EPILOGUE
9 February, 1845
Sunday morning on Mercer Street
Edge of Seven Dials
Marianne read the last lines of her latest letter from their firstborn and prayed Con wouldn't turn and catch the look of abject terror on her face. She swallowed the lump of fear lodged in her throat and casually hid the missive within a stack of the latest La Belle Assemble'es.
Her husband had been going over a week's worth of The Times , marking various stories with a pen, clipping out others.
They'd spent an extra week at their country estate with rounds of neighborhood parties and catching up on their tenants' needs and various squabbles. Instead of telling her when they'd be leaving, Con had simply sent Crisp down the week before with all of his luggage and trunks full of God knows what.
That had been the previous Sunday morning when she'd been working her way through a stack of butter toast and drinking tea with their youngest sons, Fitz and Alex. She'd noticed her husband's factotum marching silently behind several footmen carrying Con's mysterious trunks down the vast front staircase. From that time on, she'd been inside a whirlwind of packing and readying the family for the move back to town. The two youngest Dyers still were under the guidance of a nursemaid whilst the remaining five Dyer siblings remaining at home were kept busy each day by their governess and science tutor. Con never gave a second thought to the planning necessary to move seven children, a nanny, a governess, and a tutor. He merely decided on a whim it was time to change households, and everyone had better snap to his marching orders.
She'd learned long ago, however, that his bark was always worse than his bite, and his ability to entertain, cajole, and threaten the children was nothing short of amazing. She'd have abandoned him and hied off to her father's Welsh estate long ago if not for that particular saving grace. But then of course she had to admit there were compensations to sharing a bed with Con Dyer. She had eight children to prove it.
She started with a guilty look when Con slid silently up behind her at her desk in the family sitting room. His breath on the back of her neck was warm, his tongue insistent as he brushed her tender nape. His hands on her shoulders massaged urgently until she finally turned into his arms. "I have just a few more letters to send, dear. Why don't you go..."
His grip tightened and he pulled her up to his lips. His mouth over hers muffled whatever fib she was about to serve to buy her time to figure out how to tell him about Viola's latest escapade.
After a long while and a deep kiss that left her breathless, he demanded, "What has she got up to now?"
"Ah...how did you know?"
"Only Viola can put that look of fright on your face. So, just tell me straightaway. What has she done this time to make your cheeks as white as sheets hanging on a line out in the sun?"
He sat down hard onto the overstuffed, flowery chintz chair next to her desk, taking her along with him and pulling her tightly onto his lap. When she'd first met the fabled Con Dyer of the Four Horsemen of the rookeries, his exceptional height and strong arms had made her secretly want to melt into him and let him have his way with her. But now, to be honest, after eighteen years and many children together, those same attributes, not to mention his inescapable, large, and naughty hands, could become somewhat annoying.
She huffed out a long sigh. "Your idea to have the woman ruling your Paris empire of spies look out for Viola whilst she's studying at the Sorbonne was not the brightest thought you've ever had."
"Ah...Ariadne."
"Yes, the very one."
"What trouble could Viola possibly have landed in with Ariadne watching over her?"
"She coaxed the head of your European spy operation into letting her take one of her classes in the Black Art, and now she thinks she's an expert at picking locks." She snatched the letter from the center of the stack of periodicals and shook it in Con's face. "Viola has informed me she has an idea of how to find out where rival gangs are moving and hoarding their money...and, and not to worry if we don't hear from her for a while."
Con stood suddenly, settling Marianne back on her feet, and then began to pace. "Infernal damnation..."
"The boys...," she warned, and then in a husky whisper, "What are we going to do?"
Con gave her a severe look. "You're the one who's the queen of the Black Art...you can just go find that wayward girl of ours and bring her back."
"What makes you think I'll know where she is?"
"Just pretend you're back in the game. What safes and strong boxes in France would you tackle first?"
She ignored his pointed question. "What about the children?"
"My brothers and I run a business, um, enterprise with hundreds of employees in three countries. I think we can handle your three hoydens and four wild boys for a few days."
"Mine?"
"Yes. They all came from you. I remember. I was there when every squalling last one of them made their appearances."
"I'm pretty sure you had something to do with how they appeared."
"Which is why I'm the one staying here while you drag our larcenous daughter back from the Continent."
Fitz chose that moment to run past Marianne and attach himself to his father's leg like a small, determined bear. "Don't fight with Mummy," he begged, and pounded on his father's iron-hard thigh. All the while, the newest Irish wolfhound, young Lugh, raced in frantic circles around them, barking maniacally.
Con changed in an instant to the soft-hearted papa she'd known him to be for eighteen long years. He reached down and scooped up Fitz as if he weighed nothing, cradling the boy close to his chest, where Fitz promptly leaned his head into his father's neck and stuck his thumb into his mouth. "Don't worry, Poppet. I learned long ago not to fight with Mummy. She cheats." Lugh retreated to his plump bed by the fireplace.
Fitz raised his sleepy head long enough to protest, "No, she doesn't." He laid back against Con's chest until his eyes finally shut in sleep. Con headed toward the stairway up to the nursery, waggling his eyebrows at Marianne as he passed by.
She sighed and sat back down to her desk, dipping her pen into the inkwell. She'd write to Ariadne and warn her she was coming to Paris in a week to rein in Viola. If she could find her.
* * *
If you enjoyed the story of Con and Marianne, don't miss our next installment of the Bow Street's Most Wanted Series - The Four Horsemen.
* * *
Famstone Dyer fears nothing but hunger, because constant craving renders a man weak and vulnerable.
At Ma Dyer's baby farm, he endured starvation, torture, and fought fellow orphans under duress in a human cock-fighting ring. He refuses ever to be vulnerable again.
Being sold to a notorious gang leader along with his three brothers was the beginning of a new hell, but they learned how to survive and how to lead others in every criminal endeavor imaginable.
Fam's specialty? Problem solver to London's wealthiest citizens. An unwanted suitor needs to be warned off? An embarrassing relation needs to be locked away? A runaway daughter needs to be found or a degenerate son permanently lost? For a price, Fam Dyer and his gang solve the problem, no questions asked.
Ethan Hawkworth Polston is a disgrace to his family, unapologetically so.
His preference in bed partners and his debauched lifestyle are a source of disgust to his father, the Marquess of Stroud, and rage for his elder brother, the heir. Their greatest fear is the scandal Ethan may bring to the family name, despite his brother's own brewing scandal of outstanding gambling bets.
Nonetheless, Ethan finds himself kidnapped and held captive in the St. Giles home of Fam Dyer, one of the notorious Four Horsemen of the London stews.
Supposedly, he's being held for ransom, and when his father pays the required amount, the money will be split between the gang and Ethan's brother. Ethan suspects there is more to his brother's plans than money. Fam Dyer has been hired to make him disappear.
Lord Ethan Hawkworth Polston is a loud, arrogant, demanding bundle of misery. Fam's gang demands he send the captive back after three days, ransom be damned.
Fam has his own reasons for wanting to rid himself of the carnally appealing creature whom he wants with a hunger no food can appease. Ethan is determined to so annoy his captors, they'll release him, but a mad attraction to Fam Dyer means he may never want to leave.
Will Fam make Ethan disappear, or give in to his own fierce longings and submit to a mutual incendiary lust that leads to love?