Page 2 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (Tales from the Brotherhood #1)

Two

T he Chameleon Club was an oasis of calm and safety in a cruel world. And as an officer of the Metropolitan Police Department, Derrek Talboys knew just how cruel that world could be. He’d sauntered into the club the night before, after the conclusion of a particularly brutal investigation following the death of a pair of young lads at a factory, pretending that he hadn’t been shaken to the core by everything he’d seen and heard.

It was easy to pretend that he wasn’t scarred when he was inside the safe, pretty, marble walls of the club. He’d joined in with the carousing the night before, never letting on to his friends that he needed the drink to wash away the memory of what had been done to those poor lads. They would have been brought to trial and likely killed anyhow for their so-called sins if the other men at the factory hadn’t caught them at it in a storage room and carried out justice themselves. It was hard to tell which was the more merciful end for the two.

Instead of dwelling on it, Derrek had laughed and danced the night away, drinking too much, flirting with everyone from Lord Stanworth in his starched collar to young Christof, who worked in the kitchens and looked dashing in a footman’s livery. He’d most likely embarrassed himself before being dragged up to bed in one of the club’s guestrooms by his friend and part owner of the club, Cecil Mackworth, Viscount Thurleigh. Cecil and his partner, Austin Haythorne, had made certain he was comfortable as he slept off the spirits, and they’d greeted him for breakfast when he’d slumped his way down in the morning.

It wasn’t morning anymore, but Derrek was still at the club. He sat at one of the grand ballroom’s large, round tables, enjoying luncheon with his friends, laughing and chattering loudly with them, as if they were a flock of geese in Hyde Park, looking as if he was having a good time to the outside world.

“And then the little cherub had the audacity to look up at me with his big, doe eyes and ask, ‘Fancy tupping me around the corner?’” he said with a belly laugh as he told the story of what had happened a few weeks ago when he’d tried to get some of the prostitutes down by the docks to give up their trade and find someplace warm for the night.

Everyone laughed, and it was a bit funny. The young man had balls to have propositioned him after finding out he worked for the Met and was working to get him to change his ways before some other officer came along and arrested him. All Derrek could think about was how hungry the young man had looked and how the life had gone out of the eyes of so many of the young people who were forced to trade their bodies for food.

“They’re getting bolder and bolder down there,” Austen said as he finished up the last of his rabbit pie. The club’s kitchens had gone out of their way to provide the finest food London could produce in the months since Cecil and Austen had opened the place.

“They’re incredibly bold,” another friend, Jack Cotton, partner to the Duke of Wentworth, in every sense of the word, said as he mopped up the last of his soup with a scrap of bread. “Wen doesn’t like walking through parts of town anymore, not because he is accosted by the dregs of the street, but because he feels horrifically sorry for them.”

“I’m surprised the two of you deigned to come back to London from Shropshire at all,” Cecil said as he drank his coffee. “I thought you happy lovebirds were dedicated to living at Telford Lodge and that you never wanted to darken London’s doorstep again.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “As we’ve discovered, you cannot be a duke and stay out of London indefinitely. But as soon as business is concluded, we’re going straight back to Shropshire.”

“Maybe you should take a few of those street boys with you,” Austen said, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. “You could give them a better life out in the country than they’ll ever have here, even if they do become servants or gardeners.”

“Most of them don’t want that sort of life,” Derrek said with a deceptively casual shrug. “London is their home. They’ve never known anything else. Their lives are horrific here, but they’d rather accept that than rush off into the unknown.”

“They need to change their minds,” Austen argued.

“Go right ahead and try to change them for them,” Derrek said, taking a drink from the pint of weak ale he’d almost finished to avoid carrying the conversation further.

He admired Austen’s conscience, truly, he did. It reminded him of Joseph. But Joseph was long dead now, taken by cholera after working his fingers to the bone trying to help the most destitute of London’s East End. Fat lot of good conscience and a caring heart had done his lost lover.

Derrek swallowed hard, even though there was a lump in his throat and his glass was almost empty. Losing Joseph had been the hardest thing that had ever happened to him. The two of them had been unbelievably happy together. They were complete opposites. Derrek was brash and rough. He’d enjoyed boxing and races in his younger years. Joseph was a preacher’s son who believed passionately in helping those less fortunate than himself. He’d nearly impoverished himself giving everything he had to the poor, who sometimes deserved it and sometimes did not.

