A Good Rake is Hard to Find (34 page)

“All right,” she said, “I will write to Ophelia and Hermione at once. I feel sure both of them will not wish to miss such an opportunity for excitement. And I believe Lady Fincher cut Ophelia once so she will be glad to return the favor.”

Freddy nodded, and now that their business was settled, an awkward silence fell upon the sitting room.

Finally, Leonora said, “If that's all you needed, I'd best go send those letters. And I'll need to find someone to watch the house this evening.”

“You cannot possibly think I'm going to leave you and your father to the mercy of some hired hand, do you?” Freddy shook his head in disbelief. “I will stay here just as we agreed before our row this afternoon.”

“But Lord Frederick,” she protested. “It's not necessary.”

“It's Freddy to you,” he said sharply. “And it is absolutely necessary. Leonora, I have no intention of letting you go without a fight. I will not press you on the matter yet, but know that I have every intention of wedding you before this year is done.”

Leonora closed her eyes. “Why do you insist upon this? I have already let you go. Why can't you let me go, too?”

“Because I'm in love with you,” Freddy said, rising to stand before her. “I know you think your decision was what's best for me, but I am a man grown. I know my own mind. And I won't give you up again.”

Before she could respond, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. They stood facing one another for barely a moment before he turned and strode to the door leading into the hallway.

“I have a few things to take care of this afternoon, but I will be back in time for dinner,” he said as he walked. “In the meantime, do not go out unescorted. I have two guards watching the house to make sure no one attempts to break in.”

Knowing that protest would be useless, Leonora said simply, “Very well.”

Turning before he opened the door, Freddy said, “It will all work out, Nora. I promise you. We will avenge Jonathan's death, and find some bit of happiness for ourselves.”

When he was gone, she dropped back into her chair.

Though part of her was frustrated at his insistence upon the match between them, a larger part rejoiced at his passion for her. Though she knew it would be better for him if they parted ways, she was quickly coming to realize that losing him again would mean something more than simple sadness for her.

It would be the end of any chance she had at happiness.

 

Twenty-five

After determining that his cousin and his wife had indeed returned to London from the country, Freddy next set out to arrange a private meeting with Gerard.

While he waited for a reply to his note, he paid a visit to the mews behind his town house to ensure that Archer's grays were none the worse for wear after the harrowing escape from the Fincher country house. Fortunately, both horses seemed well rested and Ulysses' strained fetlock had healed perfectly. Odysseus, the other gelding, not wishing to be ignored, stuck his head out of his adjoining stall as Freddy stepped out, and sniffed at any part of his master he could reach, in search of the carrots Freddy sometimes brought them.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ody,” Freddy said with a grin as he dug the treat from his pocket. “I haven't forgotten you, old fellow. Just needed to make sure your counterpart is recovered.”

The sound of the horse's chomping was loud, but not loud enough to mask the sound of someone's booted feet crossing the cobblestone floor. Turning, he saw his cousin stroking Ulysses' snout.

Straightening, Freddy crossed his arms and leaned against the stall door, the picture of calm.

“Your grays are as fine a pair as I've seen in years,” Gerard said conversationally, looking up from the horse, who as if sensing some unrest in the air, tossed his head a bit. “I am glad to see that your precipitate flight from my country home didn't leave any lasting damage.”

“If you think to shame me for removing my lady from a situation that endangered her,” Freddy said, brows raised, “then I fear that dog won't hunt.”

Stepping away from the stall, Gerard brushed his hands together before replying. “I do not believe Miss Craven was put in danger at any point during her visit to my home. My wife saw to her every comfort, I feel sure.”

“Perhaps we have different definitions of danger, then,” Freddy said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. “For I consider threatening to leave her without a protector in your unconventional household is quite dangerous. What would have happened to her if I'd died during your private fight in the stables? I have a strong feeling that some of your guests would have seen her lack of protection as a challenge. Perhaps even you would have done—if Melisande were not the sort to cut off your bollocks herself and feed them to the pigs.”

