A Rake's Redemption

by G. L. Snodgrass

  He smiled to himself. A man could get used to being pampered.

  “If you want, this can wait,” Lord Warwick said. “I do need to talk to you, but we can do this below.”

  “No, no, that is all right,” Devlin said as he caught a faint whiff of lavender and rose. Her scent he realized. It was perfect for her, beautiful and strong.

  “What can I do for you Lord Warwick?” Devlin asked as he tried to focus.

  The Lord Inspector began to pace. “I’ve examined your study. I must say you are rather lucky. Scruggs and his staff are to be commended. A fire such as that is rarely brought under control.”

  Devlin nodded. “I haven’t been able to inspect the damage yet. A task I hope to complete within the hour.” Again he shot Miss Jones a look to let her know there would be no more arguing about the matter.

  “Yes, well, can you tell me? Was there anything important in your study?”

  Devlin’s brow knitted in confusion. Where was this going?

  “No, nothing really.”

  “Your ledgers perhaps?” the Lord asked.

  “No, Peterson takes those with him when he leaves. They stay with him so that he can keep them up to date. We had just completed the last one when I was called to dinner. I can explicitly remember him leaving with them.”

  Miss Jones looked back and forth between the two men. Devlin could tell she was confused as to why she was here.

  “And you Miss Jones, you and His Grace’s wards joined him for dinner?

  “Yes, My Lord,” she said.

  “The entire dinner?” the man asked again.

  “What is this all about?” Devlin asked as his stomach twisted into a knot.

  Warwick hesitated for a moment, then started pacing again. “When I met you in your study, Your Grace, I noticed you used only candles, not an oil lamp,” he said.

  “Yes,” Devlin said. “The windows give quite a bit of light. I only need a candle in the late afternoon and evening. Is this about the fire? I assure you. It was probably a candle. I don’t remember if I left one burning when I went to dinner.”

  Warwick nodded at the information. “Yes, that was what I assumed when I heard about the fire. But, I hope you don’t mind. I examined the room just a short while ago.”

  Devlin glanced at Miss Jones. That curiosity of hers was threatening to take charge.

  “And?” Devlin asked the Lord.

  “And, did you know, that when a candle falls over, it usually goes out before it can do any damage. It is a small flame, and must land directly on something that burns easily. Or, the wick is smothered in fresh wax.”

  “Then, what was it?” Miss Jones asked.

  “I noticed that the area with the most damage was along the wall, next to the parlor. I believe the fire started there.”

  “Close to Mrs. Fuzzy and her kittens?” Miss Jones said, her brow narrowing in confusion. How could anyone threaten a poor cat, her face seemed to ask.

  “When I looked closer,” Warwick said, “I noticed some small shards of glass. It appeared as if someone had broken an oil lamp. At first, I thought, perhaps the cat.”

  Miss Jones gasped as her hand went to her throat.

  “The wick and oil were consumed of course. The shards of glass remained. But for the life of me,” Warwick continued, “I can’t remember seeing such a lamp when I visited you late last week.”

  “You think someone set the fire intentionally?” Devlin asked. “Someone tried to destroy Pine Crest?”

  “That is exactly what I think.”

  “But why?” Miss Jones asked.

  “If we knew that, then we would know whom,” Lord Warwick answered.

  “Why are you telling us? When we last met, you mentioned that everyone was a suspect in the late Duke’s death. Even me,” Devlin said. He quickly glanced at Miss Jones to see how she would react.

  Her lips set in a straight line as she shook her head. Obviously, she thought the idea preposterous. A warm feeling settled between his shoulder blades knowing that Miss Jones could not believe he would do such a thing.

  “It is simple. You and Miss Jones and your three wards were at dinner, together, none of you could have set the fire.”

  “And Scruggs,” Miss Jones said quickly. “He entered almost immediately behind His Grace, and never left the room while we ate. James and Lawrence both stepped out to retrieve dishes of food and removed plates. But, Scruggs never left. He never does when His Grace is at the table.”

  Warwick nodded his head, “Very good, Miss Jones, thank you. See, this is why I asked you to stay. I knew I could rely on your keen sense of observation.

  Devlin’s brow knitted in a frown. What was going on? Had someone tried to destroy Pine Crest? Why? Surely no one hated him that much. If it had been a jealous husband, then they would have called him out.

  Or course, they would have lost. Maybe this was their way of removing him without having to risk their own lives.

  He racked his brain as he tried to determine who might have done this. It couldn’t have been a jealous husband. Despite what Miss Jones thought, he had purposely avoided married women. For years, he had much preferred young widows and courtesans. Married women were too much bother.

  Of course, that didn’t stop him from the occasional flirting. Had a husband misinterpreted something? Had a wife used him to make her husband jealous?

  It just didn’t seem possible.

  Then suddenly, that cold, foggy night in London flashed into his mind. The east wind that threatened a change.

  Turning to Lord Warwick, he said, “In London, a few nights before I learned of my cousin’s death. I was set upon by two thieves.”

  Miss Jones eyes grew big as she glanced to his ribs. He knew she was thinking of the cut that sliced across his skin. He gave her a quick nod to let her know she was correct.

