It was well after dawn by the time Stephen made it back to the offices of the RR Coaching Company in Gracechurch Street. He arrived via the rear lane way, pulling his mount up near the stables.
After dismounting his horse, he handed the reins over to the company’s one and only employee, Bob.
The craggy, old stable hand took one look at the blood stains on the front of Stephen’s shirt and screwed up his nose. “Rough night, Sir Stephen?” he inquired.
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Bloody nobles—can’t keep their tools in their trousers.”
Bob had worked for the rogues of the road long enough not to ask for further details. He pointed in the direction of the main building. “His grace, the Duke of Monsale, and some other members of the company are upstairs in the office. I was instructed to ask you to join them once you arrived. Oh, and Lady Alice is also here.”
Stephen glanced at his disheveled clothing. The fabric had dried but the metallic odor of the marquess’s blood remained.
The sooner I am out of these clothes the better.
While bloodstained clothes weren’t anything his friends hadn’t seen before, Harry’s wife was a different story. He was not going to greet Alice in this state.
His long legs took the stairs leading to the company offices three at a time. On the landing, he reached for the door handle then paused. He put an ear to the door. There was not a peep to be heard from within the room on the other side.
“Why is Alice here at this hour?” he whispered.
Because something is wrong.
His nerves suddenly tingled with premonition. It was rare for the RR Coaching Company directors to meet this early in the morning. Monsale, for one, never rose before the hour of ten. Not unless there was a crisis.
And they are all here, including Alice.
Taking a deep breath, Stephen took a firm hold of the handle and pushed open the door. The vision which met his gaze set his pulse racing.
Lord Harry Steele, Lady Alice Steele, The Honorable George Hawkins, and the Duke of Monsale were assembled around the weather-beaten, grand table, which took up much of the main room. Heads turned in his direction as he stepped through the door.
True to form, his fellow rogues of the road furnished him with their customary stony faces, but when he looked at Alice, a shiver of dread slid down his back.
Her eyes were teary, and her face flushed. The tremulous smile she offered to him, a portent of doom.
Definitely bad news. Bloody hell.
Stephen gave a quick bow. “Lady Alice. Please excuse my state. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here at this hour. Give me a minute to change, and I will be with you all shortly.” He took a step toward the hallway and his room.
Monsale nodded. “Of course, take your time, my friend.”
Stephen stopped dead in his tracks.
What the devil? Monsale never speaks to me like that, never uses that tone.
He spun on his heel and faced the gathering.
All the company members were present this morning. All except Augustus Trajan Jones. Gus had sailed to France two days earlier, and if all had gone to plan, he should be on his way back to England onboard his yacht theNight Wind,a cargo of contraband brandy safely hidden below the weather deck.
Stephen looked from Monsale to Harry and then to George. “Gus?” he managed in a voice barely above a whisper.
The mere thought of the smuggler’s ship sinking somewhere in the English Channel or heaven forbid him having been captured by the customs militia filled Stephen with fear.
Gus.Sweet lord, please no.
What would he do if this was the news?
Lord Harry rose from his chair and came to Stephen’s side. He placed one hand on his shoulder, the other held out a folded and sealed letter. “I am so truly sorry, Stephen. It’s your father. His lawyer delivered this to my house an hour ago. Apparently, it was the only address they had for you.”
Stephen’s shoulders sagged with relief. Gus was alive and well. He took the note, then without a second glance tossed it onto the table. His father could wait.
