Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

G reenwich, England

September 1825

The sharp sound of two rapiers colliding rang out through the early morning mist. A shrouded figure dressed entirely in black faced off with a sailor who had decided to pick a fight with the wrong man.

Drake stood in the shadows of a nearby oak as he watched the interaction take place. He had long heard of the prowess that Flavian Davies possessed on the dueling field. This morning he'd decided to find out for himself.

He had to admit that his technique was practically flawless. It was clear his opponent was outmatched. He just didn't seem to know it yet.

The odd thing that struck Drake was the fact young Davies never fought without his concealing attire. From head to toe, he was like the grim reaper moving through the cloudy haze covering the field. But instead of a scythe, he acquired souls by the nick of his steel blade. Except that was another curiosity. He never challenged anyone to a duel. He was always the recipient of someone's ire for one reason or another. And he never once took a life. The most he did was draw first blood until the seconds standing by called the match. Generally, it was Davies who was the victor.

Stop playing with him and end this debacle. Drake wanted to shout his annoyance, but neither did he want to distract either opponent. He held no loyalty to either of them, but he held the belief that any duel should be fair. He had dealt with too many crooks and thieves over the course of his three and thirty years to appreciate honesty.

Years before, he hadn't been so forgiving, eager to gain what he was due and be damned with the consequences of his actions. It wasn't until he'd spent some time on the sea that he'd stopped to wonder if the life he'd been living thus far had been worth it. Yes, he'd had power, wealth, and the reputation to back up his actions. And yet—something had been missing.

He had traveled extensively, living an unburdened life most dreamed of, and he was still restless, unsatisfied.

Perhaps that was why he had gotten up before dawn and made his way to this abandoned stretch of land to observe a match that had nothing to do with him. Curiosity was the single thing that had propelled him to come here. He refused to think of it as desperation for a life that had no meaning.

His brow furrowed when the sailor fell to the ground and Davies poised his weapon directly in line with the man's throat, as if this was the one time he might break his rule and end a miserable existence.

"Leave today or next time I might not be so generous."

The raspy voice rang out clearly as Davies tossed his weapon away but something caused Drake to frown. There was something… off about the tenor. He had heard Davies talk before and it certainly wasn't with the same inflection. He could be speaking out of theatrics, which would make sense considering the circumstances. Or there could be another reason.

Intrigued despite himself, and likely because he had nothing better to do, Drake decided that the matter might be worth further investigation. It had been some time that he'd been able to solve a mystery and he had the time and the efforts in which to accomplish most anything. If he wanted to learn a scandal within the royal household, it would be no issue for him to find enough fodder to do so. Then again, Prince George IV had no trouble offering enough outrageous behavior for the gossips to use against him.

As the duel reached its conclusion and the opponent limped from the field in defeat, Drake's focus was on the couple heading in the opposite direction. The furrow between his brows deepened because it looked as though Davies was having a heated discussion with his second. It struck him as odd because although there were times of discord in high tension times like this, Drake found it curious that there was anything wrong with the way the tide had turned. Unless, of course, Davies wanted to end this particular life and was instructed not to do so.

Drake wondered what had caused the duel in the first place and decided that the best place to try to uncover the mystery surrounding Flavian Davies, he needed to go to the Coach and Horses pub where he'd first learned of this morning's entertainment. Without anything else to occupy his time, Drake adjusted the cap on his head and lit a cheroot as he strolled away.

* * *

As soon as they were safely ensconced inside the dark carriage, Fleur Davies ripped off the hood of her costume. Her hands were shaking but it had nothing to do with the fact she could have easily lost her life or a limb. She was furious at the man sitting across from her. Flavian was her twin brother, the last of the family she had left, and yet there were times she wanted to run him through with the sword everyone thought he wielded in these ridiculous duels.

"This is the last time, Flav! Do you hear me? I'm not cleaning up after you anymore. I shouldn't have to put my life on the line because you find this all a lark."

He removed his hood and tossed it to the side. Although Fleur shared certain characteristics with Flavian—the height and slim build, which made it possible for Fleur to convince everyone that she was her brother—their eyes were the marked difference. She had green like their late mother, while Flavian's were brown like their sire.

