A Rag-mannered Rogue

by Hayley A. Solomon

  “I am gratified sir.”

  “Most young ladies are, I believe.” There were several sniggers in the nearby taproom. Tessie drew herself up to her fullest height. He deliberately misunderstood her! And with such a bold glance as to bring a sudden warmth to her cheeks. But she was no greenhorn, and she would not allow him to indulge the belief that she could fall victim to his gentlemanly charms. Indeed, now she looked, he had several imperfections, for though his hair was jet black, there was the odd strand of silver easily detectable, and his brows had dark arches that were wide, rather high, above those wickedly blue eyes. “Too blue,” she thought, “for a gentleman.”

  “You misunderstand me.”

  “Do I?”

  “Indeed, for it is not you that gratifies me, sir, but your obvious status.”

  “How humbling.”

  Was his mouth twitching? She suspected so. Nevertheless, she continued in a civil tone. She would consider the matter a penance.

  “It is mortifying that your word should bear more weight than mine, but since it does, I take leave to thank you.”

  The indignation in her tone was evident, causing a rather more definite smile to appear on the face of the gentleman. Unfortunately, it was both superior and indulgent, which made Tessie forget her civil intentions and suffer the desire to kick his shins.

  “Quite so, Miss . . . ?”

  She pulled herself together. “Evans. Charity Evans.”

  “Ah, how . . . appropriate.” His disbelief was palpable.

  Did he realize she was using a false name, or was it simply her choice that was amusing him? Charity. Yes, she saw the joke in that. A little against her will, her eyes twinkled.

  “I do not mean to be seen as a charity basket, sir, though I concede if you hadn’t spoken for me, I may well have found myself at the parish door. This despite the fact that I have—”

  “Forty-two sovereigns in your pocket.” He finished the sentence for her with something between a frown and a gleam of amusement.

  “Not my pocket, sir, my reticule.”

  “Ah, yes. Pray enlighten me on this point. And the rest of the taproom. The door stands ajar, you know.”

  The reproof was unmistakable. Worse still, it was well founded, for Theresa did know. She could see several hats and the curl of tobacco smoke out of the corner of her flashing chestnut eyes. She was behaving like a sapskull, and she knew it, for it did not do to boast of riches in a watering hole such as this. Normally, she would not have dreamed of doing so, but she had been most put out by the innkeeper’s attitude.

  “If I were you, Miss Evans, I would be more circumspect in my confidences.”

  Theresa flushed. It did not help in the least that the gentleman was right.

  “I am used to dealing with petty thieves, sir.”

  He raked her up and down with his eyes, so that Theresa felt distinctly uncomfortable. But she managed, by dint of tilting her chin up defiantly, to match his gaze stare for stare without wavering once.

  The gentleman did not seem to appreciate this fine display, for he merely drawled in a bored tone that he might have guessed. Then, by way of incensing her further, he continued.

  “What a very uncommon female you are, to be sure. And now, I really must leave you to enjoy your repast. I hear the clatter of china.”

  There was nothing for it but to curtsy and to murmur something inaudible under her breath. The gentleman apparently took her thank-yous as his due, for he merely nodded curtly and took up his cane. But there was an odd, indefinable expression in his eyes that made Theresa wonder whether he had heard the muttered expression that had issued from her modest lips and passed for a “thank-you.” All in all, she hoped not.

  Three

  The innkeeper himself led the way to a private parlor and there, to her disappointment, she found nothing so plain as a rabbit stew, the posting house being very superior by nature and employing a French cook. The only remove she recognized as being eminently English was a cod’s head, and this she disregarded immediately as entirely ineligible. No matter how hungry she might be, she could not consider the eyes in the light of a delicacy.

  So, after some thought, she accepted a dish of steaming oysters à la crème, a generous helping of vegetables, and several slivers of green goose, which she recognized from the other meats, despite its villainously French name. When the servant departed, she found herself quite alone, and ate ravenously, for it was several hours since she had thought of anything so mundane as food. She was just swallowing the last mouthful when the door opened and the stranger of earlier stepped in.

