Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Reid felt the usual niggle of resentment when he mounted the stone steps to White’s. He was not a member based on his own merits but an interloper, owing his place at the prestigious club to his grandfather’s relentless efforts and his own close friendship with the Marquess of Rothley.
Reid scanned the impressive hall while the liveried footman took his hat and coat. After the farce with the bishop, he half expected a steward to appear to revoke his membership.
After all, meddling was his grandfather’s favourite hobby.
He found Rothley in the library, sitting alone, reading from a small leather-bound book beneath the lamplight. Rothley looked up as if desperate for a distraction, his dark gaze narrowing on Reid.
“So, my elusive friend finally makes an appearance.” Rothley slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the walnut table, then whispered through gritted teeth, “Where the hell have you been? You’ve not replied to any of my notes. I called at the practice this afternoon. Hickman said you’re rarely there these days. I hear Monroe is handling your surgical procedures at Guy’s.”
Reid motioned to the footman and ordered brandy. “Since when did you read Keats?” He sat, gathering the book and flicking through the pages. “When did you begin caring about the beauty of life instead of viewing everything as a Shakespearean tragedy?”
Rothley released a weary sigh. “I don’t read romantic drivel by choice. Joanna insisted we discuss an Ode on Melancholy when we dine next week. I suggested Southey’s The Battle of Blenheim , but the countess is so enamoured with her husband that she’s on a mission to see me wed.”
“She means to lighten your heart. She knows you won’t take a bride while you’re still mourning the death of her brother.”
Joanna feared Rothley would marry for spite, not love.
“Justin is not dead.” Rothley enunciated every word, giving the table a thump for good measure. “I’d stake my life he’s not buried beneath that headstone at St Michael’s.”
When a gamekeeper found Justin’s corpse in a woodland hideout ten years ago, Rothley was adamant it was not the body of their missing friend. The coroner identified the deceased based on his hair and clothes, height and build, and the onyx signet ring, a family heirloom, tucked inside his coat pocket.
“Can we agree on one point?” Reid said. “If Justin is alive, he doesn’t want to be found.” Although why he would disappear for a decade remained a mystery. “Joanna is right. You cannot sacrifice your own happiness for someone who could be living abroad like a prince.”
Rothley sat rigid in the chair. His forbidding presence had the power to empty a room. Indeed, all the nearby tables were unoccupied. “Injustice is a cross I’m forced to bear. I’ll not rest until I know whether my friend perished or lied through his back teeth.”
Reid considered mentioning Miss Bourne—the woman Rothley had hoped to marry before she disappeared into the night after accepting a bribe from his father—but it would only sour his friend’s sullen mood.
He thought of Miss Moorland.
What was her price?
He would not blame her if she’d snatched the banknotes from his grandfather’s gnarled hand and boarded the first boat to France. Unlike Rothley and Miss Bourne, they were not in love. That said, Miss Moorland was not a devious vixen. Loyalty came to her as naturally as breathing.
“Just like I’ll not rest until I know what you’re hiding,” Rothley continued, eyeing Reid suspiciously. “Do you mean to put me in an early grave? If not, do me the courtesy of telling me what the hell is going on.”
Reid snatched the snifter from the footman’s tray and emptied it in one swift motion. “What do you know?”
“That you employed Miss Moorland as your herbalist and snuck off with her for hours today after arguing with your grandfather.” Rothley spoke with his usual aplomb. “Are those not the actions of a man with a secret?”
Reid glanced behind, scouting for eavesdroppers before confiding in his friend. “I’ve been falsely implicated in a murder.”
A shadow of unease crossed his features. “Murder?”
He told Rothley everything: the growing suspicion about his patients, the nights spent at the Hare and Hounds looking for a killer, Miss Moorland seeking him out. “She’s my alibi. The dead man had my blood-stained card in his hand. I’m grateful she arrived when she did.”
Tension creased the corners of Rothley’s eyes, the only sign he found the news unsettling. A man of his wealth and status could make problems disappear. Nothing fazed him except being deceived.
“Miss Moorland certainly has gumption.” Rothley summoned the footman, ordering him to bring the brandy decanter. “When she first visited The Jade, she was rather a timid thing, always lost in the pages of her books.”
