Chapter 2

Rolland Reese dismounted from his horse, feeling the tender skin on his injured shoulder pull and burn from the movement. He hadn't predicted the thief's violent temper and utter disregard for a lady. What was it she had struck the thief with anyway? An art case? Some sort of misshapen traveling bag? What mattered was not her weapon of choice but the unconscionable circumstance. If Rolland hadn't pulled her out of the way in time... he grimaced, the cruelties of war twisting his imagination. He couldn't stomach the idea of a man abusing a woman, even if it meant reinjuring himself.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and fingered the two missives he'd received on his first hour upon reaching land, assuring himself of their presence. Thank heavens he hadn't lost them in the morning's scuffle. The first was postmarked two weeks ago, the second not two days after, from his good friend, Evan Lewis—in code, no less. Ciphering the message was easy enough since the pattern of letters had been created by the two of them and their friend Marcus, now the Duke of Westmorland, in their Oxford days together. The three of them had become involved with Lord Cadogen—the former Masked Baron—in an underground intelligence group to aid their country, and since then, Rolland's life had never been the same.

Rolland had followed the instructions exactly, with the exception of the detour to turn the rather foul-mouthed thief over to a constable, which had cost him a few hours, and arrived at Lewis's home by midmorning. He looked up at the unpretentious town house far enough from Cheapside's thoroughfare that there was no noisy hustle and bustle. A servant came to take his horse's reins, and Rolland relinquished them and made his way to the door. An older butler stooped with age and in dire need of retirement welcomed him inside and led him to Lewis's study—a tidy room lined with rich walnut shelves bearing a variety of books and fascinating trinkets. Lewis was the only man he knew who had a collection of jigsaw puzzles and an even rarer Japanese puzzle box. The collection encompassed who Lewis was and brought with it a wave of nostalgia for the time he and Rolland had regularly been in each other's company.

Lewis stood from behind his desk upon the sight of him. "Reese, you made it safely." His blond hair was the same cropped length above his ears that it always had been, and skin as fair as ever. For a man who took life seriously only ever on the rare occasion when someone mentioned his departed mother, his smile was noticeably tight.

"It's true what the letter said, then?" Rolland asked.

Lewis's shoulders visibly relaxed. He came around the desk and shook Rolland's hand with a firm grip of friendship. "How like you to skip niceties after two long years of absence. It's good to see you again."

"Forgive me. It's wonderful to see you again. It's just been a long morning."

"I can imagine." Lewis pointed to a seat and shuffled back around the desk to his own chair as Rolland took the offered one. "The missive you're referring to is correct. A secretary appointed to join Lord Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna has been killed. He had no family, no ambitions, no reason for his demise. From what we can tell, his death served to reiterate a message—the letter attached to his body stating who would die next." Lewis paused before adding, "Included in the short list of names is your father."

Rolland swallowed. He couldn't believe there was a death threat on his father's life. Since the Treaty of Chaumont earlier that year, his father had campaigned tirelessly for peace across the country. What kind of enemy had he acquired?

"He and your mother are safe with the duke at Ashbury Court for now, but the threat must be eradicated with all haste. We cannot have such turmoil at home."

"Not when the entire European world depends on a peaceful outcome at the upcoming Congress of Vienna," Rolland finished for him. "Whoever this murderer is, he doesn't want Great Britain to have a strong presence there. Have you examined the letter thoroughly?"

"Do you doubt the astuteness of your friend? I assume you refer to the clue: Be aware, reason rejects artfully clever killers ."

"I would think it almost poetic if the first letters did not spell out my father's title. He's the next target, isn't he?"

Lewis dipped his head. "Marcus and I believe the same."

"When do we leave for Westmorland?" Rolland needed to be there as soon as possible to help protect his father, and delivering the thief to the constable had cost him precious time. He had to believe his father would be safe until Rolland reached his side.

"There's more you should know." Lewis came around the square desk and leaned against it. "There's to be a house party upon our arrival. The guests have all been invited to stay the month, so your grumpy objections about parties being a waste of time will not change a thing."