  “Ah, you have eaten, I see.”

  “Where I come from, sir, it is a courtesy to knock.” Was she mistaken? Did his eyes grow bluer? It certainly seemed so as he stared down at her from his mocking heights.

  “Where I come from, madam, it is traditional for a young lady to be chaperoned.”

  Since this was quite unanswerable, Miss Theresa scowled and considered overturning the cod.

  The odious man must have been a mind reader, for he lifted the platter off the table and placed it well out of her reach. Then, almost unconsciously, he removed one of his gloves and plucked out an eye. “Ah, a cod’s eye! It must be years since I have indulged in such a treat.” He popped the delicacy into his mouth and chewed, much to Theresa’s disgust.

  “Is there a reason you are intruding upon my meal?”

  “None at all, ma’am, save that there appears to be only one private parlor and I had judged you to be finished.”

  “You were mistaken, then.”

  “Indeed. I am also rather hungry.”

  A flash of amusement crossed Theresa’s features. “You want me to invite you to dine with me!”

  “On the contrary. That would be . . . frivolous besides being highly improper.” His voice sounded forbidding.

  Theresa neither paled nor quaked in fright, something she half suspected the gentleman intended.

  “You sound exactly like my dear Miss Fincham. Do give over being such a shocking bore and pass me an orange jelly.”

  She smiled and batted her eyelashes. She had no idea why she was behaving so outrageously, but neither did she care. She thirsted for adventure, and here it was, in the guise of a very personable gentleman who would be just perfect if he were not so unpardonably high in the instep.

  “Have a care, young lady. I may be immune to your charms, but I warrant half the occupants of the common stage shall not be so discerning.” He filled a glass with an amber-colored liquid and tasted it musingly. “If you want your virtue to remain intact, I suggest you keep those delectable lashes quite out of sight. Preferably in your chamber. It is a great pity you do not wear spectacles, in fact. And though I can find no fault with your dress—it is modest enough—your features are altogether too piquant for safety, and your lips—well, we shall say no more of those.”

  “And why not, pray? Your sudden reticence astonishes, when you have, up till now, deemed fit to pronounce on all else about me!” Theresa’s color had risen at his derisive little speech. She had dropped her spoon and was now standing, challenging, on the other side of the intimate Queen Anne table.

  The gentleman’s voice was deceptively velvety. “You are deceived, my dear. I have hardly begun pronouncing, as you call it. And my reticence was intended to spare your blushes—an uncustomarily civil gesture on my part. No . . . no . . . do not interrupt. I believe I have changed my mind after all. I shall say more about your lips. . . .”

  “You jest!”

  “I never jest about such things. Yes, as I suspected. Innocent, but kissable. A little too wide, perhaps, for prevailing fashion but soft and pink and I daresay pliant.. . .”

  “Oh! You are nothing, I see, but a rag-mannered rogue!”

  His attitude became crisper as he set down his glass.

  “Save me the spasms. I am merely warning you in the roundest of terms not to flaunt your obvious charms too openly.”

  “I think
I know how to conduct myself, sir!”

  “I think not, if the display you have just edified me with is anything to go by. Yes, yes, those pert, pouting lips, too. I repeat: Have a care, though naturally your affairs are no concern of mine whatsoever.”

  “I am glad that you realize that!” Tessie found it hard to keep the pique from her voice.

  “I do, else I would doubtless take pains to find out which country seat you have escaped from and which young greenhorn you are set on eloping with. Such a bore. I suppose I would also have to procure you a governess—preferably a strict one—and return you to the bosom of your anxious family. Then I would have to spend days assuring them your reputation—not to mention your virtue—is still intact. Horrors! I suppose, if I was to do the whole thing properly, I would also have to call out the gentleman stupid enough to have offered for you in the first place!”

  “No one has offered!”

  “My condolences.”

  “You are vulgar and insufferable!”

