How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy

Book 0: Renegade Royals

by Vanessa Kelly

Genres: Historical Fiction; Regency Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Whether as spies or lovers, the Renegade Royals—illegitimate sons of England’s Royal Princes—are bold, skillful, and a force to be reckoned with… A war hero returned from Waterloo should be able to indulge in a bit of bad behavior. Instead, Captain William Endicott is summoned by his father, the Duke of York, to investigate an assassination plot. The unlikely suspect: William’s former sweetheart. Will can’t believe that innocent Evie Whitney could be mixed up in anything so nefarious. Then again, almost everything about Evie has changed—except for his body’s instinctive response to hers… Just as Evie’s life is finally coming together, Will saunters back into it. Should she slap him—or seduce him? Even as she tries to decide, scandal pushes her toward marriage with a man she can neither trust nor resist—and into the heart of a deadly conspiracy… Praise for Vanessa Kelly’s Renegade Royals series “Will definitely resonate with fans of Mary Jo Putney and Joanne Bourne.” -- Booklist “Kelly combines diverting dialogue, delightful surprises and finely tuned pacing to make this a winner.” -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Release date: January 6, 2015

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 398

Sample

After paying off the hackney driver, Will glanced up at the elegant town house on Upper Wimpole Street. He’d been to Sir Dominic Hunter’s home three times in the last four years, when he’d been in London on Wellington’s orders to share intelligence with the powerful spymaster. Although Dominic had initially recruited Will into the ranks of the Intelligence Service, it hadn’t been long before he’d facilitated Will’s transfer to the duke’s staff of exploring officers—military men with the skills to draw maps, gather intelligence, work with local guides, and avoid capture by the enemy.

Dominic had selected Alasdair, too, plucking him from the Black Watch and transferring him to Wellington’s staff. Alec had been a perfect fit for the job as a military intelligence agent. He spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese, could sketch like a bloody engineer, and was as crafty as the devil himself. The spymaster had also suggested to the duke that Will and Alec partner on the majority of their missions, even though the usual way of things was for exploring officers to work with Spanish guerrillas who knew the terrain and the local politics. But Dominic had been insistent that Will and Alec work together, and Wellington had eventually agreed.

Why Dominic had been so intent on the partnership was a bit of a mystery, but the spymaster was known for taking a close interest in the lives of the illegitimate children of the royal princes. Aden St. George, for one, a former captain in the Royal Dragoons and one of Dominic’s best spies, was a by-blow of the Prince Regent. It hardly seemed coincidental that three royal bastards had been recruited into England’s spy service. Will often thought that Dominic had a secret purpose in store for him, and for Alec and Aden, too.

Of course, the war was now over, so what Dominic wanted hardly mattered anymore. No more skulking behind enemy lines, wearing absurd, filthy disguises, and taking risks that could have landed Will in a French prison. No, that part of his life was finished. He had other ambitions now, ones that would not be served by continuing his work in espionage. While men from good families had served in the Intelligence Service during the war, it was hardly looked on as a respectable profession for an officer and gentleman.

Will wanted a respectable life and career, one that would allow him to overcome the stigma of his parentage and his modest financial situation. In order to do that, he had to leave his current life far behind.

He came out of his reverie when two middle-aged women, their parasols taking up most of the sidewalk, sailed by. One made a pointed reference about “ill-mannered soldiers.” Will stepped hastily back, just missing a poke in the eye from one of the absurdly frilly parasols.

When the older of the women threw him a withering glance, he responded with his most charming smile and tipped his hat with a flourish. The woman sniffed and muttered “Jackanapes” loud enough for him to hear, and he was hard put not to laugh. God, it was good to be back in England. Here, the greatest danger he faced was getting poked in the eye by a parasol or receiving cutting looks from the doyennes of the ton.

Grinning to himself, he ran up the steps of Dominic’s house and lifted the knocker. The door swung open to reveal a plainly garbed, older man, one of Dominic’s former field agents who now worked in his household. He took Will’s hat and gloves and then turned him over to the butler, who had appeared as if by magic from the back of the house.

“Ah, Smithwell, still sneaking up on everyone, I see,” Will said, twitting the solemn fellow.

“I leave sneaking to the lower orders, Captain Endicott,” Smithwell replied with magnificent disdain. Smithwell loved to play the role of starchy butler, even though he had once been one of Dominic’s more ruthless operatives. “Sir Dominic asks that you wait in the morning room until he is ready to see you.”

