Royal's Bride (12 page)

She spotted the sign for the Fat Ox Tavern and asked the driver to let her off in front.

“I’ll pay you extra if you wait. I am looking for someone. I am hoping to find him here, but I am not sure.”

The driver glanced at his surroundings. A spotted hound sniffed garbage at the entrance to an alley. A light-skirt plied her trade on the corner and a drunk shoved his way out the doors of the Fat Ox and staggered off down the road.

“I’ll pay you double your usual fee,” she said, reading the man’s uncertainty.

“All right, miss, but don’t be long.”

She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

The tavern was as loud and raucous as she remembered, the customers half-drunk and it was not yet noon. By the time she had turned sixteen, she had grown used to it, even knew many of the patrons. After six years away, six years of living in a completely different world, being here now stirred a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Lily squared her shoulders and walked into the taproom.

“Jolly!” she called out, spotting the big man with an even bigger belly who owned the tavern. “Jolly, it’s me—Lily Moran.”

He gaped at her, slack-jawed, his gaze running over her expensively fashioned garments, the simple woolen fabric finer than anything she had worn when she had lived in the room upstairs.

“God’s teeth, gel, I kin ’ardly believe me eyes. Lily, is it really you?”

She laughed. She had always like Jolly. “It is truly me, though I know I am older and I look different. I am here to see my uncle. Is there any chance he still lives in the room upstairs?”

Jolly shook his massive head, moving strands of curly black hair. “Sorry, miss. Ol’ Jack moved out just about a year ago.” He grinned, and she saw he had lost several teeth. “Got hisself some finer digs a few blocks down the street.”

She perked up. “Can you tell me where?”

He gave her instructions and she hurried back out to the street. She climbed into the cab, gave the driver new directions, and the horse plodded, head down, to their new destination, a three-story wooden building with a sign that read, Mrs. Murphy’s Boardinghouse.

“I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” she said as she climbed from the cab, then crossed to the door of the rooming house and walked in.

Worn board floors creaked beneath her feet as she moved toward the staircase. “Room 2C,” she said to herself, remembering Jolly’s instructions, lifting her skirts as she climbed to the second floor. The lodging house wasn’t fancy, but it was far better than their garret room above the tavern, with flowered paper on the walls and an iron chandelier above the stairwell.

She knocked on the door of room 2C, but no one answered. She knocked again, heard footsteps, and a few seconds later, the door swung wide. Jack Moran stood in the opening, lean and wiry, his short, iron-gray hair sticking up all over his head as if she had awakened him from sleep—which she probably had.

Jack liked to gamble and drink, and though he had
modified his behavior while he was raising a child, it was likely he had returned to his former style of living. He wore only an undershirt and trousers, and he scratched the gray hair on his chest through the thin cotton fabric.

“Well, now, what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ standin’ outside my door?”

“Uncle Jack, it’s me—Lily.”

His eyebrows shot up and his light green eyes widened in disbelief. “Praise God, my little girl has come back to me!” And he swept her into his long, stringy arms and hugged her, and Lily hugged him back, and it felt so wonderful to be with him again after so many years, her eyes stung with tears.

“Well, come on in, my fine lass, and tell your old uncle why it is his good fortune that you’ve come to see him.”

Lily let him lead her into the sparsely furnished apartment and felt a pang of regret that she had not come sooner. But over the years, the past had faded, her memories dimmed and part of her didn’t want to relive that time in her life.

She glanced round the room that held a bed, a worn settee and a small wooden table and chairs. The room was tidy, as Jack had always been, and livable enough, she supposed. Uncle Jack made them a cup of tea on the coal burner in the corner and they sat at the table enjoying it while Lily told him about her life with the Caulfields and the plans she had to open her own business.

“I’m going to make hats, Uncle Jack. I’ve already signed the lease.”

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d do all right for
yourself. You were a smart little thing, just like your father.” The brothers had been close. Though Jack was the black sheep of the pair, he was as well educated as her father. He spoke well and read books in the original Latin, and though he survived by a life of crime, he had always been kindhearted, and being with him again Lily realized how much she had missed him.

