WHAT A WAYWARD LORD NEEDS, page 1
part #2 of LORDS OF HAPPENSTANCE Series
What a Wayward Lord Needs
Lords of Happenstance
book two
by
Sandra Sookoo
*****
Kindle version
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.
WHAT A WAYWARD LORDS NEEDS © 2018 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN-13: 9781731006486
Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Edited by: Victoria Miller
V.millerartist@gmail.com
Book Cover Design by Victoria Miler
Man: Nate | Period Images.com
Background: Stone road in the jungle| Deposit Photos.com
Background: Tambomachay Inca ruins, near Cusco, in Peru| Deposit Photos.com
Background: Surprising in their beauty, flowering multicolored orchids grow in the orchidarium| Deposit Photos.com
Decorative frame | Deposit Photos.com
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2018
First Print Edition, 2018
*****
Dear Readers,
Ah, book two in this new series. It has a wonderful ring to it, doesn’t it? I’m sure, if you’re a fan of my Thieves of the Ton series, that you’ve heard of Lord Castlereagh before. Now, Bentley is featured in his very own story with his first solo mission for the Crown. It’s jam-packed with daring adventure, narrow escapes, and a nice little romance complete with treasure hunting.
In What a Wayward Lord Needs, my story takes place on the Orinoco River and in the rain forests of Venezuela. During the course of hunting for what I’ve called Death Orchids (completely made up. They don’t really exist in nature… at least I hope they don’t,) Bentley and Cora accidentally stumble upon the Lost City of Gold. This is a place of legend. As of now, no one has ever been able to find such a treasure. As I researched the area and the legend, I decided to tackle this with my own spin, as I’ve done many times before with my adventure romances and their relics. I created a civilization of ancient people who might have made up the inhabitants of such a city, and who might have settled in that region of the world. So please, don’t count me as an authority on this subject or send me letters saying I’m all wrong.
I am merely a writer who knows how to spin a good tale. And remember, this is fiction.
Bon voyage!
Sandra, xoxo
*****
Dedication
To the following ladies who never fail to love each and every book I put out:
Sandy Kenny
Rachel E. Moniz
Cindy Bartolotta
Cindy Drennan von Hentschel
Penny Elliott
Kelly Snyder
Jenny Merchant
Angie Eads
Rebecca Poole
Marina Bauman Leonard
Sue Brandes
Roxane Tisdale
Lori Farner Dykes
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Acknowledgement
In the course of writing and planning a book, there is always copious amounts of research that I do. Someday, if I ever become rich and famous, I’d like to travel to all the places I write about. Until then, I have my imagination, and I take you with me.
Writing is a solitary task at times. Thankfully, there are always friends just a mouse click away. To these ladies, I’d like to give mention for helping me along the way with writing this book.
Naming Bentley's valet
Jessica Atchison, Lucinda Poette, Cindy Bartolotta, Crystal Marie, Danielle Dani DeBuono, Mary Lynde, Melody Brooke May, Leona Bushman, Charlene Whitehouse, Donna Foster, Stephanie Smith, Lori Farner Dykes, Julie Eichelberger-Ford, TK Toppin, Carolan Ivey, Theresa Echols Haack, Roxane Twisdale, Sharann Lloyd, Danielle Corrow
Naming things on the expedition that are creepy:
Angelina Jameson
Victoria Miller
Lisa Schmidt-Ringsby
And finally, this hero wouldn’t have the name that he does without the support (unlikely) of my neighbor’s dog, Bentley. May you always live on through the daring exploits of Lord Castlereagh.
*****
Blurb
Even if the world is falling to pieces, when the treasure of the heart is discovered, a fight is needed to keep it.
King’s agent, Bentley Courtenay—Lord Castlereagh—has been sent on his first solo mission to rescue a widow, who’s been abandoned in the dense jungles of Venezuela. He intends to bring her back to England to answer questions regarding the poisoning death of a peer. Yet what awaits him in the on the Orinoco River has him wondering why the devil he ever signed up to work for the Crown.
Widowed Cora, Lady Trammel, is on a quest to locate a deadly orchid and destroy every last bloom before the toxin she accidentally created can fall into the wrong hands. When she encounters a king’s agent who fires her imagination, she declines his demand to return to London. The fate of the world is at stake, and she has to fix her mistake, for her discovery has the capacity to kill every human on Earth.
In the course of the journey, desire flares between Bentley and the older, more experienced Cora, but she’s not looking for love. While he loses his heart, evidence of the fabled city of El Dorado comes to light, and their mission takes a critical turn into dangerous adventure, so matters of love are shelved. Pursued by threats, time is running out to destroy the deadly toxin and protect the world’s greatest treasure from men who mean both to use both for their own insidious gain.
