What a Gentleman Desires. Kasey Michaels
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of the Society.
But none of that more sordid history would ever be shared with the prime minister. It was certainly true that, because of that family history, the Redgraves were better armed to defeat the Society...but they were also more vulnerable to having that salacious history made public knowledge. That would never do!
And so, with the Crown’s help—and, truthfully, preferably without it—the Redgraves would put a stop to the Society, for reasons both patriotic and personal.
Gideon had done his part, uncovering the existence of the Society in the first place, and Kate and Simon had put an end to the smuggling. Now, with their brother Maximillien on the Continent, tracking clues on that end, it was up to Valentine to take up the trail that, once followed, could destroy the Society forever, protect the Crown from the greedy Bonaparte, and tuck the scandalous Redgrave history away once and for all.
One, two, three. As simple as that. Three paths, three goals. Except they also were three giant steps, none of them easily taken, and with deadly pitfalls strewn along the way to trap the unwary.
With scarcely any solid clues to follow, the main purpose of Val’s visit tonight was to dazzle Perceval with news of the smuggling and then quickly gather information about one thing that had been bothering him. Hopefully, Perceval would be so happy to see the back of him he’d give it to him.
And so it was a scant few minutes later, after feeding carefully selected information from columns one, two and three to the prime minister, that Valentine asked: “Who ordered the construction of more Martello Towers along the southern coast? There were to be no more, the threat of French invasion long past. And yet now, amazingly, more are popping up. Why? Is there something you haven’t told us? For shame, sir, for shame, when my brother has been so exceedingly honest with you.”
“Only a fool would believe that last statement. Besides, I’m certain I was asking the questions,” Perceval said smoothly.
Val sat back at his ease, crossing one leg over the other once more, his forearms resting lightly on the arms of the chair, indicating he was now in charge. They were both actors on a private stage, with nothing said or done without careful thought. Politics was a battle of sorts, fought with innuendo...and sometimes great fun, actually. “You were. Now, having been so marvelously cooperative, it’s my turn. Quid pro—whatever the rest of that is. I’m the second of two younger sons, and not expected to be brilliant.”
“Quid pro quo. This for that. An even exchange, although I highly suspect the latter isn’t true in this case.” Perceval’s neck turned rather red above his collar. “Very well, although this has nothing to do with you.”
“On the contrary. Redgrave Manor is located quite near the coast, if you’ll recall, and a prime spot from which to launch an invasion. If we’re to have uninvited visitors from across the Channel, we should be laying in large quantities of truffles and snails.” Valentine smiled his most mischievous smile. “Lord knows we already have enough French brandy.”
“How amusing. But very well, if you’ll promise to go away.”
“Reluctantly,” Valentine lied smoothly. “But, yes, I will go, never to darken your door again. Or would that be window?”
“Again, how amusing,” Perceval said blandly. “The additional towers are merely a precaution. A spy was discovered some months ago, thanks to a loyal subject of the Crown. Although he escaped capture, a discreet search of the man’s abandoned rooms disclosed, among other things, a communiqué written in code, detailing new plans for an invasion.”
Valentine’s mind was racing, even as he leisurely plucked an imaginary bit of lint from his coat sleeve. “My, my. And oh, dear, as well. Such disturbing news, although if memory serves me, Bonaparte has been setting his eyes eastward of late, with his presumed eventual target being Russia. Does he even have the ships and troops to attack us here?” He looked at the prime minister quizzically. “Hmm, and here’s a thought. Easily deciphered, this conveniently discovered communiqué, would you say?” Val asked quietly.
“I’ll have you know the government employs only the most talented...” Perceval sighed. “Yes, easily deciphered. I’ll admit that worried me, but not enough to disregard the information.”
“You had no choice but to react prudently.” Valentine kept his expression blank. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the prime minister by telling him, if the Redgraves were correct in their conclusions as to the reason behind the renewed construction, he and the Crown had been badly hoodwinked. So he contented himself by asking his intended question, the one that had brought him here this evening: “Who warned the government of this suspected spy? Do you know?”
Perceval was rubbing at his cheek, hard, as if to ease some pain in his now tightly clenched jaw. “Yes, not that it helps. I personally received the information via a letter penned to me by one of the king’s coterie of chums, one Guy Bedworth, Marquis of—”
“Mellis,” Valentine finished for him, knowing another hope had been dashed; he would learn nothing from the marquis. “The late Marquis of Mellis. Also, if I recall correctly, a great chum of my father’s.” And known by us to have been a member of the Society during Barry’s time...and perhaps again now, or at least until his death. “Sudden, was it?”
“Sad, that. Although perhaps fitting. He was found slumped in his favorite chair in his favorite club, you know. There aren’t many better ways to go.”
There’s one, Valentine thought, prudently lowering his eyes, that of being carefully dressed and placed in his favorite chair in his favorite club after expending his last energies in the bed of one Dowager Countess of Saltwood—Trixie Redgrave, mine own grandmother. To hear Gideon tell it—which he’d done only with the most reluctance—the worst, other than pulling Mellis’s drawers on, had been attempting to rid the man’s face of an unholy grin.
“He was also a bosom friend of my grandmother,” Valentine managed at last. Literally. “A pity then. We’ll learn nothing from him.” Only what Trixie learned concerning the Society before old Guy cocked up his toes (among other things), and that, Prime Minister, is included in Column Two: things you will never know.
“Are we through here?” Perceval got to his feet, indicating he clearly thought so, and since this was, at least for the length of his term of office, his home, Valentine rose, as well. “Please convey the Crown’s sincere thanks for all your family has done, most especially for thwarting that nasty business of shipping troop supplies to the incorrect ports. Although, when it comes to the smuggling of spies and secrets, I suppose this clever group will only find themselves another landing beach, won’t they? These are serious, frightening times, Mr. Redgrave.”
“Downright terrifying, some might say. I realize I’m being given the boot, but are you at the same time dismissing all the Redgraves?”
“How astute of you. Yes, I am. I won’t say the earl hasn’t been helpful, and will not say he has his own personal interests in mind as well as those of the Crown—”
“Ah, but you just said both.”
Perceval motioned toward the hallway. “Let it go, Mr. Redgrave. This business about the Society, as you insist on terming this particular gang of traitorous thugs, is of no especial import to anyone save your family. We are interested in much larger game now, that of thwarting Bonaparte.”
“And you see no connection between the two, even after being told about the smugglers on Redgrave land. Amazing.”
“You’re wrong again. I don’t care about the connection. There’s a difference. Of course these men must be found, and stopped, stamped out, along with any other pockets of traitors, and unfortunately, there are several.” The prime minister was beginning to look testy, not a good look on the man. “You’ve admitted you learned no more names, and in fact, by confronting the men on the beach yourselves rather than contacting me, you may have sent them all to ground, which is the very opposite of helpful, Mr. Redgrave. Do you understand now?”
“Yes, I was afraid