The elegant drawing room was quiet, save for the shuffling of papers and every now and then a soft, yet impatient sigh.
“Darling, as much as I love our trysts, I’m feeling a trifle neglected.”
The honeyed tones from the beauty, currently draped in a seductive manner on the settee, drifted across the room to where Lord George Kerr sat perusing a stack of documents. He lifted his gaze from the papers spread before him on the table and glanced toward the woman. He appreciated how the crimson brocade couch became a perfect foil for her exotic features and raven hair.
“Evangeline, you know our agreement. I attend your exquisite establishment and you whisk me away to your drawing room whereupon I gather information for King and Country.” He grinned at her sultry pout. “Now, be a pet and make some noise. Otherwise the servants will think I’m not a satisfactory lover.”
“If you only knew how envious my maids are of me. They remain convinced you are Casanova reincarnated. How they would laugh if they knew we only drink tea and talk.” She arose from the divan and glided behind his chair, combing her fingers through his hair, the scent of her perfume a heady aphrodisiac. “Could I not entice you, just this once?”
He stilled her hand and brought her palm to his lips. Pressing a kiss against her soft skin, he turned slightly to face her. There wasn’t much hidden beneath her dressing gown, but he’d trained himself not to give in to the obvious delights she offered.
“While I admire your tenacity, I cannot give what you ask. The only woman I will share a bed with will be my wife.”
“I did not say we had to be in a bed.”
“Evangeline,” George warned in a low voice.
“Very well,” she purred, turning aside with an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders. “I apologize for my forward behavior. I miss my husband too much, I think.”
“I know you do and that is why I trust you most implicitly.”
“And I, you,” she agreed with a heavy sigh.
George Kerr, the second son of a Duke, walked a fine line in Society. He’d carefully crafted a persona of a somewhat careless bachelor. The ton regarded him as a Rake of the first order, which suited his cover perfectly. He ensured he always had a beautiful woman on his arm, flirted with them in an outrageous manner – had even kissed a few of them quite passionately – and visited Evangeline’s home on Grosvenor Square on a regular basis to maintain his tarnished image as a libertine.
“I expect another shipment tomorrow.”
George raised his gaze from the documents and noticed Evangeline had returned to stand beside the settee.
“A shipment from where?”
“Calais. The package was to arrive today, but with the heavy fog, they were delayed.”
“Evangeline, your willingness to help is beyond compare. It hurts my heart for the ton to think of you as a widow with loose morals. Why not cast me off in public and reclaim your status in Society?”
“You know why. Until Cavendish is back on English soil, I will not rest. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure his safety. It has been over two years and the only time I know he is alive is when I see our mark on a document.”
George glanced down at one of the documents, noting what looked like a smudge in the bottom left corner, but if one knew where to look, they’d see an intricate, hand-drawn pattern.
Her gaze turned pensive as she studied a small portrait of her husband mounted on the wall. In 1808 Lord and Lady Anstruther had been part of a delegation dispatched to the north of Spain to see if it could be reinforced to prevent an invasion by Bonaparte. However, the Secretary of State of War, Viscount Castlereagh, needed them for a much higher purpose and after the Earl tragically ‘died’ in an ambush, both he and his wife slipped into France.
Lady Cavendish made her way to Calais, where George was dispatched to smuggle her back to England while the Earl remained in France. Once the Countess was safely situated in London, Lord Cavendish sent dispatches through her to George. At that moment, Evangeline stiffened.
“Someone is coming.” She moved swiftly to recline against the arm of the divan. Without questioning her instinct, which had proven itself time and time again, George laid his coat on top of the papers and joined her, positioning his rather large body so that his head rested on her soft lap. With his knee slightly bent, he placed his left foot on the couch and stretched the right leg to the floor. She glanced down at him, her exquisite features tight with concern.
“Prepare yourself, Lord Kerr. In order to facilitate our ruse, I must expose more than you would like.”
“I think I’ll survive,” he replied in a dry tone.
She slipped the filmy gown down one arm and it gracefully puddled against his cheek. When the door to her drawing room burst open, she looked up in faux surprise. Her ladies maid, Colleen, the only one who knew of their true connection, shivered within the door frame. Behind her stood two men with hardened faces and loaded pistols. It may have been the way the candles reflected against his features, but George thought the eyes of the smaller man widened when his gaze fell upon them.
“What is the meaning of this?” Evangeline demanded. She tugged the gown back onto her shoulder while George remained where he lay, a deceptive picture of languor and satisfied coitus.
“I’m sorry, m’Lady,” Colleen began.
“Be quiet, slut.” The larger man backhanded Colleen and she stumbled to one side. Still semi-reclined George slid his left hand down his leg toward his boot. Meanwhile, Evangeline arose in a state of agitation, which was a ruse. She intended to clutch the couch as though frightened and retrieve a hidden weapon strapped to the back of the divan.
He knew this because she’d done it to him in France.
“What do you want?” She stumbled against the divan and steadied herself by gripping the back of the couch. “Please don’t hurt me.”
