The Black Fox Strikes Again!
Cade Cavendish glanced surreptitiously at the headline on the copy of The Times that sat at an angle on the table next to him. His twin brother, Rafe, reclined just across said table at Brooks’s, the famous gentlemen’s club in the heart of St. James. Cade wanted to crush the headline in his fist. He glanced at Rafe. Had he noticed?
“Did you hear me?”
Cade’s blond head snapped around to face his brother. “No. Pardon?” Damn it. He shouldn’t have allowed the headline to distract him so much.
“I asked if you were planning to attend the theater with Daphne and myself tonight,” Rafe repeated.
The theater? Ah, yes, the pastime of aristocrats like the one his brother had become. Rafe, the white sheep of the family, had been a spy for the War Office during the wars. He’d been made a viscount by the Prince Regent and married the sister of an earl. Meanwhile, Cade had spent the last ten years doing something … much different.
Cade cleared his throat and steadfastly refused to glance at the paper again. “I suppose the theater wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
Rafe blinked his crystal-blue eyes slowly. “Don’t make me twist your arm. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
“Brother o’ mine, in our twenty-eight years, you’ve done many things, but never bored me. Besides, I’m always happy to spend time with my gorgeous new sister-in-law.” Cade waggled his eyebrows.
Rafe narrowed his gaze. “Careful there.”
“Where is the fair Lady Daphne this afternoon?”
Rafe leaned back in his chair and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “She’s meeting with potential new lady’s maids. Hers gave her notice. The woman’s moved north to take a position closer to her sister in the country.”
“A shame,” Cade drawled. Another tedious problem for the poor aristocracy. Finding proper servants.
“It’s not so bad, you know,” Rafe said.
“What’s that?”
“Having servants. Money. Power.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Cade said. He’d been staying at his brother’s new Mayfair town house. Filled with fine furnishings and proper servants, it was a far cry from their childhood home in Seven Dials. “I’m quite enjoying being the recipient of such luxuries.”
“While you’re here?” Rafe asked, his eyes still fixed on the paper. “How long’s it been now?”
Cade hid his smile. “I’d say close to nine months,” he replied smoothly. Of course his brother didn’t know why he’d come. The man had been shocked when Cade had appeared at the Earl of Swifdon’s town house last year, introducing himself as Mr. Daffin Oakleaf, one of his many aliases. Rafe had thought he was dead. Hell, everyone had thought he was dead. That was how Cade liked it. But he’d come back for a specific purpose. One that he had no intention of revealing to his brother.
This also wasn’t the first time his brother had hinted at wanting to know how long Cade intended upon staying. It suited his purposes not to tell him. It was downright enjoyable, actually, along with goading Rafe at every turn about his beautiful new wife. Cade might have been known in the past for his seductions and dalliances with women, but he would never attempt to seduce his brother’s wife. Luckily, Rafe didn’t know that, which meant Cade could continue to goad him.
“Yes, while I’m here,” Cade replied with all the nonchalance he could muster.
“And how long will that be?”
“You know me. I tend to stay as long as I have a fancy.”
“That’s fine. As long as you keep your mistresses out of my house … and away from my wife,” Rafe replied with a smirk.
Cade tugged at his cuff and sighed. “If you’re referring to that unfortunate incident with Miss Jones, I’ve apologized a half dozen times already. How was I to know she would climb into your bed at that inn? Amanda had no idea I was a twin.”
“Yes, well, perhaps if you conducted yourself with a bit more, ahem, decorum, neither of us would be subjected to such unfortunate incidents.”
“Decorum?” Rafe shook his head. “Such a boring word.”
Rafe muttered something unintelligible under his breath and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Cade grinned from ear to ear. His brother had been grumbling and rubbing his nose at him since they were lads. It was a sure sign Cade had got under his skin.
“‘The Black Fox Strikes Again’?” Rafe’s voice was a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
Cade winced. He should have tossed the paper aside when he’d had the chance.
Rafe’s gaze captured Cade’s over the top of the page. “Have you heard of him?”
“Who?” Cade asked, picking a nonexistent bit of lint from his coat sleeve. Bloody aristocrats and their bloody fancy clothing. It had nearly become a full-time occupation tending to his wardrobe since he’d taken up residence in Mayfair.
“The Black Fox,” Rafe drawled.
Cade sighed. “Seems I might have heard a mention a time or two.” He readjusted his cravat and cleared his throat.
Rafe’s brows lifted. “Says here he’s a pirate, an Englishman. He stole some valuable cargo from a French ship docked in the harbor last night.”
“Is that so?” Cade made a show of looking about for a footman to place another order of brandy. He declined to meet his brother’s eyes.
Rafe shook out the paper to see more of the story. “It also says he’s a master of disguise.”
Having located a footman and placed his order, Cade settled back in his chair and shrugged. He scratched at his eyebrow. “Does it? How interesting. Someone you’re looking for?”
“You know I cannot discuss my assignments,” Rafe said, still studying the paper.
“Ah yes, the Viscount Spy. Isn’t that your new sobriquet? It’s all quite clandestine, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” Rafe nodded toward the paper again. “Know anyone who’s a master of disguise, Mr. Oakleaf?”