Page 3 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Jeremy froze only a handful of steps down the plain, narrow hallway, his heart suddenly pounding.

“Shh! You fool!” Conroy hissed, though he wasn’t any quieter than his accomplice. “I told you not to come here to see me. What kind of madman visits a palace while plotting the death of a king?”

Jeremy’s knees went momentarily weak. Everything within him urged him to run and never look back. He’d heard the rumors just as much as Timothy and Artie had, but up until that moment, he’d considered them as just that, rumors.

“I’ve been assured that it is the most lethal and fast-acting poison available,” the man with Conroy went on. “A few drops in the king’s morning coffee and he will be gone before his second swallow.”

“No!” Conroy hissed then huffed. “The point is not to kill the king all at once. That would raise suspicions. The point is to bring on his decline over a period of time so that he merely appears to be ill as usual.”

“And he is ill,” the accomplice said. “Everyone knows he’s dying.”

“Which is why no one will be suspicious if we cause that to happen sooner,” Conroy said. “This must be done quickly and discreetly. William must die before Victoria’s eighteenth birthday in order for a regency to be put into place. I plan to rule this country, even if I have to do it behind the Duchess’s skirts, and I will not?—”

“I beg your pardon?” a too-loud voice snapped just behind where Jeremy had crept closer to the doorway to listen in.

Of all the times for the footman to return with his things.

The effect of Jeremy’s discovery was instant.

“Who is there?” Conroy demanded, marching toward the hall. When he saw Jeremy standing there, his eyes wide and his face pale, he scowled. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing!” Jeremy insisted, backpedaling and running into the footman. “I heard nothing.”

It was a foolish thing to say. Conroy would know in an instant he’d heard everything.

Worse still, the accomplice moved into the doorway to gape at Jeremy as well.

“Who in the Devil’s name is that?” the man demanded.

He wasn’t the rough thug Jeremy would have expected to be plotting murder and the creation of a regency with Sir John at the helm. In fact, judging by the cut of the youngish man’s suit and the fineness of the fabric, he was well-off. He had dark hair and a slightly paunchy build, like he should have been fitter but indulgent living had aged him. That pegged him as a nobleman in Jeremy’s estimation. But what would a nobleman be doing fetching poison for a conspirator like Sir John Conroy?

Those thoughts passed quickly through Jeremy’s mind but not quickly enough.

“Seize him!” Conroy shouted.

For the slightest hint of a moment, no one did anything. The footman looked too stunned by the turn of events to follow Conroy’s order. The fact that the man didn’t know what was going on was Jeremy’s one hope. The footman wasn’t part of the plot and likely unused to taking orders from Conroy.

“Do not just stand there!” Conroy ordered.

The footman shook out of his stupor and looked at Jeremy.

There wasn’t time to question his actions. Jeremy felt as though his life were in danger. He snatched his bag out of the footman’s hands, then, clutching it close, he bolted down the hall.

“What are you doing, you dog?” Conroy shouted, though most likely at the footman.

Jeremy didn’t wait or turn around to find out. He ran as fast as he could, retracing his steps through the hallways and rooms of the palace that he’d been shuffled through before, desperate to get out of the palace as fast as he could. It was a bit of luck that the other servants had no idea what was going on. They jumped and dodged out of the way, startled to see a finely dressed man of slight build dashing through the halls with a valise clutched to his chest.

It wasn’t until he ducked into a small parlor with large, open French doors that he heard Conroy call out from behind him, “That man insulted me!”

Jeremy wanted to laugh. Of all the complaints Conroy could have come up with to send the servants chasing after him, an insult was by far the worst. He would have had more of a case to capture him if he’d accused Jeremy of stealing something from the palace. Whatever accusations he made, though, Conroy might run into trouble if someone questioned who the nobleman with him was and why they were meeting.

Those were only fleeting thoughts as Jeremy leapt through the French doors and out into one of the palace gardens. The chilly, March afternoon was relatively peaceful, and the gardeners barely glanced up from their work, let alone attempted to stop him.

All the same, Jeremy did not want to take any chances. He had to get away from Conroy and to someplace where he would be safe for as long as it took to figure out the gravity of what he’d overheard. He had no idea if the poisoning plot was a serious one with assistance from people in higher places or if Conroy and his dark-haired accomplice were acting on their own and toying with nefarious ideas. There was simply no way to know without going back and asking questions, which he absolutely would not do.

That did nothing to make Jeremy feel safe, however. He felt as unsafe as he ever had as he tore across Hyde Park, heading east, as fast as he could without looking suspicious enough for the Metropolitan Police officers wandering here and there to stop him. Looking like he looked and dressed as he was, they would likely stop him just to have a laugh by abusing him.

A stroke of inspiration struck Jeremy as he reached the far end of the park and spotted the row of stately homes and other buildings along Park Lane. The Chameleon Club was one of those buildings. More help than he could ever hope for was just a few more yards away.

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