Page 79 of Any Rogue Will Do
“Your services aren’t required for that. We have the kidnapper outside under guard. We need you to make him disappear.”
“If you want him gone, he’ll need papers. Papers will cost ya.” Harlow paused when the barmaid came back to their table.
The pirate captain—there was no way Cal would ever think of him as anything else—smirked when the barmaid rested her generous bosom on Cal’s arm while delivering their drinks. Her offer was clear, but Cal wasn’t tempted to take her up on it. He was here for business. She walked away with a pouting flounce, and Cal returned his attention to the pirate captain. “Name your price.”
“Not a good negotiator, are ye, boy?” Angus muttered from his glass.
“My one condition is you have to take custody of him now. I’ve been carting him around the country for days and want rid of him.”
“He’s beginnin’ tae smell,” Angus reported.
“He anyone important?”
“Good family. Not an heir,” Cal said.
“Then I’d better get to work. First, gold.” He named a price that had Angus choking on his drink.
It would be worth it if Montague disappeared forever. Without a second thought, Cal handed over the purse of coins he’d brought with him. He’d tell Ethan it was a quarter of that amount, should he ask.
Rolling the purse in his hand, sending the coins jangling against each other, the pirate captain cocked his head. “You’re a good friend to do this for a lady who’s not even your wife.”
“This man is a threat to all women, and I have a sister.” Cal drained his glass and rose from the table.
Eyeing Cal, the man said, “I might like to meet this sister.”
“You’ll never meet my sister. I guarantee it. Now, let’s get down to business.”
The coach awaited them in the farthest corner of the stable yard from the pub’s entrance. Cal swung open the door, and there sat their coachman, happily holding a pistol on Montague. Their captive yelled through the gag, but no one attempted to decipher what he said.
“You’re right, there is a stench about him, isn’t there?” Captain Harlow sounded almost cheerful when he continued, “You are now prisoner 8792-39. Or you will be once I’ve forged your papers. You’re charged with the crimes of kidnapping, being an arsehole, and generally making the wrong people mad. How do you plead?” He didn’t pause for an answer. “Never mind, I don’t care. You get a free trip to the penal colonies of Australia, courtesy of his majesty, the king. Come along, 8792-39.”
June 1820
Ethan winced, pitying the young man who’d just stepped on Emma’s foot in the middle of the ballroom. Spinning Lottie through the steps of a waltz to sidestep around the couple, Ethan held his wife close enough to garner a few censorious glances from the matrons off the dance floor.
“Poor lad. Not likely that he’ll get a second chance to impress her,” Lottie said.
Cal had claimed more than once that his sister’s preference for rogues would be the end of his sanity. Most mornings he and Lottie listened to Cal lament his sister’s suitors over breakfast, since they were conveniently located next door.
They’d leased the town house next to Cal’s for the Season while Ethan attended to his duties in the House of Lords. Parliament had been in session since the king’s death in January, and the government was busy preparing Prinny to take the throne. Ethan’s and Lottie’s weeks were full, split between Kent and the brewery, which was preparing its first batch of ale, and London duties.
The music came to an end with a trill of a flute and the gentle swish of silk skirts on the ballroom floor. Couples left the formation, and new ones took their place for the next dance.
Ethan tucked Lottie’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “How long until we can leave, do you think?”
“We promised we’d stay for a few hours. Lord knows Cal might need to find you and do that wild-eyed panic routine if Lord Roxbury dances with Emma twice. Although I suppose Dawson could let Cal in later, should he stop by.” Lottie had been thrilled that Dawson was still part of the staff in residence with the house, and yesterday she’d finally convinced the older man to move to Woodrest with them at the end of the Season.
The combination of Dawson and Connor would certainly make things interesting. Ethan had every confidence they would figure out a way to coexist, the same way Connor and Lottie had navigated their way to acceptance and mutual respect. It hadn’t taken long for his clansman to develop an appreciation for Lottie’s willingness to jump into the hard work of the estate.
Nodding to acquaintances, Ethan and Lottie headed for the refreshment table. Lady Agatha turned from her friends and greeted them with a wide smile. “Good evening, my darlings. Are you enjoying yourselves? No, of course not. Amesbury, you look like you are on your way to the gallows. Try not to scare the debutantes. Lottie, are we still leaving at noon tomorrow?”
His wife kissed her godmother’s cheek. “Yes, Auntie. I’ll come for you in the carriage at noon. Connor is expecting us by teatime.”
Lady Agatha’s regular visits had helped warm Lottie to Connor’s good graces. Connor adored the older woman, needling her with shameless flirting—which she met with a half-hearted reprimand and a twinkle in her eye.
It wasn’t chance that Agatha had been in residence at Woodrest when Lottie’s father visited a few months ago. Tensions remained there, but Ethan was hopeful that with time the relationship between his wife and her father would heal. The earl did gift them with her dowry, although Lottie declined an additional property. She claimed her new home kept her plenty busy—especially now that she was helping Patrick and Darling establish a small horse-breeding operation on a corner of Woodrest’s acreage.
They sipped glasses of champagne and surveyed the crush in the ballroom. Ethan turned to his wife. “What do you say tae finding the balcony and taking in some fresh air, love?”
Lottie leaned close and whispered, “I know you and balconies, and I doubt you’d fit under the skirts of this gown. Fancy a trip to the library instead?” She pressed her body against his side, sending his blood heating in anticipation.
Ethan drained the champagne in one gulp, set the glass aside, and offered his hand. “Library it is, Princess. We both know how much I love a woman who reads.”
