The Rebel Heir (3 page)

“This time it's the theater,” Evangeline corrected with a small smile for her cousin.

“Oh.” Victoria shook her head in acceptance. “Very well. Glad to see your dreams have taken a step toward respectability.”

“I'm not planning to become an actress or a kept lady, I'll have you know,” Isabelle replied, her usual dreamy look vanishing long enough for her to glare at her twin sister. “I simply find the idea intriguing.”

Victoria rolled her eyes.

The twins continued their discussion as they walked down the street. Isabelle was a beauty down to her bones. She always managed to find the grace, excitement, and romance in any situation, no matter how difficult. Some—namely Victoria—thought she lived in a dream of her own making. But more truly, she chose to see the world around her in a lovely light, and Evangeline rather enjoyed sharing her cousin's view.

Victoria, on the other hand, was more likely to stomp on a romantic notion and do a bit of a dance on its head than admit she agreed with her sister. She was the very definition of the word
hoyden
, and Evangeline loved her for it. She was quite fortunate to have such wonderful ladies in her life. Their presence might just make this season bearable—her second and hopefully last season…

Her mother would busy herself with making Evangeline a shining example of a lady. Her father would scowl from the depths of his library every time she passed his door. She would dance with more gentlemen of title and means, like the overly cologned Lord Winfield. And if she pointed her toes just so when they danced and smiled as she ought to do, he, or someone like him, would offer for her. She would be someone's wife. And she would finally have a fresh start.

Escape from her current circumstances was the only thing she wanted, and marriage was the vehicle that would take her far away. But was escaping her mother's wrath her only desire in life?

A different sort of desire had her leaning in for more just last night in the service hall. In that moment, she'd done what she pleased instead of what she must do. There in the dark hall, she'd ignored everything but her own desire for a man she knew to be a rake.

In a lifetime of pleasing others, shouldn't she be allowed one brief encounter that was her own? What would happen if she took another moment for herself?

Just then her toe caught a bit of uneven ground, tossing her forward. Righting herself before she fell on her face, she took a steadying breath and continued along beside Isabelle.

“Are you all right?” Isabelle asked with her hand on Evangeline's elbow.

“Quite.” In truth, the thought of indulging in anything she desired without concern for the consequences had caught her more off guard than the uneven ground. Where had the rebellious thought come from?

She banished the last few minutes from her mind, more ashamed of her wayward musings than the misstep she'd taken on the walk. Evangeline, of all ladies, couldn't afford such liberties. She must do as she was told, without complaint.

She knew, however, exactly who inspired such thoughts in her once again, just as he had last year. His eyes still lurked in her memory, a clear, piercing blue and laughing at the list of rules he'd broken in one evening. This was yet another reason to stay well away from him. Not that she had much of a choice in the matter. He would already be on the road out of London by now. One thing she knew for certain—
Lord Crosby
never stayed in one place for long.

They ascended the stairs to Thornwood House and were shown into the parlor. Roselyn was already there, thankfully not wearing black on this visit. Her new friend had a flair for the dramatic, but Evangeline imagined that growing up on a ducal estate where the duke in question was said to be mad would have that effect on anyone.

“There you are. You certainly made a fast retreat last night,” Victoria said in greeting.

“The only redeeming quality of the Dillsworths' ball was getting to wear my new gown,” Roselyn replied as she sank into one of the chairs.

“Was it as bad as all that?” Evangeline asked, eyeing Roselyn. Her wild, dark curls were trapped in a braid today, twisted and pinned at the base of her neck. She was as lovely as ever, even if dark smudges could be seen beneath her eyes, indicating a troubled night's sleep.

“Isn't your first ball supposed to be the makings of fond memories for years to come?”

“Who told you that?” Victoria asked, drawing back in shock. “It's complete bollocks.”

“Victoria!” Evangeline exclaimed.

“It is,” she returned with a shrug.

“Then it lived up to its illustrious reputation. After my brother scared away most of the gentlemen in attendance, there was really no saving the evening.”

Evangeline could see how having the Mad Duke of Thornwood looming over one's shoulder would put a pall on events. She offered Roselyn a sympathetic smile and took a seat by the window.

Something tightened in Roselyn's jaw as she continued. “After a truly wretched time of it, I went to find the carriage and return home.” She shook her head, and a wry smile crossed her face. “The only
friendly
gentleman I managed to meet over the entire evening was on the front steps—one Mr. Brice.”

Isabelle's eyes lit with excitement. “You must tell us every word he said, Roselyn,” she rushed to say as she practically fell into the chair beside Roselyn's.

