Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Fifteen

H e nearly ran into his brother and Captain Coventry, so intent was he on planning how to weave a web of protection around his wife.

“Moreland!”

The familiar voice had him blinking. He noted the simmering temper in his brother’s gaze. What in the bloody hell happened now? “Coventry, thank God you’re early!”

The former naval captain’s black eyepatch gave the man the look of a privateer instead of the highly lauded naval hero he was. He locked gazes with Moreland. “After reading your urgent missive last night, I decided to call upon Gavin King of the Bow Street Runners prevailing upon him to join me this morning.”

“I do not believe I know the man.”

Coventry shrugged. “I’ll introduce you. He should be arriving any time now, I believe in the company of two men that he intends to install as guards.”

“I have my own men in place,” Moreland assured him.

“Given what King and I discovered an hour ago, it would be in your best interest to accept the additional men.” When the viscount hesitated, Coventry told him, “King and his men can be trusted to guard your family with their lives.”

“Would you?” Viscount Moreland wished he could blindly trust as Coventry was urging him to. There were lives at stake, and unscrupulous men that needed to be held accountable for their actions. They must be brought to justice! So much to do while at the same time guarding Gemma with his life.

Coventry turned as one of the footmen opened the front door and King, the man in question, was admitted.

“I trust King with my life and that of my wife. Miranda trusts him as well.”

“You’re a lucky man, Coventry, with a lovely wife,” King replied.

Viscount Moreland studied the man who stood flanked by two others. All three had similar builds, broad through the shoulders and chest, although they varied in height. All appeared to be good men to have guarding your back in a fight.

He noted that King’s dark hair had streaks of gray through it, though he wouldn’t have thought the man was more than a few years older than himself. Studying him, he approved of the way the man moved with confidence, smoothly and purposefully. He reminded the viscount of a predator. Excellent! That was what he needed, someone who would prey on those who would try to harm his wife.

Coventry made the formal introductions. “Viscount Moreland,” Coventry nodded to him, before looking to the other man, “Gavin King with the Bow Street Runners.” His bright green single-eyed gaze bored into Moreland’s. “In case you need another vote of confidence to trust King, the Duke and Duchess of Wyndmere trust him implicitly.”

Moreland felt one of the iron bands around his chest ease— failing to keep Gemma safe . The three others nearly had him grimacing in pain. He’d begin to set those failings aright as soon as he and Gemma were wed. An old tar’s advice came to mind: Ye canna catch the wind, if ye dinna unfurl yer sail. Gemma was the heart of his new ship—the HMS Moreland , and he’d bloody well die to protect all on board, beginning with Gemma, his brother, and their staff.

He was about to unfurl their sail by meeting with Coventry, King, and the others with the intent to accept their offer of assistance protecting his wife. He knew how to chart a path through dangerous waters and had—with the aid of his good ship and crew. One of the most important lessons he’d learned as a young seaman, never forget those that worked alongside of you, following orders, to keep their vessel afloat.

“Are you all right, Colin?”

The hint of concern in his brother’s tone brought him back to the present and all that he must accomplish in a very short span of time. He clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “All things considered, yes. Shall we adjourn to the library? We can speak privately there.”

Coventry, King, and Edmund fell into step behind him as Moreland strode quickly down the length of the hall to the library at the other end of it. He flung the doors open and waited for the others who were only a few paces behind him. When they arrived but a few moments later, he nodded. “Gentlemen. Here’s my plan.”

Ranged around the room, Coventry and King sat in the winged back leather chairs on either side of the fireplace listening, while Edmund paced behind them.

When he was finished relaying his idea, his brother grumbled, “I don’t like it, Colin. There are too many holes in your thinking.”

Incensed that his years and reputation as a captain of renown in the King’s Navy were called into question, the viscount glared at his brother. “What do you know about laying out a plan of attack?”

Edmund paused in front of his brother’s desk. He met Colin’s gaze and replied, “More than you’d imagine. However, I’m not about to discuss it at the moment.”

