The Care and Taming of a Rogue (4 page)

Chapter Three

After prowling Clancy House since before dawn, by midmorning he had run through a dozen different scenarios for his first meeting in over three years with the president of the Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa. In addition he’d frightened Jack’s mother, Lady Emery, half to death when he and Kero appeared on the stairs behind her, and he’d convinced Jack that keeping him there kicking his heels wasn’t a wise idea under any circumstances.

Yes, he remembered that mornings began late during the Season. But years of rising with the sun, walking for miles, and eating what he or his porters could catch had all left him with a distinct dislike of both idleness and small places. And small talk, for that matter, though he’d never had much of a fondness for that.

At least Kero seemed to enjoy the ride across Mayfair, as she clung to his jacket lapels and uttered threat hoots at every dog and cat they passed. He left the big bay, Jupiter, with a stable boy and topped the steps of the granite portico.

One side of the massive double oak doors swung open. “Good morning,” the butler in fine black livery stated.

“Good morning. Bennett Wolfe to see His Grace.”

The servant didn’t bat an eye at either the name or the monkey; perhaps word of his non-death had begun to circulate. “Your calling card, sir?” the fellow asked, holding out his hand.

“Don’t have one.” As he said that, he could almost see the butler’s opinion of him drop several rungs.

“No one may see the duke without a calling card,” the servant said in the same even voice. “I shall inform His Grace that you stopped by.”

Bennett was not about to be turned away because he lacked a bit of inked vellum. “Inform the duke that I’m here,” he said evenly. “I have something urgent to discuss with him.”

He kept his gaze on the servant. Evidently the fellow had enough wits to realize either his level of determination or the poor odds of keeping Ben nett out if he should attempt an entry, because after a moment he nodded. “I shall inform him. Wait here.”

Bennett’s annoyance rose another notch. While he understood caution, he did not like being kept from a goal. And this morning, that goal was seeing the Duke of Sommerset. “You have two minutes,” he said aloud. “After that, I’ll be looking for him, myself.”

The massive door closed again. He was armed; he didn’t know of any explorer worth a hedgehog pelt who wasn’t prepared at any time for an ambush of some sort. At the moment he preferred to save the weaponry for a better cause—like hunting down Langley—but one never knew. Reaching down, he loosened the knife stuck into his boot.

Kero tugged on his ear as he straightened, then leaned around to peer into his right eye. “Hungry again?” he asked, shaking out his muscles a little. No sense frightening to death one of his few allies, fur-covered or not.

She chittered, the sound altering to a contented hum as he handed her up a slice of apple. His handkerchiefs weren’t good for anything but holding fruit and monkey tidbits any longer, but at least she seemed to appreciate it.

The door eased open again. “This way, if you please.”

Still no
Sir
Bennett, or
Captain
Wolfe. No one in the house was convinced of his identity, then, but someone had his suspicions that he might be who he claimed, or the door would never have reopened. Grudging doubt was better than being tossed into the street on his arse, he supposed.

As the butler left him in a large sitting room, Bennett had to acknowledge that the man’s face might well have been made of granite; the servant was the first person since he’d left the Congo who hadn’t sent even a single glance at Kero perched on his shoulder. That was impressive, considering that he’d nearly been forced to remove himself and the monkey from the mail stage traveling from Dover after Kero took a fancy to the blue-feathered hat of a fellow passenger. Everyone noticed Kero.

Left alone in the sitting room, though, he had a sudden understanding of the reason behind the butler’s lack of interest. The walls and shelves and floor were covered with items that would have looked more at home in Cairo or Nairobi or Constantinople than they did in a duke’s town house in London. Carved ivory, reed baskets, fertility statues, a Masai shield and spear—so many items from so many different countries, the effect was almost dizzying.

He approached the shield and spear. The one that had caught him during that last, mad dash to the river hadn’t been Masai, but it had been dipped in poison, something from a frog according to his guide Mbundi. The scarred-over wound still hurt like the devil some mornings. He supposed it always would. Carefully Bennett lifted the weapon from its rack and hefted it.

“I spent much of my youth traveling,” Sommerset’s low voice came from the doorway. “My father was an envoy for the king.”

“This has nice balance,” Bennett returned, facing the duke as the tall man strolled into the room. “How many goats did it cost you?”

Sommerset flashed a brief smile, the expression making him look younger than the thirty-two years of age Bennett knew him to be. “Seven. And the shield was another eight.”

“Well worth it.” Finally Bennett set the spear back in its place. “I have one from the Ngole tribe just north of Lake Mai-Ndombe that might interest you.”

“I believe it was one of those very spears that killed you,” the duke returned, steel gray eyes assessing him. “According to Captain Langley, that is.”

“He was mistaken.”

“Evidently so—though if we hadn’t met when the Africa Association agreed to sponsor your expedition, I might be more inclined to believe Langley’s book and your fate therein. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

“Last night.” Bennett clenched his jaw. The tome was monstrous; even he had difficulty separating the truth from the tripe, and he’d written the majority of it. “A remarkable work of exaggeration and fancy.”

“Mm hm. Considering that the Association’s agreement was for
you
to lead the expedition and to share credit for any discoveries, papers, journals, and books with us, we expected you to be the one to keep journals and make maps and sketches.”

“I remember that conversation. I did so.”

“Not according to Langley. He owns all of
his
material, and believe you me, he’s made a pretty penny from it. The Association, on the other hand, has been left hanging, without credit, scientific information, or income. I’m assuming that as you are not dead, you have those materials you promised us?”

While a welcome back to England and the offer of a brandy might have been pleasant, Bennett understood the duke’s anger. The Association had paid a great deal of money for ship passage, supplies, porters, and whatever incidentals he and Langley expected to come across during their time in the Congo. Langley had been his second, and of his choosing, even. He supposed he was lucky to have survived making such a half-witted decision at all.

