Royal's Bride (13 page)

Royal leaned back in his chair, the ladder back groaning beneath his weight. “I’m not exactly sure. I hoped perhaps you might know a way we could get back some of the money he stole from my father.”

Lily spoke up just then. “I was thinking we might do some sort of a lottery scam, Uncle Jack. Or perhaps a pyramid of some kind.”

Jack’s dark gaze turned razor sharp. “I have to be honest, luv, nothing I’ve done has been in the league with what you’d need for a man in Loomis’s position. From what you say, the man runs in very high circles.” He sipped from his mug of ale. “But I might know someone who’d be interested in the job.”

“Who?” Royal asked.

“It isn’t just a matter of
who.
It’s a matter of
how.
Whatever scheme we came up with would have to be financed. There’d be a mob to hire, clothes to fit them out. We’d need people we could trust on the inside—that means you and some of your friends would have to get involved. Would you want to risk your sterling reputation, Your Grace, by throwing your lot in with a bunch of confidence men? You’d be ruined if something went wrong and you got nabbed.”

Royal looked him straight in the eye. Lily had a feeling he’d do whatever it took to vindicate his father. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Jack nodded his approval. “Then maybe I know someone who could do what you need done—if the price was right.”

“How much?”

“Half the take.”

“Ten percent,” the duke said.

“He won’t talk to you unless you agree to help with the con and give him at least twenty-five percent.”

Royal didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

Uncle Jack grinned. Lily had the feeling he’d been bored staying out of trouble for so long. “I’ll send word as soon as I can set up a meet.”

Royal rose from his chair. “I am indebted to you both.”

Jack and Lily stood up, too. “Hold your thanks till all of this is done and you’re countin’ your money, Duke,” Jack said.

Lily gathered her courage and looked into Royal’s face. There was something in his eyes, something sweet and yearning that made her heart squeeze.

“Thank you, Lily,” he said softly.

“You saved my life. I am glad to help.”

He held her gaze a moment more, then whirled away and strode out of the taproom.

Lily sank back down in her chair, her heart beating heavily.

Jack eyed her with dark speculation. “So that’s the way of it.”

Lily’s gaze remained on the doorway where Royal had disappeared. “Yes…” she whispered, knowing it was useless to deny it any longer. “I’m afraid it is.”

“I
’m bored.” Jocelyn trailed a finger along the windowsill in her bedroom. “I want to go out and dance. I want to have fun and not come home until the wee hours of the morning.”

“Well, what is stopping you?” Lily asked, not in the least surprised. “You have plenty of invitations.”

A petulant pout rose on her cousin’s lips. “I thought Royal would be inviting me out. He is my fiancé, after all.”

“Not officially. Not until the engagement is announced.”

“Still…we are going to be married and he ignores me completely.”

“I’m sure he is just busy.” Very busy, she imagined, plotting and planning with Uncle Jack.

She had received a note from her uncle just that morning, telling her he had arranged a meeting with a man named Charles Sinclair. Lily had searched her memory and come up with a vague recollection of a gentleman, perfectly groomed and nattily dressed, her uncle
had told her was a friend. She remembered thinking he must be very rich to wear such handsome, obviously expensive clothes. The meeting was set for this afternoon at four o’clock at an inn called the Red Rooster.

Lily planned to be there.

“I want to go out,” Jo continued. “Since the duke has made no effort to entertain me, I intend to entertain myself.”

“Where are you going?”

“Lord and Lady Westmore’s ball. I’ve heard it is going to be quite glamorous, and the guest list is extensive. Who knows who might be there.”

“You’ll be going with your parents?”

“Mother is going and of course you must come with us.”

Her heart sank. “I was planning to work tonight. I have a number of orders to fill and I need to make more samples for the shop, as well.”

“Don’t be silly. You can work all day tomorrow. Tonight we are going to have some fun!” Jo whirled away, lifting her arms as if she was dancing with an invisible man.

Lily inwardly groaned. Fun to Jo was a lot different than fun to Lily. Still, if Jocelyn wished her to go, she would go. It was part of her job as Jo’s companion and she would be forever grateful for the position.

Jocelyn grabbed her hands and pulled her up from the pink brocade chair. The entire room was done in pink and white, with ivory gilt furniture. It was frilly and a bit overdone and it suited Jo perfectly. “Come on, we need to figure out what we are going to wear.”

Lily let her cousin lead her over to the huge armoire
in the corner. “I suppose—knowing you as I do,” Lily said, “we definitely should get started.” She smiled. “After all, there are only six hours left until it is time to leave for the ball.”

