by The Rogue
The clapping of many hands came from the doorway. Ethan turned to see Collis, Clara, Phillipa, and Fisher applauding him with smiles. Kurt glared approvingly as well, but Etheridge only gazed impassively at him over the heads of the others.
Feebles, however, was transported. “You’ve a natural touch, sir, a real natural touch!”
Ethan bowed slightly. “I had a good teacher, Mr. Feebles.”
Etheridge stepped forward. “Very well, then, Mr. Damont. You’ve passed the most important tests. I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”
“Jane, my dear,” Uncle Harold called from his study as Jane passed the open doorway. “Do come in for a moment.”
Jane had walked past Uncle Harold’s study a thousand times since she’d come to London. He’d never so much as looked to notice her before.
This couldn’t be good. As she swallowed nervously and entered the study, she wondered what Robert had told Uncle Harold.
Well, what was there to tell? She’d told Robert she wanted to walk on such a lovely day. He’d certainly witnessed some vigorous walking. He’d seen her enter a shop, try on a bonnet, speak to a man she’d encountered in her uncle’s own house, and then walk home.
Blast, she ought to have tried to hide her disturbance more cleverly. Mother had warned her to watch out for gossipy servants.
“Never underestimate what a household retainer sees and hears. It usually does not take much to persuade them to carry tales.”
She moved to stand before her uncle’s desk, willing her hands to stop shaking. That didn’t work, so she clasped them daintily behind her back.
“Yes, Uncle Harold?”
Her uncle peered up at her, his usually dour face creased into something he probably thought more pleasant. Jane’s stomach flipped over. Her uncle never smiled. What was afoot here?
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jane—have you had a pleasant Season here with us?”
Jane relaxed slightly. Uncle Harold only wanted to know if she was going to stay or go home to Northumbria now that the Season was nearly done.
“I’ve had a very nice time, indeed, Uncle. Aunt Lottie and the girls have been lovely to me.”
Uncle Harold nodded. “And Society at large? Have you met any young fellows who piqued your interest?”
Oh, dear. That whole husband-hunt pretense was coming back to haunt her now. She painted regret onto her expression. “No, I’m sorry to say that I have not formed an attachment to any of the gentlemen I’ve met.” True enough, for Mr. Damont was no gentleman.
Not that she was attached to him—of course not! He was an enigma—a puzzle she was interested in solving, that was all.
Uncle Harold blew out the sides of his fluffy white moustache. “Oh, dear. That is too bad. I so hoped you’d find the love match your mother was expecting for you.”
The last thing Mother was interested in was a love match, but Jane only nodded sorrowfully.
“If you’d like to accompany us to Scotland for the hunting season, you certainly may. Then there will be Christmas and all that rot. Perhaps you’ll meet someone interesting at one of the house parties we usually attend?”
Jane smiled, relieved that the topic of particular gentlemen was closed. “I’d like to stay, Uncle Harold. Mother has said I might if you invited me.”
“Well, then, the matter is settled.” He nodded and waved her genially away. “I’ll tell your aunt you’ll be staying.”
Jane turned to leave, happy to go. Gruff, indifferent Uncle Harold she was accustomed to. Genial, warm Uncle Harold was a bit much for her nerves.
“Oh, Jane?”
She turned back. Blast, she’d almost made it out of the study. “Yes, Uncle Harold?”
“My dear, you’ll need to do some shopping for the winter Season, yes?”
Jane blinked. That was true. She could hardly wear her light muslin and silk frocks this winter—and she certainly couldn’t be seen wearing her gowns from last winter. “Yes, Uncle, I will.”
He nodded. “Then you had best give me your bank account numbers so that I can pay your expenses for you.” He smiled. Jane nearly drew back from the show of teeth. “You can hardly traipse along the Strand with cash in your reticule!”
That was also true. Jane hesitated, but could come up with no legitimate reason not to give her uncle the bank information. Likely he could get it from the bank anyway, being her eldest male relative as he was.