While the men were distracted by her nervous display, George unsheathed the knife tucked inside his boot and palmed the deadly weapon in his hand. Colleen inched away from the two men who now advanced further into the room. While the larger man continued to watch them, the other glanced about the room, before heading toward the table.
“Make sure they don’t move, Bill. Shoot the prancing dandy first.” His tone was more cultured than most thugs for hire and a hint of familiarity tugged at the corner of George’s mind. He was now convinced the man knew him, but from where?
It was only through years of conditioning that he didn’t betray his concern the man would discover important papers beneath his coat. If he found the smuggled documents and escaped with the knowledge of his and Evangeline’s clandestine operation, then many courageous people died for nothing. He arose from the couch like a sleepy giant.
“Whad’ya want?” he slurred and weaved on his feet as though drunk. “You hafta find your own woman. I pay a lot of money for her favors.” He lurched toward the man called Bill, who gripped his pistol tighter.
“I am not a whore!” Evangeline screamed at George.
Her hysterics had the desired effect. At her shrill cry, Bill momentarily shifted his attention from George to her. Without hesitation, George whipped the knife and lodged it in the man’s heart. He halted and the gun clattered to the floor and his expression registered surprise as he glanced down. At first there was nothing to see but the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest, a dark red stain began to slowly spread across his dingy shirt. It only took seconds, but after looking up at George, he sank to his knees and crumpled to the floor.
At the sound of the gun hitting the floor, the other man turned. Before he even pointed his weapon, Evangeline had raised her arm and with deadly aim made sure he never breathed again. George eyeballed the bullet hole dead square in the assailant’s forehead.
“Remind me to never challenge you to a duel, Countess.”
She lowered her arm and cut him a sideways glance. “You are most fortunate I adore you Lord Kerr. Otherwise that may have been you on the floor after calling me a woman of ill repute.”
“A means to an end.” He took hold of her free hand and brought it to his lips, murmuring against her skin. “I am forever grateful you did not shoot me in France.”
“Bah, Cavendish was right. You are a terrible flirt.” She tugged her hand from his light grasp and signaled to Colleen. “Help us find out who these two Cretans are.”
~~~ooo0ooo~~~
“I’m afraid your cover has been compromised.” Lord Grayson clasped his hands on his desk and peered at George over his reading glasses. “You’re quite useless to us now.”
“I’d like to know who sent those men.”
George sat in the chair placed directly in front of Lord Grayson’s desk. His elbow rested on the armchair and he rhythmically rubbed his lower lip with his index finger. A childhood habit indicating he was deep in thought.
He and Evangeline had searched both men thoroughly, finding no form of identification on either of them. The cultured tones and soft hands of the one man hinted of a decent education and no hard labor. Had he been the leader or following someone else’s orders? The same sense of familiarity washed over George again.
“Who knows?” Lord Grayson removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At times, I think there are more people working for Boney in England than in France. Money can turn the most patriotic away from their King. Even our own Prime Minister was assassinated.”
“Nasty business that. I’m still not convinced there wasn’t a conspiracy.” George rose to his feet and paced to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “So, what am I to do? Become another useless Peer of the realm?”
“You do yourself a disservice, Lord Kerr. Your family name has a proud history. The ton does not know you were working for the Crown. You are their golden boy who has sowed more than his share of wild oats. Continue on with your life. Find a pretty girl and get married. It would make your brother the Duke a happy man if you settled down.”
Memories of dark curls caressing creamy shoulders and soft brown eyes gazing up at him popped into his mind. Now why would he think of Miss Katherine Bennet a time like this? Their conversation during Mr. Darcy’s wedding breakfast lasted only a few minutes, but he’d felt a tug at the shy smile and becoming blush which had stained her cheeks.
He turned to face Lord Grayson.
“My brothers would be more than ecstatic if I joined Nathan in marital bliss, but unfortunately, I played the part of a Rake so well all the dear mamma’s hide their daughters when I enter the ballroom.”
“Then you should cast your lure in a different pond, my boy. You have several nice lakes near Adborough Hall and there are times when local fish are better for the palate.”
George nodded in agreement at the apt metaphor. If memory served him correctly, there was also a lake near Pemberley and he would be there for his brother’s wedding. Would Miss Katherine Bennet also be in attendance?
“It was a pleasure to work with you, Lord Kerr.” Lord Grayson rose from his chair and extended his hand toward George, who returned from the window and shook it firmly. “I wish you a long and healthy life.”
“Thank you, Lord Grayson. Might I add, it was an honor to serve my country and if you ever need me, in any way, you only have to send the word and I’ll be there.”
“I know you would, lad. I know you would. Since Pitt’s assassination, we live in perilous times and we need all those who are loyal to the Monarchy.”
Within minutes, George exited the offices where Lord Grayson conducted his business and approached a non-descript carriage manned by his trusted driver, Henry.
“Where to, my Lord.”
“Kerr house.” George entered the carriage and closed the door.
