. I didn’t come here because you wanted me to. I came here because I want your bloke to stop following me.”
“Feebles? He’s just keeping an eye on you. We don’t want anything to happen to you, Ethan.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes. “What happens to me is not your business, Tremayne. Other than past friendship—getting farther in the past by the moment—I have no ties to you and your lot of—of—What do you blokes do, anyway?” Then he threw up his hands. “No, don’t tell me. I truly, deeply don’t want to know.”
Collis looked around them. “Ethan, we cannot talk here. Come with me.”
Ethan raised a brow. “No traps? No dark cellars with chains on the walls?”
Collis grunted. “No chains. Besides, if I recall correctly, I was the one chained, not you.”
Since that was true enough, Ethan let his resentment subside long enough to follow his old friend. Collis showed him to a small empty private dining room off the game room, the type where business might be discussed without interruption. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was paneled in warm woods and pleasingly lit by a crystal chandelier.
Ethan turned to Collis. “So, what is it you want from me, Tremayne?”
A deep voice erupted from behind him. “Not him. Me.”
Ethan’s heart nearly stalled. “Bloody hell!” He whirled to see the other uncle, the imposing one, standing where there had only been an empty room seconds before.
Lord Etheridge’s lips twitched. “Sorry to startle you.”
Ethan scoffed. “No you aren’t!” He whirled and headed for the door. “I hate this bloody club. The spookiest damned place—�
�
Collis held out one hand, stopping him. “Ethan, I think you should stay.”
“Yes,” said Lord Etheridge. “Stay.”
Ethan would have preferred that the invitation not sound quite so much like a command. He’d been careful to never put himself in a position to take orders. A sensible plan in all. He wasn’t any good at obedience. Orders made him twitchy with the desire to do just the opposite.
Lord Etheridge looked as if he were in the habit of expecting obedience. Ethan felt jumpy already. Not a promising sign of things to come in this encounter.
“Your dice are loaded,” he accused bluntly.
Etheridge nodded. “An inventor friend of mine makes them for us. The fight against Napoleon is expensive. The Liars pay their own way.” He eyed Ethan narrowly. “You have some objection to cheating the few for the good of the many?”
Ethan shrugged. “No. Personally, I cheat for my own good. I only thought better of a gentleman such as yourself.”
“The needs of the nation overshadow niceties such as personal honor,” Etheridge responded easily.
Ethan eyed his lordship narrowly. Etheridge didn’t sound like any lord he’d ever met before.
Unpredictability could be a bad thing in a situation such as this. Even knowing that could not have prepared him for what Etheridge said next.
“I’ve received approval from rather high up to impress you into our service, Mr. Damont.” Lord Etheridge’s lips twisted. “You belong to us now, such as you are.”
Ethan’s jaw dropped. Then he recovered, protesting even as he stood. “That is impossible. I am a free man!” That was true. He owned his home, had no debts, currently had enough blunt socked away to indulge in fine brandy for at least a year—
“I am afraid you are not,” Lord Etheridge said slowly.
Collis jumped in. “Ethan, listen to us. You’ve not time to waste.”
Ethan gazed from one to the other, his inner alarms clanging. “I’m not interested.” He turned to go once more. The sooner he left this madhouse, the better.
“It seems that you are not a taxpaying sort of man, Damont. Your house could be seized.”
Lord Etheridge’s mild words stopped Ethan in his tracks. He whirled. “You cannot touch my house. I won it, I own it, free and clear! I can pay your bloody taxes today, if you like!”
“Then we shall appeal to your better nature.” Etheridge sat at the gleaming table. “Please sit, Mr. Damont.”
Collis joined his uncle. “Ethan, give us a quarter of an hour,” he urged.
Ethan wanted nothing less, but he pulled one of the chairs apart from the others and sat. He watched both men narrowly. “You have thirteen minutes left.”
Collis looked toward his uncle. “Dalton, convince him.”
Dalton—Ethan decided upon the insolent familiarity with grim glee—steepled his fingers. “Mr. Damont, we find ourselves, and you, in a very . . .”
“Awkward,” Collis supplied helpfully.
Dalton slid the younger man a quelling glance. “A very awkward position. By no fault of your own, you were pulled into a recent event that you had no right or responsibility to interfere with.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Ethan said sourly to Collis. “Saved your arse, I did.”
Collis nodded in full agreement, but Dalton held up a hand. “It was an emergency, you were deemed trustworthy by long acquaintance with Collis, and I’m still trying to decide if Mrs. Tremayne acted wisely.”
Ethan planted an elbow on the table, and his chin on his fist. “You weren’t there when she needed you,” he said bluntly. “I was minding my own ducks in my own house when Rose dragged me out by the hair.” Ethan shrugged. “Not that I minded.” He turned to Collis. “How is your lovely wife these days? Fierce as ever?”
Collis began to answer eagerly, but Dalton cleared his throat. Almost as one, Ethan and Collis rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to Dalton.
“Do not digress, if you please, Mr. Damont,” he said shortly. “Then, you again assisted us in the distraction of Lord Maywell last evening while we—ah, investigated him.”