“What about you, Uncle Jack? Are you doing all right?”

“I always do, lass. I scored a bit of cash a few months back, enough to keep my belly full and move in here. Been on the straight and narrow ever since.” He grinned. “And I’ve got myself a lady friend. Her name is Molly. She’s a pip, is Molly. So I guess you could say I’m doin’ just fine.” He eyed her with speculation. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

Lily took a breath. Careful to keep her feelings from showing, she told him about the Duke of Bransford and how she had met him, how he had saved her the day the carriage had overturned in the snow. She told him that they had become friends, and what had happened to the duke’s late father.

“I am hoping you might be able to help him, Uncle Jack.”

“Are you, now?”

“Will you talk to him at least?”

Jack smiled. “Fancy that—Jack Moran rubbin’ elbows with some fancy aristocrat—a duke, no less. I’ll talk to him, luv. You could ask me for just about anything, sweet girl, and I would do it for you.”

Lily reached over and took hold of his hand. “Thank you, Uncle Jack.”

But deep inside, she almost wished he had refused.

After his encounter with Lily in the carriage, Royal had postponed the meeting with Chase Morgan until the following day. He’d been too rattled, too bloody aroused, to do anything more than go home and pour himself a very strong drink. Mostly, he spent the balance of the day and half the night berating himself for taking advantage of Lily—again.

Royal leaned back against the seat of the less ostentatious, two-horse brougham he used most of the time when he was in London. He was on his way to Threadneedle Street, to the office of Chase Morgan Investigations.

Yesterday, when he had spotted Lily walking briskly down the street, his intentions had been strictly aboveboard. He had only intended to give her a ride, get her out of the rain. Somehow, the minute she stepped into his carriage, all his good intentions had flown straight out the window.

He sighed as the carriage rumbled along. There was something irresistible about Lily. He knew she believed that her beautiful, vivacious cousin far outshined her, but in her own sweet way, Lily sparkled.

Add to that, an attraction unlike any he had felt for a woman in years, perhaps never, and the combination was lethal. At least for him.

The building appeared up ahead, a narrow brick structure next to Applegarth’s Coffee House. The conveyance rolled to a halt and Royal climbed down to the busy street that bore traffic through the financial heart of the city. He knocked briefly on the door. Morgan appeared and invited him inside and the men exchanged greetings.

Royal followed him into a private office with dark
oak-paneled walls, a low table and two leather chairs. A big oak desk and chairs sat in front of it. Both Morgan and Royal sat down.

“I appreciate your coming,” Morgan began. “I’ve a couple of interesting things to report.”

Royal settled himself in the chair. “And those things would be…?”

“To start with, Preston Loomis is actually a lowlife named Dick Flynn. Word on the street is his mother was a whore, though apparently he was quite fond of her. They say he began his criminal activities almost as soon as he could walk, picking pockets and petty thieving. As he got older, he started running Little Goes—illegal small lotteries. He was an extremely skillful cardshark in his youth and later, a master thief.”

“Surely with all of that, we have enough to go to the police.”

“Unfortunately, all of this is nothing more than hearsay. There is no way to verify the authenticity. Flynn was never caught, never even a suspect in a crime. Five years ago, he made a small fortune in a jewelry heist and then just disappeared. No one ever saw or heard of Dick Flynn again, but my sources say he’s the man who calls himself Preston Loomis.”

Royal sat in silence, digesting the information. “Loomis is really a criminal named Dick Flynn,” he repeated.

Morgan nodded. “That’s right. My people are usually reliable. They don’t make mistakes or they don’t get paid.”

Flynn was a bad sort, but there was still no way to prove it.

“You said there was something else.”

“Just that Flynn was a very dangerous man. Anyone who crossed him eventually turned up dead. There is no reason to believe that has changed.”