Will sighed, knowing he might be waiting for some time. Dominic was often called to deal with urgent matters on a moment’s notice, and he was not someone to be rushed. This meeting seemed like a waste of time anyway, since Will had no intention of accepting any mission Dominic might try to thrust upon him. In fact, today would be the day that he tendered his resignation from the spy game, once and for all.

Smithwell led him to the morning room that faced onto a small garden behind the house.

Will paused on the threshold, momentarily taken aback. He’d waited in this room before, and he remembered elegant but austere appointments in muted shades of blue and gray, complemented by well-made but plain furniture. Now, though, the room dazzled with yellow walls and red and yellow striped curtains that framed the large bay window. The old furniture had been replaced by plump-cushioned couches and comfortable armchairs covered in riotously gay floral fabric. It was as if the windows had been flung open and a summer garden had been transported indoors. The effect was enhanced by large vases of yellow roses, two on the mantelpiece and another on a round table in the window.

The room was so unlike Dominic, a man who rarely looked anything less than grim, that Will let out a bemused laugh.

“It’s like being in a damn lady’s boudoir isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, I’d think poor old Dominic had lost his mind,” said a familiar voice.

Will turned to see his cousin leisurely rise from a wingback chair tucked into a corner alcove filled with bookcases. “Alec! I thought you were tied at the heels to your regiment in Paris.”

Unlike Will, who’d spent the last several weeks mopping up the remnants of Napoleon’s army, Alec had marched to Paris with the troops enforcing the occupation.

“Aye,” Alec sighed. “I had a rough go of it while you were off adventuring on the frontier. I envied you, you lucky bastard.”

Will snorted his disdain. “Yes, I’m sure Paris was torture for you.”

Alec, no doubt, had taken the sojourn as an opportunity to drink and wench his way through the city. No matter where he went, women always threw themselves at his feet. Will had often been forced to save his cousin’s hide, dragging Alec off before some irate father or husband came after him with a shotgun or old blunderbuss and even, on one memorable occasion, a machete.

Alec gave him an evil grin but didn’t rise to the bait. “When did you arrive back in London?”

“Just yesterday, although I’ve been in England for a few weeks. I was visiting with Aunt Rebecca in Hampshire. I wanted to see how she was getting along after my uncle passed away.” Will still had trouble believing that Uncle Philip was dead, and it had troubled him greatly that he’d been unable to return to England in time for the funeral.

Will, the grandchild of a baronet, had been sent to live as the ward of Philip Endicott shortly after his birth. Uncle Philip, a cousin of the family, had been a prosperous gentleman, living a comfortable existence with his wife, Rebecca, in the Hampshire countryside. Childless, they had generously taken Will in, treating him as their own son and helping to minimize the scandal of his birth. Since Will’s mother had died when he was less than a year old, the Endicotts had been the only family he’d ever known. His father, the Duke of York, had begun to exert influence on Will’s life once he turned sixteen, but no one could replace Uncle Philip.

“How is your aunt?” Alec asked in a sympathetic voice.

Will shrugged. “Well enough. Uncle Philip’s nephew inherited the property and the manor house, but my aunt has been amply provided for. She’s taken a house near Basingstoke, close to her sisters.”

Alec scowled. “And what about you? Did your uncle make any settlements on you, or have you been left out in the bloody cold?”

Will glanced at the trolley next to the fireplace that held a number of decanters. “What are you drinking? Looks like we have a wait, so I might as well join you.”

He poured a splash of what he knew would be the finest cognac into a cut crystal glass. Years fighting the enemy didn’t stop Dominic from occasionally availing himself of a little French contraband.

“By the way,” he asked, wanting to avoid a discussion of his financial affairs, “what the hell has come over Dominic?” He made a vague gesture at the plush, softly feminine furniture. “This is hardly his usual sort of thing.”

Alec inspected him with a narrow-eyed gaze, obviously debating whether to pursue the conversation about Will’s present situation. There was little point and little to report. Though Uncle Philip had left him a genteel competence that was more than kind, it would hardly allow him to live the life of a gentleman. At least a gentleman who lived in London or wished for advancement in his military career.

“Sir Dominic recently married. Hadn’t you heard?” Alec’s sardonic gaze indicated he wasn’t fooled by Will’s dodge.

