“And I do wonder at the value of funding a gown that will cost me an arm and a leg, unless it’s to show off to your friends the fact you’ve weaseled a new gown out of a credulous gentleman without giving him anything in return.”
“I gave you a kiss,” she said hotly.
The expression on his face changed. In fact, he looked quite uncomfortable, and she noticed that he shifted a little, before he began to pace.
“And might I ask, Mr Redding, what is your interest in Mr Wentworth?”
At the wooden desk beneath the window he turned, his expression grim.
“Mr Wentworth seduced my sister.”
Phoebe cocked her head. “Seduced? Then she was a willing party? I’m sure Mr Wentworth has seduced many an innocent. You are an unusual man if you do not blame her rather than Mr Wentworth.”
“I know my sister’s character, and she is not cheap, Phoebe,” he snapped.
Phoebe acknowledged this with a slight nod. “I hope I didn’t infer that she was. I just have observed that whenever there is wrongdoing between a man and a woman that it is always the woman whose reputation is smeared. Take my mistress, for instance. She’s not cheap, either.”
Mr Redding shrugged, staring down at the parchment on the desk. “I hope I’m fair enough not to judge one way or another, not knowing the lady in question. But we were talking about my sister. If you knew her, you’d understand. She’s sweet and innocent, and she believed him when he promised he’d marry her.”
“Then why does she not file a suit?”
Mr Redding made a noise of frustration. “If only she had. Instead, my sister went into a deep abyss of solitude. I had no idea of her involvement with Wentworth, whom I’d earlier warned her off, until it was…too late.”
Phoebe drew in her breath. “There were consequences?”
She saw the fiery hue that precluded the need for him to reply.
Phoebe sighed. “Your poor sister.”
“She went away for a while, and I’d hoped the matter was finally laid to rest. Until recently, she refused to divulge the name of the man. Now she lives with an aunt, quietly, but greatly altered in disposition.” He scowled. “I need not remind you that I rely upon your discretion.”
“Oh, you have that. I’m a woman, sir, and very mindful of the fact that your sister is fortunate enough to have family who can ensure no shame attaches to her. It sounds like she pays for her crimes of credulity every day. I don’t envy her.”
“I’m very close to my sister,” he said softly. “I do not condemn her.”
“Perhaps her father does? Her mother too, because she must step in line with the politics of shame. So that is your argument with Mr Wentworth.” She frowned. “I must say, trying to accost him at pistol point was rather extreme, if I might say so myself, sir.”
“It is not your place to make comment on how I choose to conduct myself or exact revenge from Wentworth!”
“No need to react so hotly, sir; I was just remarking that I’d have thought a more subtle yet more damaging approach would have been more effective.” She put her head to one side. “Like taking away what Mr Wentworth wishes for most in this world.”
“And what would that be?”
“His newly acquired title and estates.”
Mr Redding laughed out loud. “And how do you suppose I might manage that? I’m not the Prince Regent. No, Phoebe, you really have no idea how to approach this from a logical point of view, and there’s no need to look at me like that. I’m not being insulting. For all that you know how to string words together to sound like a lady—and I’ll grant you are an impressive mimic—you are a servant with, I’m sure, a good and faithful heart, but you cannot begin to understand the complexities of such a thing.”
Phoebe offered him a respectful curtsey before turning on her heel. Oh, I know exactly how it could be done, she thought. But divesting Wentworth of his estates and title could only be achieved if there were another contender for the title: an heir produced by Ulrick’s widow within a conceivably acceptable time of Ulrick’s death. It didn’t leave much time, and Phoebe was not one to barter her body for a dress, but she’d do so if it meant Wentworth had no claim on Ulrick’s title. Yes, she might be unsuccessful in convincing a magistrate of her innocence, and she may yet die for a crime she did not commit, but if she could prevent Wentworth inheriting what he’d murdered to lay claim to, it would be some consolation.
At the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. “I’ll ask Mrs Withins to attend to you, shall I, sir? So you can talk to her about summoning a dressmaker from the village,” she added in response to his questioning look.
