The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares

And, lastly, he’d learned that, petite as she was, old as she was, Beatrix Redgrave could launch a silver candlestick more than twenty-five feet with deadly accuracy.

Absently rubbing at his left shoulder—he’d been too shocked to duck quite fast enough—he finally broke the not completely companionable silence of the luncheon table. “I saw Trixie this morning. She sees no connection between the Marquis of Singleton and the society.”

Jessica laid down her fork. “But Ravenbill? Bird?”

He shrugged. “Coincidence? Or it proves we were right to conclude they’re no longer confining membership to eldest sons, which seems eminently logical. In other words, I don’t think we can dismiss Simon Ravenbill as yet. I’m much more concerned with your belief you saw him several years ago.”

“Wearing a French uniform,” Jessica pointed out, and now she was turning the fork over and over on the tabletop. “I know it was him. I just don’t know what it means.”

Gideon felt the impulse to go around the table and take her in his arms, swear to her that no one would ever hurt her, not while he lived. He wouldn’t allow it. But fear was fear, and he wasn’t immune to the feeling; he had to protect her.

“It could mean two things,” he told her. “If the Society is somehow aligned with the enemy, he could have been there to help further their cause with Bonaparte. Either that, or he’s working for our government. The former worries me, the latter possibly more so, as we wouldn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize whatever role he’s playing and put him in danger.”

Jessica blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. It would make what he said to Lady Caro and Mrs. Urban last night take on an entire new meaning. It would have been a threat, or even a dare, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, yes. The man may be playing his own game. No matter which scenario we could choose, I believe we need to stay out of Singleton’s way until we know more. Hell, Jessica, at the moment, seeing you with those women, he may believe I’m a part of the Society.”

“If he’s even aware of the Society,” Jessica pointed out correctly. “Perhaps he’s been watching them because of what they’re doing, perhaps he has suspicions of his own or the government has suspicions for some reason. But perhaps only Lord Charles and Mr. Urban are suspects. They may have no idea of the scope of the conspiracy, that there’s a devil’s dozen of them plus anyone they might be blackmailing into cooperating with them. There are so many possibilities, far too many of them. We were chasing murderers, that’s how this began for you, and I was attempting to protect Adam. We’re out of our depth now, Gideon.”

And now they’d come to the heart of the matter.

“I agree. We’ll soon have a different theory for every day of the week, won’t we? It’s the deaths of the more longtime members that started it all, just as you said. That, and a tree branch poking a hole in the Redgrave mausoleum. I certainly didn’t go into this with any thoughts of stumbling into anything quite so dangerous. My father has a lot to answer for, doesn’t he, even twenty years dead?”

“Your father, and mine. But there’s something else to consider. If my father hadn’t died, you and I would never have met, would we? I wouldn’t have approached you about Adam, you wouldn’t have learned what happened five years ago, you wouldn’t have confronted Trixie—none of it. Those murders may have been the worst mistake the Society could make. Gideon, we know so much, but clearly not enough.”

That wasn’t precisely true, but Gideon knew this wasn’t the moment to tell her he did know one thing, one very important thing: it was time for Jessica to be as far from London as possible. He’d have to ease his way into the subject, however; he’d already ducked one candlestick today.

“For the moment, let’s concentrate on the marquis. I won’t ask you again if you’re positive you recognized him, but I will ask you to once more consider if he may have recognized you.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I had the hood of my cloak raised, and I stayed behind Richard for the most part. But I suppose it’s possible he might recognize Richard, and then remember me.”

“Yes. Richard. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Jessica lowered her head into her hands. “Yes, I know. Poor Richard, he loves London so. You’ll send him off?”

“Only as far as Redgrave Manor.” He took his chance. “And you with him.”

Her head shot up, her eyes gone wide. “What? But why?”

“Because, either way, Jessica, patriot or traitor, if Singleton recognized you last night or his memory is jogged when next he sees you, you are now a problem to the man.”

