Page 4 of Stolen By the Rogue
That could’ve been me.
“Lord Eldon, you remember my son George, don’t you?” said his father.
George stirred from his horrid imaginings of death and bowed low. “My lord.”
As he righted himself, his gaze met that of the man who, aside from the King, was the most powerful legal authority in all of England—a man who one day could very well hold George’s fate in his hands. It wouldn’t matter if he was the son of a judge; he would not be shown any mercy.
He swallowed deeply as grey, all-seeing eyes stared back at him. And in that moment, George Hawkins made a fateful decision.
I have to find another way to make money or I am destined to end up swinging by my neck at the end of a rope. I must give up this life of villainy. But how?
Chapter One
Aweek later
The RR Coaching Company Offices
Gracechurch Street, London
“Just be grateful you are here and not in Newgate Prison,” said Harry.
George lifted his head from where it had been sitting in his hands and glared at his fellow rogue of the road. Lord Harry Steele, son of the Duke of Redditch, was the only member of the RR Coaching Company currently making any real effort at earning an honest living. His words, though clearly meant to be kind, were not the least bit welcome.
“Yes, well, it’s alright for you; your wife is an heiress. Her papa is one of the richest men in all of England. You will never have to worry about money,” replied George.
Not to mention that I am the one with an outstanding obligation to buy the next travel coach for the company. I have no idea where I am going to find the money.
With a sigh, Harry dropped into the seat next to George at the long, weather-beaten dining table that took up most of the space in the main room of the company offices.
“Let me assure you that Mister North is not that free with his blunt. In fact, he keeps Alice and I on a tight leash when it comes to money.”
Harry had married one of his clients earlier in the year; and while Alice was a wonderful girl, she had come with an ironclad marriage contract that didn’t include a large dowry settlement. Mister North had made certain that his daughters would not fall to the charms of fortune hunters and make poor choices when it came to husbands.
“As long as you stay in Daddy North’s good graces, the money will keep coming,” replied George.
He wasn’t in the mood for any attempt at being upbeat. The near miss at the art gallery had rocked his self-confidence more than he wished to admit.
And to top the evening off, instead of managing to slink upstairs, George’s guilt had seen him remain for several hours at his father’s party while every senior London judge enquired as to why he had not taken up the legal profession. Unfortunately, it was a question to which George couldn’t give a truthful answer.
Because I would rather steal bright and shiny things than waste my existence on reading boring legal papers.
His life was all too complicated.
Unless he could find himself a nice, rich girl to marry, he was going to be forced to continue doing dirty jobs for the RR Coaching Company and run the risk of one day getting caught. The other option, of course, being to secure himself an honest job.
Until now, that option had held little appeal; but a close call with a bullet could give a man cause to rethink many things in his life.
Could I live an honest life?
He was the son of a judge, and yet he had always been tempted by the illegal and illicit side of life. The rush of handling stolen goods gave him a high that only the heated embrace of a woman could challenge or surpass. And since valuable trinkets were much easier to manage than women, George had made a lifelong habit of avoiding emotional entanglements with the fairer sex.
But if you don’t change, you are going to meet a sticky end.
“I just need to find a way to make enough money so I can turn my life around,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” replied Harry.
“Nothing.”
