The Reckless Bride (55 page)

He arched his brows, but Minerva merely waved and headed into the melee. He hesitated, then made his own way
into the chattering, constantly shifting sea of guests. He had a strong suspicion as to what Devil’s announcements would be, but as he was bailed up, first by Lady Osbaldestone, then by Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, supported by Lady Horatia Cynster and Augusta, Marchioness of Huntly, all of whom demanded a full and complete accounting of all that had been going on—and expected him to provide it—he got no chance to speak to Devil or any of the four gentlemen he assumed were involved to verify his assumptions.

So when, half an hour later, he rose and, looking down the long tables filling the huge room, raised his glass and welcomed the assembled multitude to his home, when he asked them to raise their glasses in a toast to the season—to the success of the past year, especially of the past months, weeks, and days of their recently concluded endeavor, and to the promise of the year to come—and they all drank, he had no real notion, as he turned to Devil, seated beyond Minerva, whether it was appropriate to say, “And now I believe Devil has something to say regarding that promise of what is to come.”

Devil’s grin as he pushed back his chair told him he’d guessed right.

Rising as Royce resumed his seat, Devil considered his glass, then raised his head and looked out over the room, at the many eager, expectant faces. “We’ve come here today—been brought here today—by a confluence of events. Events that started many months ago in faraway Calcutta. Those events set in train a series of four journeys undertaken by four close friends, friends who, to accomplish their vital mission, reached out and tapped us”—with his glass he gestured to those seated around about—“many of us here, on our shoulders. We responded and banded together, and under Royce’s direction, with the help of all involved our four friends have come into safe harbor, and have successfully completed their mission.

“So our four friends are with us again, hale and whole, but with one pertinent alteration. Through their journeys each met a lady, and each had to learn, was forced to learn as so many
of us here already have”—smiling, Devil inclined his head to Minerva and Honoria, then swept his gaze over the other ladies seated nearby—“to trust, to value, appreciate, and venerate the talents and support of such ladies of like mind.”

Devil paused to let the laughter, understanding and warm, roll through the room. As it quieted, he continued, “And just as those of us who have gone before them, our four friends and their four ladies have concluded that a successfully shared adventure is a sound basis from which to progress to a successfully shared life.”

Devil raised his glass. “I would therefore ask you all to charge your glasses, to rise and hold them high, and to drink to the betrothals of Captain Derek Delborough and Miss Deliah Duncannon, Major Gareth Hamilton and Miss Emily Ensworth, Major Logan Monteith and Miss Linnet Trevission, and Captain Rafe Carstairs and Miss Loretta Michelmarsh.”

With roars and cheers, clapping and laughter, to the sound of chairs scraping the company rose and as one raised their glasses and shouted after Devil, “To the promise of shared lives!”

All drank. Then under cover of the clapping, the laughter and smiles, eyes met, and couples who already knew the reality of the magic of a truly shared life shared glances, private smiles. To quirked brows, laughing eyes, and wordless vows, they sipped again, toasting each other.

Then the company sat, Minerva signaled her staff, and the banquet to end all banquets began.

Royce leaned back in his massive carver, looked out over the room, then reached out, caught Minerva’s hand, drew her near. He met her widening eyes, raised her hand to his lips, kissed, then simply said, “Well planned.”

January 5, 1823
City of London

Rafe met Gabriel on the pavement before the building in which Sir Charles Manning maintained a business office.
Rafe glanced back at the unmarked black carriage that stood waiting at the curb half a block away. Loretta had accepted that dealing with Manning would be best left to men, but had wanted to be near to hear the results immediately.

Gabriel blew on his hands and glanced about. It was early afternoon, yet even in this season the city pavements were bustling with clerks of all descriptions scurrying hither and yon. “Roscoe should be here soon.”

Rafe nodded. Neville Roscoe’s involvement in their plan had been a surprise to everyone. Christian had suggested asking Roscoe, who apparently knew a great deal about the shady side of London business dealings, for his opinion on Manning and how best to deal with him. Montague, the highly respected Cynsters’ man of business, who also acted for Esme, had supported the suggestion; he, too, knew of Roscoe and patently valued the man’s insight.

