Read Online Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) by Eileen Dreyer - Free Book Online Page A

abruptly getting to his feet, “I will need to go to London to see the Prince Regent. He will not refuse to help me protect the title. I will not forfeit everything this family has built up because of one traitor.”
    Alex stared. He had been so stunned by Ian’s death, he hadn’t even considered the ramifications. If it was proved that Ian as Viscount Hawes had committed treason, all titles, lands, and possessions belonging to the marquessate could well be forfeited.
    “He is not —” Fiona objected, rising as well.
    One cold look from her grandfather silenced her. “After I see to that business,” he said with a sharp nod, “I must contact my new heir.”
    Fiona, her eyes bright with unshed tears, abruptly looked up. “Ian was your only heir.”
    The marquess glared down at her. “Not only. Only, unavoidably, the nearest. It would have been far better if he had never been found.”
    Without another word, the marquess stalked from the room. And Alex was left alone to bear witness as Fiona, in perfect silence, broke her heart against the rocks of loss.
     
     
    Near Richmond
    “He’s dead, then,” the gentleman said, never slowing his pace as he strode across the harvested field, a Manton shotgun broken over his elbow.
    Alongside him a thinner, younger man attempted to keep up in boots not meant to be scuffed on the jagged remnants of broken wheat. “We assume so, sir.”
    The older man stopped so suddenly that his guest almost caromed off him. “You assume ? Why does that not comfort me, Stricker?”
    Stricker wished he could wipe his brow. Even with the autumn chill, he was suddenly hot and uncomfortable. “We’ve searched now for almost two weeks, sir. No one could have survived that sea. No one.”
    “What about the flask he is supposed to have had?”
    “He had it. He took it from my belongings. It is also lost.”
    The older man looked off, as if able to pull up the scene. “Then it is either at the bottom of the Channel, or Ferguson has it.”
    “And he is at the bottom of the Channel.” It was all Stricker could do to keep from fidgeting. “Believe me, sir, I had reason to make sure. If Ferguson could have proved the thing had been in my possession, I would have been hung. So I have as much reason as you to make sure.”
    His companion turned on him. “No, Stricker,” he said, his voice too quiet for Stricker’s peace of mind. “You do not. You don’t have the welfare of this empire on your conscience. If Ferguson manages to throw a spoke into this plan, we could lose everything, and what would happen to us then? You think the French Revolution cannot happen here? Do you? Just leave that fool prince in charge another year, and you’ll see.”
    For a long moment, the old man was silent, the furrow between his graying eyebrows deep. Stricker held absolutely still. He knew what happened if a person displeased these men. He had met their pet assassin once. He didn’t want to again.
    “Consider this, though, sir,” he finally said. “Even if Ferguson survives, we have so discredited him, no one will believe him, no matter what he says.”
    The older man nodded absently. “How is your arm healing up?”
    “Fine, sir. Almost back to form.” As if he’d tell the old goat if it weren’t. Damn Ferguson for his quick reactions. The blackguard had damn near shattered his elbow.
    “Excellent. Go back and make absolutely certain that neither Ferguson nor that flask ever show up again. Get whatever help you need. I will determine when you have looked long enough.”
    Waving to the loader who followed a good twenty paces behind, the old man accepted two shotgun shells, slipped them into the barrel, and snapped the gun closed. Stricker was about to step back when the man abruptly swung the shotgun right at his chest. Stricker’s instinct was to shriek and fall. Instead, knowing exactly what that would cost him, he stood stock still.
    Lightning fast, the older man pulled the gun a few scant