Rather than argue, Gerard shrugged. “My wife is a strong woman. And she does not tolerate my wandering eye. So, your little poetess would have been perfectly safe.”

“We will simply have to agree to disagree, Gerry,” Freddy said with a shrug. “I assume your presence in my mews indicates that you've received my challenge?”

Gerard sucked his teeth. “Indeed it does, cousin,” he said coolly. “Though I had always assumed the gentleman being challenged had the choice of weapons. It seems that you have usurped my own agency by inviting me to a competition of your choosing.”

Raising his brows in mock surprise, Freddy shook his head. “How melodramatic you are, Gerry. I meant only to issue a friendly challenge between friends. My new curricle against yours. Since you are the leader of a curricle racing club, it seems like something you would be especially suited for. Plus there is the whole matter of Jonathan's death along the same route.”

A furrow appeared between Gerard's brows. He did not like this line of questioning, it would appear. “What has Jonathan's death to do with anything? I have already assured you it was an accident. And sadly, his own vehicle was stolen from my carriage house the same evening that you fled. I assume that was a coincidence. Wasn't it?”

At the mention of Jonathan's curricle, Freddy stiffened. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from his cousin, but a bold allusion to the murders Gerard had only recently taken part in was not it. “Come now, Gerry. Do not try to convince me that you have no knowledge of exactly what happened to Craven's curricle. I have little doubt that you oversaw the burning of it yourself. After you made sure that Lord and Lady Darleigh were taken care of.”

If he was hoping for Gerard to protest his innocence, then Freddy was doomed to disappointment. As unruffled as ever, he said, “Now who is being melodramatic? I vow, cousin, you must think me a veritable monster to ascribe three murders in the space of a month to me. What happened to Lord and Lady Darleigh was shocking, but I certainly had no hand in it.”

“That is because you are adept at delegating unpleasant tasks to those who serve under you in your club,” Freddy retorted. “But I do think there are some things you like to do yourself. Whether it's getting rid of evidence, or taking special charge of your victims' property, I know in my gut that you enjoy getting your hands dirty. Otherwise you cannot claim the deed for your own.”

The two men stared at one another for a moment, and Freddy saw the clench of his cousin's jaw as confirmation that one of his accusations had hit its target.

“If you believe I am capable of such crimes,” Gerard said finally, “then I suggest you take your suspicions to Bow Street. Or is there perhaps some reason you haven't yet? Could it be because you have no real proof besides your own delusions that I have committed these murders? For I vow, I cannot think of any other reason for you to hang back.”

Freddy clenched his fists. “You know very well lack of proof is my reason,” he said through his teeth. “But it's no delusion. I will find it eventually. And you will be punished.”

“Your threats have grown tedious, cousin,” the other man drawled. “I will answer your challenge with one of my own. Then we can be done with one another.”

This was an interesting development. “What is your counterchallenge then?”

“If you win, I turn myself in to the authorities,” Gerard said smugly. “But if I win—and really, I am so much your superior behind the reins that there is no doubt I will best you—then you will agree to be the … let us call it the enforcer, for the Lords of Anarchy for the coming year.”

It was a canny offer. And one that Gerard must know Freddy could not refuse. Letting his cousin walk away from what he'd done without punishment was unthinkable. And Freddy was willing to risk himself for the next year in order to ensure that Gerard's victims had justice. That Leonora had justice for her brother.

“It's a deal,” he said before he could dither over the matter further. “We will begin at Hyde Park and drive the route from London to Bedford, ending at the White Hart.”

Gerard offered his hand, and reluctantly Freddy took it.

“I do hope you achieve the outcome you so richly deserve tomorrow, cousin,” Gerard said with a nasty smile.

“The same to you, Gerry,” Frederick said with a confident grin. “Until tomorrow.”

He only wished he were as sure of his cousin's defeat as he seemed.

