Seducing the Ruthless Rogue (22 page)

“You bellowed, sir,” the servant mocked.
 
“I assume this is what you were calling for,” he placed a cool, frothy tankard in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph,” the man turned and left the room.

Mack took a bite of his supper and spread out the paper.
 
The first page, the headline shouted about the wars—
We Are Surrounded
.
 
The article went on to discuss how England now fought a war on every side, and the battle with Bonaparte constantly depleted the number of English soldiers.
 
The author speculated about how England would do in a second war with the American colonists.
 
Several times he said, “Director Stuart McKenzie refused to comment as did Lords Bathurst and Liverpool.”

Mack said some unkind words in Gaelic before taking another bite of the pie and turning the page.
 
His eyes drifted across the pages until it came to the Editorial by C.E. Jones.
 
He read the article and was impressed with what the author said.
 
The author spoke of the plight that widows and orphans of soldiers killed in the war faced.
 
The lack of support the government provided them.
 
All of it was sad and true.
 

He found himself thinking of Mrs., no, Lady Thompson and her children.
 
Not only had she been left in the cruel world because of her husband’s death, but also because her family had turned their backs on her when she was younger.
 
That in turn got him to wondering about the author, C.E. Jones.
 
How did this person have such an intimate knowledge about the widows and orphans of the war?
 
Perhaps he should have a talk with Lady Thompson before she left his brother’s house.

Chapter 12

Cassie read the letter for what seemed the hundredth time.
 
She wanted to bring awareness to those that read
The Times
, but she didn’t realize it would be like this.
 
She did not know she would receive threats.
 
Cassie knew that she had been the target of the shooting, not Mack, as he seemed to think.
 
A week had passed since the accident and she was healing quite nicely.
 

The worst part about the entire situation was when the doctor dug the bullet and debris out of the wound.
 
She had refused to give over to the pain, refused to scream or cry.
 
She did not want to show any weakness, not in front of her father and most definitely not in front of Ma…Director McKenzie.
 
If she was careful, she could even continue with her writing without jarring the injury too much.

She received a letter from John Walton, Jr. Esquire, the owner of the
The London Times
the day of the shooting.
 
He demanded a meeting with C.E. Jones in his office immediately.
 
According to the note, he had “most urgent news to impart.”
 
Cassie was grateful for the wound and being unable to leave the house.
 
She painstakingly composed a note back indicating Jones had fallen ill and would be unable to keep the appointment.

Cassie waited anxiously for a reply to her note, all of which were passed through Alfred.
 
Before he agreed to deliver her note, he demanded that Chang take him to the house so that he could see Cassie with his own eyes and make certain she lived.
 
Once he felt satisfied, he left the house and went about his day, promising to see her note made it into the appropriate person’s hands.
 
He arrived the next morning with a new note that brought disconcerting information.

Mr. Jones,

You have angered a great many people with your editorials.
 
I am receiving several threats in regards to your articles.
 
Keep up the good work, but have a care.

Sincerely,

John Walton, Jr. Esquire

“People are reading my articles!” she excitedly announced to the empty room.
 
“But I am making people angry,” she tapped the letter against her lower lip.
 
She needed to write more.
 
Perhaps about soldiers who returned.
 
What did they do with their lives, especially if they were severely wounded?
 
The paper should almost be through her stack of articles if they have been printing one per day.
 
Despite the danger, a sense of giddiness swept through her.
 
People were reading her articles, and it was causing a frenzy.
 
She only hoped that her book would receive the same fanfare.
 

Tomorrow she would get out and see if there were any meetings being held.
 
Perhaps she would go by and check on Abigail and Jemma, as well.
 
She would have to get by Chang.
 
Her father would do nothing to hinder her, but poor Chang worried incessantly over her.
 
She would have to work hard to get past him.
 
In the meantime, she went into the study and spread out the papers located in her portfolio.

She read the last few pages, reacquainting herself with the characters.
 
She had long since come to terms with the hero’s striking resemblance to Mack, tired of fighting against the inevitable outcome.
 
She continued the scene, losing herself in the fictional world she had created.
 

***

“We have a problem.”

Those were words one never wanted to hear come out of the mouth of Lord Liverpool.
 
If that man thought there was a problem, there was likely no way to fix it.
 
He braced himself for whatever the man might say.
 
Had someone else decided to declare war on England?
 
Was Mack not doing his job as others expected?
 
There was only one way to find out.

“Oh, my lord?
 
And what would that be?” he asked, attempting his best at sounding nonchalant.
 

“Not what, but who.
 
C. E. Jones.
 
He’s an editorialist for
The Times
.”

“I’ve read some of his pieces.”

“Brilliant man.
 
Too bloody brilliant if you ask me.
 
Causing quite the stir among the
ton
.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.
 
If he isn’t stirring them to support causes, he is directly poking them with a stick.
 
