having pursued him to Devon. He’d been both enraged and astonished at Becky’s audacity, but had realised that with her love of money and excitement Becky would jump at the chance to get involved in an intrigue. The complication of finding a woman to employ, willing to risk abduction by a gang of smugglers, had been removed; Luke had realised he’d find no better candidate.
Becky was a competent actress; in fact, had she stayed in London rather than tracking him a hundred miles, she would have been treading the boards in Haymarket as Desdemona. Thankfully, Luke had no further need to be anxious whether his mistress would measure up to the job of impersonating a duke’s daughter. He wished he’d never mentioned anything about it to her as she’d boasted from the start that she’d make him a fine accomplice. She’d be disappointed to be sent back to town earlier than expected. But sent back she certainly would be now, because her following him had been the final straw as far as Luke was concerned.
As Luke proceeded rapidly towards the huge oaken doors set at the end of a quiet marble hallway the butler materialised to hand him his coat. Before he could quit the house a young woman called his name, causing him to pivot about.
Lady Joan Morland hastened down the last few stairs, causing the ancient manservant to raise a disapproving eyebrow at his master’s eldest child.
‘Has Papa persuaded you to get our scheme quickly over with?’ Joan whispered once at Luke’s side. Joan knew her father would be annoyed to find her apprehending his business associate to grill him for information. But as the business concerned her Joan was of the opinion she was entitled to know about it.
‘No...he has not,’ Luke replied after a moment’s consideration. ‘We’ve failed to agree on some matters so somebody else will take over my role if your father decides to carry on with the plan.’ He bowed and proceeded to the door.
Joan looked crestfallen to hear the news and trotted after Luke. ‘That’s a shame—that odious man is becoming a terrible nuisance. He has beaten up two of our estate workers because they informed against him supplying a dreadful batch of brandy that was so strong it killed people. Now everybody is too scared to even mention his name in the village. But we are not! He’ll not browbeat us into putting up with his rampage.’
‘Has Collins ever seen you?’ Luke asked.
Joan shook her head. ‘Not as far as I’m aware. I don’t go out much... Papa doesn’t like it. But I’m not frightened of such as Collins! I’ve told Papa he won’t keep me indoors, hiding away.’ Joan sighed. ‘Really I’d like to move back to London where it’s gay and there’s lots to do.’
Luke allowed a slight smile. She might be young—still a teenager, her father had told him—but she had pluck.
‘Collins’s luck will run out. I imagine the authorities must be closing in on him and will apprehend him quite soon.’
‘People in these parts have been saying that for over a year and still he carries on as he pleases.’ Joan dismissed the notion of an early arrest. ‘A Lieutenant Brown of the coast blockade was found clubbed in a lane, close to death,’ Joan said. ‘I think we all know who is responsible for that! And even more kegs of brandy have washed ashore this week...so my maid told me...’
Luke gave an answering grimace that conveyed he wasn’t happy to hear the news, but wasn’t surprised by it. ‘I have to be going now,’ he said, bowing politely and giving the young woman a smile.
Lady Joan was trying to prick his conscience and tempt him to again become embroiled in her father’s harebrained plot to lure Collins into the open so he might be caught. But in Luke’s opinion the duke, being self-opinionated and arrogant, was underestimating the wily intelligence of his foe. Collins was no fool and Luke knew he and the Duke of Thornley would never see eye to eye on how to go about things. Without full control, but with the responsibility of the mission’s outcome squarely on his shoulders, Luke couldn’t carry on. Besides he had pressing matters elsewhere to deal with.
He wasn’t looking forward to his meeting with Drew Rockleigh. But the matter that was threatening their friendship had to be dealt with before he returned to the metropolis.
‘Are we travelling back to London later today?’
‘You are...’ Luke said with a smile. Turning to the mirror above the fireplace in the inn’s private parlour, he began deftly folding his neckcloth while meeting Becky’s gaze in the glass.
‘It’s too bad of the duke to cancel this escapade.’ Becky bit into her toast with an irritated little sigh. ‘He should allow me my fee. I want a new hat.’ Becky watched Luke’s broad back as he shrugged into his tailcoat.
‘He didn’t cancel it. I did. And I’ll give you some spending cash, sweet, don’t worry.’ He wasn’t the only mercenary in the room, Luke realised, suppressing laughter in his throat. But he preferred mistresses who were content with sensual satisfaction plus a generous allowance that allowed them to shop freely, without demanding more of his time and freedom than he was prepared to give. Unfortunately, Becky had been pushing the boundaries of her role. Their last few visits to the opera had seen her becoming tediously jealous, watching his movements around other women. He knew it was time to end their relationship and would do so when he returned to town. He blamed himself, in part, for her stalking him. He’d told her his destination, if nothing else about what business was taking him to the West Country. But he’d never imagined that she’d have the outrageous cheek to come and check up on him.
‘Will you return to Eaton Square soon?’ Becky knew Luke was still reining in his anger over her unexpected appearance, so sounded quite meek.
She had never set foot inside Luke’s Mayfair mansion. As his mistress she’d never be invited to do so and to pay an impromptu visit would be tantamount to professional suicide. No distinguished fellow would pursue a liaison with a courtesan who proved to be an embarrassment to him and his family. Of course, Becky was aware that Luke had few living relatives to upset. He was an only child and his paternal grandfather had outlived both of his parents, but that was the extent of Becky’s knowledge of her lover’s history. And she knew better than to chivvy for more details of his past.
Becky liked a challenge and had boasted to her friends that she could hook the ‘soldier of fortune’ as he was nicknamed. And she had. He’d taken her under his protection and set her up in Marylebone almost five months ago. She’d no wish to see their affair come to an end. Luke Wolfson’s rakish reputation and his gypsy-dark good looks were irresistible to Becky. But she was a seasoned paramour and recognised the signs of a man preparing to bed hop. She’d noticed him responding to a flirtatious redhead at Vauxhall in that quietly amused way of his. But Becky wasn’t too bothered about her, or any demi-rep who had a yen for Luke Wolfson. It was another, serious, rival who had her rattled.
‘The London Season will soon be underway...’ Becky tried another tack to discover Luke’s plans as he’d grimaced his indecision in answer to her earlier question.
‘What of it?’ Luke asked, turning from the mirror.
‘Will you stay permanently in town for the Season?’ Luke had a vast acreage in Essex. Becky guessed he had a chère amie in the countryside to keep him company on his long absences from her bed. But a fat-ankled milkmaid didn’t bother her, either.
‘Perhaps... Why do you ask?’
‘Harriet Ponting has arrived in town with her mother.’
‘And?’ Luke’s expression remained impassive as he straightened his shirt cuffs.
‘Oh, you know what’s expected of you!’ Becky cried, covering her pretty features with her palms. ‘Her mama has been spreading rumours for ages that you are ready to pay court again to her eldest daughter.’
‘Is that right?’ Luke murmured distantly, with an expression that Becky, peeking behind her fingers