In the end, Derrek had taken him in and cared for him as ferociously as a fishwife. They’d had two good, passionate, wonderful years together. Joseph was the one who had inspired Derrek to mend his rakish ways and join the Metropolitan Police. He’d changed Derrek in so many ways.

And then he’d gone and died, sickened by his own devotion to others.

He’d left Derrek alone in a cruel world, adrift without a rudder.

“We should go down to the docks and hire some of those young men to work here at the club,” Cecil said, sitting straighter, as if struck by inspiration.

“As what?” Derrek asked. “Entertainment?”

“No, of course not,” Cecil laughed, kicking Derrek under the table. “I’d hire them as cooks and hall boys. Once they’ve proven their worth, they can rise up to be footmen and such.”

“You could even educate some of them and send them into a trade,” Jack suggested.

“If they want that life,” Derrek argued again. “I can’t imagine that a lot of them would want to give up the freedom of living rough for four walls and responsibility around them all the time.”

The others looked baffled by that statement. All but Jack, who Derrek was fairly certain had grown up in rougher conditions and knew which way the wind blew.

“Surely, there must be something you can do for them as a member of the Metropolitan Police Department,” Cecil said.

Derrek made a sound and shrugged before leaning back in his chair and spreading out. “To be honest, the Met isn’t concerned about them as people. My orders are to get them off the street and into gaols, one way or another. My superiors have hinted that if I want to rough them up a bit in the process, they’ll look the other way.”

“Aren’t your superiors supposed to be upholding the law and maintaining order and safety for all?” Austen asked with a frown.

“They do not see street trash as people,” Derrek said. “They don’t see men like us as people either, no matter what sort of money or title we have.”

He glanced at Cecil, who pinched his face in distaste. The others looked sour as well, but they all knew the truth. It was a sad and sorry state of affairs that the people who held all the power were cruel and stubborn and narrow-minded in their opinions.

“To be honest,” Derrek continued slowly, “I’ve been thinking of leaving the Met.”

The others reacted with surprise.

“You love your work,” Cecil said with a frown. “Did you not once tell me that you consider yourself to be the barrier between some people’s hopelessness and their chance at a better life?”

“That’s exactly how I see myself,” Derrek said with a nod. “Which is why I’m considering leaving the Met to go into business for myself.”

“As what?” Jack asked curiously.

“As an investigator. Perhaps as a protector of those who cannot protect themselves.”

“A personal guard?” Austen suggested.

“If you like,” Derrek said. “Though I imagine it being something bigger than that. I’m still forming the idea, but I believe I could?—”

He stopped as his and several other people’s attention was caught by a man running into the doorway of the ballroom-cum-dining room.

Derrek caught his breath. He recognized the man who had just made such a startling entrance. He was that tailor that everyone was mad about, Wilkes.

There was a reason everyone was mad about Wilkes, and it had nothing to do with the quality and style of the clothing he created for some of the most celebrated men of the ton . Wilkes was one of the most beautiful men Derrek had ever laid eyes on. Beautiful was the only word for it. He had an expressive face with fine, patrician features that were almost feminine. He was definitely male, though, only in the softest way possible. His lips were absolutely kissable and he had long lashes that framed his soulful, brown eyes.

Derrek had only met the man on a handful of occasions in the past, but he had most definitely left an impression. An impression that had led to more than a few nights of handling himself as he imagined Wilkes’s sweet mouth wrapped around his cock.

At the moment, however, the impression that Wilkes gave him was of a man in trouble who needed a savior.

He rose to his feet before he bothered to pause and consider whether Wilkes might actually want his help. Cecil rose as well, and together the two of them made their way across the room to where Wilkes stood frozen, like a deer caught out in the forest, a bag clutched to his chest.

“Mr. Wilkes,” Cecil greeted him. “How wonderful to see you here, but are you quite well?”

Wilkes swallowed. Derrek watched his Adam’s apple bob and felt his breeches tighten. Even more so when Wilkes turned his unsettled gaze on him.

