Page 94 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“That you’ve been holding house parties for rakes and rogues and women who are nothing more than light-skirts. How would you like for that to get back to your father, Stepmother?” He sneered triumphantly.

“And who has been spreading this vicious gossip, I wonder?” Charlotte glanced at Nash and gestured, as if she was tossing someone over a balustrade.

“Who indeed, Charlotte?” Nash grinned back at her. “I might venture a guess.” He turned his attention back to Edgar. The smile evaporated. “Are you by chance acquainted with Lord Fernley, Cavendish?”

Edgar paled but nodded.

“Well, let me speak a word in your ear about that gallant. After making improper advances to Lady Cavendish, and likely other ladies of the party, Lord Fernley proceeded to try to balance on the railing of the veranda and fell into the rosebushes. His dignity being somewhat bruised, he left the next day.” Nash advanced on Edgar until he had him pressed as flat as possible against the wall.

“Hear me straight, Cavendish. Lady Cavendish has just consented to be my wife. I do not believe you wish to slander the future Countess of Wrotham.” Nash thrust his face to within inches of Edgar’s. “Both her father and I would be very displeased to hear such tales being repeated.”

Edgar opened his mouth to speak when the door knocker boomed. Nash stepped away from his quarry and turned to the door just as Fisk appeared and opened it.

“Lord Wrotham, if you please.”

Mr. Kelliam? Charlotte glanced at Nash and shrugged her shoulders. What was he doing here? She came forward as the Runner with another, younger man, strode into the hall. Hands pinioned behind his back, the stranger stared at her in stark terror.

“Kelliam?” Nash came from behind the door. “Thayer?” He addressed the frightened man, whose face now approached the color of new cheese. “What the devil are you doing with my valet?”

“He’s your informant, my lord. Daniel Micklefield turned stag almost before we could sit him down at The Bull.” Kelliam chuckled. “He told me more than enough about the gang and its movements. Did you know, Lady Cavendish, they’ve been hiding out all summer in an abandoned barn at Grafton Lodge?”

“Dear Lord.” Father would have apoplexy when he found out.

“I popped back over to Wrotham Hall and caught this one,” he shook the valet, “with all his belongings just setting out down the road at a trot.” Kelliam released the wretched Thayer, who stood before Nash with his head lowered.

Nash’s gaze bore into the man, his deepening frown overshadowing his handsome features. At last he spoke one word. “Why?”

Thayer finally raised his head, grimacing. “I had to, my lord. My family in Dorset came on hard times. My father died, you remember, and my mother’s still got three little ones at home to feed. I’ve been sending them almost all my wages, but it hasn’t been enough.” He took a deep breath, though he still avoided Nash’s eyes. “When we were in London in June, my mother wrote that the landlord had threatened to turn them out into the street. I had to do something.” Thayer paused, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

Nash’s face remained stony, though a tic made the end of his mouth twitch. “You could have spoken to me if things had become so dire. But continue.”

The man sighed. “Happened to mention my predicament to another gentleman’s gentleman I’d met at a pub, and he said his gentleman might have a job for me where I could make a good bit of money on the side. So he arranged for me to meet the man. He seemed very pleased you had an estate in Kent. ‘That will make it even easier,’ he said. When I heard his whole scheme, I tried to say no, my lord. But he gave me a bit of money—enough to keep my mother safe for a while—and the promise of more to come. After that, I couldn’t say no.”

“Indeed.” Nash’s cold tone said he didn’t care what the circumstances were. “His name, man. The least you can do to redeem yourself is to give us his name.”

“Yes, my lord.” The poor valet finally looked into Nash’s eyes, then a frown creased his brow. He cocked his head, as if bewildered. “But there he is now, my lord.” Thayer tried to point, but having no hands to do so motioned with a jerk of his shoulder. “He’s in the corner there. Sir Edgar Cavendish.”

Charlotte’s knees nearly buckled. Edgar had masterminded the robber gang? Impossible. The boy didn’t have the brains for such a thing. There must be some mistake. She turned toward the place where Nash had been holding Edgar just as her stepson bolted for the door.

Nash seized him by the back of his collar and hauled him over to Kelliam. “Sir Edgar, you say, Thayer? You are sure?”

“Yes, my lord. The very person. He was supposed to meet the gang later tonight to divide the goods.” Thayer stopped abruptly.

“The goods to be stolen from Wrotham Hall?”

“Yes, my lord,” the valet mumbled. He looked ready to cry.

Nash shook Edgar and threw him down at Kelliam’s feet. “You have one more gang member to secure tonight, then.”

“I have never heard a more preposterous thing in my life.” Edgar tried to rise and the Runner grasped his hand and helped him to his feet.

“We’ll have to see about that, Sir Edgar.” Kelliam nodded toward Thayer. “Are you the only one who had contact with him? Do the other members know about him?”

“I know nothing of this gang you speak of.” Edgar dusted off his jacket as if highly insulted. Yet his eyes flitted toward the door.

“No, sir. But I have the letters he’s sent me with instructions for the gang. He’s only ever been here once, to meet with me, not the gang. That was when he came down to get a horse they had stolen.”

“My horse!” Charlotte strode over to Edgar, outraged and shaking. “That was my horse you stole, and my estate manager your gang almost murdered.” She raised her hand, itching to strike the boy who had helped make her life miserable for so many years. Her hand clenched into a fist, but she let it fall to her side. “I swear, you will pay for that, Edgar. My father will be very interested in this case when I tell him you used his property to hide the gang members.”