Once a Rebel, Page 2

  Stanfield grabbed Callie’s arm and wrenched her to her feet. “You’re still a virgin?”

  “Given the amount of ground they covered during the night, there hasn’t been time to do much else,” Gordon’s father drawled. “I’m not sure the boy is capable of anything more. I’ve wondered if he’s a molly boy. He certainly doesn’t look like a son of mine. He’s far too pretty. His mother was the worst mistake I ever made.”

  The insult pulled Gordon to consciousness and he tried to struggle to his feet. “Shut your evil mouth!”

  Stanfield kicked him back into the hay, then kicked him again. “Mind if I beat him to death, Kingston?”

  “Feel free to kill him,” Gordon’s father said with exquisite malice. “I have better sons.” He turned and strolled from the barn.

  Stanfield was winding up for another kick when Callie threw her full weight against him. “Stop this! You’ll have to kill us both because I’ll never let you get away with murdering him!”

  When her father hesitated, Callie said frantically, “If you stop beating him, I promise that I’ll marry your horrible friend and act like a good and obedient wife! I’m a virgin—he’ll never know this happened. But you must promise to stop hurting Richard!”

  Her father paused, frowning. “For all your wild behavior, you’ve never been a liar.” His eyes narrowed. “You swear that you’ll be a good, obedient daughter and go through with this marriage?”

  “You have my word,” she said bitterly. “But tell me, how did you find out so quickly that we’d eloped?”

  “One of your sisters has a better sense of duty than you’ve ever had,” her father replied. “She saw you sneaking out and guessed where you were going. After she woke me up, I drove over to Kingston Court. When Lord Kingston saw you were both gone, we set after you. Satisfied?”

  Callie’s lips thinned. “I can guess which sister it was. May she rot in hell!”

  Her father shook her. “Don’t forget your promise! You behave and I won’t touch your filthy lover again.”

  She yanked free of his grip. “You can’t order your servants to hurt him, either.”

  He frowned, then nodded. “But you’d better be a damned obedient bride!” He gestured to one of the grooms. “Take her outside.”

  As Callie was escorted roughly from the barn, Stanfield stood over Gordon’s bleeding body, his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry that I can’t finish the job, Lord George, but she’s worth a pretty penny married off.” His lips twisted in a vicious smile. “I won’t kill you. But, by God, you’ll wish I had!”

  Chapter 2

  London, summer, 1814

  Gordon was bored. Months had passed since anyone had tried to kill him. Luckily, this tedious spell of safety should end soon. Lord Kirkland had summoned him, and Kirkland was an excellent source of missions that required Gordon’s varied and nefarious skills.

  Gordon was bemused by the fact that he and Kirkland had become friends of a sort. They’d known each other since their school days at the Westerfield Academy, a small, elite school for boys of “good birth and bad behavior.”

  Gordon had hated all the schools his father had sent him to, of which the Westerfield Academy was the last. He actually enjoyed learning, but he picked up new material very quickly, and then was physically incapable of sitting still. When he was a boy at Kingston Court, he and his brothers had been tutored by a young curate who had allowed his most restless student to prowl around while his brothers struggled to master Latin or maths or the globes.

  The marquess had never understood, so when Gordon reached an age to be sent off to school, he was placed in one of the most brutal academies in Britain so the masters would force him to sit still and behave properly. Despite the school’s best efforts to beat him into submission, Gordon had become ever more difficult. At the end of the year, he was asked not to return. The same thing happened at the next school. And the next. Gordon was rather proud of that fact.

  By the time he reached Westerfield, he was so angry and rebellious that even calm, caring Lady Agnes Westerfield, founder and headmistress of the school, had been unable to reach him. He’d hated the school, hated his classmates, and rejected all friendly overtures. He skipped classes whenever possible, and when he showed up, he acted conspicuously bored and uninterested. To amuse himself, he’d perform brilliantly on exams just to madden his teachers.