“I’d always thought him wedded to his work,” he replied, genuinely surprised. “Who was the lucky lady?”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I haven’t a clue, and I must say I’m not interested in the subject. And your unsubtle evasion—which, really, is rather pathetic in an agent of your caliber—suggests that your uncle did not make a provision for you. Did everything go to that bloody fool nephew of his?”

“He did what he could, but most of the estate was tied up either by the entail or my aunt’s marriage settlements.” When Alec began to curse, Will held up a hand. “Uncle Philip was more than generous, and what he left should keep me going until I can get a promotion or a position in one of the ministries.”

Alec let out a sigh and dropped into an elegant but fragile-looking chair. It creaked alarmingly under the impact of his imposing frame. “I wish you would let me help you, laddie. You know I have more than enough.”

More than enough was an understatement. Alec was heir to a wealthy Scottish earldom, of which his grandfather was the current titleholder. Under Scottish law, titles could be passed down through the female line, and Alec’s mother—now long dead—had been the only child of the Earl of Riddick, and dutifully married when she’d had her brief affair with a royal duke. Along with Alec’s aristocratic lineage came a generous allowance, one that he’d always been willing to share. But Will refused to take charity from his cousin, loath to become his or any man’s dependant.

“And you know I’m not going to do that.” Will swirled the amber liquid around in his glass before taking a swallow. They’d been over this a hundred times, and the outcome was always the same.

Alec’s frustration was evident. “Well, don’t blame me if you end up in the poorhouse.”

Will laughed. “I won’t. Now, why don’t we change the subject?”

“Suit yourself.” Alec’s amicable tone set Will instantly on guard. “While you were in Hampshire, did you happen to visit with any of the local gentry?”

Christ. His cousin was truly incorrigible. “I didn’t have the time.”

Alec raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “You couldn’t find one wee minute to stop in and visit with old friends? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” he said with a clear warning note.

Naturally, Alec ignored it. “How sad that you didn’t have time to drop in on your old friends, Viscount and Lady Reese. I believe they have daughters, do they not? Twins, I think you said.”

After setting down his glass on a ridiculously pretty and fragile table, Will propped a shoulder against the mantelpiece. “You do realize I can still take you?”

Alec let out a guffaw. “Try it, and see how far you get. Now, back to the lovely Reese daughters and when you plan to see them. One in particular, I should say.”

“Christ, man. You saw the girls once at a review, hundreds of yards away. And that was three years ago. You have no bloody idea what they look like.”

When Alec started to argue, Will seriously contemplated hauling his cousin into the garden and giving him a bit of home-brewed. After his financial situation, Will’s least favorite topic was Miss Evelyn Whitney, his childhood sweetheart for lack of a better term. Not that he would ever use that word in describing her. In fact, he rarely talked about Evie at all. But he’d apparently said enough over the years to give Alec an indication of his feelings for her.

Or, more correctly, what his feelings for her used to be. Evie was part of the past—a fondly remembered past, but one that no longer had any bearing on his life.

The fortuitous entrance of Smithwell spared him from having to forcibly shut his cousin’s mouth.

“Finally,” Will muttered as the butler ushered them upstairs to Dominic’s study.

“Coward,” Alec muttered back.

“Remind me how old you are again?” he retorted as they reached the top of the staircase.

Alec flashed him an evil grin but held his tongue since Smithwell was tapping on the door to Dominic’s study.

“Captains Endicott and Gilbride, Sir Dominic.”

The butler stepped aside to allow them to pass. Will went in first but came to a sudden halt when he saw who was waiting for them. Alec plowed into his back, almost knocking him off his feet. Good Lord, they were like a pair of idiotic schoolboys, or so the long-suffering look on Dominic’s face suggested.

“Please come in, gentlemen,” he said in a disapproving voice. “You don’t wish to keep his Highness waiting, do you?”

“No, Sir Dominic,” Will replied, trying not to wince at the reprimand.

He strode into the room and bowed to the man sitting in one of the leather club chairs in front of Dominic’s desk. “Forgive me, sir. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Frederick, Duke of York and Albany, commander-in-chief of the king’s army, and Will’s father, pulled his formidable bulk up from the chair. The duke stretched out his hand, greeting Will with more warmth than was his usual wont. “I imagine not, my boy. I understand you were given leave from your regiment to visit your aunt in Hampshire. My condolences on the loss of your estimable uncle.”