Now Reid knew why. Her knowledge of herbs and medical procedures was exemplary. It’s the reason he’d done the unthinkable and hired a woman. That, and her desperate plea for help, had touched his heart like an echo from the past.
“ Timid is not a word I would use to describe Miss Moorland.”
“What word would you use to describe her?”
Intriguing —she surprised him at every turn. Intrepid —she showed courage in the face of danger. Insatiable —kissing left them both craving more. He could not stop dreaming about her mouth.
“Miss Moorland is honest. I respect her opinion.”
Was that why he’d told her his darkest secret?
Did their survival not depend on them battling the storm together?
Rothley arched a cynical brow. “Her opinion in or out of bed? There’s an odd glint in your eyes whenever you mention her name.”
Reid firmed his jaw. “The lady is my herbalist and merely wishes to help prove my innocence. We’re good friends, nothing more.”
“That’s a blatant lie. You’re dying to grab me round the throat and defend her honour.” A smug grin played on Rothley’s lips. “So, you’re besotted with your herbalist because she saved you from the noose.”
“I’m not besotted with my herbalist.”
Preoccupied, perhaps.
Curious, even.
Rothley hated untruths and so poked harder. “And now your grandfather knows of your fondness for your seller of simples. I can’t imagine he took the news well. He disapproved of your mother’s lowly status, and she was a parson’s daughter. The man has an aversion to peasants.”
Reid hadn’t the patience for Rothley’s bitter diatribe tonight. “If you’ve nothing useful to say, I may as well leave.” He stood abruptly. “Perhaps if you focused on the living, not the dead, I wouldn’t need to keep secrets.”
Reid moved to step away, but Rothley caught his wrist. “Forgive me. I’ve been in a devil of a mood all day. Nothing matters more than our friendship. Stay. Let me help you. We’ll drink and play cards.”
“You always win,” Reid said with a sigh.
“Because I have nothing better to do at night than wager with scoundrels and dissolute rogues.”
“I thought you’d agreed to attend an evening of music and dance at The Burnished Jade.” Reid returned to his seat. “I thought you had no appetite for spinsters and wallflowers.”
Rothley gave a dismissive wave. “I don’t. I bore myself to death and need no help in that regard. But Joanna knows how to twist me around her finger. How could I refuse her request when she said I’m the closest thing she has to a brother?”
No, Rothley did his best to fill Justin’s shoes in his absence.
“But you haven’t danced since that provincial ball we attended in Cambridge ten years ago. I recall you prancing around in a cornfield with your breeches wrapped around your ankles.”
Rothley smiled at the amusing memory—a happy time before tragedy struck and his life became unbearable. “I wasn’t prancing. I was celebrating the serving wench tossing me off. I doubt the ladies at The Burnished Jade will be as forthcoming.”
If you’re willing, you could take my virtue, sir.
Miss Moorland’s enticing offer slipped through Reid’s mind.
He wanted her—but hadn’t the heart to ruin her.
“One may surprise you, though Joanna wants an excuse to watch you marching down the aisle.”
Rothley winced like he’d eaten rotten guinea fowl. “I’d rather march to the gallows. I might visit a dockside tavern tonight in the hope of catching a tropical fever.”
They laughed, refilling their glasses when the footman arrived with the decanter. Reid reminded Rothley he’d catch more than a fever from a sailor’s doxie, then returned to serious matters.
“There’s something I need from you. I wouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate. And after tolerating your foul temper, I deserve some recompense.”
Rothley studied him over the rim of his glass. “I would be intrigued were I not apprehensive. You pride yourself on being your own man.”
“I’m only at this table because of your sway with the committee,” he mocked. “You’re the closest thing I have to a brother. That doesn’t mean I won’t punch you if you insult my herbalist.”
Rothley’s hard, almost wolf-like eyes softened. “You know I’ll do anything you ask and would lay down my life if need be, but don’t keep me in the dark again. I assume this relates to the dead stable hand.”
“In a manner of speaking.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I offered for Miss Moorland, but she would rather pretend we’re married than shackle herself to me.”
Rothley blinked like he had dust in his eyes. “Why the blazes would you marry your herbalist?” He sat forward, looking confounded by the puzzle. “I mean, she’s pretty in an unassuming way … and those lips … a man could sink?—”
“One more word and I’ll put you on your arse.”