  Gordon had particularly hated Kirkland. Despite his youth, Kirkland had a cool, ferociously intelligent composure that was damned unnerving. Gordon felt disapproval whenever the other boy looked his way.

  His hatred had been sealed during one of the school’s Kalarippayattu sessions. The ancient fighting technique had been introduced to the school by the half Hindu young Duke of Ashton, and learning it had become a school tradition. Gordon had enjoyed the fighting, which helped him work off his restlessness.

  Despite his general anger with the forced captivity of school, he seldom truly lost his temper. But one day in a fighting session he succumbed to fury when matched against a sharp-tongued classmate. He might have killed the boy in a rage if Kirkland hadn’t intervened, yanking Gordon out of the fight, slamming him to the ground, and pinning him there. “Control yourself!” he’d ordered with razor-edged menace.

  Later, Gordon was grateful he’d been prevented from committing murder even though he despised the little bastard who’d provoked him. But the public humiliation made him hate Kirkland even more.

  Yet here he was, whistling as he climbed the steps of Kirkland’s handsome townhouse in Berkeley Square. He stopped whistling before wielding the knocker. It would be bad for his reputation to appear too cheerful.

  Soames, the butler who admitted him, said, “His lordship is expecting you, Captain Gordon. He told me to send you to him immediately. He’s in the music room.” Soames gestured to the stairs.

  “No need to take me up,” Gordon said as he handed over his hat. As he climbed the steps, he heard piano music. Lady Kirkland, he presumed. She was said to play superbly.

  The door to the music room was closed. As he quietly opened it, the full power of the performance swept over him. Gordon wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about music, but he recognized skill when he heard it. He paused, drinking in the vibrant harmonies. No wonder young ladies were taught to create music. Though few would be this good.

  He stepped into the room and saw that Kirkland and his lady were seated side by side on the piano bench and playing together. Their flying fingers perfectly coordinated as they produced that powerful, mesmerizing flood of sound.

  Gordon caught his breath in surprise, and Kirkland looked up, startled. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” He swiveled on the piano bench and rose to take Gordon’s hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure, Kirkland,” Gordon replied. “I never know what interesting project you might have for me.”

  “I hope what he has for you isn’t too lethal.” Lady Kirkland also stood to greet him. She wasn’t a classical beauty, but her deep warmth was a perfect complement to her husband’s cool composure. “It’s lovely to see you, Captain Gordon.”

  “I greatly enjoyed your playing,” he said honestly. “I’ve heard of your talent, but it was still a surprise and a pleasure. Even more so in your case, Kirkland. Beautiful ladies are supposed to be musical. Such skills are less expected in spymasters.”

  Both Kirklands laughed. “Would you like to come to one of our informal musical evenings?” Lady Kirkland said. “Every month or so we invite a few friends over to make music.”

  “And talk. And eat,” Kirkland said. “Several of life’s greatest pleasures.” His fond glance at his wife suggested what the greatest pleasure was.

  “That’s sounds enjoyable, but I have no musical ability whatsoever,” Gordon said. “I know nothing of instruments and have an alarmingly bad singing voice.”

  Lady Kirkland smiled. “You don’t have to perform. It’s enough to enjoy. We performers need an audience,
after all. I’ll send you an invitation the next time we have such a gathering.”

  He inclined his head. “I will be pleased to attend if I can, Lady Kirkland.”

  “Call me Laurel. I owe you too much for formality.” She brushed a kiss on his cheek and glided from the room.

  Gordon touched his cheek as he gazed after her. “You’re a lucky man, Kirkland.”

  “A fact of which I am very aware.” Kirkland gestured toward a pair of chairs set by a front window. “We might as well talk here. I’ll ring for coffee.”

  After he’d done so, they settled in the chairs and Kirkland said, “I believe you’ve lived among our young cousins in the United States?”

  Gordon frowned. “You know that I have. I’ll tell you now that I won’t do any spying against the Americans even though our countries are at war. I like them.”

