by Alyson Chase
A new tradition, Elizabeth had called it.
Bugger tradition.
John lifted a female urchin from the seat next to Netta and plopped her in her father’s lap, taking her place. He accepted the tart. “Thank you.” He squeezed his wife’s thigh to emphasize the point. Then slid his palm a little higher.
Netta peeled his hand off of her. “Children present,” she murmured. “Later.”
John scowled and stabbed his fork into the tart. “Why do you people insist on laying siege to my home each week? Can’t we have these breakfasts at someone else’s house?”
Montague bucked his knee, making his daughter squeal as she held on for the ride. “No,” he said. “Because then we’d never see you and Netta. You wouldn’t make an appearance.”
John sniffed. Sometimes it was unfortunate that his friends knew him so well.
“Were you hired for the role of Desdemona?” Colleen asked Netta. “Weren’t you to try out for the role this Tuesday?”
“The manager asked me to come back for another audition next week.” Netta blew out a breath. “I think he liked my performance but it was hard to tell.”
“Of course, he liked it.” John rested his hand on the back of her chair and toyed with the curl of hair on her back. “You are a superlative actress.”
“Aww.” Elizabeth gave Montague a significant look. “When was the last time you gave me such a compliment. You could learn something from your friend.”
“They are newly married,” Montague protested. “For the first year, men say all sorts of nonsense. Besides”—he dipped his chin and raised one eyebrow—“I show you praise in many other ways.”
His wife turned pink. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“And my compliment has nothing to do with its proximity to my wedding.” Judith leapt onto John’s lap, and he fed her a bit of ham. “Thirty years from now Netta will still be a superlative actress, and I will freely tell her so.”
Netta placed her hand on his leg and leaned into him. “Thank you, husband.”
Sure, she could stroke his leg in a crowded room without consequence. He took a sip of coffee. Perhaps tonight he could create a consequence. A naughty, wanton consequence. His lips twitched, a new game forming in his mind.
Three months into his marriage, and he couldn’t be more satisfied. She gave him a reason to smile each day. She kept him on his toes. And their bed sport only got better and better.
He rubbed his thumb along her hand. Netta had been nothing but encouraging when he’d reopened his laboratory. He had months of reading to become au courant on the state of chemistry today, but getting his burners lit again had felt right.
He was creating again, playing with the elements, striving for new formulas for a stronger steel. He walked into his laboratory each day with a smile on his face.
He tapped his thumb against his thigh. It was a joy practicing chemistry once more, but something was missing and he didn’t know what. A slight sense of restlessness was the only stain on his happiness. He enjoyed working in his laboratory, but he didn’t feel the same passion for it he once had.
Wil popped his head into the breakfast room. “I—”
A jumble of children, already finished with their meal, raced past, knocking into his legs, sending him off-balance.
He stumbled into the door jamb.
John grinned. It was amusing when it happened to somebody else. “Something I can do for you?” he asked.
Wil straightened his cravat. “I’m just going out. I might be gone for a couple of days.”
John knitted his brow. “Why? Has something happened?”
“I don’t rightly know.” Wil hooked his thumb under one of his braces. “I met a man in a bit of trouble, and I thought I might try to help him out.”
“Another stray?” At least Wil hadn’t brought the poor sot home this time.
“Not according to him.” Wil shook his head. “He says he was a prince of Naples, though he doesn’t look the part now. Moth-eaten clothes, wild hair, but there’s something about his bearing.” He shrugged. “I’m curious.”
“What’s he doing here?” Netta asked, planting her elbows on the table and settling in.
John pressed his leg against hers. She did love a good story.
“He says he had to flee after the Congress of Vienna, but fears foreign agents are after him.” Wil blew out a breath. “His face looked to have taken a recent beating, but the dangers might all be in his head.”
“Foreign agents?” Sutton looked around the table. “Should we speak with Liverpool about this?”
“The prime minister has completely cut us out of his confidence.” John pressed his lips together. “I suspect he doesn’t believe that we don’t know where Sudworth disappeared to.”
“How shocking,” Montague said dryly.
“Besides, as Wil says, the man might be deranged. We can’t go to Liverpool with the ravings of a lunatic.” Nor did John want to. If he ever learned anything that threatened the nation, he would notify the proper authorities, of course. But other than that he no longer desired an association with the Crown. That part of his life was done.
“He says he has proof.” Wil tapped the door frame and straightened. “I intend to try to convince him to show it to me.”
“And if you can’t convince him, perhaps we can discover the truth in other ways.” John ran his hand up the back of his head. The possibilities were endless.
“Do you need a retrieval expert?” Rothchild asked. He shrugged at the questioning look Amanda gave to him. “What? My skills are available for the next few days.”
Wil turned his hat about in his hands. “That’s very kind of you, my lord—”
“Mine, too.” Dunkeld raised his hand like a school boy. “My fists didn’t get nearly enough exercise rounding up Sudworth’s men. I’m available too.”
“Lord Dunkeld, while I appreciate the offer—”
“Wouldn’t it be nice,” John said, interrupting Wil, “if we had some sort of organization to provide us with jobs we might want to take on from time to time. Something to alleviate the tedium of our conversations on what little Marcus ate for dinner and what crops are yielding the most this year?”
“I hope you are not saying you find my company dull already?” Netta asked sweetly. “Because there might be repercussions to you if that were so.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her soft cheek. “Of course not, darling. You could never be dull.”
Elizabeth glared at him. “I am not the type of mother who talks about what her children eat each day.”
John pursed his lips but remained silent. Let her believe what made her happy.