Hugh stared after her, and when he’d regained his senses, he found he was unconsciously touching his mouth with the fingertips of his right hand.
Damn, but she’d taken him by surprise with that kiss of hers. Even still his lips were burning.
At the window, he gripped the sill and stared down the modest drive that led from the cottage to the road.
She’d asked him what he’d hoped to achieve by accosting Wentworth at pistol point. Honor for his sister. Yes, it had been rash, but he’d been in his cups when he’d come up with the plan to prove to Ada that not all men were smooth-talking confidence tricksters who led vulnerable women down the road to ruin.
There was also the small chance of exacting some retribution from the man. A marriage proposal had been his ultimate aim, though when he’d confidently told Ada he’d ensure Wentworth did the honorable thing, she’d burst into tears and said she’d not marry him if he were the last man on God’s earth.
Well, Hugh didn’t much fancy Wentworth for a brother-in-law either, but he did love his sister exceedingly, and surely marriage was better than ruin or the convent, as Ada had at one stage desired.
And contrary to what Phoebe believed, he and Ada had grown up without a mother, and Hugh had had a more than usual guiding influence on his young sibling which was why’d felt Ada’s failure was somehow his.
He fingered the scar on his wrist, sustained during a childhood show of chivalry on behalf of his sister’s honor. Phoebe’s talk of just now had unleashed a veritable storm of emotions. Surprisingly, her talk about exacting retribution in the form of depriving Wentworth of what he most wanted kept replaying itself in his head.
She’d sounded so confident, but what could a maidservant know about exacting retribution from a man like Wentworth? Who was she really? A village child born in some humble hovel? Her beauty had no doubt opened a number of doors. Could she have had a noble protector who’d left her to slide back into servitude? Is that where she’d learned to speak and act like a lady?
He touched his finger to his lips once more. Ha, that precious innocence of hers for which she’d not barter a dress was a tall tale. Only a woman experienced in the ways of men would have been so bold as to plant a kiss like the one she’d given him. A woman used to being paraded and feted by a gentleman.
Perhaps, as she claimed, she could be useful to him.
But she’d need a little coaching. He couldn’t afford for her to embarrass them both by proving her low birth during an unguarded moment.
He smoothed back his hair and regulated his breathing. Yes, he would take Phoebe in hand and teach her how to be a lady.
Then he’d make her his mistress, and she could have all the gowns she chose, within reason.
8
“Some fabric was left over from a polonaise Lady Colchester bought from Paris and the feathers….”
Phoebe stared from the beautiful gown that clothed her to the little woman in front of her. Truly, this was a clever artiste. And Hugh was a clever man for finding her.
He looked smug as now he shifted his attention from Phoebe to the dressmaker who’d just packed up her pins and started to leave, having received payment and praise obviously sufficient to her needs. Offering Phoebe his arm, he led her toward the window.
“Miss Lavendar has traveled some distance today, but I felt it was
justified to employ the talents of someone I know could be trusted.”
Phoebe looked from where her hand lay on his sleeve, then up to his face, which caught the sunlight that slanted through the diamond panes and felt a surge of something that was not gratitude snake through her heart before traveling disconcertingly to her loins. She wanted to rub her hands over the short stubble of his chin.
Instead, she inclined her head. “You obviously hold great store by your sister’s opinion,” she remarked and then saw the shadow that crossed his face.
“My sister is a remarkable young lady.” She could tell it was not lip service either. When he spoke of her, he was altered. When he was flirting with Phoebe, the maidservant, he was as louche as any man. The contradiction riled her, but she was also impressed by his loyalty. How nice if any man had ever championed her.
“I think she must be a lucky young woman to have a brother like you.”
“Alas, I failed her as a brother when I did not observe the nature of the man to whom she was losing her heart.” A flare of anger darkened his gaze.
Wentworth, of course.
