Tempting Her Reluctant Viscount (3 page)

She had pulled her hair back tightly into a bun and covered it with a gentleman’s hat. She was wearing breeches and boots—borrowed unknowingly from one of Sarah’s brothers—a fine linen shirt, bottle green vest, and an expertly tailored dark green jacket.

The shirt, vest, and jacket were a bit harder to come by than the breeches, as it was imperative they be a perfect fit. To that end, Hope had them fashioned by an actual modiste under the ruse of a fancy dress costume. They had come with a bottle green skirt (even for a costume, breeches would not be acceptable for a lady) and embellished frog mask to complete the outfit.

By dressing in perfectly tailored clothing in the height of fashion, keeping her posture absolutely perfect, and walking with a longer stride and an air of superiority, Hope had thus far been able to infiltrate the men of the Stock Exchange with nary a second glance.

She had been sneaking off to London proper for a number of months now, and with every visit, Hope felt her confidence grow. Now it seemed almost second nature to hail an anonymous hack and ride into the City alone, which was saying something, as debutantes never went anywhere without at least a ladies’ maid. The slightest impropriety—such as being discovered alone with a man under any circumstances—could find a young girl engaged or hopelessly ruined faster than one could blink.

So, while Hope felt more confident in general, she never allowed herself to become complacent. She never spoke, except to give directions to the hack driver, and she never made eye contact with anyone. Mostly she just sat, pretending to read the paper outside or just inside the exchange, and surreptitiously watched the goings on.

From her vantage point, she could see the stockjobbers trading shares almost frenetically. To Hope, it was fascinating to watch the trades being made and then to see the actual differences those trades made in the values of the stocks.

Usually, Hope only went down to the exchange when she was particularly excited by an investment her father had made on her advice. She knew his financial advisor by sight and she would covertly monitor his activities; not because she didn’t trust the man, but because it was a way for her to see her ideas in action.

This morning, however, Hope was not there to check on her investments, but to see if she could learn anything more about the strange trends in government securities. She just couldn’t seem to take her own advice. For some reason, Hope didn’t think patience would pay off this time, and if there was one thing Hope had learned to listen to, it was her own intuition.

It was close to ten in the morning when she arrived at the exchange building. Within minutes of her arrival, there was a buzz in the air about something, and soon, Hope began to hear rumors once again that Napoleon had been killed. These rumors, unlike some of the previous ones she had heard, contained quite a few details that lent an air of believability to them.

As Hope listened to the stories of the Cossacks fighting over the body of the dead French leader, she also watched the security fund values rise significantly.
Well, this just shows how gossip can affect the exchange reports
, Hope thought to herself, but not even for one minute did she think the stories flying around were true. She wasn’t sure why she was so sure, but she was.

And just a little while later, Hope’s doubts were confirmed. When the Lord Mayor was unable to corroborate any of the rumors, the funds quickly went back down. As a result, everyone was on edge and Hope found the volatile environment more than a little uncomfortable.

It was close to one in the afternoon by this point and Hope decided she might as well go home. She wanted to speak to her father about what she had seen at the Subscription Room and get his opinion on the matter.

Surely after she explained what she had seen, er,
heard
, her father would take her concerns more seriously. If rumors had as much sway on the stock exchange as she had seen that morning, then the exchange was ripe for illegal activity. One well-placed story and a person could drive up a particular stock whenever he wanted and then sell before the truth came out.

As Hope exited the London building, she was confronted by a post-chaise and four slowly making its way down the road, surrounded by a crowd the likes of which Hope had never seen outside a ballroom.

There were three passengers in the vehicle—two of which appeared to be French officers—throwing billets to the spectators. The horses had laurel wreaths hanging around their necks and off of the rigging and, judging from the cheers of the people, it seemed the occupants of the carriage were advertising some very good news.

A knot developed in the pit of Hope’s stomach. She knew before even looking at one of the papers scattered around that this had something to do with the rumors about Napoleon. Bending over to pick up one of the billets, Hope quickly realized that her stomach was correct.