And this latest piece on the government’s lack of support for the widows and orphans of dead soldiers.
 
Why, it’s preposterous,” Liverpool argued.

“Is it, my lord?” Mack countered, knowing the author had indeed written a most accurate article about the government.

“Of course, it is.
 
Don’t tell me the fool has you believing what he writes as well.”

Mack remained silent this time.

“Very well.
 
We both know there are problems, but we have more important things on our hands than seeing to the welfare of women and children.”

“And ex-soldiers.”
 

“Remember, Director McKenzie,” Liverpool continued as if he did not hear those last two words, “we are in the midst of not one, but two bloody wars now.”

“Trust me, my lord, when I say I have not, nor could ever hope, to forget.”

“Good.
 
I want you to find out who this C. E. Jones is, and get them to stop writing these pieces.
 
We need people supporting the government, not ridiculing it.”

“I understand.
 
Have you not tried to find out who this person is?
 
Have you spoken to the owner of the paper?”

“After we had the man’s father imprisoned, the son will not speak to us.
 
No, you are going to have to go about this another way.”

“I’ll get an agent right on it.”

“No.
 
I want you to deal with this yourself.”

“May I ask one thing?”

“Certainly.”

“Why me?”

“The fewer people who know we are trying to stop things from being printed, the better.
 
Besides, I am counting on you using your Scottish temper to take care of the situation.”

“Ach, I see.
 
Well, I guess I had best get to the investigation, haven’t I?”

“Now, there’s no need to be spiteful, Mack.”

“I’ll let you know when my ‘Scottish temper’ has seen to the matter, my lord.”
 
Mack stood and bowed before leaving the Prime Minister’s office.
 
Once outside he reflected on the last volley of words between him and Liverpool.
 
Most likely not the wisest thing he had ever done, but he had felt it necessary.
 
Some days he felt like a hired thug for the government, merely expected to follow through with orders they didn’t want to sully their own hands doing.

Not for the first time, he found himself wishing the wars were over, and his ties with the government severed.
 
It also had him wondering, again, not for the first time, what would he do once the wars ceased.
 
He wasn’t welcome in Scotland.
 
He didn’t always fit in here.
 
They would not allow him be the Director for the War Office forever.
 
What could he do?
 
He had toyed with the idea of running for an office and perhaps one day even prime minister, but did he like politics enough to face it every day for the rest of his life?
 
He hailed a hack and gave the driver directions, without thinking about what he said.
 
Mack climbed in and reclined against the squabs as the carriage jolted to a start then smoothed out.
 
Mack found himself so lost in thought, he did not realize that the carriage had come to a halt.

“Sir, we’re here,” the jarvey called down from his seat.

“Thank you,” Mack said.
 
He looked out the window, slightly shocked to see his brother’s house.
 
Had he really given the driver directions to come here?
 
The way he had come to rely on Gabe was unsettling.
 
Not that he expected the man to do things for him, but he found it was nice to have him to discuss matters with.
 
He stepped out of the hired carriage and turned to look at the house.
 
He had just decided to climb back in when he heard the tell-tale clopping of horse’s hooves.

“Mack,” Gabe called.
 
“I was just coming to see you, you’ve saved me the trip.”

“Ah, well, I’m glad for that.”
 
He stepped back down and paid the driver.

“What’s brought you here?”

“Nothing.
 
What can I do for you?”

Gabe looked at him, disbelievingly, as he dismounted.
 
The men walked back to the mews where Gabe had just come from and a groom ran out to take the horse.
 
“Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.
 
What did you need to see me about?”

“Mikala has it in her mind that she wants to give a party.
 
Nothing big like a ball, but she wants to have dancing and for there to be dancing she needs to have men and women.”

They entered the house and Gabe led Mack to his study where he shut the door so they could speak privately.
 
“I will attend for Mikala’s sake.”

“Excellent, I will let her know.”

“When is it?”

“Next week some time.”

“I’ll be ready.”
 
The men stared at each other awkwardly.

“I can tell that something is on your mind,” Gabe persisted.
 
“You might as well tell me what it is.”

“I feel like a child being chastised by his parent.”

“Fine.
 
I’ll stop asking.
 
Just remember, it was you that showed up at my front door,” Gabe countered, irritation tinging his voice.

“You want to know what’s wrong?
 
Here’s what’s wrong.
 
What happens when I have served my purpose for the government?”

“What do you mean?
 
You’re a brilliant strategist.
 
And the way you have created the latticework of agents is amazing.
 
We have men and women installed all over the world watching out on England’s behalf.
 
You know too much about everything.
 
What ever has given you the idea they would want to remove you from the position?”

“Dammit, when you say all that, you make me feel like a whimpering fool.”

“Mack, the government would be hard-pressed to run without you.
 
Now, out with it.”

“It’s damn silly.
 
Liverpool asked me personally, rather than one of my agents, to look into something.”