“Are you this protective over all your employees?” Keen not to aggravate matters, Rothley raised his hand in mock surrender. “The lady clearly has enough common sense for both of you, but you don’t need to marry the chit to ensure she’s your alibi.”
“It’s not that.” Knowing he could trust Rothley with his life, he mentioned the Merricks’ plan. “Miss Moorland has two options: marry or leave England.”
Or give Reid the gift the degenerates wished to purchase.
Rothley rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his jaw. “I heard whispers of an auction but thought it drunken nonsense. There are other ways to solve the problem. We could dispose of Merrick swiftly. You could join the auction and cast the winning bid.”
Although ridding the world of a man like Merrick was tempting, the marquess fell under the Crown’s protection—the King would move mountains to avoid a scandal—whereas Reid would likely face the noose if caught.
“I save men’s lives; I don’t take them.” Yet someone was desperate to prove otherwise. “I’ll not risk Merrick capturing her, either.”
“Then what can I do?”
“Support our fake marriage. Invite us to spend our honeymoon at Studland Park. Let us reside there until this dratted business is over.”
The marquess flinched like he had swallowed a sharp bone. “Stay at Studland Park? I’d rather strangle Merrick with my cravat than suffer house guests.”
“I wouldn’t ask if there were another option.” Reid mentioned his grandfather’s meddling. “Studland Park will be a safe haven. Miss Moorland hasn’t slept properly for weeks. Every slight creak of the boards has her fearing the Merricks’ return.”
Rothley ran his finger over his lips. “And you think she’ll have an undisturbed night with you sleeping in the adjoining bedchamber?”
“Put me in the east wing.”
“And have it said I’m the one tupping Miss Moorland?”
“I’m not tupping Miss Moorland.”
“Perhaps you should. Then there’d be no one to bid on her virtue. A wild night of pleasure could save her life.”
Reid snorted. “Miss Moorland suggested as much.”
Rothley’s elbow almost slipped off the table. “Good God! What the hell goes on behind closed doors at The Burnished Jade?”
“The ladies learn to use their voice to their advantage. Miss Moorland can be quite persuasive.” She could disarm a man with one kiss. “Which is why I’ll take a chamber in the east wing.”
“Like hell. You’ll play the satisfied groom if you want me to go along with this ridiculous charade.”
Reid smiled to himself. Despite his friend’s brooding countenance, he was dependable to a fault. “One more thing. Miss Moorland hasn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks, and your cook is the best in Christendom. I would like her last days in London to be amongst her finest.”
Rothley cursed and thrust out his left arm. “Perhaps you’d like to pierce my vein with a cannula and pump a pint of blood.”
“Don’t tempt me. Blundell is always seeking volunteers for his research in transfusions.”
Rothley reached for his brandy. The silence stretched as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass like it held the secrets of the past, present and future. “Your grandfather’s actions represent everything I despise about the aristocracy, everything I loathed about my own father. Stay at Studland Park for a month. I’ll ensure Miss Moorland has a room fit for royalty. I’ll have Molière prepare a feast. Hell, she can even ride my prized Arabian.”
Reid sensed there was a caveat. “But?”
Rothley’s eyes darkened. “You’ll include me in the investigation.”
A few tense seconds passed.
“I’ll include you—” Reid paused, raising a hand to their friends Rutland and Dalton as the men entered the library. “If you agree not to seize control and swear to follow my command.”
The marquess grumbled under his breath. “I’m happy to play the errand boy as long as I’m not kept in the dark.”
“Very well. You can begin by discovering if the Merricks have returned from Scotland.” Reid stood and moved his chair to make room for their friends. “And you can attend the meeting at Daventry’s office at noon on Monday.”
“When should I expect the newlyweds at Studland Park?” Rothley mocked. “My staff will need time to recover from the shock. They’re not used to visitors.”
“Miss Moorland is staying with the countess tonight.” Reid had been too afraid to leave her alone while he dealt with other matters. “I cannot miss my morning appointments at Guy’s, but you can expect us early evening.”
“Excellent. We’ll dine at eight.”
“You will be on your best behaviour?”
“Having heard what happens at The Burnished Jade, I’m confident Miss Moorland can handle my sarcasm.”