Royal walked into the Red Rooster Inn and scanned the dark interior. The place was in Chelsea, a middleclass, nondescript neighborhood where their meeting would arouse little notice. The taproom was in the basement, brightened by a row of stained-glass windows near the ceiling to let in light and paneled in gleaming dark wood.

Royal was simply dressed, as he had been before, in dark brown breeches and a white lawn shirt. As he had been instructed, he walked through the taproom, which was mostly empty this time of day, toward a small room at the back.

Two men sat at a round wooden table. Next to them sat Lily. His stomach lurched.
Lily.
He hadn’t expected her to be there. Dammit to hell, he appreciated all she had done, but he certainly didn’t expect her to involve herself any further.

He clenched his jaw. What they were planning was not only illegal, it was dangerous. Chase Morgan had made it clear Loomis was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to do murder.

He stopped as he reached the table. “Gentlemen. Miss Moran.” She looked fragile and lovely and so sweet he wanted to lean over and kiss her. An ache welled up inside him. Ruthlessly, he tamped it down.

The men rose to greet him. “Royal Dewar meet Charlie…er…Charles Sinclair,” Jack said, keeping
the introduction simple. “I think Charles may be able to help you.”

“Mr. Sinclair,” Royal said with a nod. Sweeping off his cloak, he tossed it over the back of the remaining chair and sat down across from the men, trying to keep his eyes from straying to Lily.

“Time is precious to all of us, so I won’t stand on ceremony,” Sinclair said. “Jack and Lily have given me all the background information they have. We’ve been discussing several possibilities for how we might proceed to accomplish the end all of us desire.”

Sinclair was well spoken, obviously educated and immaculately dressed in expensively tailored clothes. He was tall and imposing, with solid features and a leonine mane of silver hair, handsome for a man in his fifties.

“I didn’t expect Miss Moran to be here,” Royal said. “This is certainly no affair for a lady.”

Jack and Charles exchanged glances. Jack just smiled. “My niece is an accomplished confidence artist. She was taught by Sadie Burgess herself, God rest her soul, and I am proud to say that in her day my niece was one of the best. Lily might be a little out of practice, but with a bit of work, she’ll be good as ever.”

Royal stared at Lily. In the light of the candle on the table, he could see faint color creeping into her cheeks. It was impossible to believe she had ever done anything that required deception. Lily wasn’t meant for the sort of life her uncle led. He couldn’t possibly involve her in this.

“I can see what you’re thinkin’,” said Jack. “My girl’s shy—always has been. That’s part of the reason she’s so good. No one figures her for a con. She just doesn’t look the sort.”

“I can do this, Royal,” she said, reaching toward him across the table, her pretty sea-green eyes on his face. Just hearing his name, spoken in that gentle way of hers, sent a ripple of need coursing through him. The brush of her fingers against his skin made him go hard beneath the table.

“I want to help you,” she said.

“No.”

“If you want this to work,” said Sinclair, “we’re going to need the girl.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Lily might get hurt.”

Jack’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up at the familiar use of her name.

“At any rate,” Royal continued. “Because of her association with the Caulfield family, Miss Moran is fairly well known in society. She would undoubtedly be recognized.”

“I would be disguised,” Lily argued. “No one will know who I am.”

“We need her,” Sinclair pressed.

Royal would never know if his acquiescence came from his burning desire for justice or his equally burning desire for Lily. He selfishly wanted more time with her and this way he would get it.

“All right, but at the first sign of trouble, she’s out.”

“My feelins, exactly,” said Jack.

“Then it’s settled,” Sinclair finished. “There are things we’ll need to do. We’ll need to hire the right people to help us…a group of actors who specialize in this sort of thing. This is where Jack shines. He’s well respected in the business and his friends are extremely loyal. Can you get a mob together for us, Jack?”

He nodded. “I can.”

“They’ll need to be fitted out properly—that means clothing fine enough to allow them to enter the circles in which Loomis hunts for his prey.”

The reminder that his father was one of Loomis’s victims tightened Royal’s jaw. “I’ll cover that expense and whatever else we might need.” He couldn’t afford it, God knew. He was barely getting by as it was. But he wanted Loomis to pay and he figured he would manage somehow.

“We’ll need people on the inside who are willing to help and can be trusted,” Sinclair continued. “That part is up to you, Your Grace. Do you think you can manage?”

Royal thought of Sherry and knew he could count on him completely. And along with the viscount, he was fortunate to belong to the small fraternity who called themselves the Oarsmen.

