Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 05]

by The Rogue

  He’d made one stupid mistake after another. They were all so obvious now. He rose from the desk and threw his scorched, bullet-ridden, bloody coat to the floor of the study as he made his way to the brandy.

  His first had been to remain in London for one minute after Lord Etheridge had made his “proposal.” He ought to have been on the first ship to the West Indies.

  His second, third, fourth—oh, God, his infinite mistake!—had been to give in to his attraction to Lady Jane Pennington. He’d been weak, desperate, breaking every one of his own rules three times over. Damn, the brandy was upstairs. “No virgins. No virgins. No virgins,” he muttered to himself.

  “Too bad you didn’t remember that earlier.”

  Ethan whirled, raising his ridiculously muffled fists in defense.

  A man not much older than himself sat in Ethan’s chair, before Ethan’s cold hearth in Ethan’s study. His sharply cut features had a watchful quality as he gazed stonily at Ethan. Zeus slept on the man’s lap, lounging on his back with all four white paws in the air. The traitor.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  The man remained seated, disregarding Ethan’s fury entirely. “I’m here to talk to you about a certain virgin.”

  “Jane?” Too late, Ethan realized he ought to have kept his bloody mouth shut.

  The man nodded. “Apparently. She spent several nights here with you, I hear.” He tilted his head. “Unchaperoned,” he added sourly.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  Ethan’s front door burst open and light, running footsteps sounded in the hall, footsteps Ethan knew all too well. He turned. “Janet?”

  She halted, disheveled and breathless, in the doorway. She was so beautiful his chest hurt anew. “Oh, dear,” she said faintly when she saw the two of them.

  “Hello, Jane,” the man said, his tone warming only slightly.

  Ethan couldn’t believe it, but Jane actually paled. “Hello, Stanton,” she said diffidently.

  Ethan blinked. Diffident? Jane?

  He turned back to the intruder. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  “Stanton” raised a brow. “Persistent fellow, isn’t he?” he said to Jane.

  Jane moved forward. Ethan could have sworn she was trying to put herself between him and this balls-forward Stanton bloke.

  “Ethan . . .” Jane turned to him with a careful smile. He hated that careful smile.

  “Ethan, meet Mother.” She took a breath. “And my cousin, the eleventh Marquis of Wyndham.”

  Ethan let out a breath. “Oh.” He turned to Lord Wyndham. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Jane turned back to Wyndham. “Stanton, I can explain—”

  A new voice echoed in the hall. “Wyndham!” Dalton appeared in the study doorway. If Ethan was not very much mistaken, his lordship was somewhat out of breath.

  Lord Wyndham gazed curiously at Dalton. “Etheridge?”

  Dalton entered and nodded at Ethan, greeting Jane as well. “My lady.” Then he faced off against Wyndham. “If you want to destroy this man, you’ll have to go through me,” Dalton declared. “He’s one of mine.”

  Lord Wyndham showed a trace of astonishment. “He’s a Liar?”

  Ethan felt rather astonished himself. “I’m still a Liar? I thought you only wanted me to infiltrate Maywell House!” He was stunned. They still wanted him?

  At that moment, Collis appeared in the doorway, not quite so breathless. “I figured Dalton had everything in hand,” he said easily. He blinked at all of them. “What, you didn’t need me, did you?”

  “If I might get a word in edgewise?” Jane’s voice had regained something of its usual acerbic tone. She turned to her cousin. “Stanton, I’m simply worried that you’ve the wrong idea about Mr. Damont.” She took a breath. “He never laid a hand on me,” she stated definitely.

  Ethan had to pause and admire such a nicely delivered bald-faced lie.

  Wyndham turned to Ethan. “What have you to say to that?”

  Ethan feared he wasn’t going to lie nearly as professionally as Jane. And yet—he’d never actually used his bare hands, had he? He turned to Wyndham, the picture of a misunderstood gentleman. “I vow to you all—I never laid a hand on her.”

  Jane smiled proudly at him. He only nodded back as serenely as Jeeves—er, Pearson.