Phoebe looked at him inquiringly. Perhaps now, in this moment of intimacy, he would make a confidante of her. Maybe, dressed as she was, he’d forget she was supposedly a lady’s maid, so far beneath him.
It appeared he did. “About eighteen months ago, Wentworth was a visitor to our district. Ada met him at the Assembly Rooms.”
Phoebe felt grateful for his trust. “And he swept your sister off her feet, like he did my mistress? Mr Wentworth can be a very charming man when he wants to be.”
“Clearly, he was charmed. Ada was young and unused to the attentions of gentlemen, and she was offended when I tried to counsel her on the need for caution.”
“Oh dear, she was rebellious?”
Mr Redding rolled his eyes. “Back then she was although it was a long time before I realised just how far she had strayed, and indeed that Mr Wentworth was in fact the devil I now know him.” He sighed. “How I would wish to see a return to her wilfulness from those days though, for all the fire and life has gone out of my sister now.”
“Poor Miss Redding. But surely a young woman with spirit would want revenge against a blackguard like Mr Wentworth?”
“And how would a gently reared young woman exact revenge?”
Phoebe tossed her head. “My point exactly. I hoped you’d see the impossibility we women face every day of enjoying the justice so often denied us.” She touched his arm. “We need to employ clever men as our conduits. Your sister and I are lucky to have you, Mr Redding.”
She was astonished by the stab of feeling his amused and interested gaze unleashed within her. Her nipples hardened, and again she was aware of the heat in her lower belly that surely wasn’t just gratitude for the dress he’d paid for. Tempering her smile, she looked away. It was a relief she was still capable of warm feelings for a man, but she mustn’t allow herself to grow too fond of him. She was poised for escape at the first opportunity. She knew it was too dangerous to return to her aunt in Norfolk for that’s exactly where Wentworth would look soon. But soon she’d need to leave here and go far away.
“Well, together we shall prevail, Phoebe.” They’d reached the window embrasure where he put his finger beneath her chin and tipped her head. “I was thinking long and hard about what you said the other day.” At her inquiring look, he added, “That the way to bring Wentworth down would be to discover what he most wanted.”
“I already told you what he most wants. The estate he’s inherited through murder.”
“And you plan to return to Blinley Manor to spy on him, is that right?”
“I can’t possibly go into company where he might recognize me.”
Mr Redding frowned. “But the new dress. I thought that was your very intention. I thought you planned to pretend to be a lady—”
“A lady, yes, but not …” she trailed off, miserable and fearful.
“You are very loyal to your mistress, aren’t you, Phoebe?” His tone softened. “Yet, despite your boldness, you’re doubting your courage and ability not to make a misstep, aren’t you?” He drew her unexpectedly against him, and his hands contoured her curves, skimming up and over the fine muslin before cupping her face. “Don’t worry, Phoebe. I shall be your tutor.”
“My tutor?” She pulled away, not liking the change in him. “I hope you mean in your endeavors to turn me into a proper lady. I am not as easy as you might suppose, Mr Redding,” she ground out, fighting the urge to cry. Just when she’d begun to like and trust him, he’d reverted to type.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m curious. You pretend you’re an innocent, but you clearly have experience of men. You speak and behave like a lady. Who are you really, Phoebe?”
She wasn’t ready to confess her identity when she wasn’t sure enough of him.
“Were you trading on past experience to be so beguiling when you desired a new dress? Were you a rich man’s mistress, perhaps?”
Phoebe hung her head. That’s exactly what she’d been, and her silence seemed to confirm it in Mr Redding’s mind.
“So, once you had a rich protector, but now you’re a lady’s maid?”
Unable to look him in the eye, she nodded, tears threatening.
“And now I am your protector and am funding a new wardrobe?”
Slowly, she raised her head. “So this is when you ask me to sleep with you?”