Anger pumped through him. Flynn deserved to be brought to justice, not just for swindling his father, but for the murders he had committed or paid someone to commit. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rising from his chair, Royal extended a hand, which Morgan rose and accepted. “I appreciate all your hard work,” Royal said.

“We still don’t have enough to go to the police.”

Royal’s jaw flexed. “I’m well aware.” He thought of Lily and her uncle and took heart that perhaps Flynn would be brought to justice in another way.

He looked into the investigator’s chiseled face. “Leave it for now. I’ll get back in touch if I want you to continue. Send your bill to my solicitor’s office.”

Morgan made a faint bow of his head. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Royal left the investigator’s office and headed back to his town house. He had just enough time to change and travel to Meadowbrook for his meeting with Jocelyn’s father. Royal ignored the tightness in his chest and the bitter taste in his mouth.

By the end of the day, he would be engaged to marry.

R
oyal arrived at his town house to find Sheridan Knowles lounging in a chair in front of the fire in the drawing room. His city residence also needed painting and updated furnishings, but it was in far better shape than the castle. His staff, however, had been cut to the bone: only a butler, a housekeeper, a cook, chambermaid and a single footman. Of course, there was a gardener, a groom and a coachman, but considering he was a duke, his staff wasn’t much.

“I thought you were enjoying the country,” Royal said to Sherry.

“It became quite tedious after you and your houseful of visitors left. I thought to entertain myself a bit in the city.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I could do with a bit of company. Unfortunately, I’ve got to change for a meeting with my future father-in-law.”

“I’ll come up while you dress, tell you what you missed while you were gone.”

As if there was much to miss in the quiet village of Bransford.

Sherry followed Royal upstairs and tossed himself down on the padded bench at the foot of the four-poster bed while Royal changed into pale gray trousers and a velvet-collared navy blue tailcoat over a matching, double-breasted waistcoat. He had left the aging valet he had inherited from his father back at the castle, since he managed just fine without him. He had, however, interviewed the old man in regard to Preston Loomis and the late duke, his father, regarding anything the valet might have overheard, but nothing had come of it.

Sherry’s voice drew his attention. “Well, now, let me see,” his friend began, “what excitement have we had while you were away? Ah, yes, Mrs. Brown’s cat had a litter of kittens and old Mr. Perry’s goat wandered into Mrs. Holstein’s bakery and ate half her morning’s baked goods before anyone realized what was happening.”

“Fascinating,” Royal said dryly, but his mouth curved as he fastened the front of his trousers.

“Oh, and there was another robbery—a carriage was waylaid on the Pemberton Road. The occupant was divested of his purse but no one was injured. There is no way to be certain it is the same band of thieves, but it seems most likely.”

“Not good news.”

“At least it happened in another county. Perhaps the buggers will stay over there and leave us alone.”

Royal grunted. “Someone needs to catch them.”

“Yes, I spoke to the constable about it and he assures me steps are being taken.”

Royal made no reply. It was hard to concentrate when
his mind was fixed on the task that lay ahead. He would have to play the eager suitor and it wasn’t going to be easy.

And he would have to spend time with Jocelyn, which wasn’t really so bad as long as her mother wasn’t around.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to see Lily.

“So…this is the day, is it?” Sherry lounged back on the padded bench. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I hope my father knew what he was doing. I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“I know you believe that, but the fact is, your father is dead. You have your own life to consider, Royal. I can’t believe the old duke would wish you to do something that might make you unhappy.”

“My father’s greatest desire was to rebuild Bransford Castle and restore our family’s fortune. That is all that mattered to him. He would do anything to make that happen and he expected the same of me.”

Sherry made no reply.

“Look, it isn’t as if most people don’t marry for the same sort of reasons—money, power, social position. Very few people are fortunate enough to marry for love.”

Sherry sat up on the bench. “Ah, so you admit to having delicate feelings for Miss Moran.”

Feelings for certain. Lust, need, physical yearning. He wasn’t entirely sure what else was involved. “I admit I feel a strong attraction. That is all it will ever be and I intend to put an end even to that.”

“Well, then, I wish you every success. You have made clear how important this is.”

