My Earl the Spy Read online

  Henry had watched the exchange with interest. He was trained to miss nothing in a person’s expression, demeanour or tone of voice, and it seemed from the exchange of the last few minutes there was a lot more to Miss Millicent Holland than he had first presumed.

  In some respects it was tempting for Henry to remain in contact with the family to find out a little more about Milly, but then he mentally shook himself. He had a job to do, and if he stayed he was sure the novelty of her would soon wear off; a number of discarded mistresses would attest to that fact; it always happened that way. He could not imagine that an innocent spinster would provide any more entertaining than some of the ladies he had previously chased; no, it was better to leave Miss Holland alone.

  *

  The party gathered outside on the narrow pavement on Half Moon Street, saying their goodbyes to the happy couple. Edmund handed his wife into his plush carriage, refitted for their wedding trip. He closed the door behind him, and the couple waved as the carriage pulled away, the small party remaining on the pavement until the carriage had turned the corner.

  “Would you like to join us in a walk through Hyde Park, My Lord?” Charles asked cheerfully. He was eager to join his sweetheart on her afternoon promenade.

  “No. Thank you, I shall take the opportunity to walk back to Belgrave Square,” Henry said pleasantly. He had experienced enough happiness for one day; he had no desire to witness Charles pandering to his chosen one. Young people in love were tedious at best and in most cases sickeningly boring.

  “Very well. I hope to see you in White’s sometime soon,” Charles said easily.

  “No doubt,” came the uncommitted reply. Henry turned towards Milly, who it was plain to see was keen to return inside the house. “Miss Holland, I hope to see you at one of the entertainments before the end of the season. You are an exquisite dance partner, and I would hope to have the pleasure again soon.” He took Milly’s hand and placed a kiss on it, enjoying that she wore no gloves and knowing that it would increase her discomfort.

  Milly’s breath caught in the back of her throat at Henry’s touch, and she stiffened, wanting to pull her hand away but, because of propriety, not able too. “My Lord,” she said stiffly and curtsied at his bow, turning immediately towards the house. She was not going to remain where he could see her state of tumult; he was the type of man to take pleasure out of it.

  She would have been surprised to know that her reaction was enough of a rejection to the confident Earl that it was he who walked away with his mind agitated about the prim Miss Holland.

  Chapter 2

  Henry was to avoid society for the next few weeks, but it was not done purposely. He would have liked to dance with the pretty Milly, who tormented his thoughts when he allowed anything other than the business he had to do enter his mind.

  He had not appreciated just how much information Edmund had discovered by visiting the less salubrious venues in society, so now with Edmund on his wedding trip and refusing to work as a spy on his return, it was down to Henry to fill the gap until someone else could be recruited.

  The one advantage to spending the evening in venues where he now found himself, was that he did not need to be quite as pleasing as the hosts in civilised entertainments demanded. Convenient in his present mood.

  He was currently engaged in a card party in a venue that could only be described as a bawdyhouse. It was less respectable than Mrs Langtree’s, which Edmund and Charles had regularly frequented, if such places could be classed by levels of respectability, but it guaranteed a different kind of gentleman, in which Henry was very interested.

  The house was relatively clean, and the beer flowed freely, stronger alcohol available for a price. Most of the visitors preferred the cheaper beer, but Henry had opted for a wine of dubious claret. He sat with three other men, playing five-card Loo. He had been sent a note directing him to this specific establishment by another operative, suggesting that he might be able to find out some information about the elusive Joshua Shambles.

  The man had gone to ground since that night on the beach at Charles’ estate. Five men had been killed in the fracas, thankfully none of them Henry’s. Four other men had hanged once a very short trial had taken place, and four others had been transported as a result of a second trial, saving their own lives by giving information on their counterparts and the other landings that had occurred on the same night.

  The operation had been held up as a huge success; one of the largest co-ordinated secret attacks on England had been foiled, and Henry was a hero in the eyes of the Home Office. Unfortunately, the role of spy was looked down on by most people, so his work and accolades went unnoticed by the population in general, and he continued to be seen purely as a rake about town.

  One of the criminals, but not the main ringleader, was Joshua Shambles, a man whom Henry had a particular reason to find, but Shambles had gone to ground, and no one seemed to know where he was. He had been injured in the fracas, but the extent of his injuries was unknown. Henry was desperate to find out what had happened to Joshua, hence his attendance at a seedy bawdyhouse.

  The game was going reasonably well, but they were interrupted by one of the girls of the house, sitting uninvited on Henry’s knee.

  “Are you not tired of this game, mister?” she asked, wriggling on his knee provocatively.

  Henry smiled at the young woman. She looked older than her years, but she was not unattractive. He snaked his free hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “What would you suggest I do instead?” he asked with one of his dazzling smiles. He was used to being a draw for ladies of all characters, most were attracted to his dark hair and laughing hazel eyes. If they had known what coldness lay beneath the surface, they would have run in the opposite direction.

