All Men Are Rogues Read online

  Sari Robins

  All Men Are Rogues

  For Mom and Dad

  Always in my heart, my thoughts, and my deeds.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  “You cannot just kill the girl,” Justin argued impatiently.

  Chapter 2

  Evelyn Amherst tilted her chin to the ocean’s blue sky…

  Chapter 3

  One week later Evelyn found herself sharing tea with her…

  Chapter 4

  Evelyn stood at the top of the white marble staircase…

  Chapter 5

  Evelyn’s bottom was going numb. She shifted in the hard…

  Chapter 6

  Justin jumped from his carriage and bounded up the stairs…

  Chapter 7

  “Devil take it!”

  Chapter 8

  With the sunshine of a beautiful day to warm her…

  Chapter 9

  Justin ran the hard-bristled brush down Cheshire’s flanks and followed…

  Chapter 10

  “So you see, Miss Amherst, you must consider your future,”…

  Chapter 11

  As the horses meandered down the lane, slipping into the…

  Chapter 12

  Evelyn tossed another log onto the fire and inhaled the…

  Chapter 13

  Justin threw his cards down, disgusted. “She is not involved,…

  Chapter 14

  Justin tugged at a knot in Cheshire’s tail, intent on…

  Chapter 15

  The midday sun was high in the sky as Evelyn…

  Chapter 16

  Justin raked his hands through his hair for the thousandth…

  Chapter 17

  Perspiration lined his brow and soaked his armpits, his breath…

  Chapter 18

  “I cannot even stand to look at the man’s face,”…

  Chapter 19

  Shah raced in from Justin’s chamber, a hunk of cheese…

  Chapter 20

  Evelyn could not sleep. She lay on her pallet, staring…

  Chapter 21

  Justin woke near dawn; at least he thought it was…

  Chapter 22

  Two days passed, and for Evelyn it was like an…

  Chapter 23

  Justin tore through the rain-scored blackness, his battered body barely…

  Chapter 24

  Evelyn was shaking so badly that she thought her teeth…

  Chapter 25

  Sully knew he was dying, and he was not much…

  Chapter 26

  Justin awoke from his nap with a cold sweat blanketing…

  Chapter 27

  Evelyn alighted from Justin’s carriage, thankful to be out of…

  Chapter 28

  Voices whispered in the darkness, but Evelyn had no wish…

  Chapter 29

  Evelyn stared up at the dilapidated dwelling that looked exactly…

  Chapter 30

  “No, Justin. You cannot go,” Evelyn insisted. Fear was like…

  Chapter 31

  Justin hobbled down the long, carpeted hallway, every muscle in…

  Chapter 32

  Just as the blood ran through his veins, the pain…

  Chapter 33

  The sun hovered on the brink of morning as glittering,…

  Chapter 34

  Hours later, after having sorted through the facts and cleared…

  Epilogue

  Sitting down on the sturdy tree limb, Evelyn adjusted her…

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  1813

  “You cannot just kill the girl,” Justin argued impatiently.

  “Why not?” The colonel shrugged, sipping from his snifter of brandy.

  Justin pressed his lips, staring down at the heavyset figure sitting deep in the leather armchair before the fire. It always amazed him how a man so callously devious could look like your most doting grandfather. Between his shaggy mane of snowy white hair tied at the nape of his neck, his broad nose, wide, thick lips, and big bushy brows, the man could easily pass for Father Christmas. He was only missing the sprigs of holly in his hair.

  “She could be a complete innocent in the matter.”

  “War has its casualties,” the older man commented negligently.

  The fire’s heat against Justin’s back could not suppress the sudden chill crawling down his spine. Caught in the flickering light from the candles, the colonel’s ridiculous collection of miniature porcelain goblins and ghouls mocked him from the mantel above the fireplace. With their beady eyes, rapacious mouths, and thorny talons, they seemed to take rapt delight in the ruthless conversation.

  Justin ran his hand through his short hair. “I still say it’s not a sound strategy. To eliminate her means we lose any opportunity of using her as a source of information.”

  Colonel Wheaton scratched his long white sideburns, staring into his brandy as if to discern all the world’s secrets. “She’s the daughter of a traitor. As far as I’m concerned, it’s dangerous not to eliminate her.”

  “He was not murdered by one of our operatives. How can you be certain that he had turned? He could have uncovered the plot and been trying to stop it.”

  Justin paced before the mantel, wondering why the fire added no warmth to the elegant chamber. Frustrated, he threw on another log, and sparks flew up, dancing in the flames. The scent of cloves drifted into the room. For as long as he could recall, the colonel had always added spices to his hearth. And each of the past four winters, since Justin had begun working with the man who managed the great network of spies, he had received a bag of spices from the colonel for the holidays. As if to say, Although I deal in unpleasant matters, I still appreciate the small pleasures in life. Justin always gave the expensive seasonings to his man of affairs. He did not want that scent or any other part of these clandestine activities to enter his home.