  “I don’t want you to spy against them. This particular war has been a damned fool waste of blood and resources and should never have happened,” Kirkland said forcefully. “There are reasons why our countries came to blows, but Britain should have stayed focused on France. Now that Napoleon has abdicated, Wellington’s Peninsular army has been freed to turn elsewhere, which means the war in our former colonies will become much fiercer.”

  “All sadly true,” Gordon agreed. “What has that to do with me?”

  “I’m hoping to enlist you in a rescue mission,” Kirkland replied. “No politics involved. There is an English-born widow who lives in the American capital, Washington. That whole area has become a war zone, with the Royal Navy rampaging up and down the Chesapeake Bay, burning towns and farms and bombarding American forts. Anything might happen. Her family is concerned about the dangers and would like her to be brought back to safety in England.”

  Gordon frowned. “Mounting a rescue across the Atlantic will take time and money. Anything could happen between now and when I’d reach America. Doesn’t this woman have the sense to get out of the way of an invading army if one appears?”

  “There’s family estrangement, so they aren’t sure of the woman’s financial situation, but she’s likely in reduced circumstances.”

  “Being poor always complicates life,” Gordon agreed. “But what if she doesn’t want to return to England?”

  “Exercise your powers of persuasion,” Kirkland said dryly.

  “I have done many reprehensible things,” Gordon said with equal dryness, “but I’m not in the business of kidnapping reluctant women.”

  “Nor am I. I told the government official who asked me to arrange this that I wouldn’t countenance forcing a woman against her will.” Kirkland smiled a little. “Which would be not only wrong, but difficult since females tend to have minds of their own. If she doesn’t wish to return to the bosom of her estranged family, you’re authorized to escort her to a safer place, at least until the fighting is over. If she is impoverished, provide her with what funds she needs. At the very least, discover her situation so her family will know how she is faring.”

  Family matters were the very devil. Warily Gordon asked, “Why is the widow estranged?”

  “I don’t know. The official who asked me, Sir Andrew Harding, wasn’t forthcoming, but I believe the woman is a relation of Harding’s wife.”

  Gordon had heard of Harding. He was extremely wealthy and had a great deal of political influence. A man who expected results.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I should accept this commission. If the widow has been out of touch with her family, the address might be wrong. Even if I can find her quickly, she might not want to return to England if she’s estranged. Sir Andrew should save his money. He and his wife are unlikely to achieve what they want.”

  “Quite possibly not,” Kirkland said quietly. “But sometimes, people need to do something because it’s unbearable to do nothing.”

  Gordon understood that impulse to action. His brow furrowed as he considered. Though he’d wanted some excitement, hurling himself headfirst into a war zone on what was likely a wild goose chase was rather more than he’d bargained for. But he’d been feeling restless, and there was some chance that he might be able to rescue the damsel in distress. Assuming a widow qualified as a damsel and she wanted to be rescued.

  “I would need to go in prepared to be either British or American,” he said, thinking out loud. “If I end up dealing with the Royal Navy or the British Army, it would help if I had letters of introduction from high level men in the government. You know the sort of thing. ‘This is Lord George Audley, give him anything he asks for.’ ”

  Kirkland chuckled. “I can’t produce anything quite so sweeping, but I can certainly give letters that will gain you some consideration. What about transportation?”

  “If I do this, I’ll need to charter a ship willing to go into a battle zone, and that will be expensive. Preferably a ship that has sailed the Chesapeake Bay.”

  “Understood. You’ll have all the funds you need. I can provide a ship, but I’m not sure I have sailors experienced in those waters.”

  “This is going to be a very pricey exercise in futility,” Gordon said wryly. “The ship will need to appear nondescript, but be fast, well armed, and willing to fly flags of different nations if required. I might know a vessel that would be suitable if the captain is available and willing. If he isn’t, it will be up to you.”

  “It sounds like you’ve decided to accept this commission,” Kirkland observed, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  “Apparently I have,” Gordon agreed. “What’s the woman’s name and address?”