Royal glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I have to go.” He picked up his coat and shrugged it on, then
started for the door. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the club later this evening.”

“Oh, you will. I intend to regain some of the money I lost to that rogue, St. Michaels, the last time I was there.”

Dillon St. Michaels was one of their closest friends. Along with Royal and Sherry, he was one of the Oarsmen, a group of former Oxford sculling team members who had, over the years, formed an invincible bond.

Royal left the bedroom and Sheridan followed him out. The ducal coach waited out front as the butler opened the door and Royal descended the steep front-porch stairs. “Can I give you a lift?” he asked Sherry.

“Not necessary. I’ll see you tonight.”

Royal climbed into the coach and fell heavily onto the seat.

His task was set, his duty clear.

“Meadowbrook,” he called up to the driver and closed his eyes, dreading what was to come.

Lily answered with dread the summons she had received, and now stood in the sumptuous Scarlet Drawing Room with the duke and the Caulfield family. Half an hour ago, Royal had met with Henry Caulfield and formally asked for his daughter’s hand. The meeting was over, the happy news just announced. All that remained were the final negotiations that would make the betrothal official.

Next to Matilda Caulfield, Lily stood with her spine erect, a smile pasted on her lips.

“I couldn’t be happier, my boy!” Henry clapped Royal on the back. “You’ll make a fine husband for my beautiful girl.” Henry grinned, his bald head glistening
in the gaslight of the crystal chandelier in the drawing room, lit to banish the darkness of the gray, dismal day.

Cousin Henry was a good foot shorter than the duke, with bushy brown muttonchop whiskers lightened by a touch of gray.

“Winston!” he called out to the butler through the open drawing-room door. “Fetch a bottle of my finest champagne. This calls for a celebration!”

Lily’s stomach churned. She flicked a glance at Royal whose smile looked carved into his face.

The champagne arrived amid Jocelyn’s and Matilda’s joyous chatter. Lily nodded and smiled as if she could actually hear what they were saying through the buzzing in her ears. Henry stood next to Royal, the grin still fixed on his face.

Champagne goblets were filled and lifted in a toast and Lily forced herself to take a swallow, though it was difficult to get the bubbles past the thick lump in her throat.

Royal had looked at her only once, as she had offered her congratulations to him and to Jo. He’d been stiffly formal and utterly remote and Lily wanted to cry.

Instead, she drank champagne and listened to the plans being made for a huge engagement party.

“We can hold the ball here at Meadowbrook,” Matilda said, her broad face split with a brilliant smile. “His Grace can make the formal announcement that night.”

“I don’t want to wait too long,” Jocelyn said, eager to taste the sweetness of becoming the new queen of society.

“We’ll schedule it for the end of next month,” Matilda suggested, “if that is agreeable to the duke. That should be time enough to send out the invitations and make the necessary arrangements.”

Royal gave a slight nod of his head.

Matilda turned to her daughter. “Oh, isn’t it just wonderful, dear? Your father and I are simply thrilled for you.”

Jocelyn looked up at the duke and smiled. “You’ve made me so happy, Royal.”

His lips curved, and Lily found herself staring at them, remembering the heat of his mouth over hers, the erotic taste of him, the hot sensations his kisses stirred.

“As happy as you have made me,” he said, bringing Jocelyn’s gloved hand to his lips and kissing the back.

Lily felt sick to her stomach. She had known this was going to happen, known Royal had no more choice in the matter than she did. Dear God, how could she have been so foolish as to fall in love with him!

Her heart jerked. For the first time she realized it was true. She was in love with the Duke of Bransford, had been in love even before their heated encounter in the carriage. She had been mad to follow her feelings when she had known from the start the pain it would bring.

“Oh, it is just so exciting,” Matilda went on.

“We’ll have our solicitors work out the details,” Henry said to the duke. “I believe the rest will occur in due course.”

Matilda floated forward. “Would you care to join us for supper, Your Grace? It would certainly be our honor to include you.”