Colin wanted to bellow at his brother to tell him but knew from past experience while Edmund wasn’t given to displays of temper by yelling, his younger brother could hold his own in a contest of wills. Stubborn to a fault—a Broadbank to the bone .

He placed his palms on the desk and pushed to his feet. With a nod, he said, “We shall discuss it later.” After he sent another urgent missive to his father, warning him of the danger that may be headed his way.

King and Coventry stood alongside the brothers, equals in their mission of protection. They formed a small circle, much like King Arthur’s round table. It enabled each man to easily read another’s expression from this position. King was the first to speak. “While I appreciate your years engaging in battles on the high seas, your lordship, plans are a bit different here on land.”

Coventry slowly smiled. “Before you grind your back teeth to dust, Moreland, King’s right. However, we shall be combining your plans with what King and I have come up with. We shall get to the bottom of any duplicity on Atherton’s part, and that of Harkwell.”

“Do you know the extent of the dowry and coin she is about to inherit once we marry? It is enough to tempt even the lowest of fortune hunters—bottom feeders of society. How in the bloody hell can I protect her until we discover whether or not Atherton handed over any coin to Harkwell?”

Coventry frowned. “A valid point, and part of what King and I discovered early this morning.”

The viscount would later swear his heart stopped for a moment before it began to pump blood through his veins once again. “About Miss Atherton?”

King spoke up. “There is not much known about Miss Atherton, who, according to my sources, rarely ventures outside their home. Has not attended any of London’s attractions—”

“Astley’s?” Edmund inquired.

Coventry shook his head.

Colin watched his brother closely, noting the frown. He was about ask a question when his brother beat him to it. “She must have been to the Crystal Palace.”

Coventry shook his head for the second time. “I do not believe she’s been seen at any of the shops on Bond Street, or to a coffee house.”

He would take Gemma to all of those places and more, showing her all that London had to offer as entertainment—short of the round of inane balls, musicales, and the like he knew they would have to attend as Viscount and Viscountess Moreland. It would bore him senseless inside of an hour if he had to attend any of the ton’s frivolities. Mayhap a museum or book shop. “So, she has never been to Gunter’s for an ice?”

“The information we have gathered to this point would indicate she has not. However, the Atherton staff we’ve questioned so far have not been with the family all that long. We were directed to a number of former staff,” Coventry advised.

“Those conversations were most enlightening,” King added.

Moreland was not certain he wanted to hear the answer, but his question had to be asked. “In what way?”

“Apparently,” King began, “Atherton has a butler, cook, and a number of servants but has Miss Atherton acting as housekeeper—at times as a maid.”

Moreland’s blood heated at the harsh way Gemma’s father had treated her—more of a servant than a daughter. The ragged dresses he’d sent in response to the viscount’s request were proof of that.

“Is that all?”

Coventry cleared his throat. “I have it on good authority that aside from a hefty dowry, Miss Atherton has a sizeable inheritance, from her great-grandmother on her mother’s side, that will be awarded to her the day she marries.”

“And?” he prompted.

“She stands to inherit over ￡25,000.”

“Which would of course be transferred immediately to her husband,” King supplied.

“What of Harkwell?” Viscount Moreland wanted to know. “Has he made any bank deposits recently?”

“No,” Coventry responded. “However, a number of his markers have been paid off.”

“I see. Were they incurred at a house party?”

“Apparently not,” Coventry answered. “He was fond of London’s underbelly and the gaming hells one can find there.”

Edmund placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder to keep him from storming out of the room to finish what he started with the money-grubbing blackguard, Harkwell. “We shall handle this calmly, efficiently, and quickly,” he promised Colin.

The viscount rounded on him. “How in the bloody hell can you even assume that is possible?”

Edmund got in his face and barked back, “Because, you stubborn-arse, it’s what we Broadbanks do!”