  Wheaton shifted in his seat. “All signs point to Amherst, and we cannot take any chances with his daughter. Napoleon’s stratagem is set for seven weeks from now. We must do everything we can to halt that chain of events.”

  “Exactly. Which is why we must discern anything the girl might know. Can you imagine how much she has ascertained living with Sir Phillip Amherst and Sullivan?”

  “Granted, Sullivan is still out there.”

  An idea took shape in Justin’s mind. “He may yet attempt to contact her.”

  The older man pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Now, there’s an interesting possibility.”

  “She could be the perfect lure,” Justin offered enticingly.

  “But how do we get the chit to cooperate?”

  Justin repressed his shudder, recalling some of the colonel’s previous efforts to extract information from unwilling informants.

  “Don’t be so squeamish, Barclay. Makes me think you’re losing your edge.”

  Justin shifted his shoulders, careful not to let the old man see how sharply his comment had cut. When it came to the nasty games of intrigue, a man’s actions bore more weight than ten titles, something Justin appreciated, despite the devious scheming. Although few had the colonel’s audacity to breathe the words, some with the Foreign Office, Justin knew, wondered about his sense of duty simply because he was a peer of the realm. It was appalling and did not speak well of England’s nobility.

  Justin kept his voice level. “You’re the one ready to cut off your nose to spite your face. I know that you and Amherst have a history. And it does look like he turned. But we have a potential cat
astrophe on our hands, and now is not the time to settle old scores. We must cover every corner. Hedge every bet.”

  The other man’s steely blue eyes narrowed. He did not take kindly to criticism.

  Justin sat down in the chair opposite him and leaned back, assuming a pose of ease and confidence, when he was feeling anything but. He stared at the glowing embers of the fire. His work with the Foreign Office was all his own, and earned on merit, wholly separate from his birthright. Still, he was growing weary of the twisted maneuverings, the often senseless bloodletting. He sometimes wondered how the old man was able to sleep at night, sitting in judgment as he did. It was sensible to learn everything the Amherst girl knew. There was so much at risk, and they had little enough information to go on.

  “Gain her trust. Bring her back to England. Let her believe she’s returning to the safety of home.” Justin sipped his drink nonchalantly. “She will not even know that she’s cooperating with the authorities while we use her to trap Sullivan. In the meantime, we get her to tell all she knows.”

  Wheaton smoothed his beard thoughtfully with his meaty hand. “The girl’s been dragged halfway around the world with her accursed father and Sullivan for years. It’s not like she’s just going to start blabbering to the nearest fern about secrets and plots to destabilize the British economy.”

  “All the more reason she will want some security, some constancy in her life.”

  Wheaton sniffed. “Still no word from Simon?”

  Justin shook his head.

  “Well then, it’s up to you.”

  “Peterman is much better suited to the job. He’s charming enough to talk the unmentionables off the vestal virgin.”

  “He has other fronts to man. You gain her trust and get the information. In the interim, try to draw Sullivan out.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why not?”

  Justin clenched his fist, trying hard to extricate himself from this tangle. “I cannot befriend the girl. It is impossible to get near her without raising Polite Society’s attention. She’s the daughter of a knight, for heaven’s sake. It’s unseemly—”

  “A young lady of marriageable age and good connections,” Wheaton interrupted. “Your mother will be in heaven.”

  That was exactly why Justin did not want to get near any lady who was not a gray-haired matron. His mother was difficult enough without giving her something to chew. He glared. “I will not do it.”

  Steely blue eyes locked with his. “Then you are signing her death warrant and losing your own proposed golden opportunity to stop the conspiracy. No one else is better suited to the task, and I need you handling it. Our premiere spy has gone missing. Another turned traitor, and you want to hand the job off to someone else? I think not.”

  A cloak of righteous anger settled around Justin’s shoulders. He had never before allowed his covert activities to leak into his private life. Yet the colonel always knew which levers to press.

  “Fine. But if she is a traitor, I will handle it.” No one would dare claim that he had gone soft.

  “Good.”

  Tense silence enveloped the room, save for the crackle of the fire.

  The old man set his glass on the table. “She arrives in Southampton two days hence.”

  “Where is she planning to reside?”

  “I have made arrangements for her to stay at Belfont House.”

  Justin’s simmering anger flared. “You presumptuous bastard.”

  “Calm down.” Wheaton raised his gloved hand. “She’s actually a distant relation of your aunt’s. Her closest relation, in fact, living in Town. And we need her in London.”

  “You assumed that I would take the assignment,” Justin charged.

  The colonel shrugged. “It’s not in your nature to ignore an opportunity to gather information and balance the scales of justice.”