“I…I am not certain,” he said, breathless and tight.

Derrek began to notice things about him then. Things beyond what he usually noticed about a man he wouldn’t mind biting his pillow. Wilkes was flushed from exertion of some sort, likely running. His cheeks were pink and his hair was disheveled. A man like Wilkes never walked around looking disheveled. Or without a hat.

There were more hints that the man was in distress. Dark spots were just barely visible under the arms of his grey jacket. His boots were dull with dirt, as if he’d run through grass. And despite the chill Derrek knew was in the air outside, Wilkes wore no sort of outer coat.

“What has happened?” Derrek asked, widening his stance and crossing his arms, determined to get to the bottom of things.

Wilkes glanced at him, and his fearful look contained the stirrings of trust. “I was just at Kensington Palace,” he said quietly. “I had an appointment to measure Sir John Conroy for a new wardrobe, or at least parts of it.” He glanced to Cecil, then dragged his worried gaze back to Derrek. “I believe I just heard him plotting to poison King William.”

Derrek’s gut tightened and he wanted to growl. Plots against the king were common enough, but to hear one coming out of Kensington Palace, one that was attached to Sir John Conroy, was another thing entirely.

“Are you certain?” Cecil asked, shock making his face flush.

“I…I do not know,” Wilkes said, shaking his head and hugging his bag tighter. “There was another man there who arrived shortly after I did. I had left the room for a moment, but I heard the other man enter and say he had obtained poison to kill the king.” He lowered his voice to a whisper at the end.

Derrek glanced over his shoulder into the ballroom and could see why. Wilkes had garnered a large amount of attention. Most of the men in the room likely knew him, and as his reputation was good, they were likely concerned for his sudden, anxious appearance.

“Come to the sitting room so that we can discuss this more,” Derrek said, extending an arm toward the hall and starting forward. He rested a hand on the small of Wilkes’s back to push him along…and rather liked the feeling of touching the man.

Cecil came with them as they went out to the hall, then down to the larger of the sitting rooms on the ground floor. As it was luncheon time, the room was empty, which saved Derrek the trouble of having to clear it out. They had their pick of several clusters of comfortable chairs and lounges to choose from.

“Tell me from the beginning what you saw and heard at the palace,” he said once he and Wilkes were seated on a settee toward the back of the room, near a window that looked out to the back garden, with Cecil in a chair across from them.

“There wasn’t much,” Wilkes said, still hugging his bag. “I was there to take measurements and to show Conroy styles and fabrics. I thought it unusual that he would ask me to attend him at the palace instead of his own lodgings.”

“He and the Duchess of Kent are as thick as thieves,” Cecil said. “More than that, if you believe the rumors.”

“Everything surrounding the king and the young princess is rumors at the moment,” Derrek said, twisting to face Wilkes more fully. “What about this other man? The one who mentioned poison?”

“I do not know what to tell you,” Wilkes said. “He must have been a nobleman, though he was not one that I’ve transacted business with or even seen. He was dressed well, and though he was young, he seemed a bit debauched.”

“Does that sound like anyone we know?” Cecil asked.

“Hard to say,” Derrek grumbled. “Did this man and Conroy discuss any concrete plans to poison the king? Times when they might attempt it? Contacts within the royal palace? Did they mention Windsor at all?”

“They did not,” Wilkes said with a sigh, sagging. “The accomplice simply said he had the poison, and they discussed how the murder must be done slowly to make it look like illness.”

“The king is ill at any rate,” Cecil said.

“He is,” Derrek said, his frown deepening.

That was the trouble. The king was ill. Oddsmakers did not think he would last until summer, let alone make it until the end of the year. Rumors abounded about Sir John Conroy’s attachment to the Duchess of Kent and that woman’s conspiracy to establish herself at the head of a regency that would give her power instead of Princess Victoria.

That was all the talk was at the moment, though. Rumors and whispers.

“You don’t believe me, do you,” Wilkes said, looking deeply disappointed.

“I haven’t said that yet,” Derrek said.

“But you do not think my story is credible.”