From there the conversation turned to Mr. Kelton Brice, of course, as he was the long-time gem of Isabelle's eye. Tea must have been served at some point, because a cup was growing cold in Evangeline's hand, but her mind couldn't be further away.

“Evie, what do you think? You're always proper,” Victoria said, cutting into her thoughts. “Should he be in town this season?”

Who? She was ashamed to admit she had no idea about whom they were speaking. She blinked, forcing her mind from the man she would most likely never see again.

“Evie?” Victoria asked again.

“Yes?”

“Is something wrong?” Isabelle asked.

Yes, something was terribly wrong. She'd fallen into the clutches of the man who'd haunted her dreams since they'd last met. She'd dared to have a single notion about what she might truly desire this season. She shouldn't have even considered the idea, but for a small shining moment she had. And unfortunately for her, what she wanted was a liar, a seducer, and a thief.

She couldn't allow it.

Her cup rattled against the saucer with the vehemence of her convictions.

Hadn't she proven herself to be stronger than her temptations? She'd seized control over her situation when she was still a child, had learned to follow her mother's command. Since that dreadful day when she was twelve, she'd devoted herself to the pursuit of a proper life, just as she should do. She hadn't indulged in more than three bites of any sweet in the past seven years. She had never uttered a contrary word to a gentleman who was under consideration for marriage, either while dancing or over tea. She even wore dresses she privately found unappealing.

The worst example in her mind, though, had to be her actions toward her sister, Sue. Evangeline had destroyed their relationship last season in order to remain in good standing with her family, and that was a hurt she could never repair. She took a sip of tepid tea to keep any emotion from showing on her face. Her past misdeeds were terrible enough without exposing her sins to those around her.

Evangeline had withstood quite a bit in her life thus far, and she would withstand whatever hold that dratted man had on her. After all, he was gone once again and she had an appropriate husband to find.

“No. Of course not,” she finally answered. Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.

All had gone right with Ash's plans thus far—Dillsworth's financial document, his perfect scheme, his new affiliation with the Spare Heirs, and last but not least, that kiss with Lady Evangeline. He hooked his hand around the oak banister cap, swinging around the corner to the main stairs with a spring in his step.

Ash had arrived at headquarters for the Spare Heirs Society yesterday and had been immediately welcomed and offered one of the available rooms upstairs for his stay in town. The grand home was quite accommodating, with a number of guest rooms, comfortable beds, and ample storage. Personally, he didn't require the shelf space since he never unpacked anything from his trunks, but the other gentlemen who resided under St. James's roof seemed quite settled, with living quarters for valets as well as space for horses in the mews at the rear of the building.

Stapleton had been shown to his room, and space was made to store the carriage. “Ah, London life,” Ash muttered to himself with a grin. Moving from inn to inn, he wasn't used to living in such style. He'd best not get too comfortable, though.

Hearing footsteps along the hall at his back, Ash turned and saw the very man he needed to meet with this morning—Fallon St. James. As much as Ash would rather carry on with his business in town alone, a job this size required discussion and planning.

“Interesting place you have here, St. James,” he called out while waiting for the gentleman to catch up with him on the stairs.

Ash's gaze lingered on the set of cherubs painted on the ceiling far above his head as he leaned back against the stair rail. The headquarters for the Spare Heirs Society was a strange place—pleasant, but strange nonetheless—much like the group itself. Ash had seen a great many buildings across England and Wales, and he could honestly say this was the first time he'd encountered such a concentration of gentlemen huddled within a building decorated in such a feminine style. But it wasn't just the fact that the home was at odds with its occupants. These gentlemen in particular were all of a similar ilk—secretive, risk-taking individuals willing to use whatever skills they possessed to better their situations. It was a bit disconcerting to think there were so many other gentlemen with similar minds for business, when he'd spent so much time on his path alone.

He had to admit that it was an interesting idea, this notion of banding together when society gave no assistance to those gentlemen born after the first in a family. An interesting idea, but not one he wanted to dive headlong into for the foreseeable future.

Ash's gaze fell across the large paintings in ornate frames depicting various ladies in front of landscapes and gentlemen seated in libraries, none of whom bore a resemblance to the mysterious head of the secret society. How had St. James obtained such a property? Ash glanced up at the man as he neared. “I'm certain there's a story behind the acquisition of a home such as this. I've relieved a fair number of women of their—we'll call them unnecessary—possessions, but a house? That's impressive.”