  How could Wheaton claim to know him so well when he was such a stranger to himself? Was he a ruthless spy desperate for answers or the marquis of Rawlings in need of siring an heir? Or was he simply a specter of both?

  “Collect the chit at the harbor. Say your aunt sent you.”

  “And what then?” He cocked his eyebrow. “Waltz with the girl until she sings?”

  “Think of another enticing activity. She’s still in mourning.”

  Justin stared at the callous man sitting before him. Sometimes he did not know which was harming Great Britain more, Napoleon’s schemes or his own countrymen’s machinations to stop him. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, inhaling the comforting scent of leather. He had to end these games spying for the Foreign Office and fulfill his obligations to his title, to his family. This madness had to end. But while Napoleon reigned, he feared it never would.

  He rose and donned his hat. “Send word if you learn anything,” Justin added tersely as he strode out the door. He could swear that he heard the porcelain ghouls’ haunting laughter hounding his footsteps all the way down the long, carpeted corridor.

  Chapter 2

  Evelyn Amherst tilted her chin to the ocean’s blue sky and closed her eyes. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, warmed her face, and heated her body through the dark, thick layers of her mourning clothes. A drop of sweat trickled down her side under her chemise. All good things in moderation. Sighing, she opened her parasol, immediately creating a cool haven of shade on the busy dock. She wondered how much longer she would wait before venturing out on her own to find her cousins. She frowned. Cousins she knew no better than strangers. Well, they were kind enough to welcome a long-distant relative in need of sanctuary. Moreover, she had little choice in the matter, for now.

  She inhaled the salty air, trying to relish the vast greatness of the sea before she left it behind for Town life. The quay reeked of the rancid odors of rotting fish and human refuse. It amazed her that everyone seemed to just step around the mounds of waste piled high and go about their business. One and all seemed to have a purpose, even the men shouting uproariously as they tossed dice against a large stack of wooden crates. Evelyn would have liked to watch the game more closely, but the unsavory appearance of the participants and the sour odor of unwashed bodies kept her close to her piles of luggage.

  Shah, her Turkish maid, perched on one of her trunks, suspiciously watching the industrious movements of the seamen. She clutched her black bag to her thick middle as if it would guard her against the English infidels. Ismet, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the pandemonium around him. The brawny servant leaned casually against a wooden crate while picking at his darkened fingernails with a knife blade. But only a fool would take his careless pose for anything but the guarded wariness of a trained fighter.

  As usual, Evelyn felt like a misfit. Even the most brutish men seemed to step around her and her baggage, respecting her haven of space amidst the chaos. Perhaps it was the severity of her ensemble that kept them away. Head to toe in mourning black. Yet she was comfortable in the severe clothing. It cloaked her with identity and, at the same time, anonymity. She was a young lady in mourning, not a woman on a mission to save her life.

  So much depended on her visit here in London, her very future hung in the balance.

  “Pardon me.” A young man in green-and-gold livery stood submissively beside her. “My lady, Miss Amherst?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “The marquis of Rawlings awaits you in his carriage. If you would follow me, please?”

  “Rawlings?” She pursed her lips. “I am not acquainted with such a marquis.”

  Ismet casually sidled closer.

  “The marquis of Rawlings, earl of Hatteford.”

  She shook her head.

  “You are to stay at Belfont House with Lady Fontaine. The marquis is her nephew. Sent to collect you.”

  Still she did not move.

  He blew out an impatient gust of air. “He is the son of Lady Barclay, first cousin to Lady Fontaine, who is the third cousin to your mother, Mrs. Amherst.”

  Mollified, she nodded. “But
what of my possessions?” She was loath to leave the only things that tied her to any sense of family and home.

  The young man turned and gestured to three men in similar livery standing nearby. “These men will conduct your things to Belfont House in a separate carriage.”

  She nodded and lifted her reticule and parasol. “Ismet, Shah, gelmek,” she called them to follow.

  Heaving a large duffel over his shoulder, the burly, dark-skinned Turk rushed to her side. Her wide, squat maid hopped from the trunk and followed suit, carrying her large black sack like a shield. Together they made about as un-English a trio as ever there was.

  “If you would allow me?” The liveried servant motioned to Evelyn’s reticule.

  “No, thank you.”

  He frowned but turned and moved ahead toward the carriage.

  The young man led them, single file, through the controlled pandemonium of the docks, circumventing the thick spiraled lines, assortments of cargo, boxes of squawking chickens, refuse, seamen, and other obstacles in their path. By the time they reached the waiting carriages bearing the marquis of Rawlings’s austere coat of arms, Evelyn was desperate to rest her stinging feet. Her new shoes pinched her left heel and rubbed against her ankle, raising small blisters. What she would have given for her dog-eared kid slippers. But Shah had insisted that looks were more important than practicality to the English nobility, so Evelyn had resigned herself to wearing the torture devices.