  “Come, spend some time with me,” she offered, leaning in to kiss him.

  Henry welcomed the kiss while his co-players looked on amused. The young woman pulled away from him; too many kisses without payment were bad for business. As she moved she noticed a frown on her chosen one’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You can have more if you want. You can have anything you want, mister.”

  Henry focused on her words. He had enjoyed the kiss; any man in his prime would appreciate a young, attractive woman on his knee, but something had happened during the kiss. A pair of clear grey eyes had flitted into his mind’s eye and, as a result, the moment had been spoiled. They had looked at him with fire before pooling with tears and as suddenly as the image had appeared his ardour was gone.

  He was annoyed with himself; he was mooning over an old maid when there was a young, willing and very able girl in his lap. He moved in for another kiss, but his mouth went uncomfortably dry before his lips touched the girl’s, and he groaned, pushing her gently off his knee.

  He reached inside his waistcoat pocket and took out a few coins. “Here, take these. Maybe another night but not tonight,” he said roughly, his smile gone.

  The girl pouted in disappointment, although she was happy with the amount of coins she had been given. It was uncommon to have such an attractive specimen within their walls; she had wanted to enjoy her evening rather than being forced to pretend enjoyment with some of the other men who frequented the establishment. Realising that the moment had passed, she moved off to find another, more willing, partner. Time was money after all.

  Henry was tiring of being affected by one kiss and from a woman who had less life experience than he had in a month! The whole situation was ridiculous in the extreme. He ordered another bottle of wine; the memories would be deadened one way or another.

  *

  The man walked through the streets, his collar up, his shoulders hunkered down against the night air. That is what anyone passing him would have presumed; the reality was that Joshua Shambles did not like looking anyone in the eye these days.

  He had managed to escape from the beach in Dorset through sheer determination. Charles had lashed out, his knife in his hand and
had sliced a gash across Joshua’s cheek. It had been unexpected, Joshua never presuming once that the young fop would ever fight back; he would have a constant reminder of that lapse of judgement for the remainder of his days.

  The scream he had uttered had been caused by the pain ripping through his cheek, and he had stumbled backwards. Everything had happened fast: the light extinguished and a gunshot went off. He had stumbled to the opening of the cave a few steps behind Claude close enough to see Claude sending one of the nobs sprawling across the sand with one of his punches.

  Joshua had used the diversion to head towards the cliff path. There was enough moonlight to see the excise man at the bottom of the path, and he had climbed up to the pathway from the beach, avoiding the officer. It had cost him greatly to remain quiet and move carefully when all he wanted to do was roll on the ground and writhe in agony, but he realised his life was in the balance. If he was caught there was no doubt he would hang.

  Keeping to the shadows he had headed down the drive of the house, heading inland. It was clear from the lights appearing in the house that the commotion was waking its residents. The explosion on the beach even made Joshua pause; things were not going as planned, and the sooner he left the coast behind the better.

  He had almost collapsed as daylight approached. He saw a farm cart trundling down the lane he was walking. He had to keep away from the main turnpike lest he be spotted by one of the excise men. It would be common knowledge by now that he was injured. The blood on his clothing would cause suspicion in the most gullible of minds.

  He waved the cart to a halt and held onto the side of it for support. “I’ve been robbed, sir. I need help,” he uttered before falling to the ground in a faint.

  When he awoke, he was in a bed. The straw mattress was not the most comfortable he had slept on, but it was better than any prison cell would have supplied. He was able to spin a convincing story to the farmer and his wife, who listened with horror at his tale. Seven miles inland, they had not heard anything about what had happened on the Dorset beach the previous evening, and it was likely it would be weeks before they did.

  They tried to persuade him to have a doctor called for, but he refused. Looking in the mirror, he could see the horror that was his face and knew that without help the scar would look horrific for the rest of his days. It was a sacrifice he would have to make. A doctor moved around the area far more than two peasant farmers did, and he would be at risk of discovery.

  He stayed with the farmer and his wife for two weeks; when he could move around without too much pain, it was time to move on. He paid them for their kindness to him and left them, promising to let them know how he fared while knowing full well he would never be in touch with them again.

  Travelling slowly and mainly at night, it took days before he arrived in London. There he had to arrange for someone to visit his lodgings in the dead of night and retrieve his worldly goods. Setting up a room in an even more undesirable area of London had been necessary. All pretence of being a gentleman who had fallen on hard times was gone. He now looked like the rogue he was.

  Time had passed before he made contact with those who had been in on the organisation of the operation for landing French assassins on English soil. Everyone was laying low whilst the furore and searches were going on as a result of some of the men talking.

  He had found out that Claude had killed himself by causing the explosion on the beach. Joshua had some sympathy with that; the man probably could see how things were unfolding and did not wish to hang. Most of Joshua’s acquaintances were now either swinging from the gallows or had been transported. It was a dark time for Joshua.