They fell silent as their friends neared the table.
“Drinking from the decanter already?” Rutland said, amused.
Dalton snatched Reid’s glass and downed the contents, grumbling, “Devious bastards.”
While Viscount Rutland was the epitome of refinement, with perfect posture and a warm smile you could trust, the elegant dimple in his chin chiselled by the finest sculptor, Dalton carried the untamed energy of a pirate. His heavy brow shielded dark, suspicious eyes, the deep cleft in his chin hinting at a life spent chasing danger.
“That cheating rogue, Wroxeter, is dicing with death.” Dalton dropped into a seat and grabbed the decanter. Liquor spilled onto the table as he sloshed more brandy into his glass. “He’s working with Bellingham. They’ve invented a series of code words so they know what damn cards to play.” Dalton knocked back his drink and growled rather than hissed.
“Your troubles are a drop in the ocean,” Reid said before updating his friends on the current state of affairs, including swearing them to secrecy regarding his marital status.
Rutland’s eyes widened. “And Rothley thought he had problems. Our friend contemplated jumping from Westminster Bridge to avoid that dratted soiree at The Jade.”
“In the hope of catching a chill,” Rothley corrected. “With these sturdy shoulders, I’m more than capable of swimming to the riverbank.”
“Why the hell are we sitting here?” Dalton complained. “I know of only two men who’d want rid of the ton ’s most celebrated doctor.”
“My uncle Edmund and his spawn Algernon.”
“Let’s frighten them into confessing.” The devilish glint in Dalton’s eyes said he’d relish the prospect of putting a blade to the men’s throats.
“I have no proof my uncle is involved.” There was nothing to connect his family to the victims. “Algernon bought laudanum from my apothecary in Long Acre. By all accounts, he’s been ill with an infection he caught in Athens.”
Rutland kept his voice low, asking, “And all the patients were women of a similar age and status?”
“All widows in their fifties.”
Rutland arched a brow, his interest piqued. “I’m told there’s an unsavoury bet in the book downstairs. Your cousin’s name is listed.”
“What sort of bet?”
“The contenders must woo women twice their age. There’s some sort of points system. The first to three hundred points wins everyone’s thousand-pound stake. It’s been going on for months. I hear Winslow is already fifty points ahead, though your cousin is closing the gap.”
What the devil?
Reid frowned. “Who keeps score?”
Rutland shrugged. “Perhaps you should ask Algernon. Your cousin entered the card room a few minutes ago.”
Desperate for answers, Reid was on his feet and striding along the red-carpeted landing to the card room. He found his cousin, observing two lords playing a game of écarté.
“A moment of your time, cousin.” Reid gripped Algernon’s elbow, digging his fingers into the knobbly bone, a small retribution for all the cruel jibes the fop had made about Reid’s mother.
Algernon lacked the strength to free himself, jerking like a fish caught on a line. Reid released him once they reached a shadowy corner of the landing.
“What on God’s green earth is wrong with you?” Algernon whirled around and stared down his aquiline nose. He had a mop of brown hair like a schoolboy and the ruddy cheeks of a man twice his age. “If this is about our grandfather gifting Bretton Hall to me, take it up with him.”
The comment hit like the sharp lash of a whip.
Bretton Hall would have been Reid’s father’s rightful home—a grand inheritance for a son of noble lineage—until he defied expectations and wed a humble pastor’s daughter. Bretton Hall was the carrot his grandfather dangled to prevent Reid from making the same mistake.
“He must have visited you before he left for Chesham Park.” Reid imagined the old man spreading gossip like a rat did disease. “I assume ownership comes with certain stipulations.”
Algernon’s smug sneer grated. “It’s mine if I marry Viscount Brigham’s daughter. It’s no hardship. As you know, she’s a sickly chit who’ll likely not survive the birthing bed.”
Reid was forced to quell the rising fury in his chest.
Did this weasel have no conscience?
“Does our grandfather know of your fondness for ladies in their fifties? I’m told you’re part of a wager posted in the book downstairs.”
Panic tightened Algernon’s face. “I’m sure he knows it’s just a lark. A bit of harmless tomfoolery.” He ran his fingers along the collar of his shirt as if feeling the noose of obligation. “It’s nothing he didn’t do in his day. Besides, it’s about camaraderie, not winning the prize.”