“It is absolutely credible,” Derrek insisted, his eyebrows going up. “I do not in any way think of you as a liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Wilkes insisted. He drooped a little, then stared aimlessly in front of himself and said, “I cannot be certain what I saw, though. The moment was fraught and I…I was frightened for my life.”

“Perhaps time will help you sort things,” Cecil said carefully. “Maybe your memory will become clearer when you are safe at home?” He glanced at Derrek.

Derrek knew when a friend was trying to throw him at a man. In the case of Wilkes, he didn’t mind at all.

“Would you like to stay at the club and have a spot of lunch?” Derrek asked. “Or would you rather me walk you home right now.”

Wilkes snapped straighter and focused on Derrek. “You’ve no need to walk me home,” he said, his cheeks pinking again. “I…I can find my way there on my own.”

If he hadn’t already been certain what he wanted to do, Wilkes’s obvious anxiety and timid appearance would have sealed it.

Derrek stood and offered his hand. “Come,” he said. “Walking you home will give me the chance to assess whether your abode is safe, should this threat be real.”

“I live in rooms above my tailoring shop,” Wilkes said, standing slowly. Derrek took his bag to carry. “It’s on Jermyn Street.”

“Then we shall enjoy a lovely walk to Jermyn Street,” Derrek said with what he hoped was a kind smile. Knowing him, he looked ghastly.

He had half a mind to offer his arm, as if Wilkes were a lady. That would have been ridiculous, though. Wilkes was certainly not a lady. He wouldn’t have been so interested in the man if he had been.

They said their goodbyes to Cecil, who said he would carry Wilkes’s best wishes to Austen and the others. Once those formalities were accomplished, Derrek and Wilkes set out into London, heading east.

“This is all rather embarrassing, now that I think of it,” Wilkes said as they walked. “For all I know, I misheard what was being said.”

“Is that what you think?” Derrek asked. “That you misheard the conversation?”

Wilkes was silent for a moment, holding his breath. Then he blew it out and shook his head. “No. I know what I heard. It was quite clear.” He glanced to Derrek. “I have no idea what to do about it, though.”

“Fortunately, you have me for that,” Derrek said, managing to smile. “Your very own Metropolitan Police officer.”

Wilkes smiled as well, which made Derrek feel as though the sun had come out. “You do not have to go to all this trouble for me. What I heard was probably nothing, a fancy only. I…I was eavesdropping where I should not have been. They chased after me, but they did not pursue me outside of the palace. This may all be for naught”

“It seems to me as though you should second-guess yourself less,” Derrek said as they walked on.

The journey didn’t take nearly as long as Derrek wanted it to. Once Wilkes began talking, he had a lot to say. The man knew everyone who was everyone in London, which was why it seemed odd that he did not know who Conroy’s accomplice was, even though he was certain it was a nobleman.

It was more than the thrill of attempting to unravel a regicide plot, though. Wilkes was simply easy to be around. In some ways, he reminded Derrek of Joseph, but that might have had more to do with the fact that Joseph had been and always was on his mind.

By the time they rounded the corner of Jermyn Street, Derrek was already thinking of ways he could spend much more time in Wilkes’s presence. Perhaps horizontally, though thinking so made him feel like the cad he was.

“I cannot clearly say whether a regency would be a good idea for the young princess or not,” Wilkes said as they completed the turn and strode on, far more comfortable than he’d been at the start of their journey. “I know very little about the princess, only that she is?—”

Derrek saw the carriage coming just in the nick of time. Its driver was swathed in a muffler and his face hidden from view. The way he whipped the horses and encouraged them to speed toward Wilkes was more than enough for Derrek to know they weren’t dealing with a runaway carriage and out of control horses.

“Get back!” he shouted, scooping Wilkes around his middle and yanking him out of the way of the near disaster.

The carriage passed so close that he felt the wind of it against his cheek. If he had not been as aware of their surroundings, he might not have been able to get Wilkes out of the way in time. The man would have been trampled to death.

“I believe you,” Derrek panted against Wilkes’s ear as he held him steady by the side of the road as everyone around them looked on and exclaimed about the poor driving and how dangerous the streets had become of late. “I believe that you overheard a plot to kill the king.”

He’d overheard one plot, and now there seemed to be another to kill Wilkes before he could reveal what he’d heard.