PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

But a solution to their immediate needs was easy to come by.

  He lowered his head.

  The door flew open, the frame of it hissing against his carpet.

  John turned and scowled at Wilberforce. “Whatever emergency you think warrants such an interruption, I can assure you…” His voice trailed off as a second figure joined Wil’s in the doorway.

  Netta slid from his arms. “Cerise!” She hurried over to the woman. “What has happened? Who did this to you?”

  Netta’s friend was wrapped in a thick cloak, one much too warm for the weather. The skin around her right eye was swollen and a bruise darkened the skin at her jaw.

  “I do not know his name,” Cerise said, her accent more pronounced with her agitation. “Only zat he looked for you.”

  Wil stalked to the sideboard in the corner of the room and poured a liberal glass of whisky. He returned to the actress’s side and pressed it into her hand. “Drink.”

  Cerise took a small sip, wincing. She touched her bruised lip. “In our dressing room, there was a man. Ugly. With no manners. He said I was to tell him where you were. Zat his employer wanted to speak with you.”

  Netta clutched her friend’s hand. “Who is his employer?”

  Cerise gave Netta the glass then dug through her reticule and pulled out a calling card. She exchanged it for the glass.

  Netta read it, her face blanching. “Sudworth.”

  John strode across the room and took the card.

  “He recognized me at the masquerade,” Netta whispered.

  “We don’t know that.” John’s fingers itched to crumple the thick piece of cardstock, but he reined in his temper.

  “He must have done.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I have lived in London unmolested for six years, and it is only now that he’s come for me.” She closed her eyes. “The carriage abduction. It was him.”

  “Probable but not definite.”

  “Why would Sudworth want Miss LeBlanc.” Wil’s face mottled with anger. “We haven’t put your plan into motion yet.”

  “They have a history.”

  Wil opened his mouth, but John shook his head. “I just learned of it tonight. It isn’t relevant right now.”

  Wil nodded and shifted closer to Cerise, keeping a watchful eye upon the actress.

  “I can never apologize enough,” Netta said to Cerise. “I didn’t think my past could hurt anyone but me.” She gently touched Cerise’s cheek. “Why did he do this? You should have told him everything you knew about my whereabouts.”

  “It would have made no difference.” Cerise took another sip of whisky. “He believed me when I said I did not know where you were. He hit me when I refused to lay with him.”

  Netta gasped. “That bastard! Did he…I mean, should we send for the doctor?”

  A physician was a good idea. If not for Cerise, for Wil who would break his own hand from clenching it so. John moved to ring the bell for a servant.

  “There is no need,” Cerise said. “I have a greater need for a modiste rather than a physician.” She untied the strings of her cloak with one hand and pulled it off, handing it to Wil.

  “Oh my God,” Netta breathed.

  John ground his jaw. The spray of blood across the bodice and large rust-colored stain at the hem were disturbing enough. But it was the bloody handprint on her abdomen that was most unsettling.

  Cerise threw back the rest of the liquor. “No man strikes me without consequence. And any man who tries to take what is not his will feel the sting of my blade.”

  John blew out a breath. He couldn’t help but be impressed. Netta had chosen her friend wisely. Tough and bloodthirsty. A lot like John himself.

  Wil’s nostrils flared. “This happens often, does it?”

  Cerise stared into her empty glass, and John moved to fill it. Any woman who’d gone through what she had that night deserved every drop of liquor in the house.

  “I am an actress at a cheap theatre.” Cerise lifted one shoulder. “Men believing they can take what they want is not uncommon. Though zis is the first time I’ve killed because of it.”

  Which made John wonder if she’d killed for other reasons.

  “I’m going to the theatre,” Wil said. “I’ll clean up things on that end.”

  John nodded. If the crime hadn’t already been discovered, Wil would ensure no questions were asked.

  Cerise drummed her thumb against her glass, a rapid tattoo. “Dispose of the body, you mean? Already done.”

  John and Wil locked gazes, the same disbelief in his friend’s eyes John knew must be mirrored in his own. If this woman wasn’t half his size, he might have been afraid of her. Hell, he should be scared of her in any case.

  Netta didn’t seem to feel the same misgivings. “You’re a marvel,” she told her friend. “I only wish I could have been there to help you.”

  Oh, sure. When John spoke of killing, all he garnered was Netta’s squinty-eyed disappointment. When her friend did it, she was all admiration and wonder.

  John sniffed. Something about that wasn’t fair.

  Wil’s angry breathing grew more labored, sounding like a bull in rut, and Cerise shifted subtly away from him.

  Worried the man might pass out, John took him by the sleeve and pulled him to his desk. “Calm yourself. The woman is unharmed. Mostly.”

  Wil glowered at him.

  John sighed. “We’re going to be down another guest room, aren’t we?”

  “I already told the housekeeper to air one out.”

  Of course he had. Another stray. John shook his head. But if ever a woman needed a safe place to rest her head that night, it was Cerise.

  The woman said something to Netta, gesticulating in that way only the French could.

  John turned his back and lowered his voice. “I want men on Sudworth round the clock. I want to know where he is every minute of the day.”

  “There is an easy solution to this.”