  “Not only that,” Jane went on. “The only reason Lord Maywell didn’t kill me days ago was because of Ethan’s—er, Mr. Damont’s—influence on him.” She sent Ethan a slightly irritated glance. “Mr. Damont is an excellent operative. I never suspected a thing.”

  Wyndham narrowed his eyes at Dalton. “About that . . . why wasn’t I informed that Maywell was being investigated?”

  Dalton matched Wyndham’s gaze. “Why wasn’t I informed that you and Lord Maywell were related through your cousin?”

  Collis cleared his throat and raised one hand like a dutiful student. “Pardon me, but I want to know how Lord Wyndham knows about the Liars.”

  Jane let her gaze drift back to Ethan, standing so upright and alone among the others. All she wanted to know was if Ethan still loved her, as he had shouted to her in Hyde Park.

  She took a step toward him, but before she could say anything, Ethan reached for a folded paper on his desk. He handed it to her without a word.

  Jane took it and silently unfolded it. One sheet was the legal deed to Diamond House.

  The other was a statement in a rather hideous scrawl that stated the transferal of ownership of Diamond House to the sole possession of Lady Jane Pennington, signed by Ethan Damont.

  She looked up at Ethan, hope blooming in her heart. He would never give up his house—not unless he meant for them to share it!

  “I want you to have it,” he said stiffly. “I—I don’t want it any longer and you’ve lost so much—”

  Vast and infinite disappointment swept Jane. He wasn’t asking her to share his home. He was giving it to her as a parting gift.

  “Where are you going to live?” Her voice didn’t break, she was surprised to notice. Oh, that must have been her heart that shattered, she thought dully.

  “I thought I’d take an extended journey to the West Indies,” Ethan told her distantly.

  Jane narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that where men flee to escape their debts?”

  He blinked at her in surprise. She saw the first glimmer of comprehension cross his face. He indicated the deed. “Is that not enough repayment?”

  Jane crossed her arms and tapped the folded deed against her chin. She became aware that the others were watching them. She cared not a whit. “No,” she said firmly. “It is not.”

  Ethan drew back. “What else do you want from me?”

  “Zeus,” Jane responded instantly. “I want Zeus.”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. “But—” Then his face hardened. “Of course. I can hardly take him with me, after all.”

  Jane was disappointed. She was going to have to raise the ante, it seemed. “I want the house, Zeus, and . . .” She glanced at Lord Etheridge and Collis, then she smiled. “And ten years of indentured servitude.” She pointed at Dalton. “To him.”

  Ethan scowled. “What?”

  Collis snorted. “She wants you to be a Liar, you idiot.”

  “The commitment is usually for life,” Dalton drawled. “But I’ll take that ten years and raise you another cat.” He rolled his eyes skyward. “God knows we have enough of them running about Etheridge House.”

  Ethan held up his hands. “Wait just a moment—”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Jane snapped. “You owe me. You admitted as much yourself. Is that not so?”

  Ethan cleared his throat and looked away. “Yes. I owe you. I’ll serve ten years in the Liars.”

  Jane nodded briskly. Her cousin was watching her closely, but for all that she owed him, she would not give up Ethan. “I want you to smile more often.” She ticked each item off on her fingers. “I want a decent proposal of marriage. And some
times . . .” She leaned closer to Ethan, although she truly did not care who heard her. “Sometimes,” she whispered loudly, “I want to be on top.”

  Ethan put both hands over his face and laughed helplessly for a long moment. “Janet, you’re killing me.” His voice was muffled but she could already tell he was smiling. Then he dropped his hands and inhaled deeply. “No more running.”

  His eyes were shining so brightly that Jane felt her own chest grow tight. Love, for the first time unfettered and unrestrained, shone from his eyes like a beacon through the fog.

  He dropped to one knee and took her bandaged hands in his bandaged hands. “I have no name, no fortune, nor even much value as a man. All I’ve ever had that was of any worth is this house and my cat. If you’ll have me, Lady Jane Pennington, then all I have is yours.”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m sorry, that isn’t enough. You’re supposed to tell me how much you love me.”