He could tell she hadn’t considered that possibility. “I was thinking only of how he could be a problem to us. But I see your point. We could confront him, ask him if he’s working for the Crown and—No, that wouldn’t work, would it? If he is, he’d lie to us, and if he isn’t, he’d lie to us. And if he’s neither, and I’ve mistaken him for somebody else, well, that would be even worse, wouldn’t it?”

Gideon smiled. He enjoyed listening to Jessica think out loud. “Immensely, yes. So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed to what? What are you agreeing to, Gideon? I’ve agreed to nothing.”

“I noticed that. Are we about to have our first argument? Yes, what is it, Thorndyke?”

The butler bowed and held out a small silver salver with a folded note on it. “Excuse me, my lord. This just arrived by messenger. I was informed it’s imperative her ladyship reads it immediately.”

“Then why are you handing it to his lordship, or have I been somehow rendered invisible?” Jessica asked, snatching the missive from the tray even as Gideon reached for it.

“And now we’ve both been put in our place, haven’t we, Thorny?” Gideon remarked, laughing.

“Firmly, my lord,” Thorndyke agreed and quickly bowed himself out of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize later.”

“To Thorny or to me?”

“Not you, certainly. Thorndyke hasn’t gotten used to having me about as yet, but you should know better,” she explained absently, eyeing the missive as if it could possibly turn into a writhing snake at any moment. She slid her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the sheet, her eyes going immediately to the bottom of the page. “It’s from Felicity Urban.”

“Our invitation?” Gideon asked, rising from his chair, in order to stand behind her as she read. “Hmm, obviously not the invitation we were told to expect.”

Jessica read the note aloud. “‘I know what you and the earl are about. Help me and I’ll help you. Four o’clock today, Le Bon Modiste, Bond Street. Ask for Fontine. I will need five thousand pounds, and safe transport.’” She tilted her head back to look up at Gideon. “So much for my belief I was subtle last evening, I suppose. I told you she was looking at me curiously, as if measuring me or some such thing. She says she can help us? Honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this than I am.”

“You got results, and that’s what’s most important. But if it’s any comfort to you, I didn’t do much better at subtlety. She knows what I’m about? It has to be that damn rose. I only wore it for a few days, but obviously Felicity Urban took notice.”

Jessica was looking at the note again. “But didn’t mention it to her husband?”

“Yes, I’ll have to ask her about that when I meet with her, won’t I?”

Gideon Redgrave—and Thorndyke, for that matter—had a lot to learn about what it meant to be married to Jessica, but there wasn’t much he didn’t know about women in general. Or at least he prided himself on learning quickly.

“When we meet with her,” he corrected almost before Jessica could take in a breath in order to disabuse him of his former statement.

After all, Trixie may have thrown a candlestick, but there were knives on the dining table, for God’s sake… .

LE BON MODISTE WAS A small shop in a tall, narrow building. Gideon had insisted they make a business of visiting several shops as they strolled along the block and even convinced Jessica to purchase a new bonnet in one of them. They walked arm-in-arm, stopping to peer into store windows. They nodded to passersby, even stopped so that Gideon could chat with a rather florid-faced matron who begged permission to be introduced to the new countess and invited them both to a delightful musical evening the following Thursday.

Gideon had promised he would do his best, but it was possible they would be adjourning to the country prior to that date.

“I never said I’d go,” Jessica had pointed out once the lady had taken her leave and they were walking on once more.

“You never mentioned a burning desire to submit to a session with the thumbscrews, either, but that would be an almost enjoyable experience when compared to listening to Hetty Frampton’s offspring—and there are an even half dozen of them—as they attack your ears with song and defile every musical instrument known to man.”

“Oh,” Jessica said quietly. “I mistook your motive. I’m sorry.”

His smile melted her knees, which he had to know. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find some way to make it up to me. Now, are you ready? I believe, rank amateurs that we are, we’ve been suitably clandestine about our approach to Le Bon Modiste.”

“In case anyone is following us? Who would be following us?”

“Other than Richard, who is prudently keeping out of sight as he watches for the Marquis of Singleton, you mean? I believe that would be Max, who returned to London late last evening.”

