Chapter One
London England, 1816
As far as ideas went, Lady Tricia Riley knew this was a poor one. Absolutely dreadful was likely the better way to describe what she was doing as she picked her way along the dank alley of London’s seedy underbelly known as the docklands.
But it had been days since she’d seen her cousin, Lord Fenton Allstar, the Earl of Dryden, and her search was growing more desperate. She’d visited all the more respectable establishments and had found her cousin at none.
She’d finally taken to shadowing his old school chums and had accosted them in front of Brooks, having first attempted it at Whites and then Almacks.
They removed their toppers, scratched their heads, and declared they hadn’t seen him in days.
Stomping her foot, she’d demanded answers. Her older sister, Tabbie, would be quite proud of her, actually. Tabbie was usually far more adept as both scheming and skirting rules, but Tricia had done her sister proud.
Lord Herman Longly, one of Fenton’s closest friends, and an admirer of Tricia’s, had pulled her aside. “Lady Tricia, you shouldn’t be out like this. If someone sees you, your reputation—”
“I care not,” she had cut in.
His brow had furrowed. “How were you even able to leave your home at this hour?”
“No one is paying attention of late,” she waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought.
“I really must insist you return home at once.”
“My cousin needs my help. I won’t allow him to die for propriety’s sake.” She ignored the voice in her head that told her this mad search was less about Fenton and more about her father.
Herman had sighed. “He’s past your help. You can’t go where he is and even if you could, there is nothing you could do. He’s lost everything at the gaming tables, what little he had to begin with, and now he wishes to end his life in the opium dens.”
“Where can’t I go?” Her gloved hand had reached out to clutch Herman’s forearm. At the contact, his look turned to absolute longing as he stared into her green eyes. She refused to give up now, she was so close. And Fenton was a young man. He couldn’t perish at his age, Tricia couldn’t bear the thought of two losses.
“Tricia,” Herman used her given name as he stepped closer. “You need to protect yourself. It’s a precarious time for your family. Let me help you. As my wife, you’d be entitled to so many more liberties.”
She knew it was wrong, it was dreadful the false hope she was about to give him. But it couldn’t be helped. “I’ll consider it if you’ll only tell me where he is.”
He hesitated, a look of near pain crossing his features as he shifted from foot to foot. “He’s beyond your reach. No respectable woman can go to the docklands.”
Of course that is exactly where she had gone. She’d considered waiting for Tabbie. But in the end, time was too precious and once Tabbie and Luke arrived back from their country estate, her eldest sibling would have her hands full with Mother, and caring for Father, and most likely settling the estate.
And so Tricia had gone on her own. She’d told herself that Tabbie would have done it and so could she. But now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure.
It smelled foul, that was the first thing she’d noticed. It was dirtier in every way possible than any other part of London and the language coming from the mouths of sailors made her cringe, though she tried to hide it.
These men looked rough and worn. She had a miniature of her cousin in her reticule that she clutched in her fisted hand. She’d thought to show it to people in the hopes one might recognize Fenton, but she wasn’t sure she dared to ask a single passerby. And so she stood, rooted to the entrance of an alley where she might remain unnoticed.
Finally a man that looked as though he could help her came by. He was well dressed, balding, and rather portly as he walked quickly by, glancing over his shoulder.
Tricia stepped out to flag him down. If nothing else, he looked approachable and she’d get nowhere if she didn’t ask someone.
Several men exited what appeared to be a pub across the street. Tricia gave them a quick glance as she stepped out. Their clothes were finer than most she’d seen on the street but their loud tone told her they’d imbibed a good deal of spirits. Ignoring them, she called to the gentleman as he passed, “Excuse me.”
She saw his head jerk. He’d heard her. But he paid her no mind as he moved faster down the street. It briefly occurred to her that she’d never seen a man of his size move with such speed.
Tricia bit her lip. It was a nervous habit of hers that her mother detested. She’d left the safety of the alley and was now exposed as the group of men spotted her, their whistles and calls making them difficult to ignore.
“What do we have here?” one leered her way.
There was nothing to do for it now, Tricia realized. She may as well pluck up her courage and speak to them. “Hello, gentlemen.” She took a breath. “Perhaps you can help me. I am looking for someone.” With trembling fingers she pulled the miniature from her reticule.
“Oh I can help you,” the same man said, his leer growing more sinister. “A pretty thing like you, I could help over and over.”
Several of his companions laughed and the nervous knot in the pit of her stomach grew tighter.
Another member of the group approached her and she resisted the urge to back away. She’d be brave now. “I’ll help ye too, lass,” his Scottish brogue was pleasant to the ear, though the look on his face was anything but. It was twisted in hard lines, his eyes dark and dangerous.
“I’m looking for this man. Have you seen him?” she asked as she held out the miniature.
The Scot barely glanced down before he shook his head and moved closer. “Ye don’t need to find him. What ye need is a man that won’t leave ye alone like ye are now. It’s a dangerous place, ye ken. A lovely little thing like you could fall into the wrong hands.”
Did he jest? The only thing dangerous that she could see was him. Before she could respond his hand reached out and gripped her upper arm like a vice. “He…he…didn’t leave me alone. I just need…need to find him.” Tricia’s breath came in short gasps. The fear was making her near sick. She wondered if she heaved on his shoes, he might let her be.
His breath stank as he leaned in close and his other hand began grabbed at her waist, pulling her closer. “What a sweet morsel like you needs is—”
“What she needs is for you to take your hands off of her,” a deep baritone growled from behind her. But before she could turn and look, the barrels of two pistols came into the periphery of both sides of her vision.
“Now, I didn’t mean no offense.” The Scot removed his hands and, raising them both in the air, took several steps back toward the group of men he’d peeled away from. “But ye ought to mind yer woman. She shouldn’t be in a place like this all alone.”
“No, she shouldn’t.” The deep voice rumbled behind her again.
Her breath was still coming in tiny gasps because while the danger in front of her had abated, she had no idea w
hat trouble was just behind. But she knew that trouble held two pistols.