The paper repeated the story about the death of Napoleon and the fall of Paris, and Hope knew that this time, when the funds rose on the exchange, it would take much more than the word of the ministers to stop the flurry of trading. Long bargains would be made and someone—or many someones—would reap untold rewards…whether the news was true or not.

Mind made up, Hope flagged down the nearest hack—not the easiest thing to do in light of the massive amount of traffic the post-chaise was generating—and she directed the driver to follow the carriage as discreetly as possible. It was time to find out just what was going on here.

…

Michael had been trailing Du Bourg—as he was now thinking of the man, despite his belief that the soldier wasn’t actually the lieutenant-colonel—all night and well into the morning and he was beyond tired. As near as he could tell, the man was stopping at every major inn and hotel between Dover and London to spread the “good” news. The man threw coins to the post-boys every time he changed horses, telling them to go on ahead and spread the word as well.

At Marsh Gate, Lambeth, just outside London, Du Bourg switched coaches. This new coach was different than the others Du Bourg had made use of all night. It was of the hackney variety—certainly not of the same stature as the post-chaise—and it appeared to have been specifically hired for the next leg of Du Bourg’s journey.

Clearly, whatever was going on had been carefully thought out ahead of time.

The next stop was surprisingly not a hotel, but was, in fact, a residence in a respectable neighborhood. Also surprising was that when Du Bourg alit from the vehicle, he was dressed in a green sharpshooter’s uniform. After concluding a quick bit of business there, the charlatan led Michael to the end of the London Bridge. The hackney coach stopped there, next to yet another post-chaise carriage. Almost immediately, two men left the post-chaise and walked over to where Du Bourg was exiting the cab.

Then Michael watched in astonishment as the three men changed into French officer uniforms, right there next to the remaining carriage. Then with Du Bourg at the reins, the men slowly made their way across the bridge, through Cheapside, and down Fleet Street, the men scattering handbills to the masses along the way.

At one particular junction, when traffic came to a near halt, Michael was able to get a hold of one of the billets. It contained the same claptrap that Du Bourg had been spreading across all of England. That Napoleon had been killed.

The question was, what was the purpose for perpetrating such an elaborate hoax? What could possibly be gained? Surely there was a reason for saying such things so convincingly other than as just a joke.

Michael continued to follow the post-chaise as it made its way through town and past the Tower of London. Finally they crossed over the Blackfriar’s Bridge where they picked up speed and drove rapidly to March Gate, Lambeth. The carriage stopped in roughly the same spot Du Bourg had earlier and the three men got out. Michael stopped some distance away, hiding behind some well-placed foliage, and dismounted.

As Michael watched the men talking, another hackney stopped just behind him. Turning in surprise, Michael watched a young man with a very slight build hop down from the carriage and walk directly toward him.

Now what
? he wondered, with more than a little exasperation.

…

“Lord Lichfield,” Hope called out in surprise as she hurried toward him. She wasn’t quite sure what Michael was doing there, but he was clearly following the same men she was. Perhaps he would know what was going on.

“Pardon me,” Michael said slowly. “I don’t believe we have met.”

Hope pulled up short a few feet away.
Oh dear
, she thought frantically. In all the excitement she had forgotten about her disguise. Well, there was nothing to do for it now. She was just going to have to carry on as if she were a man.

Certainly if Michael ever found out about her penchant for dressing as a gentleman so she could visit the exchange, he would no longer be the least bit interested in her. Assuming he was even the least bit interested in her
now
.

“Ah, yes…I mean, n-no,” Hope stammered, her voice lowering into what was an abysmally poor attempt to sound manlier. “I don’t believe we have formally met as of yet, sir.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “And yet you still know my name?”

“Yes, well, you are, er, a compelling figure of a man.”

“I see,” Michael said hesitantly before offering his hand for a shake. “And you are?”