Ethan snorted. “Cleaned out his safe box, you mean.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve only nine minutes left, my lord.”
“In short—”
“I beg of you,” muttered Ethan.
Dalton darkened. “In short, Mr. Damont, since you know both dangerously much and yet even more dangerously little, we find ourselves in the position of having to decide what to do with you.”
Ethan leaned toward Collis. “Is that the royal ‘we’?”
Collis coughed back a laugh, but kicked Ethan under the table. “This is bad, Ethan.”
“We are the Liar’s Club, Mr. Damont,” Dalton said with his teeth clenched in obvious irritation. “We work for the Crown. Intelligence, counterintelligence, espionage. Spies, Mr. Damont.”
Too late, Ethan clapped his hands over his ears. “I told you I didn’t want to know!”
Dalton watched him carefully. “You must have suspected.”
Ethan cursed and put his hands down. “Suspecting is one thing. I suspect my cook is spitting in my soup. Knowing means never eating soup again.”
Collis looked green. “Ugh.” He raised his hand. “I move we eat no soup today.”
Dalton ignored him. “Mr. Damont, enough dancing around the issue. We have decided to make you a Liar. You have intelligence, skills, and you have already proved your discretion. Despite my reservations, even I must admit this solution is vastly safer than letting you run free knowing a handful of half-truths.”
“Tell him the best part,” Collis urged.
Dalton gave a put-upon sigh. “Upon deliberation, it has been decided that you may forgo the majority of Liar training and apprenticeship. You have already secured an excellent education and you are financially independent—in a manner of speaking. Your talents are ideal for infiltration. As a professional gambler, you are accustomed to taking risks, you know how to read people, and as we observed a few moments ago, you are adept at sleight of hand.”
He’d been watched, even then. “From now on I’m only using the privy in the dark,” Ethan muttered.
His lordship did not pause. “Your profession provides the perfect cover to wander the Continent as a secure courier. Other than a few courses to round out your skills, you could be vested as a full Liar immediately.”
Collis beamed. “Isn’t that superb? Normally, the only way to join the club is through months of training or apprenticeship.” He glanced puckishly at Dalton. “Although we have acquired some astounding talent through marriage.”
Dalton shushed Collis with a sharp gesture and focused on Ethan. “I see you as primarily information acquisition,” Dalton said, “and counter-espionage infiltration.” Dalton’s lips twisted with wry reluctance. “For your first mission, you are to go back to play a few more hands with Lord Maywell. We believe Maywell could be the opposition’s mastermind here in London. The lads have dubbed this leader the Chimera . . .”
Ethan listened in horror as Dalton mapped out the rest of his life for him.
“We want you to string him along by his apparent compulsion to gamble. Whether his love of cards is real or merely a useful cover, he should welcome your presence at his game. Never let him win enough to salve his pride, or lose enough to cause him to exclude you.” Lord Etheridge leaned back in his chair. “We cannot get into Maywell House again. He redoubled his number of guards today and canceled most of his family’s social engagements for the last few weeks of the Season. Obviously our first intrusion last night has already been detected. He is incredibly particular about who he lets in, and now he will be more so.” Etheridge gazed sourly at Ethan. “You, on the other hand, have already received an invitation to dinner and gaming tonight.”
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face in an effort to clear his mind. “So, you connive to get me here this morning to ask me—nay, tell me—that like it or not, I am now a spy? And
how do you know what invitations I’ve received?”
The situation was too eerie for words. He shoved back from the table and stood. “Your time is up. Good day, good sirs. I appreciate the kindness of your offer—no, actually I don’t and I think you’re both barking mad—but I respectfully decline. Translate that as ‘I’m getting the bloody hell out of this madhouse!’ ”
He turned to go, finally and at last. This time he made it all the way through the card room and was stepping into the front hall when Collis caught his arm.
Ethan pulled away angrily. “You won’t convince me to stay and listen for one more bloody minute, Tremayne.”
Collis shook his head. “I’m not trying to. Come to me if you have any questions, won’t you, Ethan? It wouldn’t do to be seen around the club again. You might not get another chance to walk out.”
“Is that a threat?”
Collis sighed. “Ethan, my former valet knew about the club. He sold some newsy tidbits to the Voice of Society.”
Ethan swallowed. Already he could see where that would be a very bad idea. “Did the Liars kill him?”
Collis shook his head.
That was a relief. Ethan breathed a bit easier until Collis shrugged and said, “We haven’t found him yet.”
Bloody hell. Ethan stared at the man he’d thought was his friend. “Whose side are you on?”
Collis sighed. “I’m a Liar, Ethan. My loyalties lie here. I’m asking you to think seriously about this. I’m hoping for an outcome that won’t force me to choose.”
“You recall that ‘better nature’ he mentioned?” Ethan shook his head. “I just remembered—I don’t have one.”
With that, he took his hat and coat from the doorman and left the club.
Jane dipped her quill tip into the inkwell and daubed it absently on the side. She put pen to paper.
“Dear Mother . . .”
There she stopped. Normally, she blithely reported every tiny detail of life here with her relations, right down to naming every caller and delivery. Mother wanted to know everything, so Jane did her best to serve.