“Your brother? Really?” Jessica made to turn around, but a short, sharp tug on her arm reminded her that spies, or whatever it was they were playing at, didn’t stop dead on the flagway and turn about to peer into the distance, now did they?

“I begin to see the logic in banishing me to the country,” she admitted on a sigh as they turned in to the narrow shop.

“That argument sounds familiar. However, I believe it was my brother saying something of that nature concerning me. I would have taken umbrage, but he’s probably correct.”

“He actually said you’re not up to the task? That wasn’t very nice of him.”

Gideon’s smile took her by surprise. “But probably true. He reminded me I am a newly married man, and my concentration perhaps isn’t as focused as it might otherwise be.”

“Oh? So he’s blaming not you, but me?”

“He blames the marital state in general, actually. According to Max, a man who goes into battle with a woman on his mind is a danger to himself and everyone around him.”

Jessica fought a sudden urge to preen. “And you’ve a woman on your mind?”

“And plans for that woman and myself for later tonight, yes, which probably proves Max’s point. Now why don’t you go admire the pretty ribbons on that table to your left, please, while I seek out this Fontine person, all right? Discreetly, of course, and I assign that description to us both.”

Jessica looked at the displayed ribbons without really seeing them while Gideon spoke to a young blond clerk behind the counter. Her heart was pounding in a most disconcerting way as she wondered if they had just walked into some sort of trap. Villains laid traps, didn’t they? It was basically their stock in trade.

She kept her back turned, said back feeling quite vulnerable, while the blond-haired clerk came out from behind the counter and crossed to the door, lowering the shade and then turning a key in the lock.

Which, Jessica realized with a start, effectively put Richard and Gideon’s brother Max firmly on the other side of that door.

“This way, madame,” the woman said as she walked back to where Gideon was now holding wide a beaded curtain that led to the rear of the shop.

Jessica slid her hand into Gideon’s, and they followed the clerk up a narrow flight of stairs that opened into a small sitting room, the shades of both front windows pulled down, the only light coming through the dirty panes of a window to the rear.

Felicity Urban was seated on a shabby couch, a bandbox at her feet. She was so nervous her knees were visibly shaking. Gone was the hard woman from last night. In her place, a clearly terrified creature. She did not rise to greet her invited guests.

“Mrs. Urban,” Gideon said, bowing.

“My Lord Saltwood,” she replied tightly. “You have the money? And the transport? I say nothing until I’ve seen both.”

Gideon turned to Jessica. “So much for any offer of refreshments, hmm?” He directed her to a straightbacked chair and then walked over to the couch and pulled a thick envelope from a pocket inside his coat. He slid the packet back inside his coat. “Five thousand pounds. You may count it later, as to insist on doing it now would quite injure my sensibilities,” he said affably. “If you would care to look out that window behind us, you would see a plain black traveling coach and a coachman awaiting orders. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” the woman said as she extracted a small dark brown bottle from her reticule, uncorked it with trembling fingers and lifted it to her lips. She then recorked the bottle but did not replace it in her reticule. “Opiates, the true refuge of cowards. Yet all that keeps me sane, you understand. Ah, yes, that’s better. It was Archie’s idea. He keeps me generously supplied, but that won’t be for much longer. I’m very careful, you see. I drink half, and hide the rest away, watering what is left. He wants me insensible, but I’ve fooled him there. I don’t need this,” she said, holding up the bottle. “But I know I’m needing it more. I heard him speak of Ringmer last week, with his valet. You know of the place?”

Jessica looked to Gideon.

“A discreet asylum for those of weak minds, yes.”

“You’re too kind, my lord. A discreet dumping ground for those with enough money to rid themselves of their problems,” Felicity countered, seeming to gain courage. “Problems such as wives who no longer suit their needs. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t follow his good friend Lord Charles’s lead. But, then, there are no soggy cliffs on our property to break away whilst I’m out for a solitary stroll.”

Again, Jessica snapped her head round to look to Gideon, who merely shook his slightly, as if warning her to remain silent.

Felicity shrugged and slipped the bottle back into her reticule. “You were wearing the rose. Was I wrong to believe it was because you wanted to make contact with the Society?”