*****
Chapter One
September 5, 1822
London, England
Bentley Courtenay—Lord Castlereagh, even if he despised the courtesy title—surveyed the makeshift boxing ring at the Daffy Club in the Castle Tavern with a faint smile curving his lips. This was where he belonged, where the stress and anxiety fell away. For a few blessed hours, he was free and able to be himself without fetters.
Stripped to his waist and clad in buff-colored trousers, his bare feet finding easy purchase on the naked, worn hardwood, his chest heaving from exertion, his muscles tense but pleasantly sore, he lazily gazed out at the handful of male onlookers, who stood by with a drink clutched in their hands as his pugilistic fight wound down and his opponent backed into a corner. The club’s informal slogan, “a complete antidote to the blue devils,” was not far off in seeing those ever-present spirits, for it was true enough, as was the copious amounts of “blue ruin” or the vile gin that some of the more boisterous chaps preferred. Bentley didn’t favor gin. His drink of choice was brandy, or even champagne if the occasion called for it.
The present time did not.
Alcohol wasn’t uppermost in his mind. He was in the club for the physical exertion, to work out the knots and kinks brought about by thinking, as well as the case he’d been handed by Lords Archewyne and Liverpool. His first solo mission, and the anxiety that such a thing threw him into. What the hell do I do if I fail?
“You know, Bentley, the object of the exercise is to pummel your opponent, not stare him into oblivion.”
The slightly sardonic tones from his brother, Elton, the Earl of Carlisle—only because his fraternal twin, born four minutes ahead, was older—yanked him from his musings. Elton as the eldest was a fact that has always caused anguish for Bentley, but as time had passed and Elton came into the title upon the death of their father three years ago, he felt nothing but relief. That wasn’t his responsibility.
Thank God. I can barely handle the weight of my first solo case. I would probably expire on the spot if given the chance to be earl.
Which brought him back to his brown study as he focused his attention upon his sibling. “Thank you for that timely reminder,” he drawled as his brother approached the roped off area where Bentley’s last sparring partner exited with what would be a splendid shiner upon his left cheek. “However, I cannot seem to pull myself from the mire of my thoughts.”
“Here.” Elton threw a rag at him, which he caught and then wiped the sweat from his brow and neck. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to a man’s health to think too much?”
“It’s rather a necessity right now.” Bentley shrugged as the onlookers drifted away, perhaps back to the main taproom or to find other entertainments within the pub.
“What has you at sixes and sevens this night?” Elton, his raven hair, gray eyes and rugged chin the features he shared with Bentley, sauntered over to a table where the remainder of Bentley’s clothing, along with a leather folio, rested. He grabbed the folio, opened the cover and rifled through some of the papers contained there. A brief stab of annoyance moved through Bentley. Elton had always failed to respect privacy.
“I’ve been given my first case as a king’s agent.” He tossed the rag into a corner of the marked off ring. “Lord Archewyne has deemed me sufficiently trained. He and the prime minister are sending me to the jungles of South America.”
“Oh?
Now I have nothing my brother wants. Why can I never have my own moment?
“Tomorrow.” When his brother rested a speaking glance upon him, the back of Bentley’s neck heated. “I don’t see the harm now in discussing certain aspects of the case.” He lowered his voice as he glanced about, reassuring himself they were alone. Besides being a new agent, Elton was also his twin and best friend. “If you’re of a mind.”
“Of course.” Elton held up a ticket for the HMS Liberty, the military schooner that would carry Bentley on the first leg of his journey. “Lords Liverpool and Archewyne are nothing if not efficient.”
“Indeed. I’ve traveled with Archewyne enough to know there’s nothing a king’s man cannot procure if he knows the right contacts.” When he’d gone to India with the Hawkins family, he’d been handed a crash course in surviving as a king’s agent, especially when he, Archewyne and Hudson had found themselves tossed into a dungeon beneath a prince’s palace and left to die. Then, when the earl and his wife had been kidnapped and tortured by Miles’ insane brother, Bentley had seen firsthand how taxing and dangerous being a king’s man truly was. Threats didn’t have to come from foreign principalities or powers, and everyone was suspect.
And still he’d pledged his allegiance to King and Crown. This was the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if the thought of a whole case resting on his shoulders sent a sick feeling into the pit of his belly, he wanted the chance to prove himself.
Am I as good as Archewyne and the others?
“What did you discover after going to Lord Trammel’s townhouse?” Elton asked as he flipped through the sheaf of papers contained within the dossier.
“Not much.” Bentley shrugged. “Lord and Lady Trammel haven’t lived there for at least three years, though the butler said a twenty-year-old son had recently spent his last holiday from Oxford there.”
“Where is the boy now?”