  He smiled sadly up at her. “Would you believe me? I’ve been known to lie on that topic before.”

  She arched a brow. “Try.”

  He bowed his head for a moment. “I don’t think I could keep breathing for a single day if you weren’t,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I don’t think I could bear to pass one moment of my life knowing that I hurt you, or that you were hurt because of me. I don’t think I could watch another sun rise if I didn’t watch it with you.”

  He looked up at her at last. “Is that love enough?”

  Jane nodded, her eyes filling. “It’ll do.”

  He smiled at that. “Then, my lady, we have a deal.”

  They solemnly spat on their palms and shook on it. Then he stood and pulled her into his arms.

  Jane fell headlong into his kiss—until someone cleared his throat behind her.

  “Oh, hell,” Ethan murmured against her mouth. “I forgot about them.”

  Jane chuckled and hid her face in Ethan’s neck.

  Lord Wyndham sighed. “A Liar in the family. Oh, well, I suppose it could be worse. He could be a—”

  Collis held up one finger. “Better not say a tradesman’s son. Or a dandy. Or a card cheat.”

  “Oh, hell,” Wyndham murmured faintly. “Maybe she ought to marry him soon, before he gets any worse.”

  Jane giggled. “Or before I do,” she whispered to Ethan.

  Epilogue

  Jane peered curiously about her as Lady Etheridge led her through the secret portion of the Liar’s Club. “Are you sure it is all right for me to be here?”

  Clara smiled. “Considering that you are marrying the Gambler and are already an operative for a member of the Royal Four—”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Shh! Ethan doesn’t know about them,” she whispered.

  Clara eyed her with amusement. “Don’t you think you ought to tell him before the wedding next week?”

  Jane thought about it. “Hmm. No,” she said firmly. “He has enough adjustments, with the prince trying to knight him and everything.” She sighed. “Have you heard all the details of his rescue of the Prince Regent? It’s such a thrilling tale—”

  Clara held up a hand. “Yes, dear, I have. Several times.” She led Jane down a hallway. “We’ll just pop up to the attic for some drawing supplies and then you can describe the Chimera to me. I’ve become quite good at using other people’s descriptions . . .”

  But Jane wasn’t listening. She’d stopped before the notice board, her eyes locked on a drawing already placed there. “That’s him,” she breathed.

  Clara hurried back to her. “What?”

  Jane reached out to touch a drawing of a sullen young man, not more than twenty, with a round face and peevish expression. “That’s him. That’s the Chimera.”

  Clara went very still. “Dalton!”

  Lord Etheridge and Ethan Damont came barreling down the hall. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

  Clara took down the drawing, her hands shaking as she pulled the pins from the paper. She handed it to Dalton.

  “The Chimera,” Clara said slowly, “is Denny.”

  Take a sneak peek at

  Surrender to a

  Wicked

  Spy

  Book Two of the Royal Four series

  Coming October 2005

  Prologue

  ENGLAND, 1813

  Lady Olivia Cheltenham fell into the Thames and was rescued by a Viking god. Rather, she was pushed in—by none other than her very own mother—and the Viking god saved her. Rather, he tried to. Sorry to say, she ended up saving him.

  When Olivia felt her mother shove her over the railing of the bridge, she had what seemed like a very long time to consider the reason on the way down. Mother had never shown signs of being homicidal before, so she didn’t think that was it. Nor had Olivia done anything more offensive than ask repeatedly why she was being required to stand on a bridge and look at the Thames for hours on a chill, windy day. Therefore, the only explanation could be that there had been an eligible bachelor within sight.

  As the icy water closed over Olivia’s head, wrenching her bonnet off and taking her breath away, Olivia was forced to admit that perhaps she should be more charitable. Mother had been under such a strain lately, but surely she wasn’t mad enough to kill Olivia in the hunt for a husband?