Reid couldn’t believe he was related to this halfwit. “How are you supposed to prove you’ve won?” he said, feigning interest. “Who keeps score?”
“The waiter at Antoine’s keeps a written record.”
“Antoine’s?” Reid recalled Mrs Ludgrove had supper with Mr Fellows at Antoine’s. He would find the names of those engaged in the wager in the book downstairs.
“It’s a coffeehouse that serves a simple supper of an evening. We must abide by a certain criteria, a complex and tactical list.” Algernon spoke like he was part of a military strategy to save the Crown. “A kiss on the hand earns five points. It’s ten for the cheek and so forth.”
One day, this imbecile would hold the title of Viscount Hanberry. Reid was glad his mother was a lowly pastor’s daughter. It must be where he gained his common sense.
“And do your victims know you’re spreading a sickness you caught in Greece? Do you take laudanum for the crippling aches or are the draughts a cure for ennui?”
The fop trembled like a trapped hare before finding the courage to argue. “It’s none of your damn business. You’re only here because our grandfather overlooks your working status. They’ll strike your name off every guest list when my father inherits.”
“What does that say about you?” Reid countered, wondering why his uncle wanted to see him shamed amongst his peers. “When our grandfather prefers a working man to the future Lord Hanberry?”
“Not anymore,” Algernon said proudly. “Bretton Hall will be mine. Grandfather has a duty to keep a pure bloodline. Yours is like watered-down wine, tasteless on the palate. Had your father not married a peasant, things may?—”
The punch stole the last words from Algernon’s mouth.
Reid grabbed the fool round the throat, glad to see blood coating his white teeth. “Speak about my mother again and I’ll rip out your tongue. My father tended troops on the front line while yours lounged in a bordello. My mother was commended for her charitable work while yours seduced her footmen, then tossed them out.”
Amid Reid’s mounting rage, Rothley stepped into the fray. “Release him. This isn’t who you are. Call him out if necessary, but don’t brawl in the corridor like a thug from the rookeries.”
Algernon gathered strength from Rothley’s intervention, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth when he cried, “Take the dog to the pound where he belongs.”
Rothley whirled around and rose to his full height. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t shoot you between the brows. Offend Gentry and you offend me. Trust me, you don’t want to dice with the devil.”
Dalton decided to give his two pennyworth. “Avoid walking near dark alleys for a few days. Rogues often lurk in the shadows, waiting to pounce.”
Rutland ignored the quivering popinjay and draped his arm around Reid’s shoulder, drawing him from the fracas. “Your enemy wants to break you. To provoke you into reacting like a man capable of murder.”
The villain’s plan had worked.
Anger was like a poison in his veins, infecting his rationale.
“You must think of Miss Moorland,” Rutland continued in the velvet voice that brought calm to any situation. “Fear clouds her judgement. She’s living under constant threat. She has no home and no future. Every door will be closed to her when the truth of this fake marriage comes to light.”
Miss Moorland was a constant presence in his mind.
He liked having her there, liked having her in his dispensary, liked their playful banter and their fervent kisses.
“Miss Moorland is an extraordinary woman who’s become a prisoner of her sex and her stepmother’s evil ambitions.” He felt duty-bound to protect her.
“None of which is your responsibility, yet you’ve made it so. You must search your heart and consider why.”
Reid shrugged. “She needs me.”
“And it feels good to be her saviour?” Rutland stopped outside the door to the library. “Marriage is about more than love, as your grandfather persists in reminding you. You need a wife who stimulates you body and soul.”
“Miss Moorland certainly does that.”
Her insightful opinion aroused his mind.
Her touch set his body ablaze.
“Then why pretend? Marry her, and the problem with the Merricks disappears. She can work for you without censure, and her honour is restored.”
Rutland made it all sound simple.
The lord could see a clear path on a fog-drenched night.
“There is one minor issue.” Miss Moorland would rather face ruin than force his hand. “She refuses to accept my proposal.”
A slow smile curled Rutland’s lips. “Good Lord, this business with the dead groom has blinded you to what is obvious to most.”
“Which is?”
“Look at you. You’re more than capable of seducing a woman. Make it impossible for her to say no.”