Page 57 of A Rake's Redemption
Caroline shook her head. “I am fully aware what George’s motivations were. I was a fool to fall for him. That does not mean I would not like my own revenge.”
“Well, I cannot fault you for that,” Alex answered and then grinned. “It was rather amusing to see Amelia’s veneer crack, though.”
“Exactly.” Carolinelooked thoughtful and then smiled. “I have an idea for a little revenge-getting.”
“You’re looking like the Cheshire cat again. What are you planning to do?”
She shook her head. “My secret, at least for now.”
Chapter Eighteen
As Alex entered White’s early that evening, he felt like an idiot lad at Eton trying to sneak a serving girl into his dormitory. Only he was sneaking out—out of his house no less. When he’d come home after his ride, he’d seen Inis exercising Goldie in the paddock. He felt guilty since the filly really did need to run, but since he still wasn’t sure how to approach Inis and her faerie talk, he was the one doing the running.
He was an idiot. No other woman had ever made him so edgy. When he was with Inis, he knew he needed to put distance between them, but when he successfully made an escape, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Instead of considering the next conquest he could check off his list, Inis occupied his mind.
He was an idiot, no question.
Instead of the secluded table Brice usually chose, tonight he was seated at a larger one along with Viscount Linford, Baron Compton, and John Caldwell, the Earl of Lockwood, gentlemen as interested in gossip as their wives. At the hint of a scandal, their noses practically twitched like hounds scenting rabbits. Alex wondered why Brice had allowed himself to be encircled. Just then, another man whose profile had been obscured by the earl shifted in his chair, and Alex was surprised to see Stephan, the Marquis of Kendrick. He hardly ever frequented White’s.
“I had no idea you’d stayed in London,” Alex said as he joined the group and a waiter brought him a brandy.
“I returned to Kent after Lady Caldwell’s soiree,” Stephan answered, “but one of my fishing boats foundered, and I am in need of a replacement vessel.”
Unlike many of his contemporaries who were content to languish on their country estates and dabble in the commodities market, Stephan was a hands-on type. After he’d inherited his title, he’d bought a small fleet of fishing vessels and sometimes captained them. Alex had first met him at Eton, although Stephan was ahead of him by a term or two. He’d not lasted long at the school due to frequent brawls stemming from the fact he was a bastard son being educated among the English elite. Alex had felt an affinity, given his own contemptuous relationship with George.
Henry Linford eyed Stephan. “Yours was not the only boat in trouble recently.”
“Oh my. That’s correct,” Joshua Compton said. “The Timeshad an article three days ago about a schooner accosted by pirates on its passage from France.”
“Perhaps you heard something about it?” Henry asked.
Alex exchanged a look with Brice. The hounds’ noses were twitching again. Since the wars with both France and America were over, open trade had resumed, but at a cost. French, Spanish, and Portuguese sailors were known to follow loaded ships leaving Continental ports and try to board or detain them. Barbary corsairs had even been spotted in the Channel waters from time to time, but whenever a ship limped into a London port with tales of being attacked close to England, rumors flourished over local piracy. The favorite speculation of thetonfocused on the Marquis of Kendrick who, despite his title, didn’t have the correct amount of blue blood flowing through his veins.
Alex clenched his hands into fists, but Stephan just shrugged, his dark eyes fixed steadily on Linford. “What would I have heard that you did not?”
Linford’s gaze faltered, and Alex almost smiled. He remembered Stephan using that penetrating stare at Eton as he sized up opponents. Linford took a quick slug of his whiskey.
“Maybe…one of your crew saw something?” Compton asked.
Stephan shifted his attention to Compton, one black brow lifting slightly. Alex thought the other man shuddered slightly. Perhaps Caroline was right—Stephan did have a somewhat primitive look despite the finely tailored clothes he wore. Alex almost hoped Stephan would put a fist to the man and knock him on his skinny arse for implying, none too subtly, that Stephan might have something to do with it.
Unfortunately, the Earl of Lockwood intervened. “It is plausible since you live so close to the sea. I think that is all that was meant.”
“Yes,” Linford said quickly. “We hate to see goods bound for London stolen.”
“Or having crews murdered,” Compton added.
“Murdered?” A corner of Stephan’s mouth lifted. “Are ghost ships sailing into London then?”
“I have not heard of a single sailor being murdered when a ship is boarded,” Brice said. “Or did I miss something in the latest article?”
Linford frowned. “I do not recall any lives lost, but still—”
“Bloodthirsty, are you?” Stephan asked, his brow quirking again.
“No, of course not,” Linford replied. “I want to put a stop to piracy.”
Stephan gave him a laconic look, picked up his brandy snifter, and smiled. “I wish you luck with that.”