*   *   *

When Freddy still hadn't arrived by ten that evening Leonora, desperate for something,
anything,
to get her mind off his words before he left her earlier, found herself wandering down the upstairs hall toward the door of Jonathan's rooms.

Stepping inside, she set down the lamp she carried and surveyed the room. This disarray caused by Sir Gerard's henchmen when they'd searched the room last week had been tidied. And objectively, Leonora could find no fault with the job the servants had done.

It was just that she knew now.

Knew that Jonny would never be there to arrange his papers just so. Or place his pastel crayons in the order he preferred.

There was no life in the room now. And Leonora could not pretend he might come bounding in at any minute to quiz her over some political issue they disagreed over.

And when they found a way to catch Sir Gerard, it would be time to move on.

“It's dreadfully empty, isn't it, my dear?” her father asked, from the doorway. He was in his wheeled chair and maneuvered himself farther into the room and rolled to a stop beside her.

Leonora put her hand on his shoulder. “It is, Papa. And I'm not sure we'll be able to prove that he was killed by Sir Gerard. There is simply no proof to be had. And tomorrow, Freddy is going to risk his life…”

Mr. Craven patted her hand. “There must be another way.”

Moving farther into the room, he turned the chair so he was facing her. Leonora sat in the chair near the bookshelf, watching him.

“There is something we are missing. It might not even be something necessary to prove the man's guilt to the authorities,” Mr. Craven said. “A man like Sir Gerard has his fingers in many pies.”

That was certainly true. Apart from murder and kidnapping, which is what one had to call their detaining of Lord Darleigh against his will, there were the underground fights that provided his income.

She wasn't sure what it was that made a man like Gerard need a steady stream of violence in his life. Most men were perfectly happy with the sorts of prizefights she remembered her brother attending in his youth. There were tales of spectators coming from miles away to watch Gentleman Jackson in his heyday.

She'd heard rumors that many of the fights in London were run by men in the rookeries who were—if the rumors were correct—more violent and dangerous than even Sir Gerard. What would those men think if they knew Sir Gerard had been selling seats to his underground no-rules fights?

“Papa!” she shouted. “You are a genius!”

Her father shook his head. “I'm not sure that's true, my dear. I only asked a logical question.”

“But you are,” she said, jumping up from her chair to kiss him on the cheek. “You asked what other crimes Gerard was involved in. The only profitable one I could think of was his underground no-rules fights. I saw the purse his crony Lord Payne held the night of the fire, and it was overflowing.”

Mr. Craven smiled slowly. “I should think someone like Irish Jack O'Dowd would be very interested to hear that someone is making a profit off fights that are being conducted just miles from his territory.”

“I should imagine he'd be quite upset, given that he too makes his living from selling tickets to prizefights,” Leonora said. “Papa, I'll bet anything that the papers Jonny had hidden in his safe were something to do with those fights. Maybe some kind of record of how much Sir Gerard has been earning from the bouts.”

“What papers?” Mr. Craven asked, surprised. “You never asked me about any papers.”

The note from Jonathan had been so upsetting that Leonora had thought of nothing but searching her brother's room as soon as she got home that day.

Quickly she relayed what the note had said. Especially the mention of how he'd hidden some papers that would harm Sir Gerard in some way in his safe.

“My dear girl,” Mr. Craven said when she'd finished. “Your brother has been storing his important papers in the safe in my library for years now. The small one in his bedchamber was hardly worth keeping a five pence in. I believe Moppet, my spaniel, could break into it.”

She gaped. “There's another safe?”

“Let's go look,” he said, rolling his chair across the well-worn carpet. “I am suddenly quite eager to see the look on Sir Gerard's face when he learns that Jack O'Dowd is coming after him.”

Turning to shut the door behind them, Leonora took one last look at her brother's empty room.

“We did it, Jonny,” she said quietly. “We're going to end Sir Gerard Fincher.”