The viscount glared at his brother. “There’s where you’d be wrong. This Broadbank uses whatever means in his power to right any wrong that has been done to his family, his officers, their shipmates, and the Crown!” He felt the heat of his temper lash out as the room turned blood red.

He spun on his heel, strode to the door, yanked it open—and plowed into a solid wall of muscle.

“Faith, I didn’t know ye’d be that anxious to meet me, yer lordship.”

The viscount blinked, rubbed his chin where it connected with the dark-haired man’s shoulder. Taking the man’s measure, he noted a build similar to his own—broad through the chest and shoulders, with the height to carry it off.

The man smiled. “I see ye’re speechless. I would be, too, if I were meeting one of His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere’s guard.” He held out his hand. “Garahan’s me name, and from the description Coventry gave, ye must be Viscount Moreland.”

Colin shook the man’s hand as he grappled with the questions racing through his head, rubbing the ache developing at the base of his skull. How much more could happen within the twelve or so hours left in the day?

Garahan stepped around Moreland and met Coventry’s inquisitive look. “I’ve news.”

The tone of his voice had the viscount following him, prepared to listen to another tale of former staff that had been let go, but he missed part of what Garahan had said.

“In the betting book at White’s?” Coventry asked.

Garahan nodded. “A friend of me cousin is employed there and saw it with his own eyes.”

“Who in the bloody hell is White?” Moreland demanded. “And why does he have a betting book?”

Garahan’s face registered the shock of the viscount’s question. “Begging yer pardon, yer lordship, but how is it that ye don’t know of White’s? Where have ye been spending yer time?”

Before he could respond, Edmund answered for him. “My brother has just inherited his title from our older brother, Lord rest his soul.”

Garahan’s face reflected the sorrow the Broadbank brothers felt deeply. “I’m sorry for yer loss, yer lordship. Losing a brother would be akin to losing one of me arms.”

Moreland met and held Garahan’s gaze before glancing at his brother.

“Just last week, he was known as Captain Broadbank,” Coventry told him. “Scourge of the French, pirate, any who dared to attack His Majesty’s ships of the line—first-rate or third!”

“Which ship?” Garahan asked, obviously impressed.

The viscount felt pride in his ship fill him, as he answered, “The HMS Britannia , a 100-gun, first-rate ship of the line.” At his brother’s nod, he continued, “Her keel was laid 1 July 1751 and launched 19 October 1762 from Portsmouth Harbor. She cost nearly ￡46,000 to build and outfit.”

In the silence that followed, Moreland wondered if he’d said too much.

Garahan’s eyes gleamed. “What of her armament? Did she carry 42-pounders or 32?”

The viscount was soon caught up in discussing the number of 42-pounder guns on her main gundeck. “Though they were replaced sometime after her launch.”

“I wonder what other guns they replaced,” Garahan murmured, more to himself than as a direct question to the viscount.

Viscount Moreland smiled. “Her quarterdeck guns, and two from her fo’c’sle—that’s forecastle for landlubbers such as you,” he explained. “Those were replaced with 32-pounder carronades.”

Garahan cleared his throat and nodded. “I can see why ye wouldn’t know of White’s establishment given the time ye’ve served His Majesty in the Royal Navy. White’s is a club for gentlemen such as ye.”

“White’s has a betting book, that all of the ton seems to pay far too much attention to,” his brother explained.

“It has been at the root of many a dawn appointment at Chalk Farm,” Coventry stated.

“Chalk Farm?”

Garahan’s eyes narrowed. “Aye, ’tis a place where a person’s honor is avenged.”

“Been there, have you, Garahan?” Moreland asked.

“Aye.” The Irishman fell silent, leaving the viscount to surmise whatever the man had seen had not been pleasant. Bloody hell, he had his own nightmares of battles at sea to contend with. He did not need to ask what the other man’s might be.

He fell silent, wondering what the others would make of his lack of knowledge as far as moving about in society. Would it hinder or help his quest to keep the family name above reproach?

“What was the wager?”