St. James didn't answer as he descended the steps. From what Ash knew of him thus far, Fallon St. James was a man of few words, even though Ash suspected the man's thoughts were unceasingly spinning. His dark eyes flashed even when he said nothing. That, of course, only made Ash's curiosity about the leader of this group of misfit gentlemen increase. St. James joined Ash at the bottom step and studied him in silence, just as he had done when Ash had arrived yesterday. Was staring the man's only form of communication?

Ash raised a brow, a smirk drawing the corner of his mouth up. “You don't have to get squeamish on my account. I understand.” He pushed off the stair rail and took the final step down into the main hall. “It was won in a fair card game, was it not? Signed over in a deathbed promise, was it? Listen, I'm sure it was obtained in complete honesty. Have I told you the story of how I got my carriage?”

“This has been the headquarters for the Spare Heirs for a number of years now. It suits our needs. Your accommodations are to your liking, I presume?” St. James waved a hand toward the double doors near the base of the stairs, indicating for Ash to follow him.

Ash threw his hands up in surrender and grinned. “Secrets are what lives like ours are built upon. You may keep yours, for now. Whoever she was, the lady had a fine home. My rooms are more than adequate for my stay here. As I mentioned before, I'll be gone in no more than one month.”

“If you're certain you can accomplish your task in that time,” St. James said over his shoulder as he moved across the hall.

“If you knew of my quick work in the Welsh towns, you wouldn't be concerned.”

“I
do
know of your reputation in Wales,” St. James said with enough confidence to make Ash wonder exactly how much of his past this man knew. “I think, however, you'll find the
ton
to be a more difficult group to persuade away from their purses.”

“I'm aware of the difficulties involved.” The thought of what lay ahead washed over him again, just as it had on the road to London. His jaw tightened in the face of the challenge before him. Ash had to succeed. He'd waited long enough, practiced long enough. It was Lord Rightworth's turn to pay for what he'd done to Ash's family. This time he would be the one left in ruin as Ash rode away in
his
carriage.

He'd tracked Lord Rightworth ever since the day he'd taken everything from Ash's father. After all, one must know his target well. Ash knew the man's information from his home in the country, and the one in town, to the fact that he was married with two school-age daughters, to his interest in politics and his propensity to cheat at cards, …at least he knew the man on paper. And it would soon be time to know him personally.

He patted the document he'd acquired at the ball last night, still in his pocket. Obtaining Lord Dillsworth's financial statements had been the first step in the process. The men of the
ton
followed that gentleman's lead in all monetary matters. Ash had seen that during his visit to town last year. Convincing Dillsworth to invest in Ash's false company was the first and most important step in bringing his long game to fruition. Then it would finally be time to set things to rights.

A steam engine small enough for everyone to own one—ha! He would make people believe it was the next move in society. Once Rightworth had placed all his funds in Ash's care—far more than that of any other gentleman involved—Ash would vanish just like…well, just like steam! It was brilliant. His father's fortune would finally be back where it belonged: with his family. And it all started with the document held safely in Ash's pocket.

He followed St. James into the main gathering space of the Spare Heirs Society. It appeared to have been a drawing room in a previous lifetime, an open space that ran the length of the large home. Now billiard tables sat in the center of the room, while representations of every style of leather chair were scattered across the floor. Was this one drawing room or five mashed together into furniture stew? The mismatched seating seemed to swim within the large, pale-pink walls, while golden swirls of paint made bows on the ceiling. Ash shook his head and followed St. James until they reached a table in the corner of the room, situated to overlook the street below.

After signaling for drinks, Ash settled into one of the chairs and regarded St. James. The man was secretive, but Ash supposed that made him the perfect leader of a secret society of second, third, and in his case, fourth sons. It was an odd line of work. Ash had been on his own so long with only Stapleton for company that remaining in one place, never mind being surrounded by a brotherhood of sorts, was like treading on foreign soil. He'd spent the first eighteen years of his life trying to escape the brothers he'd been born with, the next seven dodging their notice while on the road, only to come here and join more?

He shifted in his seat. One job. He would see this one plan through to the end, and then he would leave.

“You didn't need to go to such lengths last night, you know,” St. James began. “Kelton Brice is Dillsworth's youngest son and a member here. Had you informed me of your plans, I could have made arrangements.”

Ash bristled. “How did you hear of it? There was a bit of a chase when I departed, but I've escaped worse.”

“I assume you retrieved the investment and financial information you needed.”

“How did you…”

“Dillsworth's knowledge of investments is hardly a secret. And his current holdings point to how you might gain his support. However, if you need anything further, Brice can retrieve it without breaking into the man's home.”

