A Most Mysterious Gentleman (#1 Sweet Nineteenth Series) VERY SLOW UPDATES

AMMG ~23~

So- because I love you guys SO MUCH, and everyone as been super supportive and lovely, I thought I'd release this chapter a few days ahead of schedule as a thank you! :)

Amy

John, the Earl of Rochester, sat heavily down in his slightly rubbed upholstered armchair and proceeded to put his grey haired head in his arms. He sighed. And sighed again.

The Duke of Trent came striding through the purposefully closed study door. "Gads Man, make a decision. He's in your household and has these treasonous documents upon him! Will you send a message to the British Office or mull over these potential war threatening papers?"

The Earl scowled into his hands. It had been an eventful few weeks, and this quite literally took the biscuit. First of all the Trent chit and the Duke of Richmond, then the man disappeared, reappeared and left a girl who had seemingly vanished into thin air. The small issue of her raving father in his household did not comfort him either.

He lifted his head up wearily and gazed at the man with the superior title in front of him. He had his hands on his hips, a domineering expression but the tell tale worry lines marring his face. That, in addition to the fact that the Duke was asking a man of lower status to lead, gave away his true feelings on the situation. John could sympathise, he really could, but with an unconscious man on his hands who could be holding documents to start another war with the French, and proof of treason, left his mind muddled and confused.

He made eye contact with the Duke, irritability winning over respect and opened his mouth to speak.

A knock on the door and the appearance of the man's valet stopped him.

"Your Grace, my Lord," he bowed to each man in turn,"you must forgive my rudeness-".

The Duke stared at him. "You have certainly been very rude, and disrespectful. I will tell Richmond myself to fire you at once!" He finished with a roar.

The Earl looked on but said nothing, admiring the valet's unflinching presence. 

The young man continued, "Your Grace it is of the utmost importance. It is about the papers."

The two titled men exchanged a look. They had not shared their findings with anyone.

The Earl spoke before the Duke could. "Continue my lad."

"Henry-" the man looked uneasy at the old Duke's stare, "ahem- His Grace was muttering something about how the French were at rest, and economic depression causing north potential uprising. Being his valet, my Lords, I hear a lot. I happen to know His Grace has spent much time with French aristocrats and the general census is that no-one can afford another war. In conclusion, there is no reason for him to be holding anything causing war with the French. Even if there was some unease, each country cannot afford it, even with a higher tax raise."

The men looked at each other in wonder. John stood up, even more confused than before. "Richmond couldn't have muttered that all in his sleep man. Gads, do you take us for imbeciles?"

The young man had the grace to look sheepish. "My Lord, Your Grace, in the strictest confidence, I am also in employ by the Home Department. I work with His Grace. He flatters the nobles and I work closely with those in employ of those. Servants often have most of the information; they are extraordinarily good listeners." 

A slight grin to his face enlightened the Earl to the younger man's cheekier side, although he chose not to address the issue.

This time, it was the Duke who sat. He muttered something under his breath, and the Earl could only hope he wasn't planning the deaths of everyone in the near vicinity, although that plan sounded infinitely more peaceful than unraveling the mess at hand.

John looked at both the Duke and the Valet attempting to decide who should lead the small group to clear the air.

He looked to the Valet. "Right man, tell us what we should do."

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Henry felt his lips move, sound escaping although with no comprehensibility. His head, spinning as it was, gave way to the nauseous feeling in his mouth as he turned and threw up his food into the small pail by the side of the large, well endowed bed. 

The velvet covers against his sweaty skin gave his arm goosebumps and made him shiver. 

His mind was like a mass of jumbled books that would not right themselves into alphabetical order, falling back down as soon as something worked or clicked. 

Frustrated, his wandering mind pictured his fiancee, the beautiful, strong Rosalie. The girl so stubborn and frustrating he couldn't work her out. 

He'd dealt with women before, part of it was his job, charm women to give him information. He hated it a lot of the time, taking advantage of their emotional vulnerability to get them to give up secrets of their country. They almost often had husbands who took many mistresses and flaunted them right beneath their noses, children often arrogant and selfish and cared not about the women who gave birth to them. 

But they were the easiest to get information out of, a little prodding here, a flirtatious  smile there and he could have them wrapped around his little finger, only to break their hearts when he had the information he needed and his mission was over.

But Rosalie was not easily as won over, and she was but just a schoolroom chit. The challenge to get her to respect him was one he was definitely willing and excited to take he thought on reflection. As long as the promise that he didn't lose his heart in the process. 

That was too dangerous. 

He would never risk it happening again after the last time.

But he liked her spunk, her character. The one-legged, grouchy, gorgeous girl was one he wouldn't be too upset to marry. They would be good friends. Maybe even have children when they had both grown and matured a little together.

They would be a good family.

The thought made him sit up quickly, which he immediately regretted as the dizziness turned his world around.

Rosalie. His fiancee had gone missing out searching for him.

Stupid girl! 

He scowled, happy thoughts of his future wife diminishing quickly as he examined her stupidity. Not just of recklessness and danger as a girl just recently injured, but the way she'd compromised herself again without thought and put herself in danger.

What fight could she give that he, as a trained military expert fully grown man, couldn't?

He fingered the emerald ring on his left hand, pausing thoughtfully to examine his situation. Which was in bed, half naked.

The documents.

Gads! He'd forgotten about those! 

He needed to find out what Wilborough had planted on him before anyone else saw them. If they were going to choose to publish him, with the hanging penalty, he needed to know what he was up against.