  Kirkland handed over a paper with a name and address written on it. “Interestingly, her married name is Audley, like yours. Do you have any American relatives named Matthias Audley?”

  Gordon shrugged. “There may be a connection, but Audley isn’t an uncommon name. I doubt if sharing the same name will weigh with the widow if she’s reluctant to return to England.” He got to his feet. “Now to see if the ship and captain I have in mind are in London, willing, and able.”

  “Do what you think best, Gordon.” Kirkland also stood and drew a folded piece of paper from an inside pocket. “Here’s a bank draft toward expenses. I’ll collect the authorization letters and send them to your house. If you need anything else, just ask.”

  Gordon whistled at the size of the bank draft. “They really want her back safely!”

  “Yes, and if she won’t come, the family wants to insure that she has what she needs to live comfortably.”

  “If she’s impoverished, she might be more willing to come with me. Here’s hoping she’s eager to return home and all goes smoothly.”

  “That seldom happens,” Kirkland murmured. “Which is why I thought of you.”

  Gordon grinned. “I’ll take that as a vote of confidence in my shifty skills.”

  “Exactly so.” Kirkland offered his hand. “Let me know if you need anything. Good luck and Godspeed.”

  As Gordon shook the other man’s hand, he felt a prickle at the base of his neck, and a conviction that he was going to need all the luck he could get.

  * * *

  The waterfront tavern was patronized by the better grade of local merchants, ship chandlers, and sailors. Gordon scanned the room, wondering if he’d recognize the man he was here to meet.

  He’d first met Hawkins in a prison cellar in Portugal, where they were two of five men condemned to be executed in the morning. They’d worked together through a long night to escape, and the five had made a wry pact to keep in touch through Hatchards bookstore in London, sending letters to the notice of the “Rogues Redeemed.”

  Though occasional missives at the bookstore had given Gordon some idea of what Hawkins had been doing, they’d not met face to face since that night in Porto. Ah, there, in a booth built along the left-hand wall. The man sitting there raised his tankard in greeting, so Gordon wove his way across the room.

  As he approached the table, Hawkins rose and offered a hand. Brown-haired and broadly bui
lt, he had the weathered complexion of a man who was much out of doors. “Gordon,” he said in a deep voice. “Good to see you after all these years.”

  As they shook hands, Gordon said, “Full years for both of us, I imagine.” He slid onto the bench opposite the other man. “Your voice is different than I remember.”

  Hawkins chuckled. “On the night we met, I was suffering from a slight case of being hanged. It took time for my voice to recover.” He signaled a barmaid to bring over a drink for Gordon.

  “You’re lively for a hanged man,” Gordon said. “There must be a story there.”

  “A tale for another day,” Hawkins said with a dismissive gesture. “Have you any news of other members of our little brotherhood of Rogues Redeemed?”

  “Will Masterson was with the army in Toulouse when Napoleon abdicated. I’m told he’s resigning his commission and heading for home across the Peninsula.” Gordon grinned. “I wonder if he intends to pay a visit to the cellar where we shared that deplorable brandy and discussed what we would do in the unlikely case we survived. Masterson is planning to settle down to a staid and boring life now.”

  “He may be staid, but I doubt he’ll be boring.” Hawkins took a thoughtful sip of ale. “I wonder if all five rogues are still alive. We live in dangerous times.”

  “You more than most, if I read your occasional letters properly. You’ve been keeping yourself busy as a blockade runner?”

  “Yes, but with peace breaking out and fewer blockades to run, I may have to turn respectable,” Hawkins said with wry humor.

  “Did you run any blockades to ports in the United States? The Chesapeake Bay, by preference. If so, I might have some work for you.”

  Hawkins’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve made runs up the bay as far as Baltimore. One of my men grew up near there and he knows the waters as well as any man living. What sort of job? With the Royal Navy bashing about the Chesapeake, sailing there now would be even more dangerous than regular blockade running.”

  “It’s a rescue mission and needs to take place as quickly as possible.” Gordon briefly described what needed to be done.