Page 14 of Disciplined by the Duke
Rothchild smirked. “But London has so many more diversions than the country. Speaking of which, you haven’t been to the Black Rose in a while. Madame Sable asked about you.”
“Yes, I’m sure she misses my money. As soon as this business is over with, she will be seeing more of it. God knows I could use the distraction her sort of entertainment provides.” A pair of flashing dark eyes and a tidy brown chignon crept into his thoughts. Perhaps Madame Sable had a girl similar in appearance to his new maid. The thrill he’d received when he had tapped her with his crop had been unsettling. It was the duty of his steward to discipline any of the servants, not his.
The rustle of her starched gown and the press of her soft breast against his arm lingered in his mind. Taking her in hand would exceed mere duty. Which was why playing with a woman who looked like her by proxy was a superb idea. Work the idea of his maid out of his system.
Leaning back, Rothchild tossed a leg up on the wooden table. A grin stretched his cheeks. “It has been a while for you, Marcus. Your last affair was with that widow in Russell Square. And you couldn’t play with that blue blood like you could with a girl at the Black Rose. You must be feeling very frustrated.” He rummaged in his breast pocket and pulled out a cheroot.
Marcus clenched a fist. This was the problem with friends. They tended to know more about him than was comfortable. And friends who frequented the same house of ill repute saw more than they should.
Marcus watched his knuckles turn white, and let out a bark of laughter. The same device for control that Miss Smith preferred. However, with her chapped and reddened hands she risked infection if she were to break the skin with her nails.
He frowned. His new chambermaid’s hands were reacting to her labors as though she was new to the job. She had yet to build up the calluses necessary for a servant’s work. What, exactly, had her duties been in the Earl of Westmore’s household? His stomach went tight at the idea of what sort of job would leave her hands soft and delicate. Westmore didn’t seem like the kind of man who would have the same rule against bedding a servant as Marcus did.
Exhaling through his nose, Marcus relaxed his grip. Not his problem. “My control is fine. And my play habits aren’t why I asked you here.”
“Your letter was very thin on details. What do you need?”
And that was what made friends worthwhile. Marcus didn’t have many close associates, but those he did would drop everything to help. It came as no surprise that the four men he was closest to were also the members of the House of Lords whom the government turned to for special assistance.
“I’ve been asked to find a traitor in Parliament. A flow of information has been reaching France, the last of which was a proposed treaty between England and Holland. Napoléon got wind of it and has come to his own accord with Holland. An exchange agreement that cuts us out.”
Rothchild brought his leg down with a thump and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Why would Willem agree to that? Our relationship with the Dutch king is stronger than France’s, and I’m sure we can offer better terms.”
Marcus sighed. “It might have something to do with the fact that France threatened to blockade their ports if they didn’t sign. Their business sense trumped any claim of allegiance between our nation and theirs.”
“How does this new treaty affectyourbusiness? Will your ships still be heading to Rotterdam?”
“Time will tell.” Marcus shrugged. “Most of my commerce is with the southeast Indies and the Caribbean. If I lose my route to Rotterdam my bottom line will hardly be affected.” He stood and walked to the window. The forest behind the village was thick with shadows in the darkening afternoon. “But my company is of little account at the moment. I need to discover who in the government is a traitor.”
Rothchild joined him at the window. “What do you need of me?”
“I need to know which lords have either been short of funds of late or, conversely, been spending above their means. Visit the gambling hells, the brothels, and ask around. Anything out of the ordinary could be important.”
“Gambling hells and brothels. Just another Saturday night.” Rothchild grinned. “That’s a task I don’t mind in the least.”
Marcus straightened his shoulders. “This isn’t to be taken lightly. Treason against the Crown is a capital offense. One of our peers might hang by what we discover. If a man is in dire straits for money there is very little he can’t be talked into doing.”
Rothchild blew a long stream of smoke out between his lips. “If it came to it the traitor would deserve to visit the Tyburn Tree, regardless of financial woes. Selling information to our enemy can cost British lives. A traitor’s end is no one’s fault but his own.”
Marcus nodded. Julius was right. Treason caused nothing but chaos, and that was one thing he could not abide. He took a deep breath. It would still be difficult if he were the man responsible for sending an acquaintance to hang.
He walked to his chair, picked up his coat. “Send me information as you obtain it. I’ve already sent Summerset to Paris to see what he can discover on that end.”
Rothchild raised an eyebrow. “Summerset? I thought he was a wanted man in Paris after his dalliance with that princess.”
“Said dalliance makes him the perfect man to send.”
A broad grin broke across the earl’s face. “I see. Well, if he doesn’t make it out alive at least he’ll die with a smile on his face.”
“Everything’s a lark with you.” Marcus shook his head. “Princess Catarina has contacts, not all of whom are friendly to Napoléon. Not only is Summerset seeking the name of our traitor, but if he can facilitate certain relationships between those malcontents and our government he will have done more for our country than you or I could ever hope to.” He shrugged into his coat, smoothed his hands down the seams. “I await a letter from him if he is successful with his endeavors.”
“I’m sure Summerset will succeed as he always does. I’ve never known that man not to come out of a tight situation smelling like a rose.” Rothchild picked up his own coat and draped it over his arm.
Marcus tapped his hat against his leg. “Put on your coat and come back to Hartsworth with me. It makes no sense that you stay at this inn tonight when I have a hundred guest rooms for you to choose from.”
“You know I feel cooped up when I stay at your house. I’ll be happier staying here before I leave for London tomorrow.”
“How can one feel cooped up in an estate with hundreds of rooms and three thousand acres of land?” He scratched his jaw. “I know you dislike being trapped in small spaces, but truly, you take this too far.”