Glory and the Rake

by Deborah Simmons

‘Your Grace, what a surprise,’ Phillida exclaimed. ‘Dare I hope that you have come to escort me to call upon your dear mother?’

  ‘Actually, I was hoping to accompany Miss Sutton about her business this morning,’ Westfield answered, though he was more than gracious to Phillida.

  ‘Oh, Thad is taking her to the Pump Room, so if you would be so kind, it would save me a walk and Thad a trip as well,’ Phillida said, waving a hand in dismissal of Westfield’s wishes. She leaned in close to speak, as if in confidence. ‘I won’t go anywhere alone, you see, not after the shocking attack upon our property… Well, I simply don’t feel safe.’

  Unable to escape his fate, Westfield nodded and Glory ducked to hide her smile. Perhaps such unwelcome duties would put a stop to his visits. The idea, which ought to have given rise to relief, instead caused Glory a sharp pang of disappointment. And as if in anticipation of the loss, her gaze lingered longer than it should have, while she noted how elegant he looked in a midnight coat and doeskin breeches tucked into tall boots.

  In fact, the image stayed with Glory long after they had parted and she resumed her place at the Pump Room. Trying to drive Oberon from her mind, Glory spoke with a carpenter about salvaging some of the broken furniture, but then there was not much for her to do except supervise the servants, who were occupied with few a patrons.

  Thad was standing by one of the tall windows, staring out, but apparently content, and Glory wondered why she remained in the near-empty building when she could be looking through the attic. Finally, she told Thad she was heading home and would send him back something in the way of luncheon.

  ‘All right,’ he said, without even turning round. ‘Do you need me to go with you?’ he asked, over his shoulder. Having fully expected him to beg to leave, too, Glory wondered whether he had actually taken a liking to the Pump Room. If so, she was not about to discourage it by drawing him away.

  ‘No, I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘I am not afraid to make the short walk in broad daylight.’ In London a genteel female would not go out without a maid to attend her, at the very least. But in the country, such strictures were relaxed and Glory had come to appreciate her relative freedom.

  Thad turned, a frown upon his face, as if considering her safety. ‘I suppose Tibold has no excuse to harass you any longer.’

  ‘No, he does not,’ Glory agreed and, before her brother could change his mind, she donned her bonnet and exited the rear of the building. The trees outside greeted her rather ominously, their leaves rustling in a manner that presaged another storm, and Glory ducked her head against the wind. Intent upon her goal, she drew her cloak tight and hurried towards the cottage, without glancing about.

  It wasn’t until she reached the gate that Glory looked up, but the area was deserted, hardly surprising considering the weather. Once inside, she shut the door against the elements, the sound echoing throughout the small house. Then the sturdy old structure fell pleasantly quiet, a welcome refuge from a day that had turned so blustery.

  Untying her bonnet, Glory laid it on the nearby table and started to remove her cloak, only to halt at the sight of something on the floor. Walking towards the small parlour room, she frowned, for someone must have left the window ajar, scattering papers. But when she stepped through the doorway, she saw that the secretary she used was standing open as well, receipts and notes and records lying everywhere.

  Glancing around in confusion, Glory called for the maid. But there was no answer. Perhaps the girl was upstairs and had not heard the door, Glory thought. More likely she was in the kitchen, gossiping with the cook, and Glory walked through the small dining room and down the narrow passage that led to Mrs Dawber’s domain.

  But when Glory stepped into the room, it was silent and empty, dim except for the light shining through the small windows. There was no cook, no maid and no signs of the usual activity, such as baking bread or bubbling stew. For a long moment, Glory stood there, too puzzled to react, but a creaking sound jolted her from her thoughts. She looked up to see the door into the garden standing open, swinging wide with the rhythms of the wind.

  Suddenly, Glory’s confusion turned into something else as a chill ran up her spine. She told herself that, just like yesterday’s experience in the attic, she was liable to find nothing amiss. Perhaps Mrs Dawber had sent the maid out to pick some herbs and then followed. Still, Glory warily approached the doorway.

