A Rag-mannered Rogue

by Hayley A. Solomon

“And then? What then, my little charmer?”

  “Then I shall disappear, Lord Cathgar, and I shall not darken your path again.”

  “How dramatic! But rest assured, little one, I shall darken your path.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How noncommittal!”

  “Merely prosaic. You should not make promises while you are feverish.”

  “I only ever propose marriage when I am feverish.”

  “Marriage!”

  “What better way to scotch the impending scandal?”

  “There must be hundreds. You are nonsensical, my lord.”

  “Nicholas. And it is you who are nonsensical. And compromised beyond redemption.”

  “Then I am an unsuitable candidate for countess, my lord.”

  “Go to your chamber, little one, while I am still being chivalrous.”

  “No!”

  “Then beware of the consequences.”

  “Be certain I shall, my lord.”

  Tessie stepped into the warmth of the inn before Nicholas. There was no one in the taproom, but a fire burned in the grate, its embers still glowing a fiery red. Tessie wondered where the innkeeper’s wife was, or who had her keys. She shivered for a moment at the thought, then smiled in relief at Nicholas, who was regarding her closely.

  “Come, my lord, you are surely no worse a fate than some unknown thug entering my chamber. That, you must know, is why I was escaping this evening.”

  “What, feeling merciful, were you? Not put a bullet through his heart?”

  Tessie did not allow her lips to twitch in an answering smile, though she felt a distinct gurgle welling up inside her.

  “You are pleased to tease, but it is no funny thing, I assure you, having drunken men attempt one’s chamber.”

  “I shall slay them for you.”

  “Now you are absurd again.” But Tessie felt that traitorous gurgle of laughter rising up in her throat once more. She felt Nicholas unashamedly regarding her, and when he smiled, she felt a peculiar lightness of being that had little to do with slaying.

  For once, they took the stairs in perfect harmony, though Tessie several times noticed Nicholas wince. Though the hallways were shadowed, she noticed strange hollows beneath his eyes that she attributed to pain.

  “Is it much farther? You look not at all the thing.”

  “How salutary. I set such store by my good looks.”

  “They are still good, in a raffish sort of way.” Then Tessie bit her tongue and colored ferociously, for of all the bold, unmaidenly comments she had made that evening, this one must surely have put her beyond the pale. Nicholas, however, merely looked faintly amused, so she was encouraged to continue.

  “Not that I know anything of men, my lord, or—”

  “Now you disappoint me. You must surely have a vast knowledge of my fellow creatures to draw comparisons?”

  “Only Mr. Dobbins, sir, and I do not think I shall be committing any maidenly offense to admit you look better.”

  “On the contrary. The offense would have been if you’d admitted the reverse. Ah, here we are. Miss Nobody, you are going to have to draw the key from my person. I am afraid my arm is rather stiff. . . . ”

  Tessie regarded him sharply. Clearly, the pain was greater than he was admitting to, for his brows were furrowed and he had momentarily stopped his teasing tone. She nodded, anxious for him.

  “Where is it?”

  “In my pocket.”

  Miss Hampstead, quite unused to rifling through gentlemen’s pockets, nodded nonetheless. She felt about his capacious greatcoat, but he shook his head, dark hair just lingering on his shoulders.

  “No, not that one, my waistcoat . . .”

  Now it was Tessie’s turn to pale, for reaching into his waistcoat was far too intimate for comfort. Nicholas was nothing like Grandfather Hampstead, whom she used to embrace regularly, or even Mr. Dobbins, whom she shrank from. Nicholas was . . . but no! She resolutely put from her mind what he was and searched him for the key, remembering that a male’s anatomy was quite different from her own and blushing like a schoolgirl as her fingers accidentally touched hard muscles through the workaday cambric and patched rags he effected.

  “Ah! Here it is!” The relief was tangible in her tones as she extracted the key. Nicholas’s face was perfectly inscrutable as she busied herself with the lock and finally, finally, opened the door. It was well oiled and swung open easily, just as though it were not made from solid oak and trimmed with brass and filigreed lead.