Royce and Minerva had come down to London as Royce had more yet to do with bringing the charges against the Black Cobra. Rafe was staying with the ducal couple at Wolverstone House while Loretta had returned to her brother’s roof. But as soon as Manning was dealt with and Esme’s release from captivity assured, Rafe and Loretta would head into the country, first for a visit with Margaret, Loretta’s eldest sister, then to stay for a time with Rafe’s family, who were, after all these years, eager, even ecstatically so, to embrace him and his betrothed to their collective bosom.

All those involved in dealing with Manning had met the previous evening at Wolverstone House. Royce, Rafe, Loretta, Christian, Gabriel, and Tristan had all been present, as had Montague, and, to everyone’s surprise, Roscoe had sent word that he would attend, too.

When he’d arrived, Minerva had blinked, but then she’d smiled, welcomed him, then left them to their deliberations.

Roscoe had exchanged a look with Royce, but then had sat and told them what he’d learned of Manning’s business affairs. Montague had confirmed some points, but had been
intrigued to hear of others, his attitude leaving little doubt he considered Roscoe’s intelligence sound.

Once all their information had been verbally laid on the table, they’d concocted a plan—a reasonably simple one they’d all felt would work.

However, while Roscoe had agreed that their plan would release Esme from any threat from Manning, he’d pointed out that the most likely result was that Manning would sell his shares to someone of similar ilk who would then take up where Manning had left off, and Esme and her fellow shareholders would once again be besieged.

Roscoe’s proposal to eliminate that risk had made them all blink, but Montague had seconded the idea, and after a moment’s consideration, Royce had given it his imprimatur as well. That had been enough for the rest of them.

Which was why Rafe and Gabriel were waiting for Roscoe to join them before confronting Manning in his lair.

The various bells of London had just started tolling two o’clock when the tall figure of Roscoe, impeccably groomed, turned the corner. He saw them and strode briskly up.

Roscoe exchanged nods, then tipped his head toward the door. “You lead. I’ll play the part of silent and enigmatic supporter until we start explaining what will happen next.”

Feeling very much like he was leading another charge, Rafe led the way up the narrow stair. They walked into Manning’s outer office without knocking, awed the crafty-looking secretary and sent him scurrying into the inner office to announce their presence and convey their desire to speak with Manning on a matter of urgency regarding Argyle Investments.

Less than a minute later, they were shown into Manning’s inner sanctum.

The man himself—a gentleman, well-dressed, elegantly turned out, of middle age and just a touch portly—rose from the chair behind a large desk. “Gentlemen.” His gaze flicked from Gabriel to Rafe. “I take it you are the Mr. Carstairs who has recently become betrothed to Miss Michelmarsh?”

Their engagement had been announced in the
Gazette
three days before. Rafe nodded. “Indeed.” He gestured to Gabriel. “I assume you’ve heard of Mr. Cynster.”

“Ah, yes.” Manning’s expression suggested he couldn’t understand what Gabriel was doing there; the uncertainty took the edge off his arrogant assurance.

Especially when neither Rafe nor Gabriel made any move to offer their hands. Nor did Rafe introduce Roscoe, who had hung back by the wall just inside the door.

An awkward pause ensued, then, considerably more sober, Manning waved to the chairs before the desk. “Please be seated, gentlemen.”

They all sat; Roscoe subsided into a straight-backed chair against the wall. Rafe hid a smile. Christian had warned that while Manning wouldn’t recognize Roscoe by sight, learning his name would have a definite effect. Apparently Roscoe ran a number of questionable enterprises with an iron fist, but the code he adhered to was rigid, unbreakable; he was one of the few men in London guaranteed to put the wind up a slippery practitioner like Manning.

Like a jackal coming face-to-face with a full-grown lion.

“Now then, gentlemen.” Manning clasped his hands on his blotter and looked from Gabriel to Rafe. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s more a matter,” Rafe informed him, “of what we can, or will, or might deign to, do for you.” In an even tone, he related what he’d learned in Mainz, all the Prussian had told him, and described the sworn document, now in the keeping of a magistrate, that named Manning as the Prussian’s employer in the attempted abduction and murder of Lady Congreve.

Manning rushed to open his eyes wide and spread his hands. “I had no notion of any of this. Clearly the Prussian was misinformed—it was not I who hired him.”