“It was no trouble,” Ash replied with a grin.
Evangeline
, he repeated to himself. At least he'd learned—and vowed to remember—her name. No matter the blunders, it had been worth the venture into the servants' hall. That kiss had distracted him for the remainder of the evening.

Who was he bluffing? It was morning and he was still thinking of it.

“To be clear, Dillsworth is only to be involved to a minimal degree in your business here, only as much as absolutely necessary.” St. James nodded to a footman and a tea service was placed before him, while Ash accepted his glass of liquor. “There have already been enough brawls within these walls without you swindling a member's father.”

“You think me a swindler? St. James, you wound me.” Ash took a sip of his drink, allowing the burn of it to simmer through his limbs. If he had been honest about his plans while in town—which he hadn't been—St. James would have known that Ash only skimmed the surface of any individual's wealth. He could never take everything away from a family as Rightworth had done. Of course the exception to that rule would be Rightworth himself. Ash planned to take everything from that man—down to the last crown. He settled back in his chair with a grin, stretching his legs under the table. “I am but a peddler of the future, a purveyor of hope and destiny.”

St. James shot him a glance as he poured his tea. “How long have you been working on that last bit?”

“The carriage ride to London.”

“You should have ridden a bit longer.”

“Hmmm…too much? I'll work on it. I'll need everything in place in the next day, if I'm to begin tomorrow night.”

“With no documentation, no prototype? Your words will only take you so far.”

“It's 1817, St. James. The future! These men can either fear change or benefit from it.” He leaned forward, waving his hand through the vapor that rose from the man's tea. “Steam—it's all around us. And the future will be dominated by it. Soon every home will be transformed by it. An investment in steam is an investment in tomorrow.”

“That's going to convince gentlemen to give you investment funds?”

Ash lifted the teapot from the table and encouraged more steam to escape the top of the pot. “It will if they fear for the security of their estates and livelihoods.”

“You require more than a bit of vapor if this is to work,” St. James replied. “And kindly put my teapot back on the table. I happen to be fond of it.”

Ash placed the piece of pink floral china back on the table with a roll of his eyes. He hadn't answered to anyone in the last seven years, and he hadn't been known for listening well before then. Was joining the ranks of the Spare Heirs a mistake? He swallowed the retort that lingered on his tongue along with his whiskey.

“You knew what I was after when you invited me here,” Ash said after a long minute's silence.

“It's my duty to ensure all endeavors of the Spares find success—success beyond the destruction of one lord in town. If Lord Rightworth's demise is the only thing of interest to you, then by all means, show him a hot cup of tea and talk about hope for the future. I'm certain he'll come around.”

“Look, St. James, you can either be involved or I will continue on without you and the Spare Heirs.”

“Am I interrupting?” A somewhat familiar-looking giant of a man in a bright-blue coat sank into an open chair at their table, not waiting for an answer to his question. “I had a hell of a night trying to catch up with some gent causing a row at my family's ball.” He leaned his blond head back and closed his eyes, raising one hand to signal for a drink without looking to see if it had been noted.

“Chased the man through the streets until I lost his trail, and wasn't even told what he'd done. I don't mind doing a bit of running for the Spares, but when the order comes from my father, you know how that can irritate. And at the end of it I lost the bastard. Of course, that was when I ran into Harriett. You remember Harriett, St. James. It was dawn before I could remove her talons from my—”

“Brice,” St. James said, trying to gain the man's attention. “
Brice
.”

Brice opened his eyes and looked around the table for the first time. “Who the devil are you?” he asked Ash.

“Lord Crosby, purveyor of the future, and the future is steam,” Ash offered, lifting his glass in salute.

“Still needs work,” St. James muttered.

Brice looked from Ash to St. James and back again. “Bloody hell.
You
were the man I was chasing last night. St. James, you could have mentioned a Spares operation happening at my family's ball. Not to mention why the devil there was anything occurring at
my
family's ball last night. I thought we'd established this wasn't to happen after that incident a few years back with the—”

“Calm yourself, Brice. Crosby here didn't know of your affiliation, or he would have involved you. Isn't that correct, Crosby?”

“Of course, mate,” Ash said, knowing it would be easier to get the man's father on his side if Ash had his assistance. Not to mention that Brice's involvement would save him some effort. As for last night, Ash regretted nothing. If he hadn't gone to the Dillsworths' ball, he wouldn't have seen Evangeline again. Ha! He still remembered her name. “I don't want to upset the balance of things, having just arrived and all.”