  Outside, the wind lashed the leaves overhead and sent blossoms swirling into the air above the neat and well-tended beds. The effect made the small, homely spot seem desolate, especially since there were no signs of occupation, past or present. And yet… Tugging at her billowing cloak, Glory felt the eerie sensation of being watched.

  But who? Where? The cottage sat back from the road and looked over empty acres that had been let go during the long years it had been uninhabited. Unnerved, Glory wished again for her pistol, though it would do her no good against phantoms. Abruptly, she turned, intending to duck away from the prying eyes, but then she realised she didn’t know whether the presence was outside—or in.

  She stood for a moment, uncertain of what to do. Unless she wanted to clamber over the stone wall that edged the garden, she would have to go back inside and out the front door in order to hail someone or go to the nearest neighbour’s house. Hopefully, someone could then run to fetch Thad, so she would not have to leave the cottage unattended.

  A gust of wind snatched at her hair, loosening the strands, and Glory reached up for a bonnet that wasn’t there. Frowning, she ducked into the kitchen, snatched up cook’s heavy rolling pin and made her way to the front of the building as quickly and silently as possible.

  But in the dining room, she paused at a sound ahead. Had she heard a thump or a knock? Refusing to quail in her own home, Glory drew a deep breath and continued on. Although she heard nothing else, when she approached the door, the heavy wood began to inch open slowly and she lifted her weapon high.

  Chapter Seven

  When his knock received no answer, Oberon felt a flash of panic and reached for the door. But as his fingers closed over the handle, he stopped short of throwing it open. Just because he was in Philtwell did not mean he could let his guard down, and his concern for Miss Sutton was no reason to become careless.

  With the stealth of long practice, Oberon inched the portal open and then stepped back, out of the way. He waited a moment in silence before tipping it further with the toe of his boot, an action that served him well, for as it swung inwards he caught a glimpse of something coming towards him.

  In an instant, he thrust himself through the narrow opening, one hand closing over the threatening object, while the other reached for his assailant. The heavy weapon thudded to the floor and rolled away, just as he realised that his opponent was no villain.

  In fact, it seemed they recognised each other at the very same moment, for the woman in his arms stopped struggling abruptly, her breath coming fast and heavy. And just as abruptly, Oberon became aware of the soft female form pressed to him—so like the night they met. And his own breath came quickly, too.

  Although he loosed his grip, Oberon remained where he was with Miss Sutton’s back against him. Her hair had come loose somehow, and he felt like burying his face against the silky strands. Had he thought them plain? The thick, dark mass was shot with traces of auburn, as fiery as its owner.

  Temptation such as he’d never known rose up, threatening to undo years of discipline. He had only to drop his head to gain access to her slender neck, and the arm that crossed her shoulders need only slip slightly lower to find the curve of her breasts. The knowledge caused an uncontrollable reaction, and he groaned.

  Whether prompted by the sound or by the evidence of his body, Miss Sutton finally moved, slipping from his grasp to turn towards him. Her emerald eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling with either the effects of their tussle or the other struggle they now faced.

  For Oberon had only to reach out to pull her to him,
and at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to assuage the bone-deep yearning that coursed through him. But then what? There were servants, perhaps even relatives, about who might object to his ignoble behaviour. Miss Sutton was no lightskirt to be taken advantage of in an afternoon and left behind. And he could do nothing else.

  Oberon didn’t know how long they had been standing facing each other, their gazes locked, the tension between them running high, but that reminder of his duty brought him to his senses. He took a step back, away from temptation, and bent to retrieve the fallen weapon.

  ‘A rolling pin?’ he asked, eyeing Miss Sutton curiously as he held it up.

  She appeared so dazed and flushed that Oberon nearly threw aside the utensil and took her in his arms. But then she focused on the heavy wood, and the sultry expression left her face. Oberon had only an instant to regret the loss before her gaze flew to his.

  ‘Someone was here,’ she said.

  Oberon glanced around and spied a few papers that fluttered across the floor from a nearby room. Moving towards them, he paused to scan the small space where more were littered and saw an open window.