Rolland grimaced. "Was this my parents' idea?" Father had hinted heavily at a political marriage for Rolland in his correspondence. "They would insist I wed the moment I return despite the fact that there is a murderer on the loose." He resisted growling, but only just. Throwing a woman into his life was the last thing he needed at the moment.

Without his permission, an image from this morning passed behind his eyes: chestnut-brown curls framing high cheekbones, expressive brows and brilliant amber eyes, and the short moment he'd gripped the beautiful stranger in his arms. He blinked, trying to push the distracting image from his mind. He was dead to such feelings of attraction... wasn't he?

The war had torn his soul from him, hardening him in a way only a fellow soldier could understand. But could he deny experiencing an unusual stirring in his chest during their brief and harried encounter? Of course he could. The idea was utterly ridiculous. A man didn't devote himself to his country only to change his mind because of a stranger. Certainly, between the threat against his father and the thief, his thoughts were expectedly addled.

Lewis interrupted his internal argument. "I cannot say what your parents' reasons to agreeing are, but the house party was the duke's idea."

"Marcus? Why would he want to host so many guests so soon after his own wedding?" It made no sense to Rolland, but then again, he had yet to be leg-shackled.

"The party is for your father's sake, of course."

Rolland frowned. "I don't understand."

"Just remember Marcus is heavily to blame when I tell you. You see, we've invited all possible suspects responsible for the secretary's murder to spend a month with us at the duke's home."

"You've what?" Rolland lurched forward in his seat.

Lewis held out his hands. "It's rather brilliant, if you think about it. Everyone is clamoring to know the new duke. Not only does Marcus hold a powerful political card, but Society will value anyone who associates with him. Not to mention his influence will be an asset if, say, one of them finds themselves in trouble." Lewis paused for effect. "We will have them right under our noses, and I wager we will find the culprit the first day. We'll send everyone home after the scandal and enjoy the rest of the month with just us old friends."

A groan came out, and Rolland tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, exasperation warring against his thin line of patience. "Either brilliant or incredibly foolish. You realize how many things could go wrong?"

Lewis's grin widened. "Not under our watch."

With Bonaparte exiled and the war over, they shouldn't be in the middle of another crisis. Rolland had hoped England would remain stable enough to afford its people a measure of peace. Instead he'd returned to find English citizens wreaking havoc at home. His gaze met Lewis's. "Even with all the expertise in the world, there is more risk than I would like."

"We'll see this through by your side," Lewis assured. "And who knows? Perhaps there will be more to this party than the thrill of danger. We could even find you a bride at the ball to satisfy your parents while we're at it. There's no harm in mixing a little business with pleasure after what you've endured."

Rolland ignored the reference to his suffering and the mention of a bride. His friend meant well, but that didn't mean Rolland wanted to have a discussion about either subject. It wasn't romance his father had in mind; not just any woman of good birth would do for marriage, and Rolland wouldn't be persuaded to shirk his duty. For this reason, he'd told no one about his future arranged marriage or the details of his injury. Why invite others' opinions—or, worse, their pity?

The sliver of softening he'd experienced while having an attractive woman in his arms this morning dissipated instantly as he steeled himself to accept the future meant for him. He'd decided long ago to put the risk of love and loss behind him and resign himself to a greater cause. His friends would learn of his situation soon enough, but he wasn't in the mood to go into details. He procured a bored look instead, masking his tumultuous feelings. "You aim to find a murderer and a bride in one night? I wouldn't want you to overextend yourself."

Lewis laughed outright. "I'm not one to resist a treasure hunt, no matter how complicated."

His friend was too predictable. "Perhaps this time you should."

"Nonsense. I owe you at least one favor. Why not two?" Lewis's eyes held his, promise reflecting there.

Rolland was seized with sudden gratitude. The kind word of loyalty was stronger than the threatening cloud hovering over him. It seemed no storm of the soul could withstand the power of friendship. But he'd been doing things on his own for a long time now, and it was hard to accept the reassurance. "Just one favor this time, all right?" he joked—however strained it was—and stood. "I don't want to use them all up in one fell swoop."

"I'll make sure she's a beauty. Would you prefer a brunette or blonde?"

His growl finally escaped. "You can stop now."

Lewis laughed and gave him a mock solute. "Aye, Captain Reese."