  “So I have been told. If you are not eloping, you must be escaping your governess and very likely a severe and well-deserved tongue-lashing. Spare me, if you please, the particulars.” The gentleman’s tone was curt enough to gall even a saint, and Tessie was many things—all quite adorable—but certainly no saint.

  “I have never been scolded in my life, so keep your reflections to yourself!” Here Tessie’s indignation vied with strict truthfulness, for in fact she was forever being scolded, but there was no need for this sarcastic, arrogant beast of a man to know anything of the kind.

  How annoying, then, that he could lift his eyebrows so disbelievingly. Worse, that his lips were twitching ever so slightly, just enough to afford Miss Hampstead the lowering impression that he knew perfectly well she was telling outrageous lies.

  “Never?”

  “Never!”

  “Well, I must say, you offer a tempting prospect.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yes, the deficiency is rather evident, alack. Possibly with firmer schooling you might have proven charming. And decorous.”

  Tessie was stung. “In the normal way, I am charming. And decorous.” She had no idea whatsoever why she was caviling with this gentleman. Surely it was better to give him a disgust of her than to cross swords with him over a strawberry trifle? For a young lady wishing to preserve her anonymity, she was being strangely perverse. She could not help feeling exultant, however, when he discarded his indifference long enough to finally inquire into her circumstances.

  “Come,” he said. “You pique my interest a little. If you are not eloping—and I must say, I am, by and large, relieved to hear it—and you are not escaping punishment—here, I am somewhat less relieved—”

  Miss Hampstead scowled.

  “What are you doing careering about the countryside in this . . . novel fashion?”

  For an instant, Tessie nearly told him. He was not exactly a likable gentleman, but he was the first person who had even vaguely shown an interest in her since Grandfather Hampstead had died. What was more, he was clearly not a fortune hunter, for everything about him spoke of elegance and hauteur in a grand degree.

  But then he tilted her chin upward and held her face carelessly in his own rather large, kid-gloved hands, and she bit her tongue firmly. He was treating her like a child and, indeed, he had even threatened to return her to the country! No, she would conduct this particular adventure quite on her own.

  “I believe you acknowledged that to be no concern of yours.” Her tone was even, masking the sudden erratic beating of her heart. For a fraction, his fingers lingered on her chin, then he shrugged and dropped them to his elegant side.

  Tessie was left with a vague feeling of disappointment, though she could not, for the life of her, understand why. The gentleman bowed. Rather mocking, Miss Hampstead indignantly thought.

  “How true and perfectly sensible of you. The last thing I need is a hoyden’s confidences when I have concerns of my own to attend to. If you have not yet finished with your dessert, have the goodness to hand me a couple of slices of that ham. I will wrap them in the table linen and dine upstairs.”

  “No need, I have finished.”

  “Nonsense. You have merely toyed with your trifle, and I know you intend eating the orange jelly.”

  “Not anymore. You have quite ruined my appetite.”

  The gentleman was annoying enough to appear unrepentant. Indeed, his mouth quirked just a little, so Tessie knew he was more amused than guilty.

  He arranged a table napkin rather artfully, turning down three of the folds. Then he compounded his sins by tasting the escargot straight from the silver tureen—Tessie could not abide such French concoctions—and remarking to the thin air that she was “sulky as well as pretty.” He continued his discourse to the air. “A veritable mantrap.” Then he addressed her once more. “And now, if you will pass me the ham, Miss . . . what was it? Norton? Manning?” He regarded her inquiringly, his eyebrow just slightly inclined. Miss Hampstead, perceiving this, and also the fact that he was, indeed, supremely attractive were it not for his traitorous scar and his odious superciliousness, could not think. Or, rather, she could not immediately retrieve the diabolically random name she had supplied herself with earlier.

  “Um . . .”

  “Um? Miss Um?”

  Tessie looked confused and guilty in equal measure. The gentleman seemed quite unperturbed as he selected two apple turnovers and a perigord pie. These he tied carefully in a damask square before carving the ham himself.

  “Ah, Miss Evans—recollect, my memory serves me better than yours—perhaps I shall just call you Charity. We are on such good terms, after all!”