“No, you were correct.”

She nodded. “I thought as much. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. You’ve been discussed, my lord, and let that be a warning to you. They’re watching. And then you sent your wife to us last night. You really should be more careful, my lord. You and your bride both, her being who she is. What did you think to gain? You wanted, perhaps, to learn more about Your father? I can tell you all you need to know, for I’ve heard the stories. Your father was a terrible man, a monster. Your mother was right to shoot him, put him down for the animal he was.” She shook her head. “But he wasn’t a patch on what’s happening now. Oh, no. Not a patch. None of them were.”

“Is that why they’re dead? The members who date from my father’s time, or soon after? In order to make room for members more in agreement with whatever in hell they’re doing now?”

The woman looked up at Gideon, her mouth gone hard. “That’s not why they’re dead, and you somehow know it, or else your wife here wouldn’t have come to us last night, asking such obvious questions, and we wouldn’t be here now, talking. But, yes, that is what happened. I’m afraid we began something without considering the possibility we were aiding the Society, giving them a chance to finish building a thirteen more suited to their purpose. We thought we were so clever, just as your mother was so smart, so wise to see there was only the one answer for her, and damn anything else.”

Only the one answer for her. Jessica felt a shiver climbing her spine. How often had she sat at night, watching James Linden sleep, and thought there’s only one way I can be truly free of him. What was this woman saying, really saying? Could it be…?

Gideon sat down on the edge of the low table in front of the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m don’t understand. What does my mother have to do with any of this?”

“You understand. You just want me to keep talking, don’t you? But I’ve seen the packet, I believe the coach, so you might as well hear it all, the both of you.”

Felicity sat back against the thin cushions. “They use only prostitutes now for the most part. None of the newer members include their wives, save for Lord Charles, who finds it amusing. For their games, you understand. Wives were more convenient over the years, less prone to carry tales. But wives grow long in the tooth, or they cry, or they kill themselves. The thirteen never cared. They have their games, just as I have my little brown bottle. But they can’t give them up, they don’t want to give them up. Devil worship. Ha! It’s all a hum, you know, an excuse.”

“Go on,” Gideon urged, when the woman seemed to get lost inside her own mind.

“They’re filthy, dirty bastards, every one of them, and they like it. They feel powerful, and important, and show off in front of each other like little boys. Look at me, look at what I can do, listen to her beg for more. No, not that one. I had her last time, and it’s like falling cock first into a hole. By Beelzebub, pass me one who’s still tight. One by one, we were pushed to the side, barred from the ceremonies. We were only whisked to the ceremonies and then banished back to our homes, never to see anyone not wearing a mask. After that, one by one, we were gone. Oh, yes, I know. It’s Ringmer for me, and very soon.”

The brown bottle appeared once more.

Jessica realized she had laced her hands together, squeezing so hard her knuckles had gone white.

“Ha! Look at your bride, Saltwood. I’ve put her to the blush. Now that’s a talent I lost long ago. Should I tell you about their toys? The spanking horse, the stocks? Oh, and the whips, the paddles. Sometimes for us, sometimes for them, or else they couldn’t—”

Gideon repositioned himself slightly, blocking Jessica from the woman’s sight. “I believe we understand, Mrs. Urban, and you have our complete sympathy. But your husband, all of the members, also used these so-called ceremonies of devil worship as a way to lure guests who could be used to further their true purpose.”

The bottle was recorked once more. “Their true purpose, my lord? They had no true purpose beyond their filthy desires. Not since your father was killed, him and his supposed plan for England to rise in its own revolution the way the Froggies did. I heard it said he’d already ordered a guillotine built, but that may be only rumor. No, there was just the opiates, the costumes and chanting, the rutting. Not until he showed up. Oh, he’s sly, he is. Playing one against the other, bringing up all this nonsense about the rights of the most gifted and the freedom of man. How the French had it right as far as it went, but Napoleon has it better, and will reward those who help him gain the greatest prize, wretched England itself. He has promises from the French, he has a plan, and we’ll all share in the glory. The thirteen, the deserving. Who needs an invading army if England can be rotted from the inside?”