Unfortunately, that wasn't where the similarities ended between her brother and their late father. Both liked their drink and they enjoyed the company of women. Syphilis had put their father in his grave, and while Fleur wasn't privy to her brother suffering the same illness, he was well on his way to leaving this earth sooner rather than later. Fleur never knew if it was their mother's death that had caused their father to spiral into such a dark existence, but she wasn't about to see her brother meet the same end. She would fight with her every last breath to ensure he didn't. He was all she had left in the world.

The problem was that while she was working at the Greenwich Hospital School teaching Latin to the orphans of maritime soldiers, Flavian had plenty of time to get himself into mischief. At four and twenty, he was younger by six minutes, and Fleur was tired of feeling as though she was the elder sister by years when it was a matter of chance that she had been born first.

"I'm sorry," Flavian grumbled. "I told you it was a misunderstanding."

"Yes. Aren't they all?" she snapped. After facing her toughest opponent to date, she wasn't in the mood to humor Flavian at the moment. She was still trying to shake off the misgivings that had taken hold of her the moment she'd arrived at the field that morning.

She had the strangest sensation that she had been watched, and yet, she hadn't noticed anyone else around.

Normally, Fleur didn't dare brush back the curtain of the carriage, not wanting to take any chances that she would be seen but something compelled her to glance out. The moment she did her breath caught on a gasp.

"What is it?"

She ignored her brother's query as her focus fixated on the man standing next to a nearby tree. She saw him grind out a cheroot beneath his heel, the last of the smoke expelling from his mouth. He wore a cap pulled down low over his forehead, but not so far as to conceal prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. He exuded mystery and danger and she felt a shiver of unease trail up her spine. The worst part was the piercing manner of his stare as he looked at their passing vehicle. It caused her to quickly let the curtain fall back into place.

"What's wrong, Fleur?"

Her brother's insistence made her look at him in annoyance. Letting out a heavy sigh she said, "Nothing that concerns you. Just promise me that you will do your best to remain hidden for the rest of the day while I'm at the orphanage. Do not cause any more trouble for me than you already have."

With that, the interior fell silent. She knew that Flavian was brooding, and while she might have been harsh, she didn't care. He had to learn to curb his excesses or she would be forced to let him accept the consequences of his own actions. She had covered for him for months and the notoriety they were starting to gain was not something she was comfortable with. Flavian, on the other hand, was eager to please the public and when they started to place wagers on who would be the victor in his next match, he was happy to comply because part of the proceeds ended up in his pockets.

Fleur had never wanted to take Flavian's place on the field, but she knew that he wasn't any good with a sword, while she had learned to fence, among other things, after their father had passed. The only thing her brother did was lift a bottle to his lips.

She didn't want to become bitter toward her twin. They had always been close because they knew they only had each other to rely on, but she was tired of trying to struggle to make ends meet when the frustrations became too much to bear. They had made their way from Birmingham to Greenwich because Fleur hoped the smaller village and the change of scenery would help to curb her brother's excesses. Thus far it had not. She was starting to wonder if it might take a serious injury for him to see the deadly game that they were embarking upon.

The carriage pulled up into the inn yard of the Coach and Horses. There were a handful of people who knew the true identity of the figure behind the dark shroud. The innkeeper, Joseph Evans, the stablemaster, Daniel, and George, their coachman. If it wasn't for the consideration of these three men, Fleur wasn't sure how she might survive the scandal that would ensue if the truth were ever uncovered. It would surely ruin her reputation and most certainly that of Flavian. She couldn't comprehend the level of his despondency should he be branded a coward who allowed his sister to fight his battles.

Once the carriage stopped, Fleur put back on her concealing hood and then jumped to the ground. She was eager to don her gown once more and act as though she hadn't just deceived her opponent and his second, but the rest of the pub who were eager to learn the outcome of the morning. She gritted her teeth, despising their enjoyment and the slight sense of pride that shot through her when they praised Flavian when it was her prowess that they were commending without knowing the truth.

A secret back room in the stables was where Fleur and Flavian kept their costumes. As she removed her hood and flung it into the trunk, she prayed that she wouldn't have to wear it again anytime soon. Preferably never again, but she knew that miracles didn't happen overnight.