  ‘Perhaps the wind is only to blame,’ he said, with a gesture towards the disarray. ‘Did you question the servants?’

  Miss Sutton shook her head. ‘The house is empty.’

  ‘What?’ Oberon asked sharply.

  ‘I returned from the Pump Room to find this, as well as the back door standing open, with no sign of the cook or the maid,’ she said. ‘I was trying to leave the way I had come when you opened the door.’

  Although Oberon could find no fault with her actions, he was seized by a helpless rage at the dangerous situation. Miss Sutton was resourceful, but she was no match against a determined man. Had he been intent upon harm, he was damn sure a rolling pin wouldn’t have stopped him. And it hadn’t.

  ‘I need my pistol back,’ she said, as though aware of his thoughts, and Oberon nodded. But would a pistol be enough? Just what was going on here?

  A noise from the rear of the cottage made Oberon stiffen. Motioning for Miss Sutton to get behind him, he moved through a dining room and into a narrow hall. He didn’t have a pistol, but he had his hands, a knife tucked into his boot and the skill to use them. Hearing a low muttering ahead, he pulled out the dagger and grasped it tightly, ready to throw or wield in close quarters.

  Slipping around the doorway, he called out a warning, but the only person in the room was a plump older woman, who promptly shrieked in terror. And then Miss Sutton hurried past him, heedless of any danger, to comfort her.

  ‘It’s Cook,’ she said as she went by.

  While Miss Sutton tried to calm the frightened servant, Oberon made his way through the rest of the small house, but he found no signs of anyone else or other disturbances. When he returned, the older woman was seated by the hearth, with a cup in her hand. Crouched before her, Miss Sutton looked up when he entered.

  ‘Mrs Dawber said a boy came to tell her that her cousin had need of her immediately.’

  ‘A boy? You didn’t know him?’ Oberon asked.

  Mrs Dawber shook her head. ‘I thought Lucy, my cousin, had sent him. She lives a fair walk away,’ the servant explained. ‘I gathered up my things and hurried over there, but she said she hadn’t sent anyone for me.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I turned around and headed right back, lucky to get a seat on a farm cart, or I’d still be trudging along.’

  ‘And what of Cassie?’ Miss Sutton asked. ‘She’s our maid of all work,’ she explained to Oberon.

  ‘I told Cassie that I had been called away and would return as soon as I could,’ the cook said. ‘Didn’t she tell you?’

  Miss Sutton shook her head. ‘When I came home, you were both gone.’

  The cook glanced around in alarm, but Miss Sutton reached out to soothe her, urging her to take another drink of whatever was in the cup. And Oberon found himself wishing he were in the servant’s place, receiving the ministrations of Miss Sutton, who acted like no woman he had ever known.

  Instead of crying or fainting, she had the wherewithal to face down an intruder, whether with a pistol or a makeshift weapon. She was intelligent enough to ask the right questions of the cook and determined yet compassionate enough to get a reply. Oberon couldn’t help wondering whether someone that resourceful could prove to be an asset, rather than a hindrance…

  Frowning, Oberon dismissed such thoughts just as the door rattled. The two women froze and he moved forwards, putting himself between them and the entrance. But since a high-pitched giggling presaged the new arrival, Oberon doubted that he would need his knife. And he was proved right when a mop-headed girl wearing a twisted apron entered, only to stop and stare at the occupants of the kitchen. Her amusement ceased and she began smoothing out her skirts with one hand.

  ‘You’re back,’ she said to the cook before turning guiltily towards her employer. ‘Um…I just stepped out into the garden for a moment.’ She gestured towards the door, apparently hoping that her absence had just now been discovered.

  While the cook muttered something about bird-witted girls, Miss Sutton rose to her feet, all gracious kindness. ‘It’s all right, Cassie,’ she said. ‘Just tell us where you were.’

  It took some doing, but Miss Sutton finally rangled a tearful confession from the girl. It seemed that one Edward Plummer had come knocking at the door. Long an object of the girl’s affections, he had never so much as glanced her way before, so how could she refuse him? How indeed? Oberon wondered. And why go ‘walking’ when they had an empty cottage at their disposal? Oberon vowed to have a talk with the young man, just as soon as he could.

