Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen

to track and eventually bring down their leaders. That men of birth and privilege who should consider it their duty to serve the nation should betray that trust inspired in him a loathing as deep as it was visceral.

      “The evidence thus far does seem to point to Lord Wolverton as head of the operation,” his secretary continued. “Did your observations of him in the north support that conclusion?”

      “Yes—the bastard.” Beau sighed. “Another page in the all-too-familiar story of a younger son outspending his means by indulging a weakness for gaming, women or vice. Though in my noble Lord Wolverton’s case, it seems to be a combination of all three.” With a grimace, he shook a finger at the secretary. “Promise me, James, if you ever develop such proclivities, you’ll come to me before doing something stupid.”

      “So you can straighten out my warped thinking with a well-placed left hook?” His secretary gave a slight smile. “Surely you know, after what happened to my father, I’d be the last man on earth to—”

      “I know, James,” Beau interrupted. “An attempt at levity to relieve my disgust at the pathetic circumstances.”

      “I’m afraid I can’t find any humor in it,” the young man replied, bitterness in his tone. “Not when my father’s reputation was nearly destroyed by the false accusations of such a man. If not for you, he would have been disgraced—”

      “None of that now.” Beau waved his secretary to silence. “I suppose I’m indebted to the villain. Had your father’s predicament not outraged me into vowing to uncover the identity of the real traitor, I might still be naught but an idle dandy playing at puzzles.”

      “As if you were ever such!” his secretary scoffed. “I’m just glad your intervention in my father’s case brought you to Lord Riverton’s notice, and that his lordship succeeded in persuading you to continue the work. And as always, I’m honored that you trust me to contribute my small part. Speaking of which, what would you have me do now?”

      Beau hesitated. “I need to investigate another matter. A personal and highly delicate one involving a lady, which must of course be conducted in strictest secrecy.”

      “I hope you know you can rely on my discretion.”

      “That I do not doubt. However, since I’m determined to tap my usual network in pursuit of wholly private concern, a some what … irregular practice, I admit, you may not feel comfortable being part of it. If you choose not to become involved, I will not hold it against you.”

      “My lord,” the secretary replied, “since it is you who fund that network, I cannot see that there would be any impropriety in your using it however you see fit. And even if there were, after all you have done for my family, I’m hardly likely to question any contrivance of yours. Now, what should you like me to do?”

      Beau smiled, gratified by the young man’s loyalty. “I need you to compile me a list of gentlemen who have, ah, ‘lost’ a wife sometime in the past two years. The woman will probably have been reported dead, although it might be claimed she is tending distant relatives or off on a lengthy journey of some sort. She might even have been declared insane. The lady would be of good family and should have been about three-and-twenty at the time of her … departure.”

      Beau had the dubious pleasure of knowing he’d confounded his normally unflappable secretary. After staring a moment, with commendable discretion, James managed to swallow the curiosity he obviously felt. “Very well, my lord. How soon do you require the completed list?”

      “As soon as possible. It’s a matter of considerable urgency.” Beau gazed out the window, seeing again Laura Martin’s small form hunched before him, fragile arms and puny fists braced against a blow. Anxiety twisted in his chest. He must persuade her out of Merriville, and soon.

      He turned back to his secretary. “As you may have surmised, the husband in this case has violent proclivities. Try to determine if any of the prospects are rumored to be abusive. And, James …”

      “My lord?”

      “Your help in uncovering this shall more than repay any service I may ever have done your family.”

      His secretary hesitated. “The … lady is that important to you.”

      “Yes.”

      James Maxwell bowed. “Then I shall begin the search immediately.”

      A month later Laura Martin deposited her newly harvested herbs on the garden bench and wearily sat beside them, shivering in the tepid warmth of the fading late-afternoon sun.

      Full winter would be upon them soon, with its inevitable complement of snow, sleet and drenching rain that would render the roads snow-drifted, iced over or deep in mire for indefinite periods until next spring’s thaw.

      That irrefutable fact made her shiver with a chill that had nothing to do with the wind blowing over her chafed hands. For with her woman’s courses two weeks overdue, she had to face the frightening possibility that she might be with child.

      Unfortunately, there was no way to know for certain—not until the child quickened, by which time the evidence of her indiscretion would be only too apparent to the entire county. But she’d never missed her time before, unless she was increasing. As she’d learned during her years of marriage, her cycles were most regular. Indeed, as a new bride, she’d counted the days, wanting to please her husband by offering him the possibility of the son he so desperately craved. But all too soon, she’d come to regard the advancing end of each cycle with dread, knowing the evidence that she’d not conceived would send Charlton into a fit of violent temper. At first, he’d been only verbally abusive, vilifying her as graceless failure of a woman, a disgrace to her normally prolific family he would never had deigned to marry had he known she was barren. Later her mouth would dry with fear, knowing the best she could hope for would be a slap across the face. Twice he’d beaten her so severely that she’d required the whole of the next month to recover.

      Twice she’d conceived, a short-term protection from his aggression. She closed her eyes on a shudder. Even now, she could not bear to remember the terrible outcome of those pregnancies.

      Once she’d watched the stable boys with a mouse they’d found in a grain bin. They’d teased it with a stick, pushing it this way and that, while the small creature, hemmed in between the probing stick and the tall straight walls of the bin, ran frantically this way and that.

      She knew now what that mouse must have felt.

      “Your character will be impugned and your standing in the neighborhood will suffer,” she recalled the vicar warning. Simple speculation could cause that much harm. But to bear a fatherless child nine months after the earl’s departure? She’d have no reputation left—and no livelihood, either.

      How to preserve both? Swiftly she ruled out both accepting the vicar’s offer and remaining in Merriville. She wouldn’t serve Reverend Blackthorne such a turn, even if such a marriage would be legal, and to face down her neighbor’s scorn would simply condemn herself and the child to slow starvation. No, if time confirmed that she was with child, she mustn’t remain here.

      Instinctively her hands slipped down to cradle her still-flat belly. Despite the risk, despite the fear that uncoiled thick in her veins at the mere thought of relocating, she couldn’t regret that night. Nor could she regret the child who might have been conceived from it. A child to cherish and protect, tangible reminder that a love encompassing heart and body was not a fanciful imagining, but for one wondrous night, had truly been hers.

      A child to protect as she’d failed to protect Jennie. That stark thought instantly refocused her thoughts.

      For time was critical. If she wished to preserve her reputation—and the possibility of returning to her livelihood in Merriville—she’d have to leave before her condition became apparent. And if she wished to be assured of getting away, she’d best depart before full winter and the possibility of ice or blizzards that might strand her here for weeks.

      Too agitated now