“And crop yields are immensely fascinating,” Winnifred said. “Why our barley has—”
Dunkeld cupped her shoulder. “Dear, while agriculture is a topic of endless interest to me and to your scientific mind, not all feel such. Especially not these simple-minded louts.”
“I take Summerset’s point.” Montague drummed his fingers on the table. “I do miss feeling of service to a country in need. Perhaps…we could turn our skills to individuals who need assistance.”
“A private agency?” Sutton raised his eyebrows. “For what? Spying? Detecting?”
“Either.” John’s blood pulsed through his veins. A private agency. A place to exercise their talents, indulge their lust for adventures without any restraints from Liverpool. And to help people, of course. “Both. Whatever we want to make of it.”
Rothchild stood. “I propose Wil’s friend be our first client. I’ll accompany him and speak to the man. See what sort of assistance we can provide.”
Wil rubbed the back of his neck. “Truly, it isn’t necessary. And the man isn’t a friend, just someone I noticed who—”
“This agency will need more people than just us.” John twirled a lock of Netta’s hair around his finger. “We don’t want to do the drudge work,
after all. I say we put Wil in charge of hiring more men. He’s good at getting people to do as he wants.”
His friend narrowed his eyes.
“Come, come,” John chided him. “It won’t be difficult. We still have many contacts from our time working for the Crown. I’m sure for the right amount of blunt they’d be happy to go private.”
“The difficulty of the task wasn’t what I objected to. Sir.”
John merely grinned at him. The idea was marvelous. Why hadn’t any of them thought of it before. Yes, they all had wives and families now and didn’t have the time to make it a full-time occupation, but a little intrigue on the side?
Now that was damn near perfect.
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “This sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to start my first assignment.”
Montague’s face blanched. “Well…”
“I’d be happy to manage the books for this endeavor,” Colleen said. “And if any clandestine meetings need to occur, The Black Rose will be available for such assignations.”
Sutton swallowed. “You’re a fine bookkeeper, and on that we can have no objection. But I would like to keep threats to our club, and to you, at a minimum.”
Winnifred ran her finger down Dunkeld’s chest. “I do hope,” she said, her voice silky, “you gentlemen aren’t planning on keeping this agency all to yourselves. When you gave us your vows, there was an implied promise to share your lives with us.”
“And it isn’t as though any of us are unaccustomed to a little danger,” Amanda said firmly. “We want in.”
Rothchild grasped the back of her chair and leaned over his wife’s shoulder. “Et tu, Brute?”
She patted his hand and bit her lip to keep from smiling.
John turned to Netta as she placed another plum tart on her plate. “You have remained suspiciously quiet. I hope that means you have no interest in this venture.”
She licked a spot of sugar off her thumb. “Not at all. It means that I have no worries about carrying my point. You will need someone as multi-talented as I, someone who can play any role, take any part.” The smile she gave him was all smug assurance, and it stole his breath as it always did. “I and the rest of us ladies will be involved in this agency.” She leaned close and whispered in his ear, “And you will love every minute of it.”
Her breath fluttering past his skin made his groin pull tight. Yes, when she wasn’t turning his hair grey from worry, Netta would undoubtably give him much to savor.
The little minx would be a benefit to the agency, as would all the women. They all had skills to bring to the table, and a lick of excitement hummed in John’s chest at the idea of working side-by-side with the intoxicating woman next to him.
He caught the eyes of the men around the table. His friends. His family.
To a man, each of them found it difficult to say no to their women…especially when their wives were right to demand their share in life. Their share in excitement and intrigue.
They would ensure their safety, of course. Keep them away from the largest dangers.
Netta popped another bite of tart in her mouth, her lips curving mischievously as she chewed, her eyes glowing with humor. She bobbed her eyebrows and winked.
John’s stomach spiraled to the floor.
He didn’t know who he felt worse for. Himself for thinking he could control any bit of this woman, or the unlucky bounders she was about to be unleashed upon.
God have mercy on them all.
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A Note from Alyson
(This was so important I have it in the front AND the back of the book. Take that any potential lawsuits!)
WARNING: The characters in the book get up to some kinky good times. John likes to, in today’s parlance, mind-f*ck with his partners. There are some predicaments in this book that are decidedly not safe unless the practitioner is experienced. Don’t use this book as any sort of reference. Please, have sex responsibly. :)
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I hope you loved John and Netta! If you want more Discipline in your life, check out this novella featuring Marcus, Duke of Montague, and his feisty duchess. Elizabeth might have vowed to love and honor Marcus, but the obeying part is a little more difficult to observe. And the consequences for her disobedience…result in a spanking good time.
MASTERED UNDER THE MISTLETOE
Books in the Lords of Discipline series
DISCIPLINED BY THE DUKE (Marcus and Elizabeth’s story)
BOUND BY THE EARL (Julius and Amanda’s story)
BURNING FOR THE BARON (Max and Colleen’s story)
MASTERED UNDER THE MISTLETOE (A holiday novella featuring Marcus and Elizabeth)
MARKED BY THE MARQUESS (Sin and Winnifred’s story)
PLAYED BY THE EARL (John and Netta’s story)
About the Author
Like almost one-third of all romance writers, Alyson Chase is a former attorney. (Seriously, what is with all of us disillusioned lawyers?) She happily ditched those suits and now works in her pajamas writing about men’s briefs instead of legal briefs. When she’s not writing, she’s probably engaged in one of her favorite hobbies: napping, eating, or martial arts. (That last one almost makes up for the first two, right?) She also writes humorous, small-town, contemporary romance novels under the name Allyson Charles