She nodded. Mother wouldn’t like it, but really, it only made sense. “I’ll bring that down to you straightaway, Uncle.”
But Uncle Harold was already losing interest. He didn’t look up from his papers but only waved her on once more.
Jane left, entirely relieved. Now that Uncle Harold didn’t have to worry that she was going to bankrupt him with her shopping, he would likely forget all about her again.
Jane found that she much preferred it that way. Especially since Uncle Harold was sure to disapprove of any interest she might have shown in that scandalous cad, Mr. Damont.
Not that she was interested any longer.
Absolutely not.
Dalton led Ethan on a circuitous route to a semicircular room high in the attic of the club. He opened the door and waved Ethan through.
“My secret office,” he said.
“Secret from whom?” Ethan asked. “I’ve only been a Liar for half a day and I already know about it.”
“Precisely,” Etheridge said ironically. “Please, take a seat.”
Ethan was dying to sit. In fact, he rather thought he’d like to lie down and moan after his session with Kurt. Instead, however, he found himself refusing the chair. “No, thank you. I’d rather stand.”
Etheridge sat and folded his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you trust me, Damont?”
Ethan met his gaze levelly. “Why don’t you trust me?”
Etheridge almost smiled. If Ethan hadn’t seen the big lord turn to putty for his lovely wife, he wouldn’t have interpreted the easing of Dalton’s jaw for the pleasant expression it was doubtless meant to be.
“You know, my lord, I happen to think I’m the perfect addition to your gang. Your lot could use some livening up.”
To his vast surprise, his lordship nodded. “It has been a long road back. We lost a number of good men this year. I think that new blood will help them look toward the future.”
“What happened?” Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted to know about Liars dying. He liked his life expectancy right where it was—which wasn’t all that long, come to think of it.
Etheridge folded his hands on the desk. “We had a non-Liar working in the club as manager, bartender, and so on. Jackham wasn’t a bad fellow, by all accounts, but somehow the enemy got to him. He gave up the names and locations of most of the men before he realized what they were going to use them for. When men started dying, he quit informing and tried to come back to us. I think he truly regretted it, but it was too late by then. He came to a bad end in the Thames, we hear.”
Ethan frowned. “Jackham? I thought the traitor was a bloke named Denny?”
Etheridge grimaced. “Denny? No, he was never one of us. Just a gossiping valet that the men handed back and forth until we discovered that he was telling tales to the Voice of Society.”
“And will this Denny fellow end up in the Thames as well?” What a bloodthirsty lot the Liars were!
Etheridge tilted his head. “Why do you care?”
Because I want to know in which direction to run for my life. “I don’t. I’m simply curious, that is all.”
Etheridge leaned forward suddenly, his eerie silvery gaze becoming intense. “Damont, there is something more that I haven’t told you.”
Why am I not surprised? “And that is?”
“There is more than one kind of spy, Damont. There is the sort that infiltrates a place like Maywell’s, possibly as a guest or servant, who simply watches and reports on every detail that goes on around them.”
“That sounds like what
I’ll be doing.”
Etheridge shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving Ethan’s. “I wish you to work another way. I want you to be a double spy.”
Ethan frowned. “Double for whom?”
A slight smile eased the corner of his lordship’s mouth. “I want you to get Maywell to recruit you as a French spy, so that you can find out about his organization and feed him misinformation from our side.”
This was appalling. “Why would he do that?” Ethan asked in horror.
Etheridge gazed at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “For the same reason we would, I suppose. You’ve a useful combination of talents.”
Ethan took a deep breath. “I think I liked the sound of the first sort better. I’m very good at watching.” If he was merely watching, he could keep an eye on Lady Jane and the other ladies, just as a safeguard.
Etheridge sat back. “Fine. Watch at first, if you like. But I don’t think it will be long before Maywell tries to draw you in.” He pinned Ethan with his gaze. “If he offers a chance, take it. If he gets that far and receives a refusal from you, he won’t dare let you live.”