Coventry’s question hit him like a blow to his solar plexus. He’d been so focused on the fact that he had no idea who or what White’s was that he’d completely forgotten to ask about the wager itself.

Garahan glanced at Moreland before speaking. “It had to do with Miss Atherton.”

A roaring filled his ears. “What was the bloody wager?”

The duke’s man moved a step closer to him and asked, “Word for word?”

The viscount gave a brief nod.

The dark-haired man frowned, but complied. “C.B., a newly minted member of the ton, will be surprised when a certain Cit’s daughter he marries by Special License delivers a full-term babe six months from now. The wager was placed by ‘H’.”

“I’ll reach down that bloody bastard’s throat and rip his heart out!”

“Colin! Wait!” Edmund called rushing after him.

Moreland kept walking. He had a challenge to issue!

“Moreland!” the deep voice had him spinning around. Did the duke’s man have more bad news?

“Do ye need me to hold the man still while ye extract his heart?” Garahan punctuated his question by cracking his knuckles.

The viscount blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “If I asked, would you?”

The rumbling of voices had him looking past the Irishman to see his brother, Coventry, and King ranged behind the man. He blew out a breath, muttering, “Life on board my ship was far easier to navigate than this morass I’ve stepped into.”

“I’ll be happy to act as yer second,” Garahan told him. “The duke might take exception to one of his trusted men committing a wee act of murder.”

King chuckled and shook his head. “He might forgive you, if I intervene on your behalf and state the facts that led to your unwise decision to aid the viscount in this regard.”

“Best choice all around would be to challenge the man on the field of honor,” Coventry told him.

“I’ll go to watch your back,” his brother said. “While Garahan is doing his duty, ensuring that a physician is in attendance, before he inspects both weapons.” Edmund paused before adding, “Harkwell’s not to be trusted.”

“Before you go haring off to confront Harkwell, don’t you have something of import to do as soon as the vicar arrives?”

Coventry’s question brought Moreland sharply back to the present. “Bloody hell! How could I let myself be that distracted?”

“The overwhelming need to protect the woman you love will have that affect on a man,” Coventry replied. “I suffered from a similar malady.”

“And were you able to rectify the situation?”

His friend grinned. “Aye, the moment we were wed.”

“Now that the immediate problem has been taken care of, do you plan to tell your wife that you have an errand to run on your wedding night?”

The viscount raked a hand through his hair. “No.”

“Garahan and I will accompany you,” his brother advised, “when you issue your challenge to Harkwell.”

King listened and seemed to approve. “My men are right outside this room. I’d like to tell you a bit about them beforehand.”

Viscount Moreland nodded and King continued. “Thompson and Franklin have worked alongside the duke’s guard—”

“Good men to have at yer back, yer lordship,” Garahan interrupted.

Coventry agreed. “O’Malley and his men will vouch for their talents with regard to protection. Franklin worked alongside the duke’s brother, Earl Lippincott, so you will have his word as well, if you require it.”

The viscount fell silent. Though he had Garahan’s assurance, he wished he had the time to meet with the Duke of Wyndmere and Earl Lippincott. Time was not on his side, moreover, the duke was at his country estate in the Lake District, and the earl was at his country home in Sussex.

He’d been at the helm of his life for too many years to blithely hand it over to a man he’d only just met—let alone King’s associates. While he had a feeling he could trust King, and had Coventry’s assurance that he could, he hesitated.

Coventry spoke up. “One thing I learned while lying in that hospital a decade ago was that in order to begin living life so far removed from what I’d known, I would have to learn to accept the loss of my eye and the use of my arm.”

Moreland felt the truth of his friend’s words sweep over him like a rogue wave. He held on to the ship’s rail—his friend’s wise words, knowing he wouldn’t succumb and be washed overboard.

Coventry had had far more to become accustomed to than the simple matter of giving up a career he loved out on the open water. His friend had struggled physically, while he would be tying himself to the land, an unwanted title, and a bride who tentatively trusted him.