One of the members, Jonathan Savage, had referred to them as the Whoresmen, but that was in their younger, wilder days.

There were six of them together now, men from the original team who had become fast friends, in truth as close as brothers. As soon as the weather warmed, Royal and the rest of the Oarsmen would be back in their low-slung, sculling boats—single-man boats these days—enjoying the exercise, the feel of muscles lengthening and tightening as they pulled on the oars, the thrill of the sleek boats skimming over the water. They often rowed against each other, betting or simply taking pleasure in the day.

They were men Royal could count on—even for something as dangerous as this.

“I can get the people we need,” he vowed. “It won’t be a problem.”

Sinclair just nodded.

“What will you be doing?” Royal asked him.

Sinclair flashed a dignified, confident smile. “One of the things at which I am best. I shall be tracking our quarry. Before we begin, we need to know everything there is to know about Preston Loomis—his likes and dislikes, how he spends his money, how he spends his time, his sexual preferences—everything—down to the smallest detail. And particularly his vices. Those are the things we shall most likely prey upon.”

Royal was impressed. Clearly, Sinclair was a professional. Still, it was far too soon to think they might actually succeed.

Sinclair straightened in his chair. “One last thing. Jack brought me a business proposition. Are we clear on the terms?”

“I front the money for what we need and give you access to Loomis. You get twenty-five percent of whatever we come away with.” Assuming they got anything at all.

“All right, then, if everyone understands his task, we’ll meet back here at the same time a week from today. Will that give you each enough time?”

Jack and Royal nodded.

“Once we have the information we need,” Sinclair finished, “we can decide which con to use and where Lily would be most useful.”

Royal didn’t like the sound of that, but for the moment, he held his tongue.

Sinclair rose to his feet. “If you all will excuse me, I’m
afraid I have another appointment. I shall see you again next week.” Charles Sinclair turned away from the table and began moving purposely toward the door of the taproom. As soon as he disappeared, Royal turned to Lily.

“I don’t like this, Lily. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Her gaze held his. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked softly. In the light of the candle her skin looked iridescent, her lips a delicate rose.

“No…” he replied in the same soft tone, unable to look away from her lovely pale eyes.

Desire pulsed through him. Damn, he couldn’t seem to control himself even with her uncle sitting right beside her!

“Lily’ll be all right,” Jack assured him. “We’ll both look out for her.”

Royal tore his gaze away from her and simply nodded. He dared not look at her again. If he did, he would sweep her up and carry her out of there. He would take her straight to his bed and make love to her until both of them were too exhausted to move.

Hell and damnation!
His infatuation for Lily was even worse than he had believed. He shoved himself up from his chair.

“Again I thank you for your help. I’ll see you both next week.” Turning, he strode out of the inn without looking back, afraid of what would happen if he did.

Lord and Lady Westmore’s ball was exquisite. Jocelyn was impressed by the lavish bouquets of white chrysanthemums in huge pots along the mirrored walls of the ballroom. The entire chamber had been decorated
to look like a fairy-tale castle, with a mural on one wall and hundreds of candles burning in tall, tiered candelabra. Overhead, crystal gaslights hanging from the molded ceilings cast a soft glow over the women in their elegant silk and satin gowns, and the men in black evening wear.

In a plum silk gown with a lighter-plum overskirt scattered with brilliants, Jocelyn stood next to her mother, entertaining a small group of male admirers that included Viscount Wellesley and several of Wellesley’s friends, in particular, a magnificently handsome man named Jonathan Savage.

Savage was black-haired and olive-skinned and oddly disturbing, a man on the fringes of society, her mother had warned her, not the sort Jocelyn should ever be drawn to, and yet he was intriguing.

Dillon St. Michaels was among the group, a big man, the sort who always seemed to have something witty to say. He was handsome and charming, even managing to wring a laugh from her mother, nearly an impossible feat.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another group of men deep in conversation. One stood out from the rest, his shoulders wider, his features more defined. She recognized Christopher Barclay and thought what a fine male specimen he was. She couldn’t help admiring the confident way he moved, the rich timbre of his voice, and his eyes…Her breath caught as she realized he was watching her just as she watched him.

Ridiculously, her heart started pounding. She couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away, and when his mouth curved as if he knew, a rare flush began to rise in her cheeks.

That smug look sent a jolt of indignation shooting through her. How dare he look at her that way! As if he had some sort of claim on her simply because he had kissed her! Why, the man had barely a nickel to his name! He was a barrister still striving to make himself known, certainly not someone
she
would be interested in.