Seducing the Ruthless Rogue (2 page)

“And let’s not forget the assassination attempts on your own life.”

“There is that, but they are in the past,” Mack acknowledged and defended.

“You have been very lucky, thus far.
 
How much longer do you think your luck will hold out?
 
This last time was a near thing.”

“Another year or two?” Mack said jokingly.
 
“Look, Gabe, I know you are here because your wife and our Grandmother worries about me, but there is no need.”

“No need?
 
How many assassination attempts have you avoided in the last two years?”
 
Silence greeted him.
 
“That’s right.
 
There have been too many to count.”

“The man responsible is dead.”

“Mack you can’t keep avoiding the fact that people want you dead.
 
Instead of cutting off the head of the snake and it dying, it seems to sprout another head and then someone else wants to harm you.”

“I’m not avoiding the fact that my life has been in danger ever since I took this position.
 
I fully acknowledge it, but I will not go into hiding like some coward.
 
Do you understand?
 
And do you mean to tell me that if you’d been close enough to try and save Percevel, you wouldn’t have done the same damn thing?”

“That’s not what I am saying and you know it.
 
Now, sit down.”

“Why?”

“Liverpool is the one that sent me here today, not Mikala nor Grandmother.”

“Liverpool?”

“Yes.
 
He and Bathurst believe you have pushed yourself too hard to return to work after Percevel’s assassination, and you should take some additional time off.”

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Yes, brother, you did.
 
You only took a week off after being shot.
 
That’s not enough time to heal.
 
Is it?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Then why is it when no one is looking, you are holding your side?”

“Habit.”

“You are the most stubborn damn Scotsman I know.
 
Can you even concentrate on your job with the pain you’re in?”

“We are in the middle of a war, two wars now.
 
This isn’t a bloody tea party we’re having.
 
Everyone has to make sacrifices.
 
I have and will continue to work through the pain.
 
It will go away in time.
 
Tell them it isn’t going to happen.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mack.
 
You are not being given a choice.
 
This is an order.”

“You agree with them, don’t you?”

“Mack, I don’t want to lose my last brother.
 
I want my children to grow up and know their uncle.
 
Besides, Grandmother has threatened to come and sit with you.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“We both know she would.
 
Yes, you are irreplaceable, but you need to heal,
completely
,” the Duke of Hawkescliffe emphasized.

“No one is pushing me out of my office.”

“It has already been done.
 
For the next month, you will be restricted from setting foot on the premises.
 
Roger Presley, Earl of Blackstock, will be stepping in for you during those weeks.
 
He is the same one who filled in for you before.
 
He knows what he’s doing.
 
I suggest you take the time to rest and let your body strengthen and heal.
 
Then, maybe you will be in a better frame of mind and not so belligerent to everyone who comes within ten feet of you.”

“Get out,” Mack growled.

“Mack, you will see it’s for the best.”

“I said, get the bloody hell out of my office!” he roared, as he stood and braced his hands on the top of his desk.

“We’ll talk once you’ve had time to calm down.
 
Presley will be by later this afternoon to be debriefed.”

“He can go get himself…”

“Now, now,” Gabe cajoled.
 
“Once you have had the opportunity to think further on this, you will see this is in your best interest.”
 
Gabe shut the door just as a heavy object crashed into the wall.
 
“Mr. Preston, I would not go in there for the a few hours.
 
It is going to take him some time to recover from this.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”
 
Preston looked at the door to the director’s office and felt pity for the man.
 
He was a proud man, and it was going to be difficult for him to step down even temporarily.

***

Cassiopeia Graham stepped out of the hired hack and paid the driver.
 
She had followed the same protocol for the last year to no avail.
 
She entered the small house she had lived in with her father for the last decade before his disappearance.
 
Her father needed to live in London so that he would have easy access to the parts he needed for his inventions.
 
So, when her mother died, there was nothing left to keep them attached to the seaside village she had grown up in.

“Any word on your papa, Missy Cassie?”

“No, Chang,” she answered, dejection and just a hint of anger coloring her voice.
 

“There, there, Missy Cassie,” he patted her arm affectionately, “all will be fine.
 
I bring you tea.”

“Thank you, Chang.” She gave the old man a smile and tugged her gloves off.
 
She laid them and her reticule on the small table in the hall and then hung up her pelisse.
 
It was mid-June and the weather was extremely warm.
 
The house was small and cozy.
 
There were three bedrooms, a parlor, a study, and a kitchen.
 
In the back was a detached building where her father worked on his inventions when he was in residence.
 
Cassie strode to the study and sat down at the desk.

She crossed her arms on the desk and laid her head on them.
 
Where could he be?
 
Why wouldn’t Director McKenzie at least let her know that her father was well?
 
She had haunted his office for almost a year now.
 
Surely he could see how worried she was about her father?
 
No, he doesn’t know how worried she is because he has refused her every single time she has been to his office.
 