“I assume back at school.” He hadn’t checked, for it didn’t matter. The location of a youth-about-town had no bearing on the case. “In any event, there were traces of gardening and plant pots in the still room. Nothing I could use, and nothing living. The butler said the couple was good and kind, but academic and not in the usual ton style, unlike the young man, who will no doubt inherit the title once his father is declared legally dead.” Which would be soon, once the powers-that-be finished their examination of the lord’s remains, for after reading reports following the India mission, Rathesborne had ordered a contingent of agents to the nawab’s palace to bring home the three bodies.
“If he’s at school, he might very well be recalled soon,” Elton said in a quiet, thoughtful voice.
“Undoubtedly.” Would that Archewyne, in his role as the Duke of Rathesborne’s replacement, tell this young man a made-up story to soften the blow of the father’s death.
“I see your mission is one of retrieval.” Elton’s statement brought Bentley more firmly out of his thoughts.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m to find Lady Trammel and bring her to London for questioning. Her husband’s business partner, Lord Paddington, was found dead a few weeks ago. Poisoned, as the folks at Bow Street now suspect.”
“Why is that important?”
“The poison used is from a certain poison dart frog, and one that Lady Trammel had been known to work with. A trace of such was found in her stillroom laboratory.” He cringed as he recalled several dried, shriveled frogs kept in a jar. Poison, traditionally a woman’s weapon of choice due to the lack of gore or mess. Bentley shivered. I’ve seen Lady Archewyne in battle. No way would she consider poison appropriate. Such a horrible way to die.
“Which makes Lady Trammel a suspect,” Elton concluded.
“More like a person of interest.” Bentley frowned. “I also recovered a torn envelope addressed to Lord Paddington at his townhouse, posted from a town in Venezuela from Lord Trammel. According to his butler, it arrived a couple of months ago.”
“Contents?”
“Gone. I had no idea.” Which was troubling. What had the lord deemed so important that he’d mail it to his business partner, a man who was now dead?
“Who took it?”
“I don’t know that either.” He stared at his brother, noting the hint of speculation in his expression, and just as quickly dismissing it. Elton would discover how daunting a solo case was soon enough. “Regardless, it doesn’t bode well. My orders specifically say to find and retrieve Lady Trammel, not to solve a murder. This is what I’ll do unless told otherwise.”
Yet… as experience with the Earl of Archewyne had taught him, no case was as simple as all of that. The muscles of his stomach tightened with foreboding.
“You’re not curious?”
“If I find Lady Trammel, then I’ll learn everything I’ll need from her.” That, he firmly believed. She held a piece to the puzzle.
As Elton shoved the folio onto the table, it sent a golden locket out of hiding from beneath Bentley’s bottle green jacket. His brother picked up the piece of jewelry and cracked it open. Then he turned the sides to Bentley. “Did you ever solve the mystery of this woman?”
This woman. Elton said it as if she was of no consequence, as if she didn’t matter. Bentley leaned over the ropes and snatched the golden trinket from his brother’s fingers. Titan hair, Caribbean-blue eyes, rose lips where a maddening smile danced as if she kept a delicious secret. “I suspect she’s the widow of Lord Trammel.”
Elton speared him with his piercing gray eyes. “You found that on one of those dead bodies in India.” It wasn’t a question. The locket had featured heavily into Bentley’s life for months now. Never a day passed that he didn’t gaze upon that tiny painting. He’d taken to wearing the chain about his neck in a way to keep it close to him all the time.
“Yes.” Of course he’d told the tale of his adventures to his brother. “I can finally lay my curiosity to rest with this mission.”
“Your obsession with this woman will land you into trouble.” Elton rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Have you told Mother you’re leaving?”
He grunted. “I shall do it at dinner this evening. That way, there’s less time for her to complain about it.” He shared a grin with his sibling. “You understand.”
“More than you can know. Mother’s machinations are not my favorite thing at the moment. I only wish Archewyne would send me word of a mission so I’m not underfoot.”
“Or under her thumb.” It was well known to everyone within the ton that ever since their father died, their mother had directed all of her energy at her offspring, the bulk of her attentions being to see them wed.
“Indeed.” Elton chuckled, which pulled a matching sound from Bentley.
“If you don’t have a mission, I’m certain the title will keep you from her clutches. It had been one thing Father always drilled into you.” Now he knew why Father kept to his study for so many hours. Mother’s managing ways must have seemed like a vice, a noose that closed ever tighter about his neck.
“The position of earl is not exactly a godsend, but I’m learning to appreciate the rigors it entails. All except parliament. Bickering lords and old men set in their ways I cannot abide.”
“It all sounds tedious to me.” Bentley frowned as he let the locket spin on its golden chain from his fingers. How many nights had he sat before his fireplace, dangling this same necklace while contemplating the circumstances in which such a piece had come into Lord Trammel’s keeping? It was the greatest mystery of his existence to date, one he needed to solve.
