The Rebellious Rake (The Notorious Nightingales #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

R amsey Hellion tested his weight on the branch before letting go of the one he held. No cracking sound was surely a good sign, so he climbed down onto it.

It was blisteringly cold, and while he’d worn his overcoat to Lady Tidley’s, it was now bundled at the base of the tree along with his gloves and scarf.

Making his way down the large and, as it turned out, fortuitously placed oak tree, he reminded himself again that these liaisons were likely to see him end up with a bullet through his skull one day.

Jumping from the bottom branch, he landed with a soft thud on the grass below. He moved to the pile of clothing, which the lady of the house had tossed unceremoniously out the window while shooing Ram from her bedroom.

“Make haste, make haste,” she’d hissed, pulling him into her lush bosom for a final passionate kiss. “I am not done with you,” she’d then added, slapping him on the ass as he moved to the window.

Ram pulled on his jacket, then overcoat. Last, he stomped his frozen, stockinged feet into the black leather boots he’d recently purchased and was extremely fond of, and not just for the stylish look. No, these boots were also ridiculously comfortable.

At least his breeches and shirt had still been on when the maid tapped discreetly on the door to say Lord Tidley had returned home.

Wrapping his Indian cashmere scarf around his neck, Ram placed his hat, which was caught on a bush, on his head, and once again he was the immaculately presented gentleman who turned women’s heads.

Ducking under the window, as he saw Lord Tidley’s gray head above the wingback chair, he hurried to the gate. His untimely return had hastened Ramsey’s leave from the rather lovely interlude with the man’s wife.

Lady Tidley had told Ram that her husband was visiting one of his two mistresses, which had eased his guilt over bedding a married woman.

Was he a man with loose morals? Probably, but he still had a code he lived by, and he never dallied with innocents.

Walking out the gate, he stopped to look up and down the street while pulling on his leather gloves. He saw the man standing back from a lamp. His cap was pulled low, shadowing his face, and Ram was fairly sure he was looking his way. Had he perhaps seen him climbing down the tree? Shrugging, Ram walked on, dismissing him.

London was in the grip of a cold blast of weather, which was not wholly unexpected, as they were only a few weeks out from Christmas. He and his family had not celebrated the event in India, but here it seemed to be something Londoners enjoyed. The Nightingales, a family he had grown close to through his cousin who was married to one, enjoyed the festive occasion very much. They were a loud, boisterous group who had folded him into their ranks. Family, Ram thought. Not a word he’d had a great deal of experience with until he’d returned to London, and now he found he liked it very much.

Soft light lit the street before him as he headed toward his home. It gave off an eerie glow that Ram liked. He could weave any number of stories about what was afoot in the shadows.

Pulling out his pocket watch, he saw the time was not late, but as dark fell early in December, it felt well past midnight, not the respectable hour of eight p.m. Early for him to be heading home, but as he had no wish to go to his club or attend any social function, home it would be. Not that his two rooms constituted a home. In fact, they had lately felt empty, which he also blamed the Nightingales and Gray for.

Until he’d met them, he’d been more than happy with his life… or so he told himself. Now he had firsthand experience of what could be if he chose to marry someone he cared for or, at the very least, respected.

Stopping to look in a shop window, he found several fans decorated with ribbons and lace on display. He could purchase some for the tree decorating he’d been invited to at the Nightingale home.

The sound of singing drifted to him on the cold night air from somewhere. Ramsey had never participated in carols himself, but perhaps he would this year.

Next, he came to a tea shop. Ram loved food and thought a cup of something warm and eating a sweet treat would pass an hour. Entering, he found a table.

“What would you like, sir?” a young woman asked him.

“Tea and cakes, whatever you have. Two, please,” he added.

Ram sat back when the woman left with his order and enjoyed the scents and smells around him. His eyes went around the room and settled on the lady seated at the corner table. He knew that side profile. The irritatingly beautiful Miss Flora Thomas. Cousin to the Nightingales and pointy thorn in his side.

She was absorbed in the book she was reading and unaware he’d entered the tea shop.

He’d met her a year ago at a wedding and learned she was betrothed and only visiting, which Ram had been excessively happy about. He’d taken a single look at Flora and thought she spelled trouble to him.

He looked around for her companions, as she was seated alone, but saw no one lurking nearby. No footman or maid. No Nightingale, which of course there wouldn’t be, as they’d be seated beside her eating and drinking—a favorite pastime of theirs.

Foolish woman.

His tea and cakes arrived, so he stayed to eat rather than storming to her table and demanding to know what she was about being here alone. But Ram kept his eyes on her, because when she left, he would be following to see where she went and ensure she made it home safe.

Flora had returned to London two weeks ago no longer betrothed and taken up her mantle as the most annoying and disturbing woman he’d ever met. She was aloof, haughty, and he wanted to know everything about her, which irritated him.

However, he had no wish to be blistered by her caustic tongue tonight, so he’d simply follow at a distance until he knew she was back at Crabbett Close.

Ram proceeded to eat far too quickly because he didn’t want (a) to leave anything on the plate, as it was delicious, and (b) for her to leave without him.

The cake lodged in his throat because he’d forced too much into his mouth. Gulping down tea, he managed to swallow just as Flora closed her book. Fighting back the need to cough, Ram thumped his fist into his chest to get the cake moving. He then turned away as she prepared to leave.

He rose as she turned to walk out the door.

He’d tried to work out why he was drawn to Flora Thomas and come up with the fact she was angelic and goddess-like at the same time—an alluring combination for any man to ignore.