Gabriel smiled, all teeth. “We thought you might say that. However, we’ve confirmed that you have acquired a position in Argyle Investments, a company with charitable aims, and are seeking to alter the company’s direction against the wishes of the other, original shareholders. Of particular
note, you borrowed heavily to purchase the shares, no doubt counting on a windfall should Argyle accept the offer made by Curtis Foundries.”

“It’s plain,” Rafe said, reclaiming Manning’s attention, “that were you to be pressed to repay the interest on those loans, let alone the loans themselves, prior to any windfall, you would be run aground—which leaves you with a very real motive to seek to remove Lady Congreve.”

“Further to that,” Gabriel continued, “we’ve confirmed that certain parties in the city”—he listed the names; as each was spoken, Manning’s face paled a touch more—“now hold notes of hand from you. Each and every one is growing anxious for repayment. However, what you failed to mention when you borrowed from each was that you were simultaneously borrowing from the others.” Gabriel shook his head. “Your creditors are not at all happy with you, Manning.”

“Indeed,” Rafe said, “you might say they’re baying for your blood.” He tilted his head, his gaze on Manning’s now wide and fearful eyes. “Or they would be, except …”

To say that Manning was close to panic would be an understatement. He gripped the edge of his desk, in a strangled voice asked, “Except for what?”

“Except for me.” The words, in Roscoe’s deep voice, floated past Rafe’s shoulder.

Manning focused on Roscoe. Frowned. “I don’t believe I know you.”

From the corner of his eye, Rafe watched Roscoe uncross his long legs and gracefully stand. Roscoe was over six feet tall and, like Wolverstone, exuded a pronounced predatory aura.

“No. You don’t.” Roscoe walked forward to stand between Gabriel’s and Rafe’s chairs. “All you need to know is that I now hold all your loans, all your notes of hand.”

Manning’s eyes grew round. His jaw went slack. “All?”

From beneath hooded lids, Roscoe watched him. “You, Manning, are a minnow swimming in a pool of sharks. You’ve been splashing in the pool, stirring up mud—the sort of mud that brings me looking, and the sharks don’t
like that. They’d much rather I stayed focused on my own concerns and didn’t look too closely at theirs.

“So.” Reaching into his coat pocket, Roscoe drew out a sheaf of papers. He fanned them out, showing Manning, who looked, and lost the last of his color. “I now hold these, but I haven’t yet paid for them. If I hand them back to their present owners and tell them what I know of your finances, they’ll tear you to shreds. As you know, given the nature of these gentlemen, I am not speaking figuratively.”

Manning wasn’t stupid. Terrified to his toes, but not stupid. He raised his eyes to Roscoe’s. “What do I have to do?”

Roscoe smiled, a chilling sight. “To make this nightmare go away you need to do two things. One—make all your shares in Argyle Investments over to me. And two—retire from the city and never let me hear of you dabbling in investments again.”

Manning paused. “If I make over the shares, you’ll redeem the notes of hand, the loans?”

Roscoe nodded. “I will.” He tipped his head at Gabriel and Rafe. “These two gentlemen can bear witness to my word.”

Both nodded.

Manning noted their certainty, then looked up at Roscoe. “As for the second stipulation, I—”

“Let me be frank.” Roscoe spoke over him. “I don’t like having shady characters like you operating in the same market I do. You may be well born, but you give us all a bad name. Removing you permanently would be no great difficulty—many in the city expect me to effect your disappearance, one way or another, now that I know you’ve been muddying our waters. I can’t be seen to be weak, after all—so one way or another, you will go.” Roscoe’s thin-lipped smile was the epitome of deadly. “I’m merely being kind enough to allow you to choose the manner in which you disappear.”

The trick in uttering threats, Rafe knew, was to believe in them yourself. In Roscoe’s case, there was absolutely no doubt that he meant every word.

Manning was outgunned, outclassed. Never taking his
eyes from Roscoe’s hooded ones, he nodded. “I’ll have my secretary draw up the necessary papers.”

Roscoe smiled approvingly. “Excellent.” He looked at Rafe, then Gabriel. “I believe I can handle matters from this point, gentlemen.” He glanced at Manning as Rafe and Gabriel rose. “And I believe you may inform Lady Congreve that Manning here has lost all interest in her continuing health, in light of concerns over his own. Is that correct, Manning?”