  The river was not deep here, and Olivia felt her toes touch the soft bottom briefly before her natural buoyancy began to pull her upwards again. Her head broke the surface, and she took a much needed breath. This not being the first time she had ever fallen into water in her life, she had begun to strip off her spencer immediately and now she was able to pull her arms free and toss the short jacket aside to float slowly away. Fortunately, her gown would not weigh her down, for she was wearing a very light muslin without much in the way of petticoats. Mother had insisted she wear it this morning despite the weather—a fact made suddenly sinister in the light of recent events. Olivia put her mother’s plotting out of her mind in favor of a more important matter—survival. She kicked her slippers away and examined her situation.

  Above her, she heard her mother’s horrified screams and the shouts of what seemed like a large crowd gathering, but Olivia did not waste time peering up at them. The water was so cold that it was already sending spikes of pain into her hands and feet. She ought to get out before she went numb. Turning easily with a sweep of her arms, she spotted a set of the slimy stone stairs that led from the bank down to the water every so often along the river’s edge.

  She was about to strike out for the spot when something large hit the water next to her, sending choking brown filth up her nose and into her open mouth. She sputtered in disgust and swiped at her face, clearing her vision in time to see a pair of great arms reaching for her.

  With a kick, she avoided them easily and swam a short distance away. The arms belonged to a large, filthy stranger.

  Of course, in his defense, he probably hadn’t been filthy before he entered the water.

  In fact, he’d probably looked very nice indeed a few moments ago. Olivia tread water easily as she considered him. If the chiseled cheekbones and firm chin visible beneath his dirty gold, streaming hair were any indication, he normally looked very fine indeed. His head remained very stably above water. Apparently he was large enough that he was able to stand firmly on the bottom. He looked like a very wet, very dirty Viking.

  No, not descriptive enough. He looked like a large, wet, dirty Viking god.

  Enter the eligible bachelor.

  He swiped the hair from his eyes and blinked sky-blue eyes at her in confusion. “Are—are you all right?”

  Mother’s game was working. He was dutifully going to rescue her. How embarrassing. Olivia grimly decided not to play. “Oh, yes,” she assured him. “No need to bother about me.”

  Obviously not understanding, he reached for her. Olivia evaded his grasp, swimming effortlessly aside. Unfortunately, this put him between her and the stairs, and she was already starting to shiver.

  He reached a
gain. She evaded again. He stared at her in frustration. “Will you come here so I can help you?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied primly. “If you’ll simply move aside, I shall make my own way out.”

  He blinked, frowning. The river lapped at his chest much the way it did to the great immovable pillars of the bridge. “What?”

  Olivia gave up. She had no time to make idle chatter with him. He was big enough to simply walk out, but she was growing colder by the moment. Striking out, she took a side tack that swept her a bit downstream of him. Of course, the great fellow reached for her again, but he seemed unwilling to take a single step, so she rounded him quickly and made for the stairs.

  Halfway there, she glanced back. He still stood there, as immovable as a stone. “Aren’t you coming?” she called. “The water is very cold.”

  He turned his head and upper body to look at her. “I—I can’t.”

  Olivia was beginning to lose patience. Her teeth were chattering mightily now, and she couldn’t feel most of her body. “I’ll make sure she apologizes,” she snapped. “I know it was a terrible thing to do, but I do think you’re being a bit mulish now.”

  He blinked at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, miss, but the reason I can’t move is that my boots have sunk into the mud.”

  “Oh.” Olivia looked longingly at the stone stairs once more, then turned back.

  “No,” he protested when he saw her returning. “Go on! You must get out of the water!”

  Olivia ignored him, stroking swiftly to his side. “Can you not pull your feet from them?”

  He blushed and looked away sheepishly. “They’re very new, and they fit quite tightly. It usually requires my valet’s help to pull them off.”

  Olivia didn’t bother to hide her opinion of that sort of vanity. He glanced at her expression and shrugged. “Everyone is wearing them that way these days.”

  Some Viking god he was. Just her luck that the first man in London who attracted her was a vain and impractical dandy. As if he needed any help looking stunning!

  Locking her jaw against the chattering that now verged on violent, Olivia reached for him. “You need to take the weight off the mud,” she told him. “Let yourself lean back and try to float your weight on the water.”