He seemed to be thinking, staring out of the window with a troubled frown. “I had no idea my wild adventure to apprehend Wentworth would lead to this.” He returned his look to her. “To rescuing a beautiful woman and keeping her safe.” He appeared to resolve upon something for he added, “But gallant gentlemen rescue maids in distress. Opportunistic blackguards seduce them.” His sudden smile took her by surprise, sending her heart into freefall. “Have no fear, Phoebe. I shan’t make uncomfortable overtures and trade on my good fortune in adding an accomplished, entertaining, and exquisite-looking woman to my household. Not if the idea is so repugnant. No, I promised a fair trade: your information to bolster a case against Wentworth.” His voice dropped as his eyes traveled over her, lingering on her décolletage which, for the first time, was shown to best advantage thanks to the stays the dressmaker had procured in a hurry. “Perhaps one day I might persuade you of my inherent charm. But you will have to make it clear you’re…in the market.”
“I may have lost my virtue, Mr Redding, but not my dignity.” This was uttered in a less convincing tone. Phoebe slanted another glance at him. He was a fine-looking man. And a gentleman; not a blackguard. How many men would not take advantage where they could?
He put out his hand slowly, and Phoebe watched his seeking fingers gently skim the puffed roulade of her sleeve before advancing across her shoulder toward her bared skin. Anticipation rose, and she sucked in a shallow breath as he slowly contoured the edge of her gown, skimming the top of her breasts.
“I know you’ve felt more than just a passing interest in me, from the moment we met, Phoebe,” he whispered. His fingers were so close to dipping beneath the fabric of her bodice, but he restrained himself, and Phoebe felt a tugging, yearning feeling from the depth of her being and was unsure if she were relieved or otherwise.
By God, but he was making this difficult. She’d wanted any encounter of a physical nature to prove she was not the weak creature she’d always been with Wentworth. Yet she wanted only to step into this man’s embrace and see where it took them.
Swallowing, she suddenly pulled away, saying in an as disinterested a voice as she could manage, “What news of the murder at the manor? You were out on horseback in the village this morning, were you not?”
He remained where he was, matching his tone to hers.
“A dozen more men have been scouring the countryside looking for Lady Cavanaugh, but there’s not been so much as a sighting. Someone suggested she is so filled with shame and mortification she’s thrown herself do
wn a well.”
Phoebe snorted. “I don’t think Lady Cavanaugh is one to be cast down by mortification for something she didn’t do.”
“Well, there’s no one standing in her defense except you, Phoebe.”
She swung around quickly. “No one? Well, I’m sorry to hear it, but I’ll not speak up and be the only one if it’s my word against Wentworth’s.”
“You might just have to since it would appear you are the only one to have witnessed his crime. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Lady Cavanaugh is her husband’s murderer.” He gave a sigh of frustration. “Are you sure there’s no one else who’d speak up in your mistress’s defense? That’s if she truly is innocent as you claim.”
“She is innocent,” Phoebe muttered sullenly. “But it appears Mr Wentworth is going to get away with his crime, after all. Doesn’t it?”
“Indeed. And in the days since the murder, you are I are no closer to achieving what either of us had hoped.”
Yes, only a few days had passed, but already Phoebe was growing weary of the lack of respect, bathing water, and other comforts she was used to. The servants in the house were barely civil to her, believing her to be Mr Redding’s mistress already, no doubt.
“So what do we do now, m’lord?”
He chuckled, reverting to the playful, slightly condescending tone he’d adopted prior to assuring her of his gentlemanliness. “I keep forgetting you’re a consummate actress, Phoebe, but although you’re adept at playing the lady of the manor, it only takes one misstep to be revealed for the imposter you are. No need to look so indignant. I am a gentleman; therefore you cannot refer to me as m’lord.” He put his arm about her shoulders and led her to the window embrasure, talking all the while as if tutoring a student. “But you are good, I’ll grant you that. Why, if the fancy took us, I do believe it would be quite a lark to take you somewhere I’d not be recognized and pass you off as my wife.”
Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “As your wife, sir? Why, you speak of a lark for the future which almost implies I was already your mistress. What was all this talk about just now, then? You do take a lot for granted.”
The Duchess and the Highwayman Page 7