“Thank you, sir. He was the kindest of men, and my aunt keenly feels the loss.”

“As do you, I imagine,” the duke replied. “I am, however, pleased to see you looking so well after all that ugly business in Belgium.” He then turned to Alec. “Welcome back to England, Gilbride. I understand you also acquitted yourself well at Waterloo. You and the 42nd have much to be proud of.”

Alec responded to the tribute with a bow of his head. “Thank you, sir, but my contribution was modest compared to most of the men in the regiment.” His voice was somber, and Will knew he was remembering the high death toll the Black Watch suffered that terrible day.

“There were many good men lost that day. It hardly bears thinking about, does it?” A flicker of sorrow crossed the duke’s round, rather florid face. Then he collected himself. “Such reminiscences are not, however, why I asked Sir Dominic to summon you both to meet me.”

“Indeed not,” said Dominic. “If you would like to take your seat, your Highness, we can proceed.”

Will and Alec exchanged curious glances as the duke settled his bulk into the chair. They silently took their seats while Dominic moved to his desk.

From behind that massive oak desk, Dominic managed many of England’s intelligence agents, skillfully and invisibly exercising his formidable power. Or at least he had in the past. Will had heard talk of the spymaster’s impending retirement and couldn’t help wondering if his marriage had anything to do with it. Stepping away at the height of his influence and prestige was not a choice Will could see making in a similar position, and he found it hard to imagine how someone like Dominic could exchange his place at the center of power for a life of quiet domesticity.

A rather meditative silence settled over the room. The duke, never one to waste time or mince words, stared absently at a painting of a hunting scene on the wall behind Dominic’s desk, his thick brows pulled together in a slight frown. The spymaster remained silent, clearly waiting for his superior to begin.

“Well, sir, why did ye bring us here today?” Alec finally asked, impatience giving his voice a faint burr.

Will winced at the break in protocol. But Alec had always been impatient with social niceties and rarely met a rule he wasn’t tempted to break.

Dominic muttered something disapproving under his breath but, fortunately, the duke chose not to bristle up. Instead, he ignored Alec and lifted an eyebrow at Will. “I suppose I was the last person you expected to see today,” he commented.

“I must admit to some surprise, sir.” It seemed odd that his father would choose to visit Dominic’s town house when he could easily order them to appear at his office at the Horse Guards. His father was also not in uniform and his carriage had been nowhere in sight on the street, all of which was highly suggestive of a desire to avoid prying eyes. “Perhaps you wished for this meeting to be unobserved by your staff at the Horse Guards?”

“I wish for it to be a bloody secret,” his father said bluntly. “We’ve got a damned awkward situation on our hands, and we need you and your cousin to handle it.”

Will didn’t like the sound of that. “Indeed, sir? How can we be of assistance?”

When the duke’s gaze flickered to Dominic, the spymaster took up the conversation. “Gentlemen, I’m well aware that you both deserve a well-earned rest. Nevertheless, your services are required on an urgent mission.”

“Christ,” Alec groaned. “Not Napoleon again, for God’s sake.”

Dominic cracked a slight smile. “No, he’s well contained, I assure you. This is a matter closer to home. In fact, most of the mission will likely take place here in London.”

“And what is the nature of this mission?” Will had to rein in his frustration. Dominic was correct. He and Alec did deserve a rest, and the thought of yet another espionage mission made him want to curse long and loud.

“The nature of the mission is stopping an assassination,” the duke answered sharply. “Possibly a royal assassination that could happen within the next few weeks.”

Even Alec couldn’t help looking stunned. “Ye’re joking, aren’t you?”

The duke’s gaze narrowed. “I wish I was, Captain, and I’ll thank you not to interrupt me again,” he said irritably.

Properly reprimanded, Alec grimaced and murmured an apology.

“Forgive me, sir,” Will said, hoping to draw the duke’s ire away from Alec. “Is there any indication of the target of such an attempt? Is it the Prince Regent, or perhaps yourself?”

Will and the duke were not particularly close—after all, he hadn’t met the man in person until he was sixteen. Still, the idea of his father facing that kind of danger tensed every muscle in his body. The threat of assassination wasn’t hard to imagine, since it had been only three years since Prime Minister Spencer Perceval had been the victim of just such a foul crime.