  John ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, but then my mines will go through probate. It could take years before I can reclaim them. I want to have the deed back in my brother’s hands before we strike.”

  Wil crossed his arms.

  “Problem?”

  Wil hissed out a breath. “The delay…doesn’t please me. But I understand.”

  “Good.” John clapped him on the shoulder. “Now,” he said turning, “let’s see to Cer…ise?”

  The woman lounged on the far settee, balancing her glass on her knee and studying her surroundings.

  And Netta was conspicuously absent.

  “Where is Netta?” John asked.

  “She left.”

  John’s stomach clenched. She left to fetch her friend a cup of chocolate, or licorice, he was sure. She wouldn’t be so fool as to—

  “She said to tell you she will return later tonight and for you not to wait up for her.”

  John blinked, but the little black dots refused to leave his vision. He took a step forward. “Where did she go?”

  “That is her business. I did not ask.” Cerise swirled the amber liquid, looking wholly unconcerned.

  John took another step. “Why did she leave?”

  “He had a message for her, one he told me before he did this.” Cerise gestured to her face. “I assume she left because of it.”

  John waited, the seconds ticking past, but the woman said no more. “Well? What was the bloody message?”

  Wil stood next to him, his body tense.

  Cerise looked at them steadily. “It was for Netta. It is her decision whether to tell you or not.”

  John’s fingers itched to shake the woman, but common decency restrained him. That, and the knowledge that Wil would have his throat if he threatened their new stray.

  Pinning Cerise with his glare, John said to Wil, “Send messages to my friends. I’m going to need their assistance to find her.”

  He would take whatever help h
e could to track the infuriating woman down.

  A bead of sweat rolled down his back. He would find her before she did anything stupid. He would find her safe.

  He had to.

  And when they found her, he would take great pleasure in personally, and privately, teaching her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  His study had been transformed into a war-room. Montague had taken over his desk, sending out missives just as quickly as he could write them. Rothchild and Sutton pored over a map of London, arguing about the best direction to approach Sudworth’s house. And Dunkeld sat in the corner, cracking each knuckle in his hand, a sure sign that he was willing and ready to crack some heads.

  “Are you certain she has gone to his home?” Rothchild asked. “Sudworth has other properties in London.”

  “Which she wouldn’t know about.” John paced, trying to loosen his muscles. Fights were won more easily when he was loose. Clear-headed. Indifferent.

  With the way he was feeling now, he’d get his arse kicked. “She’s been to his home before.”

  Rothchild nodded and continued his argument with Sutton.

  Montague sealed another letter. “With this note, every one of my contacts will be on the streets looking for her. But as yet no one has seen her near Sudworth’s house. You must consider the possibility that she just went out for a walk.”

  John paused to glare at him. “In the middle of the night?”

  Montague leaned back in the chair. “After the behavior at my dinner table tonight, I won’t presume to know what either of you might do for entertainment. A stroll about London in the moonlight seems positively tame in comparison. Your Miss Courtney is something of a free-spirit.”

  “Miss LeBlanc,” Sutton corrected. “Courtney was the name Summerset gave her.”

  Rothchild shook his head. “LeBlanc isn’t correct, either. He said her true name was something like Ever…Everrose? Everly?”

  “Evered,” John gritted out. Who the bloody hell cared about a name? They were wasting time.

  Montague pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m so confused.”

  “She’s Netta.” His Netta. “Just call her that.” John resumed his pacing. “And you don’t know her like I do. She just learned her friend had been hurt. Netta’s a vengeful, devious woman. She would want to make Sudworth pay.”

  “Vengeful and devious?” Dunkeld leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “She sounds like your perfect mate.”

  Sutton snickered.

  John turned his back. He needed better friends. Ones who kept their absurd ideas to themselves. He looked to the door. Wil should be here. He understood the seriousness of the situation, but no, he had felt it more important to attend to their latest resident.

  A thick hand landed on his shoulder. Sutton was attached to it, and John grimaced at the tight squeeze. “We’ll get her back, have no fear. But I think we’re all wondering just who it is we are recovering. This one seems more than your usual plaything.”

  John shrugged him off and straightened the knot on his cravat. “I don’t know what you mean. She’s a lovely woman under my protection. I want to ensure she is safe. As I would with any of your wives,” he pointed out. Each one of his friends had gotten in their own fair share of trouble and John had been prepared to throw down for each and every one of their women with no questions on his part.

  He sniffed. Well, perhaps a few questions. But that was only because he cared for the health and well-being of his friends. His queries had stemmed from a deep, abiding concern. That was the kind of man he was.

  Unlike these interfering idiots.

  Yes, he couldn’t imagine his life without Netta. And yes, he would rip out the heart of any man who hurt her. But he wasn’t like his friends. They had all happily settled down in marriage, seemingly content with their domesticity.

  Marriage wasn’t in his or Netta’s future. Fortunately, he’d found the one woman more commitment-shy than he.

  His friends shared a look. One that John didn’t care for.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he began.

  “That the last bachelor standing has been brought to his knees.” Rothchild smirked. “I’ve waited for this day for years. There will be much mocking.”

