Page 58 of Vying for a Viscount
Greyson was havinga hell of a morning until he spotted Letitia standing in front of the clock shop, staring into the window. The tightness in his muscles eased, and his mind, preoccupied with Black Knight business, relaxed. If he was being honest, every time she was nearby, his disorderly world straightened. The sky grew bluer. The clouds fluffier and whiter. The birds chirped more melodiously. He could go on, but he didn’t need to convince himself. After what they shared at Club Knight and the other night in her chambers, he knew how connected they were, how right they were together. Letitia needed convincing. Or perhaps she didn’t feel what he did? No. He didn’t believe that for a moment. He understood she wanted to spend time with her son instead of going to Gunter’s with him. Yet he had the strangest feeling she wanted to avoid him.
Feeling disconcerted, he walked up and down Bond Street on both sides until he came upon a hothouse. He went inside and ordered two dozen red roses to be sent to Letitia that afternoon. He hoped she would understand their significance. Red rose petals had spread across the bed and the floor the night they made love, the night of the masquerade ball. He hoped that night meant as much to her as it had to him. He wrote on the card that would accompany the flowers:
My Dearest Letitia,
Roses for the lady who holds my heart in the palm of her delicate hand.
Greyson
When he returned to Danbury Hall, a letter awaited him. He frowned at the handwriting he recognized as Knight’s, along with the seal belonging to the Duke of Tremont. He wondered how Knight managed to be a husband to his new wife while running Club Knight, leading the Black Knights, and, of course, being the Duke of Tremont. And how did the duchess feel about it? It gave Greyson hope when it came to Letitia and making her his wife. If she’d have him. He realized he was stalling about reading Knight’s note. Nothing good ever came of receiving a note from him.
And once he’d read it, he knew he was right. Knight had heard a rumor that a group of protesters was planning to march to Carlton House that night in protest of the upcoming executions of the Pentrich Rebellion leaders.
It was one of the reasons Prinny created the Black Knights, to defuse situations by stopping the protestors at the outset before any bloodshed occurred. Greyson knew Knight paid significant sums to spies spread throughout England, reporting on any rebellions rising up. But somehow, Knight hadn’t gotten word of this one before the people formed. Once the good people of England gathered in protest, carrying whatever crude weapons they could find, the Black Knights would find keeping the peace difficult. Prinny wanted peace in England, but the task was difficult.
Before he went up to his chambers to change, he said to Henderson, “Please send a footman to the mews and have Whisky brought around. I’m going out, and I don’t know when I’ll return.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He hurried to his chambers to change into riding clothes. Hetucked a loaded pistol into each jacket pocket and hoped like hell he wouldn’t need them. But anything could happen, and it was best to be prepared. His assignment was to keep the peace and protect the royal family. Not always an easy thing to do.
Dalton helped him with his boots, frowning the entire time. His driver Reed, the groom Stevenson, Henderson, and Dalton knew of his secret work with the Black Knights. He needed their help on occasion, especially Reed and Stevenson. But tonight, he was taking his horse, not the unmarked carriage.
When he was ready to go, Dalton said, “Be safe, my lord.”
“Always,” he replied, then exited, descended the stairs, went out the door, and mounted Whisky. It was nearing four in the afternoon, and the streets were crowded with horses and carriages as thetonmade their way to various parks throughout London. Hyde Park was the most frequently visited, and unfortunately, he needed to pass right by the entrance, which was why he was on horseback. He could weave his way around the slow carriages and riders.
Finally, he arrived at Club Knight, dismounted, tossed his reins to the stableboy, and hurried to the back door. After knocking the secret knock, Cooke let him inside. “Good, you’re the last to arrive.”
“Everyone is here?” Greyson couldn’t believe all the Black Knights had returned to London from their assignments.
“Yes.”
They made their way down to the lower level. The closer they got to the room, the louder the voices grew. Inside the room, Cooke shut and bolted the door, and Greyson took his usual seat in the circle.
Knight stood and began pacing the room, looking anything but happy. “Drink your brandy and I’ll make this quick. The protesters are five miles west of London. If we hurry, we may intercept them and persuade them to return home. If the Dragoons, the yeomanry, or infantry regiments reach them first, there will be bloodshed and arrests. We need to prevent this.”
“Where are the Dragoons who were joining us temporarily?” Greyson asked.
“I sent them to Carlton House.”
“Good.”
“Any questions before we saddle up?” Knight asked, stopping his pacing and looking each member in the eye. When no one spoke up, he said, “Good.”
They filed out of the room, up the stairs, and out the door to the front of Club Knight, where each of their horses was waiting. Greyson mounted Whisky.
“Ride with me, Greyson,” Knight said. “The rest of you pair off. We need to blend in and avoid drawing attention. You saw the map. We’ll meet at the grove of trees I pointed out, two miles from here.”
There was no need for words as the men rode off in pairs in different directions, looking like two gentlemen taking a late afternoon ride. Greyson and Knight were the last to leave, taking the busy London streets in plain sight, straight through fashionable Mayfair. The entire time they rode, Knight was silent, and Greyson wondered what the duke was thinking. Did he worry about his wife if he never returned? Something Greyson had never worried about until he met and fell in love with Letitia. Well, he did occasionally worry about his family, but he knew his cousin, Jacob Morton, would step in and care for them.
Thirty minutes later, they met the rest of the Black Knights in the grove of trees outside London proper. “Greyson, you’ll ride in front with me,” Knight said. “Cooke and Sweeney, take up the rear. When we approach the marchers, let me do the talking.”
Greyson once again rode alongside Knight. “Do you think they will listen to reason?”
Knight looked over at him. With his mask covering his deformed face, it was hard to read his thoughts. “If their leader is a reasonable man, possibly. No doubt they know the consequences of marching to Carlton House. Even if Prinny told the Dragoons, the yeomanry, andsoldiers to keep it peaceful, anything can happen. It only takes one person to start bloodshed.”
The sound of chanting and clanking weapons grew louder as a crowd of perhaps fifty men came into view. Knight raised his hand to halt the Black Knights and sent them fanning out to block the road. The protesters stopped and prepared to fight.