Dominic smoothly took back control of the discussion. “At this point, we’re lacking that sort of precise information.” He glanced at the duke. “With your permission, your Highness, I’ll start at the beginning.”

“That would be helpful,” Alec muttered under his breath.

This time it was Will who shot him an irate gaze, but Alec simply rolled his eyes.

“You are well aware, I assume,” Dominic started, “that prior to the Act of Union there was a great deal of trouble in Ireland.”

Will frowned. Though he was only a lad at the time, he’d certainly been aware of the turmoil and bloodshed that had plagued Ireland for years, with factions of Catholics and Irish Protestants united against the English administration in Dublin. In 1798, a group of Catholic rebels had fomented the most serious uprising, this time in league with the French, who had attempted to support the rebels with an invasion force.

Unfortunately for the rebels, bad weather and bad luck led to the scattering or capture of the French ships, and the insurrection had been brutally but effectively put down. The Act of Union of 1801, uniting the kingdoms of England and Ireland, had signaled the end of that revolutionary period, and the last fourteen years had been relatively quiet regarding Irish republicanism and Catholic emancipation.

In Will’s opinion, the disabilities enforced by law on the Catholic population, both in England and Ireland, were markedly unfair. After all, he had a fairly good idea of what it felt like to be an outsider. But he knew that his father and most of the royals were vehemently opposed to Catholic emancipation, so he kept his views to himself.

“Yes,” he replied, “but I thought the situation in Ireland was under control, especially since the creation of the Irish Royal Constabulary last year.”

Robert Peel, Chief Secretary for Ireland, had supervised the creation of that Irish police force, nicknamed the Peelers after their founder.

“That’s mostly correct,” Dominic agreed. “Peel’s men have been effective in containing disorder. But there are still occasional disturbances, especially regarding disputes over tenancy and eviction issues in the countryside. Those disturbances are met with force which, as you can understand, is deeply resented by the local populations.”

“Then they should obey the law and not cause so much bloody trouble,” the duke snapped. “They bring it down upon themselves with their damned agrarian outrages. If a landlord wants to evict some bloody useless Catholic tenant from his land, he has every right to do so.”

Dominic’s green eyes went as cold as ice chips. Will had the distinct impression he was struggling not to verbally rip the duke’s head off.

“The situation is indeed disturbing,” Dominic finally answered in a carefully neutral voice. “In any event, although Ireland is peaceful for the most part, the administration in Dublin is forced to keep a very close watch on the situation.”

“Which, I assume, means eyes and ears on the ground,” Will said.

“Spies, you mean,” Alec said more bluntly.

Dominic waggled his hand in a not exactly gesture. “Let’s just say there are those who fear the bloodshed that would surely result from another uprising, even though they are generally sympathetic to the Catholic cause. But given the circumstances, these particular individuals believe it a sensible course of action to pass their concerns on to Peel.”

“They’re informants, in other words,” Alec said in a dry voice.

Dominic shrugged but didn’t answer.

The duke glanced impatiently at the bracket clock on the mantel. “Get on with it, Dominic, will you?”

Dominic nodded, even though his thinned lips revealed his irritation. “There have been rumblings that cells of radicals are forming in Limerick and Tipperary, and also up north near Ulster. Most of the rumors that have reached us are likely just that—rumors. But a highly reliable source in Ulster has come into possession of some disturbing and credible information. According to this source, a group of these radicals may already be in England with the express intention of plotting the assassination of a high-ranking member of government, or even a member of the royal family. The most obvious targets would be Peel or Liverpool, or possibly the Regent. Others could be under threat too.”

Will shook his head. “That’s not much to go on.”

“As usual,” Alec said sarcastically.

“The defense of one’s country never comes easily, Gilbride,” the duke huffed.

Will hastily intervened before Alec could step into it further. “No, sir, it doesn’t. And Alasdair and I stand ready to do whatever is necessary. But surely there are agents with both a greater understanding of the Irish question and intimate knowledge of where in London such conspirators might be found.”

“Generally I would agree with you,” Dominic said. “And I will give you the support you need in those areas. But there is one particular reason why you, Will, are most suited for this mission.”

Uncharacteristically, Dominic hesitated, and faint warning bells began to sound in Will’s head. “And that reason is?”

Dominic tilted his head, and a calculating look Will had never seen before briefly crossed his face. The bells in his head clanged even louder.