  But first he needed to speak privately to Miss Sutton. Drawing her away from the servants and into the narrow hall, Oberon turned to face her. ‘Have the girl pack up some of your things to send on to Sutton House.’

  ‘What?’ She looked so startled that Oberon hastened to explain.

  ‘Obviously, you are not safe here, but you will be with my mother,’ he said. ‘There’s a larger staff to prevent this sort of thing and to see to your every need.’

  ‘I can’t stay with you,’ she said, as though alarmed by the prospect.

  ‘Thad and your aunt are welcome, as well,’ Oberon said. ‘I know she will feel more secure there.’

  ‘That’s completely unnecessary. I’ll hire additional servants, more reliable ones,’ she added, ‘in order to keep out intruders.’

  Her words reminded Oberon that along with all her admirable qualities came stubbornness, independence and a tendency to argue with everything he said. ‘Is there some reason you need to remain here, something you are not divulging?’ he asked, his patience wearing thin. ‘Because I need to know everything if I’m going to protect you.’

  She glanced away, her cheeks flushing, and Oberon’s dormant suspicions roared to life. ‘I thought we agreed to work together,’ he said, more sharply than necessary.

  ‘Work together, not live together!’

  Oberon lowered his voice. ‘Someone has broken into the Pump Room and your own residence, someone who went to a lot of trouble to make sure the house was empty,’ he said. ‘What if you had stumbled upon whoever was rifling through your things?’

  Miss Sutton refused to meet his gaze. ‘I’ll take better precautions,’ she said. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  It certainly wouldn’t, for Oberon would make sure of that, with or without her cooperation. He eyed her directly. ‘As magistrate, I’m ordering you under my protection.’

  It was the wrong thing to say, as evidenced by the abrupt lift of her chin. ‘I hardly think that’s within your authority,’ she said. With a stiff incline of her head, she took her leave and all Oberon could do was let her go.

  She was right, of course. His concern had gone beyond all bounds and, short of tossing her over his shoulder, he could not force her to obey his wishes. But he was not accustomed to failure and he wasn’t finished yet.

  By the
time the sun set this evening, Miss Sutton would be under his roof.

  Glory paused at the entrance of the dining room and peered in. When she saw that only Thad sat at the long table, she loosed a low sigh of relief. However, she did not head towards the sideboard, where a variety of meats and egg dishes, jams and pastries were arrayed. She was too unsettled to eat and began restlessly walking around the room, its gloomy atmosphere ensured by the heavy curtains that covered the narrow windows.

  ‘These need to be torn down or opened,’ she said. ‘It’s far too dark in here to be comfortable.’

  Thad scoffed. ‘Well, I’m very comfortable, thank you,’ he said, pushing aside a copy of the Post to look up at her. ‘Dem, Glory, you know that cottage is too small for us. Leaving all our servants behind, hiring day girls and such, is all right for a brief visit, but not for a long stay. Why keep us cooped up in such small quarters?’

  ‘Because the cottage is ours, handed down over centuries. We don’t belong here,’ Glory said, though her arguments yesterday had fallen on deaf ears. When approached by the duchess, Phillida had accepted the invitation to remove to Sutton House with glee and Thad had been just as enthusiastic. Although Glory had tried to convince them otherwise, she was swiftly overruled, as familial allegiance fell sway to the duke’s wishes.

  Westfield. She could hardly tell her relatives the real reason for her refusal: that the man was dangerous, perhaps not in the way she had originally thought, but in a more personal fashion. Twice now he had held her tight against him, and though she could not blame him in light of the circumstances, in neither case did he behave as a gentleman should.

  And in neither case did she behave as she ought. In fact, yesterday it was all she could do to step away from his hard body, taut with strength, yet capable of gentleness… Shivering at the memory, Glory ran a finger over the dingy mural that took up most of one wall, pausing as a wild thought struck her.