Free Lord Gray's List by Maggie Robinson

Lord Meacham. He’s got the best stable in Dorset. He was to tell me where to meet him when he came to Town, but now I’ll never know.”
    “And I’m looking for my Bertha,” the workman said. “She left home two months ago. I’ll take her back, no questions asked.”
    “Oh, you’re the one who wrote those affecting couplets,” the spinster said. “ ‘Please come home, my sweet Bertha. Life without you has no mirth-a.’ ”
    Mother of God . These people had to get out of his house. He didn’t begin to want to know why the whore was here.
    “Very interesting, all of it. Perhaps you all will allow me to discuss this over breakfast with E—Mr. Ramsey. If you would kindly disperse, sh—he will notify you of our decision.”
    “You heard his lordship. Move along now,” Severson said severely, probably trying to earn back Ben’s trust. Not for a minute did Ben think the butler had legitimately been bamboozled by this unprepossessing group.
    “Yes. I promise to meet you all in front of the newspaper office in”—Evie looked at Ben for help—“two hours?”
    “I certainly think that will give us time to discuss these pressing press matters,” Ben quipped.
    “I shall stay,” Fitzhugh said.
    “You shall not,” Ben retorted, irritated. What was Evie doing with this overly familiar man? He was far too beautiful for his own good. In fact, he seemed the sort to prefer his own sex—
    And then Ben smiled. Poor Fitzhugh, tricked by Evie’s snug breeches.
    “It’s all right, Lord Fitzhugh. I’m not afraid of Lord Gray.”
    You should be, thought Ben, as he firmly closed the dining room door.

C HAPTER 7
    B en pulled a chair out for her and Evangeline sat down glumly. This morning had been unexpectedly atrocious. She’d never dreamed that a crowd would begin to mill around The London List office before dawn, apprised of the regime change early by her crew of fleet-footed delivery boys. By eight o’clock the uproar and unrest was out of control. Worried what they might do, Evangeline had accompanied the group—which forcibly reminded her of torch and pitchfork-bearing Luddites, although their intent was not to destroy machinery but ensure its continued use. But she didn’t want harm to befall Ben, not really, so she’d tried to calm them down as best she could. When that glacial butler wouldn’t let her in with the self-appointed “representatives,” she’d howled in frustration.
    “I’ll ring for fresh coffee.”
    “Don’t bother. I—I am sorry, Ben. I didn’t anticipate this reaction. But now that you’ve seen what the newspaper means to people, perhaps you will change your mind about discontinuing it.”
    Ben leaned back in his chair, looking like a delicious, disheveled large cat. His jaw was sprinkled with gilt stubble, and his fair hair curled in poet-like disarray. He was quite a contrast to Lord Fitzhugh, who fancied himself an actual poet. Fitzhugh’s offer to sponsor another newspaper had come as a shock, but Evangeline had jumped on it. Perhaps if Ben felt a bit threatened, he’d relent and let her run The London List for him. She’d put out the last issue entirely on her own, as that coward Frank Hallett had refused to help her. Ben had bribed him all too generously, Evangeline thought in disgust.
    She stared down at her hands, black with ink. She hadn’t had a chance to grab her gloves before the lynch mob had decided to storm Baron Gray’s castle. Her warm greatcoat was still hanging on its hook, too. All she really wanted to do was crawl back into bed—she’d been up the whole night through gentling her recalcitrant press to produce its final edition.
    But perhaps not. Evangeline widened her dark eyes, then let her lashes drop, fluttering a bit at the end.
    Any hope that she had harbored to somehow brazenly seduce the bastard over breakfast was dashed by a rapid knock at the door and the entrance of a plump, handsome older woman.
    “I see the coast is relatively clear. I