At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

“Yes, but this will matter if you decide to return to the manor.”

“Go on,” Miles said with some trepidation.

“The gossip is that you and Lord Lovell’s sister are lovers. Apparently, you conduct your secret liaisons at that stone monument on the estate.” Drake snorted. “It’s ludicrous. You’ve only been home a matter of days. But I imagine his lordship won’t be best pleased. Name me as your second if he calls you out.”

Bloody hell!

Miles would bet his entire fortune Edwin was to blame. “One does not need to work for Bow Street to come up with a list of prime suspects.”

“No,” Drake agreed. He was about to sip his brandy when he froze, glass in hand. “Hellfire. It’s true. You have had a dalliance with Miss Lovell. You’ve got the word guilt pressed into your forehead.”

“I like her” was all he said in response. It was more than that and Drake knew it.

“Then what the blazes are you doing here?” Drake shrugged. “Well, I know what you’re doing here, but deal with the matter quickly and return home.” Drake swallowed the contents of his glass. “And hire some servants while you go about it. Unless you enjoy sweeping the grate and tending to your bed.”

The offices of Greystone Shipping were located on the second floor of a neoclassical building on Northumberland Avenue. With Mr Cardon in tow, Miles entered through the large oak doors, introduced himself to the sour-faced secretary seated at the desk and allowed the fellow to escort them to the grand staircase.

“You requested that both Stephen and Edwin meet me here?” Miles clarified as he unlocked the door and they entered the oak-panelled office. Two large desks took pride of place in the vast room. A room that boasted a portrait of his father—soon to be ripped down and burnt on the bonfire—and numerous paintings of naval scenes, and of brigs and schooners.

Miles sat on the green leather sofa flanking the fire.

“You do not wish to command a desk, my lord?” Cardon asked politely.

Miles would grant his brothers a few minutes’ grace before bringing their world crashing to their feet. And since he’d spent the night dreaming of Miss Lovell, he planned to deal with business matters quickly and return to Cuckfield.

“No. They should be seated when they receive the news. You told them twelve o’clock?”

“Indeed.”

Miles glanced at the ornate mantel clock. They were five minutes late. The hairs on his nape prickled with irritation. If they failed to show, he would hunt them down at their backstreet club and reveal the shocking news to a gathered audience.

“And you’re happy with the terms we discussed earlier?” Miles said.

“Oh, more than happy, my lord.”

“You won’t find the constant travelling between Cuckfield and London tedious?” Why would he? Miles had doubled his salary. It was worth every penny if it meant he could remain at Greystone Manor. “I will require you to act as my intermediary, though will make regular trips to town myself.”

Mr Cardon did not have time to answer. The rattling of a key in the lock drew their attention. The doors burst open and in strode Stephen and Edwin Harridan-Jones with a level of arrogance that belied the circumstances of their birth. They came to an abrupt halt upon witnessing the unexpected occupants.

“What the devil?” Stephen said, his cheeks puffed. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“With a key.”

“What key? They hang people for trespass you know.”

“Not viscounts they don’t. Mere misters, possibly.” Miles enjoyed taunting them.

Both men sauntered to their desks and dropped into the padded leather chairs.

“What the hell do you want, Greystone?” Stephen’s saggy jowls wobbled as he spoke. At three and twenty, he was two years younger than Miles, but his glutinous appetite for all things was reflected in his overly large bearing.

Edwin, sporting a black eye and a cut on his lip, struggled to hold Miles’ gaze.

With his hands clasped behind his head, Miles said nothing as he relaxed languidly on the sofa.

“If this is about the card game at the manor, then blame your steward, Gilligan,” Stephen continued, clearly disturbed by the lack of response. “He’s the one who arranged the damn thing. He’s the one who invited us.”

“I’m not here about the card game,” Miles said, the sharp, steely edge to his tone capable of cutting to the bone. “