  “At first, I thought they were after my purse, but now that I think about it, it might have been more. One of them mentioned that they hadn’t been paid to face a sword.”

  Lord Warwick stopped his pacing, and addressed the Duke. “What happened, please, as much detail as you can remember.”

  Devlin told him the entire story. Even mentioning Madam DePaul’s. Miss Jones eyebrows shot up to her hairline at the name of the famous brothel.

  He could see her turn her nose up at him. As if he had disappointed her somehow.

  Not now, he told himself. He would deal with her disapproval later. Now, Warwick needed everything, if he was going to help him find out who was behind this.

  When Devlin finished the story, Warwick started pacing again. “Interesting,” he said as he turned and started back the way he had just come.

  Devlin and Miss Jones watched him walk, neither of them wanting to interrupt him. At last, he halted and looked at Devlin and Miss Jones.

  “I must warn you, Your Grace, I do not know what is happening. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who. I will find out of course. In the meantime, you must be careful. The only people you can trust are each other.”

  “What about Mr. Scruggs,” Miss Jones said.

  “Scruggs controls over a dozen employees. He could very well have had one of them set the fire while he stayed with His Grace.”

  “But, Scruggs was instrumental in putting the fire out,” Devlin said. He refused to believe that Scruggs had anything to do with this.

  “Yes, I am aware. But still. If I were you both. I would keep my eyes open and door locked at night.”

  Devlin looked at Miss Jones and tried to give her a reassuring smile. Surely this was only conjecture. No one knew for sure.

  Besides, he thought to himself, he would move heaven and earth to make sure that the girls and Miss Jones were not impacted by this.

  If someone was set on killing him, they must not be allowed to touch any of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca’s fingers smoothly pushed the new blue thread through the eye of the needle. Once it was through and tied off, she
looked up and smiled to herself.

  A warm sense of domestic tranquility washed over her. Is this what married women feel like, she wondered?

  The far wall of the parlor had been freshly painted. Erasing any sign of the fire. The carpenters were to arrive tomorrow and begin installing new wainscoting, then begin on repairing the Duke’s study.

  An uneasy feeling passed through her. Had someone really tried to destroy Pine Crest? It seemed far-fetched. Why would anyone possibly want to hurt them?

  Swallowing hard, she focused on those around her.

  Elizabeth and Isobel were playing with the kittens on the floor. Rolling a ball of yarn back and forth, giggling as the kittens attacked their new nemesis.

  Most of all, the Duke sat before the fire reading a London newspaper. Only a week old. Every so often, she would hear him grumble and shake his head.

  Johanna was in her window seat reading. Mrs. Fuzzy was curled up on a chair all her own. The tip of her tail twitching side to side as she watched her children and enjoyed a rare moment of peace.

  A warm contentment settled over Rebecca. ‘I know how you feel, Mrs. Fuzzy,’’ she thought to herself. All of those you love are well and happy.

  She glanced at the Duke from the corner of her eye. What would it be like to live this life always, she wondered? She knew full well that what she had, this peaceful contentment, could end at any moment. The girls could be hurt, or become ill, the Duke could dismiss her, or become bored and leave for London at any time.

  The thought troubled her to her very core. Yes, it could end, she told herself. But, she would enjoy it while it lasted. Heaven knew this would be as close as she ever came to domestic happiness.

  Her eyes traveled to the Duke once more. He had recovered quickly from his injuries.

  A secret part of her was disappointed that he no longer needed her nursing. She had enjoyed caring for him.

  ‘Admit it, Rebecca, you enjoyed touching him.’

  Something about him drew her like a moth to a flame. It had been very hard these last few days not to reach out and brush his shoulder. Gently tap his arm. The physical need pushed at her. She feared becoming addicted to the new Duke, much like the poor souls lost to the world of opium.

  Instead, she had remained distant and buried these strange new urges.

  That did not stop her from looking. When she knew he would not observe her, she would spend long moments studying him. Those broad shoulders. The strong chin. The way his eyes would light up at one of the girl’s jokes.

  Her heart felt things it had never felt before. Her mind thought things they had never thought before.

  What would it be like to be held in his arms? To be kissed with those lips of his? Taken to places she could only imagine. Made to feel things that were only whispered about by the downstairs maids when they giggled amongst themselves?

  She sighed to herself and pulled the thread tight, shaking her head at her ridiculous ideas.

  The thought of the Duke wouldn’t leave her mind. She gritted her teeth and tried to push it away. The man is not interested, she told herself. He has always been the perfect gentleman. The thought made her angry. Where was the rake when she needed him?

  Why hadn’t he tried to seduce her? She had caught his mention of that place in London. Everyone knew about it. Was that the kind of women he liked?

  Fancy, willing, easy.

  Obviously, governesses were not an attraction for him. Or was it just her? Did he find her off putting? The thought made her stomach curl up into a ball.

  Fighting to hold back a tear, she placed her sewing away and stood up. She needed to get away from him.

  The Duke looked up from his paper, a raised eyebrow asking her about her intentions.