Her appearance gave no warning of the sharp-tongued shrew beneath, however. He remembered the first time he’d seen her. It had taken a single look for Ram to think he’d found the woman of his dreams, and then she’d looked at him like an insect she’d ground to dust beneath her dainty boot and said, “Oh yes, Mr. Hellion, your reputation precedes you.” They’d barely spoken again, even since her return to London, unwed.

Why had she not married? That thought had been plaguing him along with many others.

He wasn’t sure how she’d known about him from her place in the country, and yet clearly she had. Ram was constantly subjected to haughty looks from her while she was all that was sweet to her family.

“Shrew,” he muttered, crossing the street behind her. He should leave her to the fates, as surely it would not be her who was harmed if set upon. No one stood a chance because she’d simply open her mouth and they’d run screaming.

She walked as if she were strolling in the small country town she’d come from, oblivious that danger could be lurking nearby.

Ram stepped back into the shadows so she couldn’t see him as she looked left and then right before crossing again. He followed her into a lane.

“Really, Flora?” he whispered. You are walking up a narrow lane in the dark? Shaking his head, Ram followed. There could be anyone lurking in crevices and shadows. He would be putting the fear of God into her when she got home, and if that didn’t frighten her enough, then he’d be telling her family what she’d been up to. Ram doubted very much they knew she was out here alone after dark.

He heard the scrape of metal to his right. Turning, he found three men climbing onto the street from a hole in the ground. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right.

“Run, Flora!”

But it wasn’t her they approached; it was him. All three lunged at him. He struck out with a boot and connected, but they had his arms behind his back before he could punch someone.

“Stop! Unhand him at once!” Flora’s voice rang loud and clear in the night air.

“Flee, Flora!” Ram roared as he struggled to break free.

“Get his legs, he’s a right tricky one!”

Before he could kick again, one man had his arms, and two his legs.

“Flora, get help!”

“Quick, before anyone comes,” one man said.

“I’ll kill you for this!” Ram roared, struggling to get free.

“Stuff something in his bleedin’ mouth, and hurry!”

Ram opened it to yell again, but a cloth was forced inside. He gagged, tasting sweat and God knew what else on the material.

“Quick, that woman is coming!”

Dear God, Flora, flee!

“Stop!” Ram heard her yell. She was closer now, but he hoped she would do as he asked of her. His cousin and friends would find him, then, because Flora would tell the Nightingales what had happened. They wouldn’t let him succumb to whatever fate these men had in store for him.

His attackers struggled to carry his weight, and then Ram was being forced down through the opening the men had climbed out of.

“He’s a bloody big brute.”

“Don’t let his legs go. We’ll tie him when we get down.”

Absolute darkness surrounded him now as he continued to fight. Boots splashed into water at the bottom, and he knew he was in the tunnels under the London streets. He had to get free; no one would ever find him again in here.

The Nightingales and Gray would. He had to believe that.

“Release him at once! The watch is coming!” The words came from above him, and Ram knew they belonged to Flora. Run, you fool, and get help.

He renewed his efforts and managed to get a boot free. Kicking out, he heard a loud oomph and then cursing.

“Hold him tight! We can’t wait to bind him in case the watch is coming!”

Ram stilled. He would wait until they were some distance from the opening and Flora. Then he would get free. No one was taking him away from his life. Not now, when he was finally happy.

The revolting stench of stagnant water and refuse burned his nostrils as he inhaled a much-needed breath.

Ram knew that down here there were a myriad of tunnels shooting off in different directions where he could get lost, so he must stay alert to be able to make his way out if he escaped.

The men stopped suddenly.

“Do you hear footsteps?” one of them asked.

Ram heard the faint slosh of feet. Perhaps Flora had been telling the truth, and the watch was coming. It wouldn’t be her; surely she would not be foolish enough to follow. Please let that be the truth.

He made a grunting sound to alert the watch, who he hoped were behind them .

“Keep him quiet, Nobby!”

“He’s heavy. I’m not sure how much longer we can carry him.”

“You have to, and there’s three of us, so move it.”

“Hurry. We have to reach the meeting place soon,” another said. “He’ll be waiting.”

Ram had to escape before it was too late because clearly they were taking him to someone. He’d think about who later.

The sound of something skittering along the tunnel and colliding with a wall reached them. The noise sounded loud in the small space, echoing around the walls.

“Someone’s there!”

“It’s them rats. The watch won’t bother with us down here.”

“That woman who called out for us to stop said they were coming.”

“Keep moving. If we want to get paid, we need to deliver him.”

“Stop now, or I will fire!” The words sounded deep and hoarse to Ram’s ears. A man with a sore throat or someone punched one too many times in the larynx.

The men holding him stopped. Ram went limp in their arms, now a deadweight for the men to carry. He heard a grunt as the man under his middle took the full impact.

“We have men and guns!” one of his captors roared. “Back away!”

“Release him, and I will tell my men to fall back,” the deep, raspy voice said again from behind them.

“There’s more than one,” one of the men holding him said.

“What do you want us to do, sir?” Ram heard another voice. This one higher but still manly. Perhaps Flora had indeed managed to secure some of the watch to retrieve him .

“Stand down for now. If they do not release him,” the raspy-voiced man ordered, “we take them.”

“He’s not lying,” one of his attackers whispered.

The sound of a gunfire ricocheted off the wall beside him, and he heard a yelp, and then he was falling to the hard, wet ground. Leaping to his feet, Ram struck out with his fists. He fought like a madman. Beside him, a watchman did the same, and he saw one of the men who captured him stumble back.

“Run!” Seconds later, the men were fleeing back the way they had come to the ladder. “Regroup! We’ll get the others!”

Breathless, he turned to thank his rescuers but saw only her. “Flora?”

She threw herself at him with a sob.