Ethan swallowed. “How do you know that?”
Etheridge let out a breath. “Because that’s what I would be forced to do. That’s why we have never let anyone in until we’ve been absolutely sure of their loyalties.”
Until you.
Etheridge didn’t say the words out loud, but Ethan heard them all the same. Sobering thought, to go along with all the other sobering thoughts that had been conjured in this secret office in the attic.
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’ve wasted your time.” Ethan shrugged. “I’ve been scared since I walked in here this morning.”
Etheridge nodded. “Good. Stay that way. It might keep you alive.”
Overwhelmed, Ethan shook his head. “You’re a fanatic, do you know that? The world is black and white to men like you. Our side is good, their side is bad—even though their side is made up of ordinary men, just like us.”
Etheridge considered him with half-lidded eyes. “That ability to see the shades of gray is going to come in useful as a double spy—if it doesn’t get you killed first.”
Ethan snorted. “So what is the life expectancy of a double spy these days?”
Etheridge looked down at his hands, then back up to meet Ethan’s gaze. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Despite Etheridge’s grim-reaper manner, Ethan found himself enjoying the rest of the afternoon spent in the Liar’s Club. He was invited to the kitchen to partake of Kurt’s coq au vin with Collis, Phillipa and Phillipa’s son, Robbie (although how such a young woman could have a strapping lad of ten, Ethan didn’t dare ask), and Fisher.
There was one thing he couldn’t stop thinking of, however. How could someone who was close to these people suddenly become their enemy—ending up in their sights, as it were?
“These blokes, Jackham and Denny—”
Phillipa shuddered. “Don’t mention Mr. Jackham to me, if you please. I still have trouble going up ladders after what he did to me.”
“What did he do to you?”
“He dangled me off a rooftop by my cravat, thank you very much.”
Ethan stared. “Cravat?”
She shrugged, a boyish gesture. “It’s a long story.”
Robbie grinned. “Flip was done up like a lad.”
Ethan wrinkled his brow. “You call your mother ‘Flip’?”
Phillipa sighed. “The story just gets longer and longer.”
Ethan grinned. “It’s one I’d love to hear someday.”
Collis kicked him under the table. Ethan sent him an exasperated glare. “What? That wasn’t flirting, that was just talking!”
Phillipa only looked amused. “You could flirt all day and likely I’d never notice. That was one social skill I never mastered.”
Out of sheer habit, Ethan leered. “I would be happy to teach you—ow!” He rubbed his shin. “Yes, well, that time I was flirting. Old habits die hard.”
Collis snorted. “Not as hard as you will if you don’t stop.”
“All right, then, if Jackham is off limits, tell me about this Denny bloke?”
Collis held up a hand. “He worked for me as valet.”
Phillipa nodded. “And before that, he worked for James.”
“And before that, for Sir Simon last spring!” Fisher put in.
Ethan blinked. “Three employers in one year? Good God, what did you lot do to the poor wretch? Can you imagine being shuffled around like that, unwanted and unappreciated? Was he that bad a valet?”
Collis looked uneasy. “Well, no. He was quite good actually. Everything was always done to perfection.”
Phillipa had to agree. “I didn’t like him, but James always looked very dashing—which isn’t easy for James. He tends more toward the rumpled-farmer air.”
“He was quite clever as well,” added Fisher. “If I recall correctly, he came up with some of the more original nicknames in the club.”
“Nicknames?” Ethan looked around the table. No one had said anything about a nickname. “Do you all have one?”
They nodded, even Robbie.
“I’m the Phoenix,” Collis said.
“I’m Gemini,” added Phillipa.
Ethan blinked. “You’re a twin?”
She shook her head. “It’s a—”
“Long story,” Ethan finished for her. “Right.” He turned to Robbie. “And you?”
“I’m the son of the Griffin,” Robbie explained. “So I’m the Cub.” He looked a bit peevish. “Da said that might change someday.”
“Let us hope,” Ethan agreed. He looked at Fisher. “What about you?”
