Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

London, England

September 1803

I t pained Isabella Astley to admit it.

But her mother had been right.

Everyone spoke in hushed whispers about the wickedness that took place in the dark walks of Vauxhall Gardens in a way that made them sound more exciting than dangerous. Illicit rendezvous! Moonlit assignations! A chance to be swept off your feet by a dashing stranger!

What she had found instead was not so much as romance as… copulation.

Another feminine moan, this one sounding decidedly feigned, came from the trees on her left. It was accompanied by a rhythmic slapping of skin upon skin and followed by a strangled male cry.

Now, Izzie may have been a virginal young miss. But she was a curious virginal young miss who had bribed a housemaid years ago to explain what happened between a man and a woman.

In other words, the source of all that moaning and thumping wasn’t exactly a mystery.

She crept along the path, searching for the way out. The dark walks were, for lack of a better term, dark , as they were bereft of the famous colorful lamps that illuminated most of the gardens. But she could make her way along the graveled paths well enough by moonlight, at least right now, when the moon was peeking out from behind one of the shifting clouds.

Up ahead, a trio of ladies turned the corner, heading straight for her. Izzie quickly ducked off the path, scurrying behind a tree.

As they strolled past her hiding spot, she saw that they were ladies only in the informal sense of the word. Even by moonlight, she could tell that their lips and cheeks were brightly painted and that the one in the middle’s hair was an improbable shade of red.

A man—a gentleman, based on the cut of his coat—approached the trio. He took the hand of a woman with curly blonde hair and led her off into the darkness. The cacophony of coupling that ensued was by now familiar. Izzie had seen a half-dozen similar transactions, including two with men she recognized—Lord Ipswitch, whose dissolute reputation was apparently well-deserved, and Andrew Milner, who happened to be one of the Members of Parliament representing her home county of Gloucestershire. Izzie had been surprised to see Mr. Milner there, as he was known for being a high stickler and had won his seat by contrasting his own upright behavior with that of the former incumbent, who was said to consort with the family governess.

The other two women continued along the path. Izzie was preparing to emerge from behind her tree when a deep voice from the woods behind her made her jump.

“Are they gone?”

“I think so,” a man with a Scottish accent answered.

Izzie was debating whether she should stay put or flee when the Englishman said, “So, how soon can you deliver the guns?”

That had her ducking back behind her tree. Guns? What did they mean, guns?

“Look, Cooper,” the Scotsman said, “I havnae decided whether I’m going to do this or no.”

“Damn it, MacDonald. I promised I would deliver two hundred guns by the first of October.”

“Well, that’s not my problem, now is it?”

“I’ll make it your problem,” the first man growled. He paused, clearing his throat, and when he spoke again, it was with a forced joviality. “Come on, now. It’s just two hundred guns. The army won’t even miss such a trifling amount.”

Izzie clung to her tree with white knuckles. So, they were talking about stealing guns from the army. Wasn’t that… treason?

“And I’ll pay you a pretty penny for your trouble,” the first man continued. “You’d be a fool to pass up such easy money.”

The Scotsman gave a bleak laugh. “Oh, yes, such an easy decision, it is. Excepting the fact that now I know who those guns are intended for. That’s the part I can’t stomach.”

“You’re in too deep,” the first man growled, dropping the effort to sound cajoling. “You’ve already sold me two shipments.”

“That was before I knew who you were working for!” the Scotsman protested.

“That’s too damned bad. If you don’t make this delivery, your superiors are going to receive an anonymous tip about where those weapons you wrote off as damaged upon receipt really wound up.”

“Don’t do this to me,” the Scotsman pleaded. “I made a mistake. I don’t want to be involved with the—”

“Well, you are involved,” the Englishman snapped, cutting the Scotsman off before Izzie could learn the name of his employer. “And you’re going to deliver those guns tomorrow, or I’m going to ruin you.”

“All right,” the Scotsman muttered. “But I don’t know that I can come up with the full two hundred by tomorrow.”

“How many?”

“I can probably manage fifty.”

“Fifty. Good. Same point of delivery as last time.”

“All right.” The Scotsman’s voice was dejected.

“Good. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Boots crunched against the bed of autumn leaves carpeting the forest floor. Tamping down a squeal, Izzie scurried on tiptoes in a circle around her tree, trying desperately to stay out of sight as they passed.

Just as the first man reached the graveled path, she stepped on a stick, which broke with a sharp snap.

“What was that?” The man who had just emerged from the grove—the Englishman—spun around, facing straight toward her. Izzie had only managed to get halfway behind her tree, but she had no choice but to freeze where she stood. It was dark thanks to the shadows cast by the branches above, but any trace of movement would surely give her away.

The moon was out, but Izzie couldn’t make out his face beneath the brim of his hat. He was of average height and slightly bulky with sloping shoulders.

“What was what?” the Scotsman asked, stepping clear of the trees. He removed his hat to wipe his sweaty brow. He was both taller and skinnier than his companion, with light hair and boyish features.

“Thought I heard something.” The Englishman was scanning the cluster of trees. Izzie held her breath as he turned toward her hiding place. He did not pause while making his sweep of the trees. That meant he hadn’t spotted her.

Didn’t it?

“Let’s get out of here,” the Scotsman muttered. “I’ve a long night ahead of me to be alone with my guilty conscience.”

Grunting, his companion turned and the two of them finally made their way down the path.

Izzie let out a gasping breath. Overhearing men plotting treason was more excitement than she frankly wanted out of her adventure in the dark walks. An adventure she now wanted to come to an end.

Izzie counted to twenty before emerging from behind her tree. Shaking a stray leaf out of her skirts, she hurried toward the front of the gardens. She’d had quite enough adventure for one evening, thank you very—

“Well, well, well,” a reedy voice said. “Would you look who it is?”