Nevertheless, as Flavian joined her and tossed his hood into the trunk next to hers, he looked contrite. But then, he generally did each time. His guilt lasted long enough for him to get in trouble again. "I promise I won't let my temper get the better of me again."

Fleur's mouth twisted bitterly. "I've heard those excuses before, so forgive me if I can't put much faith into them now."

Flavian hung his head as he turned and shuffled over to the door leading back into the stables where he would wait for her to change.

Fleur told herself not to allow her heart to be made heavy by his actions. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, and yet, his vulnerability tugged at her heart. If he could find a proper lady to care for him and love him as she'd done all these years they'd been on their own, Fleur knew that was the only way she might hope to have a chance at a normal life without all of this intrigue.

She set those thoughts aside and put on her gown. The light blue cotton was starting to show signs of wear, her undergarments and petticoats were thin and patched several times. At least her corset and small bustle were still in good order. Nevertheless, it wasn't as though she had a wealth of funds at their disposal to buy new garments. She was given a decent wage for her work at the orphanage but it was her brother's spendthrift habits on women and drink that kept them at poverty level. Thankfully, their modest cottage was provided by Joseph Evans at a rent that she could actually afford to pay.

Considering the dire straits, Fleur considered taking a second position as a serving maid at the pub but the idea of listening to the constant innuendo and allowing the rowdy gentlemen customers to fondle her at will did not settle well with her. She had always tried to live a proper life, perhaps to compensate for the wild oats that her brother thought it so necessary to sow.

Fleur was still winding her hair up into a knot, pinning it on her head when she left the stable room and gave her brother a stern warning. "Do try to curb your excesses today, Flavian. I shall see you this evening."

With that, she headed toward the school.

* * *

Drake was sitting at the bar nursing an ale in the Coach and Horses when his quarry walked in from a back entrance. Davies exchanged a few words with the innkeeper, Mr. Evans, and then he walked over to a table and slouched down into the chair. A drink was set before him, but he reluctantly waved away the offer.

Drake found this curious behavior for someone who had just won a duel; he'd have thought Davies' victory would have had him riding high.

Grabbing his tankard, he walked over to the table and took a seat across from Davies without being asked to join. The man's brow instantly furrowed and he opened his mouth just as Drake withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket and asked smoothly, "Are you a gambling man, Mr. Davies?"

The frown deepened. "How did you know?—?"

Drake shuffled the deck with a slight upturn of his lips. "I know a great many things. I used to live a life that demanded it. Most of the time my knowledge was dependent on life or death."

His companion crossed his arms and gave him a hard look. At least, Drake was sure that was what was intended, but he wasn't intimidated by the younger man. In fact, Drake had yet to come across an opponent that struck true fear into his chest. He'd lived the life of many men by the time he was twenty-one and never expected to make it that far. "I wish to be left alone."

As he spoke the words, Drake could see the sweat starting to bead on Davies' brow, his focus intent on the deck that Drake held. "I don't think so." He signaled the serving wench and she sauntered over with a seductive light in her eyes. Drake was not interested in what she had to offer at the moment. "A drink for my new friend, if you please. Put it on my tab." Davies started to halt the maid's progress, but Drake added, "Surely you are thirsty after your efforts on the field this morning."

Immediately the boy tensed. "What would you know of it?" He glanced down at his buff trousers and white shirt, worn blue waistcoat and jacket as if he were still wearing the black shroud from this morning.

"I'm not passing judgment on your actions," Drake said with a shrug. "As I said, I was once like you." The maid returned and set a tankard of ale in front of Davies before she walked away, but not without bending forward and offering Drake a glimpse of the shadowed valley of her breasts.

Again, he ignored her in favor of the opponent before him. If Davies was intent on causing havoc with everyone he met, he had yet to make Drake's acquaintance.

"Who are you?"

Drake snorted. He considered not answering, but since he doubted the pup knew his name, nor the reputation that proceeded it, he answered truthfully. "You can call me, Mr. Porter." He held up the deck. "Would you care to deal, Flavian?"