Jessica listened carefully as the woman explained in more detail.

The few surviving members since Barry Redgrave’s time and several of those who had been “invested” soon after had objected, saying treason was a dangerous game to play and would lead to exposure and disaster. But they’d been overruled by Orford and the others. The Society began to change. Proofs of loyalty were demanded.

“Like you,” Felicity Urban said, leaning to her side so that she could look past Gideon to Jessica. “That was certainly a debacle, wasn’t it? Your father barely escaped with his life over that one. But he’d made the gesture, hadn’t he? He’d agreed to turn you over to the new Leader the night the man was to be formally invested in his role. Of course, your father couldn’t have known the man’s true plan.”

“Him,” Gideon said, snapping his fingers twice to draw the woman’s attention back to himself and to the moment. “I’m assuming you mean the current leader of the devil’s thirteen?”

Felicity sighed. “Yes, yes, who else would I mean? And now you’re going to ask me his name, and I have no answer for you. The Society is the Society, and the Leader is the Leader. Orford introduced him, first brought him as a guest, and none of us women ever saw him in anything but a full-face mask and a hooded cloak. I can tell you his eyes are dark, like the depths of hell, but that’s all I can tell you, except to say he never did more than sit on his throne and watch. He never participated…except the once, when he sacrificed the vestal virgin. Nobody dared cross him after that. Nobody.”

Jessica got to her feet, trying not to notice that her knees had gone rather wobbly. “Are you saying…?”

The bottle appeared yet again, and this time Felicity took much more than a sip of the watered laudanum. “Now we were held together by murder, yes, even if we didn’t hold the knife. He knew us, but we didn’t know him. Only Orford knew him. We probably should have thought of that before we…” She frowned at the bottle. It was empty. She reached into her reticule and pulled out another, but Gideon snatched it from her hand.

“Before you what, Mrs. Urban? Before you all agreed to become traitors to our country?”

“We’re not traitors.” She eyed the bottle. “Give it back.”

Gideon pulled out the cork and tipped the bottle slightly, so that a few drops hit the floor. “Before you did what, Mrs. Urban?”

“Don’t spill that! For the love of God, be careful!” she shouted, making a wild grab for the bottle. “Stop! You already know! Before we killed them!”

And then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Jessica sat down again with a thump, the realization of what the woman had just admitted hitting her like a physical blow. They’d done it. Dear God, they’d actually done it! And she understood. She understood… .

Gideon was still pressing the woman. “Here, take it back. But don’t drink any more, not until we’re finished here. You said, before we killed them. I need you to be more clear. Who is we, Mrs. Urban, and whom did you kill?”

“The ones who were left, of course.” She grabbed the bottle, replacing the cork with shaking fingers. “I told you. One by one, they put us out to pasture. Barring some of us from participating in the ceremonies, that was the start. Keeping the rest of us from speaking to each other, whisking us away after the ceremonies. We knew what could come next, once we’d outlived our usefulness.”

“And perhaps because you knew the identities of the other members, those you’d seen without their masks,” Gideon suggested quietly.

“Yes, we knew that was also true. Lady Dunmore was the first, poor old thing. They said her horse threw her. But we knew better. She’d told us she didn’t ride anymore, so what was she doing on a horse, hmm? Baron Harden’s wife? He shipped her off to Ringmer, just as Archie is planning to do with me.”

“So you killed them. Their own wives killed them.” Gideon seemed to be trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but Jessica could hear his shock. But no man could fully understand the sort of helplessness and desperation those women must have endured for so long.

Felicity nodded her head. “Lady Orford wrote to us, since we were now barred from the parties. She suggested the answer for us had been there all along. We would take a page from your mother’s book, that’s what she said, and we agreed. We should have done it years earlier, but that only would have meant the eldest son replaced the father. Once that rule was put aside with the advent of the new Leader, we were free to act. Our letters to each other are carried by trusted servants, but we live daily with the threat of discovery. It took us some time to consider plans before we settled on accidents. Of course, then we had to find the money to engage individuals who would actually do the deeds.”