Bennett scowled. “My crates of artifacts and specimens were sent ahead to Tesling for my later sorting and cataloguing, with the items of your choice going to the British Museum, as we agreed.”

The duke sank into a chair. “And those journals and maps and sketches you’re so famous for making?”

“Langley took them from me and disappeared downriver. I arrived in London yesterday to look for the miserable rat.” Well, not
look for
, precisely, but saying that he intended to kill the man and take back his rightful possessions might raise some alarms.

“He’s not here. His illustrious publishers are sponsoring a tour across the country for him.”

“So I heard. I’d at least hoped that he’d decided to give my things over to the Association, but clearly he had other intentio—”

“I’m to believe that you’re the true author of
Across the Continent
, then?” Sommerset put a finger and thumb to his chin. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Langley reversed our roles and did a bit of inventing.”

“That’s a great deal of invention for a miserable rat.”

Bennett drew in a hard breath. “Standing here debating you about it is a bloody waste of my time, obviously. I don’t actually give a damn whether you believe me or not. I’m merely reporting my return to you, as per our agreement. I’ll take another path where Captain Langley is concerned.” With a nod, he turned his back on the duke.

“You
should
worry whether I believe you or not.”

Stopping, Bennett turned around again. “And why is that?”

“Adventuring is what you do, is it not, Captain? After reading that book, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to sponsor a further expedition with you at its head.” He sat forward. “In fact, how am I to know whether the fiction is Langley’s, or whether you have been writing fictions all along? Have you actually been to East Africa?”

Bennett’s insides clenched unpleasantly. That had been nagging at the back of his mind all night as he sat reading. “Once I gut Langley, we’ll see which of us is the more capable.”

“In which case he would be dead, you would be hanged, and you would still look foolish.” The duke produced a handful of peanuts from the pocket of his immaculately tailored gray jacket and offered them to Kero. With an excited chirp she launched off Bennett’s shoulder to snatch them and then retreat to the top of the nearest bookcase to savor her new treasures. “Bloody and gossip-provoking, but not very practical.”

“He stole from me. What the devil do you expect me to do? Sit back and smile while he takes my position and my status?”

“No.” Sommerset stood again. “I expect you to keep in mind that you’re in London. Not the Congo. We don’t spill the blood of our peers without a trial—or at least a majority opinion.”

“That’s helpful. I hope you don’t mind that I’ll be following my own instincts and not your lecture on propriety and proper manners.”

“I believe you, you know.”

That stopped Bennett again. “You might have said that before I nearly gave myself an apoplexy.”

The duke flashed that brief smile again. “And you might have said, ‘Thank you’ just then, but you didn’t. Not much of one for either propriety or proper manners, are you, Captain?”

“No. In most of the places I’ve been, honesty and directness have served me better.”

“You’re not in any of those places at the moment. And if you want the opportunity to prove to whom
Across the Continent
truly belongs, you can’t go about threatening everyone who looks sideways at you.”

That was the rub. He hated the idea of staying about in London for no bloody good reason, but if he went home to Tesling to sort through his specimens, Langley would have free rein to destroy what little remained of his reputation. And as Sommerset had noted, at the moment no one was likely to sponsor an expedition led by him. They might never do so again.

“Any suggestions?” he finally grumbled.

“Come with me.” Without a backward glance to see whether he was followed, Sommerset left the sitting room.

With an audible curse, Bennett collected Kero and strode after the duke. If it came to the worst, he could sell Tesling and take himself off to the Americas or back to Africa on his own. It wouldn’t be exploring for the sake of the adventure, though, and he wouldn’t be able to share anything he discovered, because no one seemed to have cause any longer to believe him. It would be running away, and he couldn’t think of a way to word it that made it anything else.

The duke turned down a corridor running lengthwise across the front of the large house. Myriad servants bowed respectfully to their master, but ignored both Bennett and Kero. He wasn’t certain if that spoke well for Sommerset, or poorly for himself.

Finally, at what looked to be the far east corner of the house, Sommerset stopped. “Here we are.” He pushed open a door and stood aside, gesturing for Bennett to precede him.

Beyond the door a small alcove opened into a large sitting room with dark paneled walls and glowing lamps set upon tables alongside two dozen or so chairs. The entire back wall was lined with books, maps, and stacks of papers. A pianoforte stood in one corner, odd-looking beside a trio of Zulu drums. More foreign trinkets and animal skulls and furs lay scattered throughout the room, while the east wall featured a trio of tall windows overlooking what appeared to be the Ainsley House garden.

Three men sat at a distance from one another in the room, the oldest reading a newspaper, the second asleep in a chair facing the fireplace, while the third sat beneath the left-hand window and seemed absorbed in a book. None of them stirred at the duke’s entrance, much less Bennett’s.

“What is this?” he asked, noting a second door at the front of the room that looked as though it led directly outside. A fourth man, sitting in the shadows and so still that at first Bennett had thought him a dressmaker’s mannequin, moved from his position by the door and headed in their direction.

“This is a beginning,” the duke said. “I spent a year thinking about it, and the past four months having walls knocked down and the pieces gathered together.”

“It’s very…nice,” Bennett ventured, “but the beginning of what? And what does it have to do with my wanting Langley’s head on a platter?”

“Reading the newspaper there is Lucas Crestley, Lord Piper,” Sommerset went on, as though he hadn’t heard the questions. “Eight months ago he returned from a…secret expedition through the French-held territories of America to scout whether Britain might wish to reinstitute a presence there. Red Indians killed the rest of his party in a rather disturbing manner.”