  “Come on in as I light the candles.”

  Nicholas nodded, and casually slid the greatcoat from his back. What he wished for now, above all else, was a soothing bath and a bottle of brandy, but he was not an unreasonable man, so he made do with the claret sent up on a silver tray and tried to forget about the execrable attire he was wearing.

  Tessie turned her back modestly so that he could climb under the covers as she lit all twenty-nine candles of the inn’s second finest candelabrum. The finest, she noted, was almost spent, the flames having eaten most of the wax down to the wicks. Evidently, Nicholas—or the innkeeper—had not expected him to spend most of the evening outside.

  Fortunately, fires were burning in both the grates, though the logs needed tending. Tessie was glad of this chore, for it concealed her burning cheeks as she contemplated, again, the enormity of her actions. She had practically forced herself into his chamber, and very likely he had no need of her at all! Worse, in all likelihood she had merely confirmed his opinion that she was a brazen, managing female . . . and as for his offer! She must truly be sunk beyond reproach for him to have deemed such a thing necessary.

  Well, she would nurse him until Joseph came back, then disappear on the morning’s stage. He had no direction and no name, so even if he did have the inclination to follow her, he could not. Tessie did not know whether to be glad or to be sorry. She swallowed a great big stupid, unbidden lump in her throat and stoked at a log so fiercely that flames leaped from the grate and scattered in bright sparks over the heavy rug she was kneeling upon.

  “Great good gun, do not, I beg you, incinerate us.” This from the shadow in the bed. Despite a definite edge of fatigue, she could also detect laughter. Her mouth twitched as she extinguished the rogue sparks. She might never see him again on the morrow, but tonight—at least till Joseph came back—tonight he was hers.

  She wondered how it came to be that she so craved his company. It was, after all, only a few hours since she had first made his acquaintance. Only a few hours since he had disdained her jellies, condemned her dress, and muttered several disparaging remarks about her hoydenish behavior. Only a few moments since he had kissed her.

  She avoided looking at the centerpiece of the room, the great bed curtained in faded velvet. Old, but evidently clean, with a hot brick heating in the hearth. She supposed she should tuck it beneath Nicholas’s feet, but her famous courage seemed to have failed her, so she rearranged the tinderboxes, then fussed around the tepid washing water set majestically on a gilded table edged with mythical creatures.

  “Leave it, doubtless it is cold.”

  “Lukewarm. I could heat it up. . . .”

  “Leave it.”

  “There is some fruit. . . .” The occasional table was laden with a large china bowl filled with Spanish oranges, mandarins, and some small golden apples.

  “I am not hungry.”

  “Would you—”

  “What I would like, little Miss Nobody, is a sight of something more than your very starched linen. Doubtless backs are all the rage, but I find I prefer your face.”

  Tessie set down an apple and was surprised to find her fingers shaking.

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “No. I must go. . . .” She regarded once more the great oak door. She must leave, she knew, before there was no turning back. She had the faintest of suspicions that Lord Nicholas Cathgar was not a man to be trifled with. He would marry her out of hand if she compr
omised herself utterly. And she did not want that—not for her, and not for him. She wanted to be Miss Theresa Hampstead again, of impeccable name and lineage. She wanted no charades, no marriages of calm convenience, no bittersweet temptations . . . no regrets. Her fingers touched her pistol. She would need it if the thugs below stairs had been patient. . . .

  Eight

  “Put that thing away!”

  “It is my pistol, sir!”

  “A damnably stupid toy for a female!”

  “You did not complain earlier.”

  “No, for I must have temporarily lost my wits. Put it down and come back here. I want to look at you.”

  Tessie remembered his kiss, and hardened her resolve.

  “I am going. Joseph shall be here shortly. It is not a long ride to Stipend. . . .”

  “Over my dead body! You are here now, and here you shall stay, and damn with the consequences.”