“Yes, sir.” Henry flicked the reins and the horses took off at a brisk pace toward Mayfair. George used the time to think over his conversation with Lord Grayson. He’d hired Bow Street Runners to scour the area for any leads. From there, they hoped to ascertain who the educated man’s connections were. Hopefully they were discreet with their enquiries. Spies had a tendency to hide. He should know – he’d been hiding in plain sight for almost five years.
A few months later...
“It’s good to see you, Max.” George dug into his roasted pheasant with gusto.
“Same here, brother. It’s been months since I’ve been away from Adborough Hall.”
George and his brother Max, the fourth Duke of Adborough, were enjoying a quiet meal at White’s. For the past five months they’d been in half mourning following the death of their Uncle Moreland and his wife Millicent. Not that George minded. Mourning was a convenient excuse to avoid the crush of Society’s balls. Now that all the young ladies had made their curtsy before Queen Charlotte, the hunt for a husband would intensify and he had no wish to run the gauntlet of anxious mothers at every soiree, ball or afternoon tea.
“Have you managed to wrap up Uncle Moreland’s estate?”
“Almost. My solicitors are searching for the rightful heir. The cousin who inherited is in the army and was sent to the Canada’s last year. They’re trying to find out where the good lieutenant is and if he’s still alive.” Max signaled a footman.
“May I get you anything, Your Grace?” the footman asked with a respective bow.
“Yes. Some more port wine.”
“Right away, your Grace.”
“What was I saying?” Max turned his attention back to George.
“Your solicitors were trying to find Uncle Moreland’s heir who is in the thick of battle in the colonies. What happens if he’s deceased?”
“You won’t believe this, but Nathan inherits.”
George almost choked on the wine he was drinking. He lowered the glass, wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin and coughed out a laugh. “Our brother Nathan, who gave up everything to join the church?”
“One and the same.” Max lifted a napkin to his mouth, but George could tell he was smiling as well.
“Oh, that’s rich. If he does inherit, can I be there when you tell him?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Since you became the Duke, you aren’t any fun.”
“You, my brother, have more fun than all of us combined. I have heard tales of you skirting the edges of good moral standing, squiring about the beautiful widow, Countess Anstruther. May I remind you we are still in mourning until the end of this month? Someday you will stand before God and account for all your deeds.”
“I will stand before Him with a clear conscience.”
Max raised an eyebrow at that statement, but George didn’t elaborate. He couldn’t elaborate. He wasn’t at liberty to reveal details of his double life, even though he no longer actively worked for the Crown. There were others whose very lives depended on him maintaining secrecy. One day, hopefully soon when the war ended, he’d be able to share his well-kept secret and let his brothers know he’d not forsaken their deeply held beliefs.
As it was, his cover was nearly blown four years ago in France. Navigating around some thick brush by a busy road, he’d stumbled upon an attempted ambush. By chance, he’d spotted a French soldier behind a thick hedge, waiting for two British cavalry officers riding along what should have been a safe lane.
He’d immediately recognized one of the officers as his brother Nathan. No one sat a horse as well as he. Aware the Frenchman had not detected his presence; he slid the knife from his boot and with great stealth advanced through the underbrush. The infantryman, so intent on the two British soldiers, never once heard George approach. With deadly silence he quickly dispatched the French soldier while Nathan passed by, never once suspecting how close he came to dying that day.
“I’m sorry, George. I didn’t mean to put a damper on our evening.” Max said, obviously misunderstanding his silence. As he’d done many times before, George shrugged his shoulders and behaved as though nothing bothered him. He was still the free-wheeling brother who had yet to settle down.
“No harm, Max. One day I’ll find a quiet chit of a girl to marry, but not tonight.” Maybe one with luxurious curls and big chocolate brown eyes, he mused. He gave his head a shake at the mental image of Miss Katherine Bennet. Lately, she’d begun to invade his thoughts more and more. Not for the first time he hoped she’d be at Nathan and Caroline’s wedding in November. Maybe then he could put this distraction to rest.
Max glanced past George and tensed, his lips thinning with displeasure. George glanced over his shoulder to see who had elicited such a response from his unflappable brother, recognizing Lord Herbert Jacobson, the Viscount Stanhope.
“Adborough.”
“Stanhope,” Max murmured as Lord Herbert walked past their table. The Viscount acknowledged George with barely a polite nod and a slight sneer.
“He’s a sorry piece of humanity,” Max grumbled once Stanhope was out of hearing. “I once told Nathan he had the intelligence of a potato.”
“How insulting to the potato. Never mind him, at least tonight he was polite. Usually he calls me...” George’s gaze narrowed and he twisted in his seat and watched Viscount Stanhope enter the gaming rooms.
“What does he call you?”
“...a prancing dandy.”
All scripture verses used in Caroline, Pride & Prejudice continued... Book One, are taken from the King James Bible
(1)Jeremiah 29:11
(2)Provers 3: 5-6
(3)Deuteronomy 4: 29
(4)Psalms 51: 1
(5)Psalms 51: 10
(6)Proverbs 31: 28