Aiden O’Connell trolled the pleasure haunts of the haut monde, looking for a tall man with long black hair and the wink of pirate’s gold in one ear.
He found Russell Yates at Gentleman Jackson’s in Bond Street. For a moment, Aiden simply stood on the sidelines, watching the ex-privateer spar with the Champion himself.
Yates was an enigma, a born gentleman with a comfortable fortune who amused himself by running rum and the odd French agent beneath the noses of His Majesty’s Navy. Some did it for money, and some did it out of a fierce conviction; Yates did it for fun.
Aiden waited to approach him until the other man had left the ring, a towel draped around his neck. “I need to talk to you,” said Aiden quietly.
Yates scrubbed the towel across his sweaty face, his eyes alert and gleaming with interest. “What is it?”
Aiden leaned in close to drop his voice. “A mutual acquaintance of ours needs to go away.”
Kat was organizing papers at her desk when Russell Yates sent up his card. For the sake of Sebastian’s investigation, she checked her first impulse, which was to have the shipowner told she was not at home.
“This is unexpected, Mr. Yates,” she said, rising to greet him when Elspeth showed him up. “Please, have a seat. Have you recalled something of relevance concerning the
Yates stretched out in one of the chairs beside the fireplace, a large, powerfully built man who exuded virility and a rakish air of danger. “Actually, I’m here because of an interesting conversation I had with Aiden O’Connell this morning. He tells me you’ve decided to travel abroad. Permanently.”
Kat raised one eyebrow. “Now why would he tell you a thing like that?”
“Mr. O’Connell and I have made these sorts of arrangements before.”
“I see.” Kat came to sink into the chair opposite him. “And can you arrange it? Before tomorrow night?”
“I assume you wish to go to France rather than to the Americas? The Americas are so dreadfully, well,
“France would be fine,” Kat said in a tight voice. She knew it should matter to her, where she went, but somehow it did not. She found the thought of life without Devlin—anywhere—too unbearable to contemplate for long enough to come up with a coherent plan beyond removing herself from the temptation of saying yes to everything he was urging.
“I have a sloop leaving Dover with tomorrow’s tide. It can have you in Calais in four hours.”
Kat felt an ache pull across her chest. It was one thing to reach the decision to leave, but something else entirely to actually make the arrangements. “Good,” she said briskly, pushing up from the chair and reaching for the bell to summon Elspeth. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have much to prepare—”
“O’Connell also told me something of why you’re leaving,” said Yates.
She swung slowly to face him again.
“I saw Lord Devlin’s announcement in this morning’s
“I wouldn’t say so.”
“No. I don’t suppose you would.” He rested his elbows on the delicate arms of the chair, his fingers templed before him. “Right now, you believe you have only three alternatives. You can take your chances with Lord Jarvis— never a good idea. You can ruin Viscount Devlin by marrying him. Or you can flee the country. But there is a fourth option.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “There is?”
“We could help each other.”
She cocked her head. “How could I help you?”
“You’ve heard the whispers about me, no doubt?” He smiled when she hesitated. “Don’t be shy. The rumors have been circulating for years. The tales of my exploits on the briny seas diminished them for a time, but only for a time. Lately the gossip has become both more vicious and more troublesome. People are watching me. I fear the moral climate of our age is becoming more oppressive. Have you noticed?”
“The inclination of which you speak has never been condoned. Not in our culture.”
“How true. One can gamble away a fortune, drink oneself to death, openly set up half a dozen mistresses, or regularly debauch young virgins fresh from the countryside, and no one in Society will give it a second thought. But direct your love toward a member of the wrong sex, and the punishment is not mere social ostracism, but death. A death as ugly and unpleasant as that which Jarvis promises you.”
Kat studied the man’s dark, square-jawed face. “You have enemies who would wish to see you destroyed?”
“One. One very powerful enemy. He dares not move against me directly, but it is not so difficult to manipulate rumor and public opinion.”
Kat came to sink back into the chair opposite him. “It’s Jarvis, isn’t it?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Jarvis dare not move against you directly?”
“Because it just so happens that Lord Jarvis is hiding a dangerous secret. A secret that, if it were to become known, would destroy his influence at the palace and very likely lead to his own death.”
“You have proof of this?”
“If I did not, I would be dead. Jarvis knows my death will lead to the publication of what he most desires be kept undisclosed. Hence his caution.”
“I would think such a threat from you would be sufficient to motivate his lordship to suppress any rumors about you, not foment them.”
“You might think so. But there’s a flaw in that logic. If I were to move to bring down Lord Jarvis, he would retaliate by having me killed. We would effectively destroy each other.”
“So what does any of this have to do with me?”
“It occurs to me that the easiest and quickest way to lay the rumors to rest would be for me to take a wife. A famous wife known for her beauty, sensuality, and charisma.”
Kat laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am utterly serious. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement: I would protect you from Jarvis, while you would provide me with what I suppose one could call a disguise. With Kat Boleyn as my wife, anyone questioning my virility or sexuality would be laughed out of the room.”
“Why me? Why not choose a bride from the selection available at Almack’s?”
He smiled. “This isn’t the kind of arrangement I’d care to explain to some innocent debutante just out of the schoolroom. You need have no worry I would press to consummate the marriage. I offer you companionship and witty conversation at the supper table, but our amorous adventures, obviously, would be directed elsewhere. All I ask is that you pursue them with discretion—as shall I.”
Kat pushed up from her chair to pace the room. She should have dismissed the suggestion out of hand. Instead, she found herself saying, “Devlin would never forgive me were I to embark on such a marriage.”
“You think he would forgive you for running away to France?”
When Kat said nothing, he added, “I can have a marriage contract drawn up preserving your control over whatever wealth you bring to the marriage as well as your subsequent earnings.”
“No. This is impossible.”
“Don’t dismiss the idea too hastily. Give it some thought.”
She brought up one hand to rub absently at her temples. “This proof you claim to possess against Jarvis. How do I know it exists?”
He smiled. “I expected you to be suspicious.” Slipping his hand into his coat, he drew forth a case of soft brown leather tied with a thong. “So I brought it.”
The documents in the case were thorough, damning, and irrefutably authentic. “Good God,” whispered Kat