  “I cannot . . .”

  “I feel faint.”

  Tessie, finally, turned around and looked up. The man was sitting, and though he in no way looked faint, he did look bloody, his shirt stained brown and clinging tightly to his person.

  She regarded him severely. “You are funning me, sir. A shabby trick, for which you deserve to be deserted mercilessly. Or perhaps I should offer you a restorative, like I did poor Lord Christopher?”

  “God’s brew! What did your conniving little brain offer him?”

  “Cod liver oil, and as it was purely in your service that I did it, I should thank you to be more grateful!”

  “Come up here, little infant, and I shall show you grateful.”

  “Now you are talking fustian besides taking great liberties. But I shall step up, for I need to look at your wounds.”

  Nicholas instantly lay back upon his sheets. He would be loath to admit it to the infant, but he did have the devil of a headache and felt as weak as a kitten due undoubtedly to the wound he had incurred. Still, he had suffered worse during the abroad, and then there had been no beauty in a bedraggled nightrail to offer him succor. On the whole, he felt rather smug.

  He heard some rustling and opened his eyes. Sat up. His head spun, but he ignored it. He glared. He frowned. He bellowed.

  “What in tarnation are you doing?”

  The smugness had quite vanished from his fine aquiline features.

  “I am trying to make myself respectable, sir.”

  “Respectable? In a mud-stained garment several sizes too large for you, and one, I might add, that almost certainly smells? ”

  “It was good enough for you.” Tessie, who delighted in feathered bonnets and frivolous muffs, buttoned each tawny button with methodical decision. It was not, she knew, the most flattering garment she’d ever worn, but it would certainly dull Lord Cathgar’s ardor. Now, that, after all, was what she wanted.

  Or was it? She eyed those teasing lips with decided disfavor, for they caused her resolution to fade like melted snow. Her reputation, she knew, was already in shreds, but the voluminous coat protected her virtue. She may be improper, but she was not impure.

  “I was impersonating a Luddite.”

  “And I am hiding from your view the sight of my ripped nightrail. A very serviceable coat, I find.”

  “I shall have Joseph burn it. It did not serve its purpose for me, and it does not serve its purpose for you either.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I have no notion why not, for it is truly hideous, but I find I still desire you.”

  “My lord!”

  “Climb up and box my ears.”

  “I am not so green as that. I shall wait until you are asleep before I touch your wounds.”

  “Very well, though I must warn you I believe I have reopened the wound, for it aches damnably and . . . yes . . . see here . . . it is bleeding again.”

  Tessie eyed him suspiciously. But because she found she truly did care, she fetched a single taper from the washstand and drew it up close.

  “Stand on the bed stair. You can’t see from down there.”

  Tessie obeyed, taking care with the flame. The quietness of the room, coupled with their closeness, disturbed her. It was too intimate, somehow . . .

  “See here? This patch is red rather than brown.”

  He was right! Forgetting her shyness, she set down the candle close to the bedstead and touched him gently.

  “I am going to have to remove your shirt. Or, at least, cut it open. Is there a knife?”

  Nicholas nodded. “I shaved earlier. Look near the washstand, doubtless Joseph did something with it.”

  It took Tessie not a moment to find what she was seeking, and to draw up the tub of tepid water and a fresh towel.

  “It will hurt, but I will be gentle.”

  “Are there no end to your talents, little one?”

  “I cannot draw, I can sing, but only indifferently, and I am—was—the despair of my dance master.”

  “How mortifying! I loathe young ladies who draw and sing, but I see I shall have to take you in hand with respect to dancing. My wife, you see, must be permanently in my arms.”

  “But I am not you wife, my lord.”

  “A mere technicality. You shall be just as soon as I can leave this damnable place and procure a special license. Ow!”

  “It pulls as I tear off the cloth. Very soon it will be feeling better. I wish I had some of Finchie’s powder. . . . It is said to be a great balm, though its color is vile and the application often stings.”