  Just as he thought. Arseholes, all of them. Hearing wedding bells where none existed. He rubbed his chest. Netta would laugh at their taunts if she heard them. Where the hell was she?

  “Now don’t be hasty,” Dunkeld said. “Perhaps she merely warms his bed better than most.”

  The knife at his wrist slipped to his hand without thought. He threw the blade, and satisfaction licked through him when it thumped into the wall next to Dunkeld’s head. “If you can’t speak of her politely,” he said pleasantly, “you’d be wise not to speak of her at all.”

  Silence descended, with a lot of significant glances between his friends.

  “Fine.” John crossed his arms. “I care for her. That doesn’t change anything.” Except the fine thread of panic licking through him at her disappearance. That bit was different. “She’s clever. And diverting. And fearless. I’ve never met a woman like her.” And at this very moment she wasn’t under his protection. Who knew what damn fool thing she was getting up to?

  Montague stood and circled the desk. “We’ll find her. We’ll find her, and then we’ll have a laugh at you. But not before, right men?” His voice said it wasn’t an option.

  “Aye,” Dunkeld grumbled, standing. “Let’s get our arses out of these chairs and on the streets. The faster we find her, the faster the mocking can begin.”

  “John, you and Sutton go to Sudworth’s house,” Montague directed. “Dunkeld and I will go to the theatre. If she’s not there, we’ll find out where her apartments are and head over.”

  “We should all go to Sudworth’s.” John strode to the wall and yanked his blade from the wood paneling. He cleaned it on his sleeve before sheathing it. “That’s where she’ll be.”

  Sutton dug his fingers in his beard and rubbed his chin. “You’re not thinking clearly with this one. We don’t have proof she went there. We need to cover as much territory as possible.”

  “She went there.” He strode to the cannister of walking sticks tucked next to the bookshelf and chose one with a hard-edged top. He twirled it, getting a feel for its weight. Knives were all well and good, but sometimes a man wanted a real weapon, one he could bludgeon someone with.

  He tossed it up and snatched it from the air. “Netta is fool enough to confront Sudworth on her own. When it comes to her friends, I fear her idiocy knows no bounds.”

  “I thank you for the compliment,” an icy voice cut through the room.

  Netta stood in the entrance, one hand on the door, the other on her wide hip. She tapped the toe of her slipper and glared at John.

  A round face popped up over Netta’s shoulder. The features were a softer, less-defined version of Netta.

  “Look how handsome they all are.” The girl grabbed Netta’s shoulders and bobbed on her toes. “You were right. Staying here will be a lark.”

  John rested the walking stick across both shoulders, gripping the ends. He leaned his head back against it and blew out a breath. He drank in the sight of Netta, his muscles loosening with every inch of unscathed skin he saw.

  She was safe. She was angry, but that made no matter now that she was back under his roof.

  Netta lifted her chin. “Cerise told me that Sudworth has negotiated the marriage contract. His servant laughed about the impending marriage, that his master wanted a taste for the fallen sister before marrying the pure one. I could wait no longer to remove her from home.”

  The chit ducked around Netta. “I hope you have chocolate for breakfast. I prefer the kind from Luxembourg, please.”

  John closed his eyes. Perfect. Another damned stray to feed.

  He looked up and
caught the scowl directed at him as Netta wrapped a protective arm around the girl.

  And if the younger one was anything like her sister, John didn’t know how he would survive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  John’s ankle turned under him, and he wind-milled his arms to keep his balance. “Sodding hell.” He kicked the doll he’d stepped on to the side of the hall.

  An imp poked his tousled blond head out of the breakfast room. “Ooh, Uncle John said a bad word.”

  John made to kick the boy, and with a delighted squeal the future Duke of Montague turned and raced back to his morning meal.

  John gripped his hips. How had his home been infiltrated in only a matter of hours? It seemed as though he’d just settled Netta’s sister into her room when Montague and the rest of his friends had reappeared on his front steps. Only this time, they hadn’t come alone.

  A thunder of footsteps sounded from the front staircase, so much so that when John turned he expected to find a horde of elephants charging at him.

  It was worse.

  Four sticky children, eyes wild with the thrill of destruction, pounded around the corner, coming at him as fast as their chubby legs could move. A mangy grey dog nipped at one of the girl’s heels and a black and brown mutt led the pack, knocking into John as he loped past.

  He raised his hands above his head, trying to side-step around the beasts that he’d sworn an oath to die protecting. He breathed a sigh of relief as the marauding children turned from the hallway to terrorize the breakfast room.

  “Good Lord,” he muttered. His house has been overtaken. It would need to be quarantined after all the snot-ridden disease-carriers had returned to their respective homes.

  Netta’s light tinkle of a laugh sounded from the breakfast room, and John straightened his cravat to join the fray. An army of mongrels wouldn’t keep him from Netta, not when she had been decidedly sulky all night and morning. He had his work cut out for him charming her out of her bad mood.

  Call a woman an idiot once, and she won’t let a man forget it. Of course, she hadn’t heard when he’d praised her cleverness and fortitude. And wouldn’t listen when he’d try to point out that she’d missed the earlier part of the conversation. Infuriating woman.