“I am…” Hope wracked her brain for a name even as she took Michael’s hand in greeting. “Um…” She couldn’t for the life of her come up with a man’s name. She had never anticipated needing an alias to go along with her disguise before; although, now that she was in this situation, she wondered why she hadn’t. It only stood to reason that someone someday might ask for it.

It was quickly becoming very clear that spy-work was not her forte.

Glancing up at Michael’s face to gauge his reaction to her conundrum, Hope saw that he was looking at her with a mixture of bemusement and curiosity. When he looked pointedly at their hands, Hope suddenly realized she was even worse at this than she thought, for there she was, holding his hand with the tips of her fingers, as she would when greeting any gentleman.

Blushing furiously, Hope tried to snatch her hand out of Michael’s grasp, but he refused to let it go.

“Release me, please,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly who you are first?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

Michael raised his brow and looked at her dryly. Hope returned the look with a questioning one of her own. She had the strangest impulse to cross her arms to indicate her displeasure that he had not acquiesced to her demand (something she would not normally do in polite company or anywhere else for that matter), but as her hand had not yet been freed, she was unable to do so.

Just then, Hope noticed a movement over Michael’s shoulder. The men in the carriage were nowhere to be seen, and a different man on horseback was attempting to lead the post-chaise and four down a dirt path, presumably back to the stables from which they were hired.

“Oh,” Hope exclaimed in dismay, “they’re gone!”

Chapter Three

It’s amazing how loving someone can give you courage.

~The Duke of Lancaster

Michael whipped around to look at where the men had stood. They were, indeed, gone.

“Damn,” he swore quietly. Now what should he do? He still was no closer to finding out the purpose of his wild goose chase than he had been that morning. Tired, frustrated, and at his wit’s end, Michael turned back around to confront the chit who had ruined all of his efforts.

It was then he realized that in his haste to look for the men, he had released the girl’s hand. She was standing there looking at said hand, apparently as surprised as he was that it had been freed.

She then looked up at Michael with a huge smile, obviously very pleased with herself.

And instantly, Michael was bereft of breath. Only one woman of his acquaintance had a smile like that. The woman who had haunted his dreams for months.

When Lady Lancaster had first introduced Michael to Hope Stuckeley so many months ago, he had no idea that he would suddenly see the girl everywhere he went. Every ball, every musicale, every single society event he attended, his gaze was inexorably drawn to Miss Stuckeley. And every time he crossed her path, he was gifted with the sight of her stunning smile and undeniable grace and charm.

The way the woman was able to strike Michael dumb at sight was beyond humbling and frankly concerning. Over and over he told himself that from now on, he would simply avoid her and her disturbing effect on him (he had enough to deal with at the moment with his new role as viscount) but over and over again, he found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It was disconcerting to say the least.

And, as added insult, the last time he had been rendered speechless by the young lady, he had been in the company of his best friend, William Bredon, Lord Pembroke. Ever since then, he had been the victim of unmerciful teasing and ribbing from the blasted man.

Michael and William had been friends for years and, as such, Michael was well aware of his chum’s rapier wit, but when William fell in love with Lady Hannah Rochester, Michael had witnessed a dramatic change in his friend’s mood—for the better, happily. As a result, that acerbic wit was much more prevalent and, when within Michael’s presence, aimed almost constantly at him…and his reaction to one Miss Hope Stuckeley.

“Miss…Stuckeley?” Michael asked in complete astonishment.

The girl was clearly stunned that he had recognized her. “How…who…ah… Hello?” Hope said finally, with a small, sheepish smile.

“It
is
you,” Michael gasped. He reached out and grabbed Hope by the arm and dragged her back to the hack she had hired. Michael yanked open the door and practically threw Hope inside.

“Stay there,” he mumbled.

Not even waiting to see if she would argue, Michael shut the door and, motioning to the driver to wait, he stalked over to his horse and led it to the hackney coach, tying it up behind the vehicle. Once his mount had been secured, he gave Lady Lancaster’s address to the driver and climbed into the carriage, settling in across from Hope.