Before he could apologize for not seeing beyond his own plight—which would be a gift to any other man, Coventry continued, “In order to accept the fact that I’d no longer serve in His Majesty’s Navy, I had to become accustomed to a new life out of balance with the loss of one eye and my nearly useless arm. What I had to do was to trust that if I worked hard enough, long enough, and accept the helping hand offered at the time, I could find a new place in life—one where I’d be accepted for who and what I had become.”

The viscount reached out to grasp his friend’s hand. Pulling Coventry closer, he clapped him on the back, the same way he greeted his brother. “You’ve opened my eyes, my friend, to all that you’ve accomplished in the decade you’ve been a landlubber.”

Coventry chuckled and then Moreland continued, “I’m a bloody idiot to not have taken the time to see my circumstances from another point of view. I’m humbled by what you’ve achieved, Coventry.”

Meeting his friend’s bright green single-eyed gaze, he asked, “You never looked back, did you? You pushed forward, learned to adapt to your new field of vision, and balance, and have been working to get back most of the use of your injured arm. You are to be commended, lauded for what so many others have not had the opportunity to do.”

“His Grace uses his position in the House of Lords to bring to light the plight so many of the injured in our military forces face,” Captain Coventry told him.

The viscount felt a fire begin to burn inside him— he would have a voice in the House of Lords now, and he would use it! “I can lend my voice to His Grace’s, and any others, speaking up for the injured men in His Majesty’s forces.”

He had a new purpose moving forward and could not wait to share it with Gemma!

“Oh, and by the by, Coventry,” he added, “do not think that I am not still irritated that you refused to accept my offer to join the men you’ve gathered to work for you.”

“You met every qualification save one,” Coventry reminded him. “The most important qualification.”

“Aye,” Viscount Moreland rumbled. “I left the Royal Navy without suffering any life-threatening injuries, my limbs intact.” He paused to add, “If you ever have need of me, you’ve but to ask.”

Coventry grinned. “Count on it!”

“Now that that’s been settled,” King said. “You haven’t mentioned the whereabouts of Lord Harkwell.”

Edmund cleared his throat to speak, “Perkins and Grant, two of my brother’s men, have him under guard in the sitting room.”

A knock on the library door drew the attention of every man present. “Come in!”

At Viscount Moreland’s request, the door slowly opened, and a footman approached him, “Your lordship, the Watch has come.”

“Thank you. Has Dr. McIntyre arrived yet?”

The footman nodded. “He’s seeing to Hanson right now, who appears to have gotten the starch back in his legs, is clear-eyed and protesting that he’s fit.”

“Excellent.”

“Mrs. Pritchard accompanied your physician when he attended to Miss Atherton.”

The viscount’s gut clenched. He’d wanted to be there by her side when the doctor examined her—then realized that would not have been possible, given their unmarried state. The scandal that would create would ruin Miss Atherton and cast a dark cloud over the House of Moreland.

“King and I need to have a word with Perkins and Grant. If time allows, we’d like to speak to Lord Harkwell as well.”

“If not,” King stated, “we’ll follow the Watch and speak with the constable first, then Harkwell.”

The viscount nodded to his footman. “I’ll accompany you to greet the watchman.”

“Wait for me!” Edmund rushed after his brother and the footman.

Viscount Moreland and his brother returned with the Watch a few moments later. He lifted one brow in silent question and Coventry nodded. The viscount had known his friend and King would be speaking to his men at their earliest opportunity. “Well?” he asked pointedly, staring at Coventry. “Find out what you needed to?”

Coventry and King shared a glance before Coventry answered, “I have.”

“Excellent.” He turned to glare at the lord who’d dared to accost the woman he loved. Harkwell would be getting off lightly—with his life. He curled his hands into fists and struggled with the need to strike out at the bloody bastard. With great effort, he reined in his temper and relaxed his hands at his sides. The realization he would not have been so gracious in that regard had him wondering how he would become accustomed to the fact that while on land—he was not the law.