Fisher gazed back at him. “Why, Fisher, of course.”
Ethan blinked. “Oh. I thought that was your surname.”
Fisher nodded happily. “It is. Didn’t that work out nicely?”
“And Kurt is . . . ?”
“The Cook. No better knife man in all the world.” Collis grinned. “I wouldn’t think too long on that if I were you. You’ll have nightmares.”
Ethan leaned back. “True.” He was beginning to have a few already. “So do I have a nickname as well?”
They all looked a bit uncomfortable. Collis shrugged and grimaced. “Well . . . it doesn’t really work that way. One day someone will simply start calling you a name . . .”
Robbie nodded. “And then it will stick.”
Fisher agreed. “The way Denny named that Chimera bloke, just before you all took off on that trip down the Thames.”
Collis looked surprised. “Oh, is that where that came from? I’d wondered.” He turned back to Ethan. “We don’t usually nickname the enemy, but we needed something to call the rotter aside from ‘the enemy mastermind.’ That was a bit of a mouthful.”
They were back to Denny, which was fine because Ethan was beginning to want a nickname and he didn’t like that. He’d never been much of a joiner. “So you lot mistreated and disrespected a servant who worked hard for you?” Ethan shook his head. “No wonder he turned on you.”
Collis frowned at his coq au vin. “I never saw it from that perspective.”
“A valet depends on the master for everything.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “That’s why they call them ‘dependents.’ ” He pointed his fork at Collis. “You’re lucky all he did was carry tales. I would have come up with something much more fitting.”
“As in?”
“As in red pepper in your drawers, or thistle spines in your stockings, or—”
Collis held up both hands in defense, laughing. “Hold on there, evil one! You have a mind like a villain!” He looked over at Kurt, who was working more magic on the giant cooker. “Kurt, aren’t you still looking for an apprentice? I think I have a candidate for you.”
Kurt raised his leonine head to consider Ethan without expression. “Not much of a fighter.” Then he grunted. “But fast,” he said wistfully.
S
uddenly feeling a bit chilled, Ethan leaned over to Robbie. “What does Kurt do around here besides train fighters and cook?” he whispered.
Robbie grinned evilly and drew his finger across his throat, accompanied by a wet slicing noise made in his mouth. “Assassin!” he whispered back, with rather more relish than Ethan thought was precisely healthy.
“Er, right.” Nightmares indeed. Ethan looked back up at Kurt. “Thank you, sir, but no, thank you.”
Kurt gave a shrug that reminded Ethan of mountains moving and turned back to his bubbling pots.
After excusing himself from the luncheon, Ethan decided to get back to the real world. He was expected at Lord Maywell’s tonight. As he was about to leave, he realized that he’d left his walking stick in the cellar.
He trotted quickly down the stairs and spotted the stick immediately—then just as promptly forgot it again.
Clad in nothing but close-fitting trousers and a tight weskit, Rose Tremayne was performing some complicated exercise on the great mat. She moved slowly and gracefully, as if in a dance, her arms and legs seeming to take precise patterns in the air.
It was one of the loveliest things he’d ever seen. She was grace and perfection with her bare arms sweeping slowly through the air in a great arc—
Ethan picked up his stick and went slowly back up the stairs. Rose was a lovely thing indeed.
I wonder what Lady Jane would look like in trousers?
Chapter Twelve
As Ethan left the club and strolled to the corner to catch a hack, he looked about him with new eyes. He was a Liar now, one of them, inside—perhaps for the first time in his life.
He smiled to himself as he passed a school. His eyes barely took in the sign over the gate. “The Lillian Raines School for the Less Fortunate.” Now why did that sound familiar?
Well, that wasn’t him, was it? He was feeling quite fortunate indeed. Then his shoulder throbbed where Kurt had landed that single massive blow. Painful, but all in all, well worth it. He was a Liar now.
Ethan was so wrapped in the warm glow of camaraderie that he had no idea how closely he was being watched.