“Because an old friend of yours could possibly be involved in this conspiracy,” Dominic said. “Her involvement is not necessarily by intention, but more likely by her association with certain persons.”

“And who is this old friend?” Will slowly asked with a sense of impending doom.

“Miss Evelyn Whitney, daughter of Lord and Lady Reese,” Dominic replied. “I believe you know her quite well.”

Will wondered if someone had knocked him on the back of his head since Dominic’s words resisted any attempt to make sense of them.

“Bloody hell,” Alec exclaimed. “Wasn’t expecting that, were you?”

“Evie? Are you sure?” Will forced out.

“Of course we’re sure,” barked his father. “Do you think we would make a joke about this?”

“No, sir, but since your Dublin source is so vague, how can we be sure this information is correct?” Will shook his head. “It completely beggars belief that Evie—Evelyn—would be involved in something like this.”

It was absurd. Evie was the sweetest, most gentle person Will had ever known. She was also painfully shy and loathed any sort of conflict. No one who knew her could believe for a moment that she could be involved in any type of criminal activity, much less a murderous conspiracy.

“Unfortunately, the facts do point to Miss Whitney’s involvement,” Dominic said calmly.

Will shook his head. “I refuse to believe it.”

“Are you accusing us of lying, William?” his father asked in a cold voice.

“Of course not, sir, but—”

The duke cut him off. “Then you must believe that I am somehow wanting in intellect. I suppose you know better than your commander-in-chief and Sir Dominic, do you?”

“Sir, that’s hardly fair,” Alec objected. “Wolf never suggested that.”

Before Will’s father could unleash his ire on Alec, Dominic interrupted. “May I suggest some refreshment before we continue? Your Highness, allow me to fetch you a drink.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m fairly parched,” grumbled the duke. “Why the devil didn’t you offer me one before?”

Dominic simply smiled at the older man. Although of common origin, Dominic had been raised with the royal princes, and understood how to manage them better than anyone. He was particularly close to the Duke of York, sharing his commitment to England’s military and the well-being of its men.

The spymaster splashed some brandy into two glasses, handing one to the duke and the other to Will. He pointedly ignored Alec, who muttered under his breath as he got up to fetch his own drink.

The interlude gave Will time to wrestle his temper under control. The duke might be his father, but he was also a prince and could make life difficult for both Will and Alec.

“Forgive my outburst, sir,” he said to the duke. “But the idea that Miss Whitney might be involved in criminal activity caught me by surprise.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Miss Whitney?” Dominic asked.

It had been in Hampshire in 1811, when he’d taken a brief furlough to visit his aunt and uncle. Uncle Philip’s lands butted against the Reese estate. Will had known the family since he was a boy, spending many a long day roaming the fields, woods, and stables with the Reese progeny. Back then, it had seemed impossible that he would eventually lose touch with them, even Evie.

“It’s been four years, Sir Dominic.”

He remembered his remarkably uncomfortable conversation with Evie at a ball held at the local inn. She hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning their youthfully naïve dreams of a life together—her stiff demeanor and the wounded expression in her cornflower-blue eyes had made that abundantly clear. Nor had it helped that Eden, Evie’s twin sister, had planted herself barely two feet away, glaring at Will the entire time. After that disastrous evening, Will had decided that the best thing he could do for the Reese family was to steer well clear of them.

“Then you don’t really know her anymore, do you?” his father said.

“Perhaps not, but Evie would never hurt anyone. Not deliberately. Of that I’m sure,” Will said doggedly.

Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “I believe I can shed some light on this discussion. Apparently, Miss Whitney is soon to be engaged to a man who we suspect is involved with the Irish radicals. It is possible that she is unaware of his activities in this regard.”

“A fiancé? This just gets better and better,” Alec commented sardonically.

Will’s hand had involuntarily jerked, splashing brandy over the rim of his glass. “Evie, engaged? She was a confirmed wallflower, the last I heard.”

“It would appear not,” Dominic replied. “Her suitor, and the suspect in question, is Michael Beaumont, the youngest son of the Earl of Leger.”

Will didn’t bother to hide his skeptical frown. “Why would an English aristocrat’s son be involved with Irish rebels?”

“Because this particular aristocrat’s son is a Catholic,” the duke said with heavy disapproval. “As is the entire Beaumont family.”

“I