  “I will be right back,” Rebecca said as she quickly made her way from the room. A little fresh air. That was what she needed.

  Passing the Duke’s study, she caught a strong smell of smoke and ash. Would they ever get rid of the offending aroma? she wondered.

  Hurrying down the hall, she passed through the blue room, Her Grace’s room for greeting guests if there was ever another Duchess at Pine Crest. The thought sent her spirits tumbling. The thought of another woman being the center of the Duke’s world was disturbing.

  Opening a French door, she stepped out into the grounds. A small patio overlooked raised flower beds and a knot garden on the lawn.

  The sun was sinking, it would be dinner soon, she realized. The sky was turning from brilliant oranges to the royal purple that signaled the end of another day.

  She should bring Elizabeth and show her these colors. The girl would be so happy.

  Instead, Rebecca stepped to the edge of the stairs that led out onto the grounds. She couldn’t return. Not yet. She needed time and space to gather herself.

  Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and fought a shiver. What was she going to do? She couldn’t be in the same room without thinking about him. How had this happened?

  She bit the inside of her lip, a habit she had fought against for most of her life. Ladies did not bite their lip. What would the girls think if they saw her now? The thought didn’t stop her though. When she became stressed, she forgot how she was supposed to act.

  Oh, if she could only be allowed to act as she wished. If she could allow herself to take the actions she wanted. How would her life be different? she wondered.

  What would it be like to spend one night with him? One slice of heaven. Something for her to take with her through the rest of her life. Something to hold on to. To know that she had been wanted by a man such as the Duke.

  Not because she was a good governess, but because he desired her. Needed her.

  One night of bliss, no one need know. The thought wouldn’t leave her.

  Yet, what if someone found out?

  ‘Oh Rebecca,’ she said to herself. ‘You don’t even know if he wants you.’

  She flashed back to the way he had looked at her in his room. The fire in his eyes had told her he did desire her. But, how could she be sure? What did she know about men?

  Could she be with him and then walk away? she wondered. Would he? The thought of him easily leaving her, sent a sharp pain to her heart. But, it would have to be that way. A governess could not hope for forever. And no one must know of their tryst.

  She laughed at herself. How silly she was being. A tryst. Who did she think she was? A Shakespeare character. One of his young lovers lost in a world of make believe.

  No. If she were to act on her desires, she could very well ruin any chance of ever finding happiness. In addition, she might very well lose her job. Lose the girls.

  The thought sent a sobering chill down her spine. No, this was ridiculous. She was a governess. Certain standards were expected of her. She must set an example for the girls.

  A governess who aimed above her position would be laughed at, then discarded. If society learned, they would ostracize her and the girls. She would be a ruined woman with no hope of finding employment.

  The girls would be able to avoid scandal, only if she left.

  No, it must not be allowed.

  Coming to a decision, she felt better. Stronger. She would not allow her emotions to guide her. No matter how they pulled and pushed at her. She would deny her desires and focus once again on what was important.

  Satisfied that she could again gain control of herself and her world, she turned to return to the parlor when the door opened behind her.

  “Miss Jones?” his deep voice asked. “Are you well?”

  Oh, why now? Why here in the growing dark? Couldn’t he leave her heart alone?

  “Yes, Your Grace, I am well. I just thought to watch the sunset for a moment.”

  He stepped up next to her and looked out over the garden at the fading light.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  She glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at the sky, but down at her. His eyes smoldering with want. His size and strength making her
feel small and feminine and very aware that he was a man, and she was a woman.

  She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from his, lest he see her answering need.

  He sighed gently before turning back to look at the sky.

  “I’ve always enjoyed sunsets. Each is unique,” he said. “Some, more special than others. Some could make you forget about every other sunset you have ever known.”

  Her heart raced. Was he talking about her? No, he couldn’t be. Do not assume the wrong thing, she told herself. Do not be that silly girl who misconstrues her lover’s words.

  “That is the thing about sunsets,” she said. Surprising herself with a steady voice. “Another will be here tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” the Duke said. “But, none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow. This might very well be our last chance to appreciate beauty. The wonderfulness of being alive. Seize your chance, Miss Jones. You never know when you will get another.”

  She turned towards him. His shoulders blocked the night sky. His lips looked as if they tasted of heaven. His eyes held her in their embrace, refusing to allow her to move away. She was locked in position, waiting, hoping.

  She didn’t know which of them moved first. It didn’t matter. They both needed the other. Pulled together like lode stones.

  Their lips met, and she melted. It was as she had always imagined. Sweet yet firm. The kiss sent a delicious tingle down her spine to her very soul.

  A hungry beast began to beat in her chest. Demanding more, demanding everything.

  Her hands went to those large shoulders as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight as if he were afraid she would disappear.

  They continued to explore and taste, his tongue gently probed and pushed into her mouth, awakening an entirely new set of wonders inside of her.

  Who knew it could be like this, she thought, as she fought to retain some sense of awareness of her surroundings.

  The magical wonderfulness of it all set her afire. She moaned softly in the back of her throat as she pulled him closer. She wanted more.