Page 85 of An Extraordinary Lord

Clayton interjected quietly, repeating Miss Jones’s words from the interrogation, “And England lacking the strong leadership it needs.”

Merritt’s heart skipped. “Liggett said the same. That the government was indecisive, that England needed a show of strength and resolve instead of wastefulness and weakness.” A sickening, bitter taste of acid covered his tongue. “He didn’t mean putting down the riots. He meant overthrowing the regent.”

A curse fell from Clayton’s lips, and Pearce set down his drink. A grim silence settled over the men. In their entire lives, their most sacred duty had been to the monarchy and army. Now, Scepter was plotting to destroy even that.

“But Liggett, of all men?” Pearce shook his head. “Does Scepter really think it can make Horatio Liggett into an English Napoleon?”

“No,” Merritt answered quietly. “And they don’t have to. Liggett is just their current pawn. They’ll employ others like him to keep demonstrating over and over how weak the regent is, how corrupt, how destructive for England. And eventually, when the time is right, Scepter’s men will declare that the regent is just as unfit as King George, that he needs to be removed and a new monarch installed. Voices will call out from all levels of the government and the military.” He stared grimly at the floor. “Who will be there to stop them from overthrowing the House of Hanover?”

“One of the royal dukes,” Pearce interjected firmly. Disbelief filled his voice that they were even having this conversation. “Especially if he’s the one Scepter’s picked to replace the regent.”

“Not if Scepter can’t trust any of the royal dukes to do their bidding,” Merritt explained. “They’ll want a puppet ruler in place, not just a change in monarch. They’ll declare that every one of the royal dukes is as mad as their father, as unfit as their brother—emotional hysterics and breakdowns, fits of rage, publicly flaunting mistresses, committing scandal after scandal, and spending the country into poverty. They’ll put a new monarch in place. One they can control.”

Clayton added grimly, putting voice to what they were all thinking, “A second Glorious Revolution will be born.”

“And we only have until dawn to stop it,” Merritt reminded them.

Pearce came forward. All three men stood in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, as they’d done on the battlefields of Spain and France when they needed to strategize. The familiarity of the gathering and the shared purpose behind it warmed through Merritt. These men were his brothers, a family formed in the fires and blood of battle, and he would lay down his life for them.

“So where do we start?” Pearce said.

“Howdo we start?” Clayton shook his head. “For God’s sake, to stop this, we’d need our own army to replace Liggett’s or a riot we can control.”

Merritt and Veronica said in unison, “I can get us—”

Realizing what they were doing, they both stopped and turned toward each other.

“An army,” Merritt finished, his chest warming as he held her gaze beneath his.

“A controlled riot,” Veronica added, a slow smile crossing her face.

Pearce and Clayton exchanged bewildered looks. Then Pearce threw up his hands. “I don’t even want to know how.”

“Miracles,” Veronica answered enigmatically.

Merritt shrugged. “And a little kidnapping.” He removed his jacket, tossed it aside, and rolled up his sleeves. “But first, we’re going to need General Braddock.”

“This is madness,” Marcus Braddock, Duke of Hampton and former general with the Coldstream Guards, declared to the men as he finished listening to their plan.

From across the octagonal room where she leaned back against the wall and did her best to go unnoticed, Veronica silently agreed.

Dawn was only a few hours away. According to Clayton and Pearce, soldiers from the Scots Guard were already positioned in the streets behind makeshift barricades. Liggett would arrive soon to lead them in firing on the rioters. And Scepter would be one step closer to revolution.

Marcus Braddock knew it, too. That was why he shoved himself off the arm of the sofa where he’d been perched for the past half hour and began to pace the length of the main room of the Armory. Brandon Pearce had had the unfortunate task of rousing the duke from his warm bed and out of the arms of his wife to bring him here, while Merritt and Clayton had remained behind to concoct their plans.

If the men of the Armory didn’t get themselves killed—with several rioters and soldiers right along with them—it would be a miracle.

But everyone in the room also knew this was the only workable plan they had.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly.” The duke paused in his pacing to cross his arms over his chest. “We’ve got a monarchy to rescue, a riot to put down, Scots Guards to immobilize, and only three hours left to do it.”

“That’s about right,” Merritt confirmed.

“And this is our plan—kidnapping, mutinying soldiers, and starting a riot of our own?” Marcus gestured a hand at the Armory around them, indicating all they’d plotted out tonight. “Crossing both the Home Secretary and War Department to protect rioters?”

“Well,” Clayton grudgingly acquiesced, “when you put it that way—”

“Yes,” Merritt finished resolutely.