Cassie had met Director McKenzie once at a dinner party given by Lady Greenwood.
 
The man was a tall, dark, handsome Scot with silvery grey eyes.
 
She had enjoyed verbally sparring with him about the war and other political matters.
 
He had seemed surprised that evening about how much she knew about the political realm.
 
Director McKenzie and the other men had taken her father off to a corner and began talking in earnest with him.
 
Later, her father had refused to answer any of her questions about the oddity of the situation or what the men wanted with him.
 

A few days later, her father announced he had a meeting with McKenzie and had never returned home.
 
The next morning, Cassie had arisen, dressed and taken herself off to the War Office to speak with Director McKenzie.
 
It had not been a pleasant confrontation.

“He will not see me?” she asked Mr. Preston.

“No, Miss Graham.”
 

“My father is missing after leaving the house solely to speak with the man in that office, and he will not deign to speak with me?”

“I’m afraid that is correct, Miss Graham.”

“Should something happen to my father, I will make Pandora’s Box look like a plaything for children.
 
Do you hear me Director McKenzie?”
 
She was shocked to actually see him standing at the door.

“If you’re done with your threats, you can leave now,” he said.
 
“I have no time to deal with hysterical women that refuse to stay out of government affairs.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me, Director.”
 
She spun on her heal and left the room.
 
I will make a nuisance of myself to the director until he satisfactorily answers my questions
, she thought.

Cassiopeia, or Cassie as she was known to her family, was raised to be independent and a free thinker.
 
Her father was known for his inventions.
 
Her mother had studied the sciences, most especially astronomy.
 
Thus how Cassie’s name came to be.
 
Cassie’s interest, however, lay in the written word.
 
She supplemented the meager savings she and Chang lived off of by writing political articles under the name C.E. Jones.
 
The name came from a combination of her name Cassiopeia Elizabeth, and her mother’s maiden surname, Jones.
 
All correspondence between herself and the owner of the paper was through mail or the local newsboy, so her identity remained anonymous.

When she was not writing political pieces, she threw herself into writing what really interested her—stories about dangerous, brooding heroes, and the women that fell in love with them.
 
She lifted her head and pulled her manuscript close to her, reading back over the last few pages she had written.

“Here you go, Missy Cassie,” the little China man said, as he laid the tray down on her desk.
 
“What happens next in story?
 
Is Lord Bartleby bad man?”

“No, Chang, Lord Bartleby can’t be bad.
 
He is the hero.”

“But he so mean.”

“He has a past he is trying to work through.”

“The women, they swoon when they read this.”

“Do you think, Chang?”

“Yes.
 
Your mama be so proud.”

“Thank you, Chang.”

“You write for two hours, then I come get you for your lesson.”

“Yes, Chang.”
 
Cassie poured herself a cup of tea, took a sip, and began furtively working on her novel.
 

True to his word, Chang arrived two hours later.
 
She begged for more time, but he remained firm.
 
Cassie went to her room and changed into the light oriental pant suit she wore for their sparring sessions.
 
Once she changed clothes, she met Chang in the small garden.
 
Together they went through their stretches, then they began sparring with one another using an ancient oriental practice that had been passed down through Chang’s forefathers to him.
 
Chang did not hold anything back because Cassie was a woman.
 
Both of Cassie’s parents had felt it important that their daughter be taught how to protect herself.
 
Cassie shifted her hip and swept her foot causing Chang to flip and land on his back.
 

“Chang, are you all right?”

“I think I taught Missy Cassie too well,” the man laughed.

Cassie laughed as well before sitting on the ground next to the older man.
 
“Papa
is
all right, isn’t he, Chang?”

“Your papa take care of himself.
 
These not good times.
 
Too much fighting.
 
Sir Graham smart man.
 
Wanted by many people.
 
He is fine.
 
Too valuable alive.”

“I hope you’re right, Chang.”

“Of course, I right,” he said and patted her leg.
 
“Help old man up,” he teased her until a smile spread across her face.

***

Mack entered his quiet little house late that evening.
 
After spending hours training Roger Presley on all that he needed to know, Mack reluctantly left the office.
 
He gathered up several stacks of papers and stuffed them in his case.
 
Unable to let go of the nervous energy he felt, he stopped at Gentleman Jackson’s.
 
Even that did not go as planned.
 
Demanding to see the nature of the wound, Gentleman Jackson refused to let him spar with anyone for at least another two weeks.
 
Mack cursed loudly when the man admitted that Gabe had been there already, to warn him that Mack might stop by.

Frustrated with everyone, he ended up at White’s, sitting quietly in a dark corner as he drank.
 
The golden liquid helped abate his anger somewhat.
 
Had Liverpool lost faith in his ability to run the office?
 
He went back to work the week after Percevel’s assassination even though the doctor insisted he was a fool to do so.
 
As he thought back on the argument, a roguish smile turned up the corners of his lips.