“I’m afraid I have to decline. I have a previous engagement.”

Her lips pursed as if she had bitten into something sour. “Another time, then.”

“Of course,” he said, but he didn’t look too eager.

The conversation continued for another half hour.
During that time, Lily made her farewells and escaped upstairs. Forcing down her emotions, she quickly penned a note to Royal about the meeting she had arranged with her uncle, then tried to decide if she dared to give it to him now or wait and send it to his town house.

In the end, as she stood at the top of the stairs and heard him bidding his hosts farewell, she made her way down to the entry and waited out of sight in the hall. As Royal approached the entry, Lily hurried out of the shadows, accidentally stumbled into him and shoved the note into his hand.

“Forgive my clumsiness, Your Grace,” she said.

His fingers closed round the note. “Not at all. It was my fault entirely.”

Lily kept walking, disappearing back down the hall. Darting into a drawing room that faced the front of the house, she ran to the window in time to see Royal reading the note as he climbed aboard his carriage.

The message asked him to meet her at the Fat Ox Tavern in Bunbury, St. Giles, twelve o’clock noon on the morrow. At least in a place like that, she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing them together.

And Uncle Jack would be waiting, as he had agreed.

Lily found herself praying fervently the duke would not come.

Lily sat in a dimly lit corner of the Fat Ox Tavern next to her uncle Jack. Though the taproom was noisy, the air smoky, the table Jack chose sat slightly apart from the rest, in a quieter place where it was easy to speak and yet no one would be able to hear their conversation.

“You think he’ll come?” Jack asked.

In her heart she believed he would. Royal wanted justice for his father. He would be there, even though Lily fervently hoped he would not.

It was a minute before the hour of noon when the duke walked into the tavern, tall and impressive, even in the plain brown riding breeches and full-sleeved shirt that flashed beneath his long brown woolen cloak.

He paused for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Jolly approached him and pointed to the table they occupied at the rear of the tavern.

“Thank you,” he said and started striding in that direction.

Jack looked him over as he approached, studying him with the skill of a confidence artist assessing his quarry. “Quite a looker, ain’t he?”

She shrugged, but Jack had a way of seeing right into the heart of a person.

“Anything else you want to tell me, little girl?”

Lily steeled herself. “I told you everything, Uncle Jack. The duke is marrying my cousin. We’re friends. That is all.”

He didn’t say more, just cast her a dubious glance and rose from his chair at the table.

“Jack Moran,” he said as the duke walked up.

“Royal Dewar,” said the duke, omitting the use of his title, which seemed appropriate under the circumstances. Jack hailed a serving wench with big brown eyes and even bigger breasts who fetched each of them a tankard of ale.

“Lily says you’re a friend of hers,” Jack said to the duke as they each took a seat. “Since I love the girl more than my own life, I’d be happy to help one of her friends. What can I do for you, Duke?”

The maid arrived just then, set the tankards of ale down on the scarred wooden table and Royal flipped her a coin.

“Thank ye, sweet thing,” the tavern maid said with a grin, stuffing the coin between her plump breasts.

Royal took a drink, Jack did the same, and both men set their pewter mugs down on the table. “I’m hoping you may be able to help me see justice done,” Royal said.

Jack chuckled. “Now, that would be a first.”

For the next half hour, Royal filled her uncle in on Preston Loomis and how he had convinced an ailing old man to trust him with his fortune.

“He’s right here in London,” Royal said, “living off his ill-gotten gains. There’s a good chance his real name is Dick Flynn. Have you ever heard of him?”

Jack’s bushy eyebrows slammed together. “Flynn, is it? Oh, I’ve heard of the blighter. Knew him some years back. No loyalty, that man, not even to his friends. He was a bad sort, was Dick. I heard he was dead, killed by one of his own men.”

“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.”

Jack took a swig of his ale, set the mug back down on the table. “Old Dick always was a cagey sort. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was still alive and kickin’.” Jack scratched his chin, clean shaven in deference to his meeting with the duke. “So what did you have in mind?”