The Mark of a Rogue (Scandalous Sons 2)

“Then in our story, Arthur and Guinevere will share an abiding love. Their sons will rule for generations, and the kingdom will prosper.”

Lawrence exhaled a soft sigh. If only life were as simple as stories. “Would that we might manipulate all events to suit our purpose, Miss Vale.”

“But then we might never have met. I would have made sure my cousin never joined that disreputable club.”

The mere mention of her cousin brought Lawrence crashing back to reality with a thud. When he returned to London, he would investigate the men who marked their chests and called themselves the Brethren. It was too late to save Charles, but not too late to ensure the woman riding beside him had no need to fear a masked rogue.

“It’s just a little further along the lane.” Miss Vale’s voice dragged him back to the present. “The house with the iron gates.”

They navigated the lane in silence for a few minutes before the large shadow of a building came into view. With the place shrouded in darkness, Lawrence felt the need to see her safely to the front door, upstairs and into bed.

“Fool,” he cursed silently. “Would you prefer I left you here, Miss Vale?” An unmarried lady would not want her servants spreading ugly untruths. “Only men up to no good escort women home in the dead of night.”

“I’ve put you to enough trouble this evening. We will part ways here, Mr Trent.”

A pang of disappointment hit him in the chest. The sooner he left this woman the better. “Might I ask one question before I depart?” He needed specific information relating to the

other guests invited to the house party in the country.

“Of course.”

“Regarding the masked rogue. Do you recall the names of the male guests in attendance that weekend? Do you recall which men spent time with Mr Vale?”

The lady pursed her lips whilst thinking, but he saw a darkness sweep across her features. Clearly, the memory brought discomfort. “All men or just those who might be the blackguard?”

“Those whose physical description might match the man who entered your chamber uninvited.” He had tried to keep his tone even, but she may well have heard the murderous edge to his voice.

She nodded. “Then I would name Mr William Duffen, Mr Phillip Wincote, Lord Sellwood and perhaps Lord Layton’s youngest son.” She recounted the names with ease. No doubt she had imagined one of these men as her attacker during those restless hours before sleep.

“John Layton?” The man was a known rakehell and an arrogant prig. He often attended the parties of the demi-monde, as did Wincote.

“Yes, John Layton.” She looked down at him from her mount. “What do you intend to do, Mr Trent? For if you are to make enquiries, perhaps I may accompany—”

“No, Miss Vale, you may not. Your place is here in comfortable surroundings with people you trust.” He would work at night, visit places unsuitable for a lady. And if he found any evidence to suggest foul play, he would bring the devil’s wrath down on them all. “But I shall send word should I find anything of interest.”

A tense silence ensued.

Hell, he would give anything to know what she was thinking.

“Then may I have your direction, sir? So I may inform you of any new developments here.”

What? So she might arrive at his door armed with her steely blade? But what if curiosity—a clawing need to save other women from a similar fate—brought her to town? The rogue knew who she was, would enjoy the sport of ruining an innocent. Worse still, what if she stumbled upon evidence of a crime, evidence of corruption?

“I have a townhouse on the corner of Hind Street and Manchester Square. Alternatively, you may send word to Mr and Mrs Wycliff on Bruton Street. You may rely on Mrs Wycliff for her discretion, though I advise you give notice should you wish to call. The couple married only this morning.”

Miss Vale’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, Mr Trent. I’m sure I shall have no need to trouble you, but it pays to be informed.”

Lawrence peered through the gloom to the imposing manor house at the end of the drive. Miss Vale was not short of funds. It answered his question regarding marriage. A woman of means did not need to shackle herself to a man she didn’t love.

“Bar your servants, do you live here alone?”

“Yes. I have a few relatives. None are close.”

“Might you grant me one more request, Miss Vale?” he said as a sense of foreboding held him rigid. “Will you bring a candle to the window so I might know all is well indoors?”

She placed her hand to her heart. “Of course.” Perhaps she found his request touching. “Good night, Mr Trent. You may leave knowing I shall not tend Mr Farrow’s grave again.”

“Good night, Miss Vale. I shall write to you of my findings.” Lawrence handed her the reins. Their fingers brushed lightly, though the sensation sent a jolt straight to his loins.