  “Then I am glad you did not think to carry it with your pistol.”

  “No, a great oversight, though I am at a loss to know how I am to carry both ammunition and a vial . . . oh! You are teasing me again!”

  “Only a little, and you shall have your revenge, for that hurts damnably.”

  “Bother! I was trying to be gentle!”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry, I could not see, this light . . .”

  “Step up closer, then.”

  “But it is . . . indelicate . . .”

  “Good God, you are missish, O brave of heart!”

  “Yes, for though you may think me highly improper. . .”

  “I do . . .”

  “I am perfectly proper, only I can’t help tumbling into horrible scrapes . . .”

  “From which I shall no doubt have to rescue you a dozen times . . .”

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “No! For I am not so poor a person as to entrap you into marriage.”

  “And I am not so poor a person as to ruin your reputation, then leave you on the shelf.”

  “You have done no such thing. . . .”

  “Step up closer. I can’t argue with the top of your head.”

  “I forgot my nightcap!”

  “Indeed, and very fetching you look too.”

  “I should have remembered. . . .”

  “Yes, and your forty-two gold sovereigns, too, but you were in a hurry. A pardonable offense under the circumstances. Now, climb up here before I throw you up!”

  “You would open all your wounds.”

  “Yes, so spare me the pain, if you please.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  Tessie climbed up gingerly and immediately averted her eyes. His chest, though covered in blood, was excessively masculine, peculiarly tempting, and damnably interesting, with muscles she never knew existed, giving it a contour she had somehow not expected. Or, perhaps, not permitted the odd wayward thought to guess at . . .

  “Where does it ache?”

  “Everywhere, confound it.”

  “Can I help?”

  Again the sudden spark of mischief that Tessie found more dangerous than a positive troop of Luddites.

  “Perhaps if you stroke me just here . . .”

  “You take liberties, sir!”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “No!”

  “Then I shall take a great deal more!”

  “You tricked me up onto this great
lumbering big bed. I do believe there is nothing wrong with you at all!”

  “And I do believe I was right. You are, despite your . . . unusual accomplishments, as green as a goose.”

  “Which, I infer, means a complete innocent, however rag-manneredly you wish to put it. I’d rather be innocent than jaded, so I thank you, my lord, for the ill-turned compliment.”

  “Ah, wits as well as beauty. Too bad my bed is not a place I traditionally reserve for semantics.”

  Tessie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She had nearly, very nearly, fallen into his trap. But she was not so green as he thought, and she would not ask him what he traditionally reserved his bed for.

  Nicholas, accurately reading her bluster, then blush, then tongue-biting silence, chuckled.

  “Very wise, little chicken. Safer, I think, not to ask.”

  “Safer to depart your chamber immediately!” Tessie sounded cross, for she hated being on the wrong end of a quarrel. And he did pique her so!

  “Too late. I did try to tell you that!”

  “Yes, but that was when I thought you might be dying.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think you are shamming it, and I feel very ill used.”

  “The blood is real, and I do feel faint. . . .”

  “Yes, and I feel like the Princess Esterhazy!”

  “Take off that revolting coat and tell me your name.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I can’t get a special license for Miss Nobody!”

  Tessie, recalled to her primary troubles, grew suddenly somber.

  “That is just what I might be.”

  “Nonsense, you might be minus forty-two gold sovereigns, but I would wager my rather considerable fortune you are nonetheless a lady!”

  “One of dubious character, however. Recollect that in the space of twenty-four hours I have traveled unchaperoned, I have disgraced myself utterly by shooting two people, my attire makes me seem like a . . . like a . . .”

  “Lightskirt?”

  “Yes, though it is shocking of you to say so . . .”

  “And of you to know of such matters . . .”

  “My point exactly! I am simply not respectable! Look at me now . . .”

  “I am.” The voice was like velvet, and his unspeaking, outstretched arms seemed like heaven, but Tessie, very virtuously, resisted.