  The whole situation was made worse by the fact that he had heard about the wedding of Clara and Edmund and was fully aware of when Charles was to marry his sweetheart. Joshua was totally committed to helping the French to gain the upper hand, but he was determined as part of that he was going to wreak revenge on those who had foiled his plans.

  There was no likelihood that Joshua’s determination would mellow as time passed. Every time he saw someone new, and they recoiled at his scar, he would grit his teeth and reaffirm his promise of vengeance. Someone was going to pay for what had happened to him.

  *

  As Henry walked through the dark streets, making his way back to Belgrave Square, he silently fumed. There seemed to be no trace of Joshua. The man could not have disappeared, and he certainly needed to go out in some form of society or other. He was convinced he was somewhere in London.

  Henry had to work out a way of expanding the search. He could not do it all himself; he would not be welcome at some of the places Joshua could be frequenting; even Edmund with his previous dissolute behaviour would fail to gain entry in some establishments in London that could hold needed information.

  He needed all operatives to be able to recognise who they were looking for. National security was at risk. He needed to come up with some sort of description for the wanted man. It was the only way to track him down, showing those who sought Shambles clearly who Joshua was; only then could he be found.

  And Henry was determined that Shambles would be found.

  Chapter 3

  Henry approached Charles at the Wilson’s ball. He had finally thought of a brilliant idea that would give him the opportunity to find Joshua. Unfortunately, it would require putting himself in the company of Milly. Even more unfortunately, he found himself much too eager to see the termagant again. He was disturbed at the force of the need he felt when he thought of her.

  He consoled himself that he was doing this for King and country, but on both counts, it was more for himself. No one knew the real reason he had started on his quest. To admit it to anyone else was unthinkable; he would open himself up to ridicule in regards to both situations, so he continued on his erroneous mission.

  “Baker! How the devil are you?” Henry greeted the young man.

  “Very well, My Lord!” Charles smiled in response. “More so now I have only a week to wait until I am married.”

  “Most would dread the union ̶ no more freedom,” Henry said somewhat mockingly.

  “I’ve had enough freedom to last me for the rest of my life!” Charles said with feeling. “I’m much happier at the thought of spending my days making my sweet girl happy!”

  Henry masked his true expression, keeping the false smile firmly in place. Another one becomes a smitten fool, he thought before continuing. “I was hoping for a dance with your cousin, but don’t seem to be able to find her. Is she unwell?”

  “Milly? No! She has a strong constitution that one! Nothing fazes her. She’s keeping house for me before the wedding, but has expressed a desire to stay at home. I think she is missing Clara’s company.”

  “Oh, I see.” Henry knew exactly what had upset Milly’s equilibrium; she was clearly not quite as controlled as her cousin thought, but for some strange reason the action had also upset his own, so he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “I have a favour to ask of her; perhaps I should call on you both tomorrow?”

  Charles’ face dropped. “I’m expected at the Beresford’s house at a damned early hour, My Lord,” Charles said, his voice lowered. “I’m meeting with Mr Beresford to go through a few queries he has about the wedding. It all seems a lot of bother over nothing to me.”

  Henry smiled in genuine amusement. So much for indulging his bride to be; Charles was already bored with wedding preparations. “I’ll still call on Miss Holland; it would be a pleasure to see her again.”

  Charles did not think to ask what favour an Earl would want from his spinster cousin and was soon further distracted by the beautiful Miss Beresford and her golden curls, blue eyes and tinkling laugh. Henry moved away as soon as was polite; he really had no idea why men were attracted to such slips of girls. He would be bored with such a chit in five minutes, and a tinkling laugh made him seriously think of strangulation.

  *

  The impeccably dressed Henry was led into the drawing
room in number six Half Moon Street at the end of morning calls. Milly’s colour heightened at his entrance, and Henry’s smile widened as he saw her discomfort. “I take it your cousin did not advise you of my intention to pay a call this morning?” he asked drily.

  “No! He didn’t, but please be seated, My Lord.” Milly sat down after curtseying and busied herself with making a cup of tea for her guest.

  “I was saddened not to have the opportunity to dance with you last night; I know dancing is a pleasure you enjoy.”

  Milly flushed. “I do, but I find it preferable to miss the evening altogether rather than watch from the chaperones area.”

  “But you are no longer a chaperone.”

  “I’m no longer a debutante either. The chaperone area, or the wallflower benches, they are both effectively the same. I watch, not partake.” There was no resentment in Milly’s tone, just an acceptance of her great age; at eight and twenty it was very unlikely her company would be sought out by anyone wishing to dance. In any entertainment the hosts always ensured that the younger, more lively in society were in attendance to ensure a successful evening. Milly had not been considered part of that set for some time.

  “Matches are made even at the end of a season, Miss Holland,” Henry could not resist verbally prodding her just a little.

  Milly laughed; it was not a tinkle like Miss Beresford’s but a real laugh of amusement, which made Henry smile. “Have you noticed the unmarried ladies at the end of a season, My Lord?”