  Miss Hampstead scowled. “Drop the sarcasm, sir. It is beneath you. And you might as well know, you odious man, that my name is not Charity either. That was a dreadful trick to play on me!”

  “Only dreadful if I were to use the information against you. By the bye, I have a title. Though I don’t expect you to kowtow to my consequence, I find I prefer my given name—Lord Nicholas Cathgar—to ‘odious man.’ Forgive me if I seem pettish.”

  “You do, Lord Cathgar.”

  “My apologies.”

  “Accepted, with reservations.”

  Was there an appreciative gleam in Nicholas Cathgar’s eye? It disappeared too quickly for Miss Tessie to be certain.

  “I shall not flatter you by inquiring into those reservations. You have slipped up easily on the matter of your name. Take care, my girl. Subterfuge is best left to masters.”

  “Like yourself?”

  Something flickered in his blue, oh, so deep, deep blue eyes. Shocking in a man, really.

  His tone was clipped. “Undoubtedly. But we digress from the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is that you are as green as a goose. No, don’t, I beg you, interrupt—agitation is really a remarkable bore.”

  He regarded her in such an amused, languid fashion that Tessie was in danger of throwing a teacup at his head. Apparently oblivious to her glowering countenance, he continued.

  “I merely mention this, you know, out of”—his voice took on a wicked tone—“charity.”

  Miss Charity Evans, otherwise known as Tessie, did not feel charitable. Not in the least. But Nicholas, once started, felt inclined to continue.

  “There are many in this very posting house who might take a goose and wring its neck. Or, worse, they might, feather for feather, pluck it.” His hand left his collation and drew yet another line down her chin. Tessie shivered, whether from this action or from the cold, clear threat behind his words, she could not say.

  “Have a care, my pretty little Miss Nobody. I do not need you hanging on my shirttails right now, but I would be failing in my duty if I did not at least offer a word of caution.”

  “Consider it offered, then.”

  The man nodded. “And if I were you, I would lock my door and sleep with my reticule under my pillow.”

&nbs
p; “I always do.”

  “Excellent. I shall say farewell, then, while we are still in this state of harmonious accord.”

  Miss Hampstead smiled in spite of herself. Then, forgetting that she was wearing an appallingly outmoded gown, she stood up from her high-backed chair and permitted herself a stylish curtsy. Graciously, she also extended her hand.

  It was taken, so that she once again blushed, especially as it was held rather too long for strict comfort or propriety. Also, his eyes seemed to be bewitching her own, for she could not seem to remove them from his face. How odd that she should feel this way, when they had been at daggers drawn practically from their first meeting. Not that he hadn’t been all kindness, of course, rescuing her from the inferences of the innkeeper’s wife. No! It was not kindness that compelled him. Not kindness that made him look at her so, so that her legs trembled like the molded fruit jellies still adorning the table.

  Her eyes were now released from their lock as his own traveled down, quite gently really, to her lips. These he regarded speculatively, causing curious tremors in little Miss Tessie, tremors that lasted for a hundred years at least. Or so it seemed, for Miss Hampstead’s wits seemed to have gone temporarily astray. Those roguish blue eyes still hovered devilishly upon her mouth, teasing as his haughty demeanor did not.

  Tessie knew, for her lips were monstrously dry and her tongue, perforce, had to moisten them softly for some relief. It was not a jelly that she felt like now, but a custard. Soft, sweet, and intolerably undisciplined. She would have disgraced herself, she was sure, by tilting her chin up and inviting those lingering kisses. Had his hands not released her own, and tilted her chin himself, she was positive she would have helped him. But how salutary that she should be so tempted by a rake! And how handsome he was, despite having such a thorny and lamentable disposition.

  Yes, it is a sad fact that, virtuous as she was, Nicholas offered a most tempting prospect, and unlike the heroines of most fairy tales, Tessie was not valiantly immune to his abundant charms. Her earlier annoyance with him had, perversely, vanished into thin air.