Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

by Mary Brendan

  ‘Of course not!’ Claire scorned. ‘That would have been daft!’

  ‘Letting a stranger compromise you is even more stupid!’ Faye retorted, done with patience. ‘Don’t you realise what you’ve done, you little fool! How could you be so selfish and risk our good name?’

  ‘I gave the letter to Peggy; she promised to give it to you,’ Claire explained meekly.

  Faye sighed in frustration. ‘I saw Peggy earlier, but she didn’t hand anything over. It doesn’t matter anyway. Whether I’d received it or not I’d have been frantic with worry.’

  ‘I guessed Peggy might get me into trouble. She was jealous of me and Donagh.’

  ‘Peggy might be a bad friend, but you’ve got yourself into trouble,’ Faye said flatly. ‘Heaven only knows how we’re going to hush this up when already people know of it.’

  ‘I expect you’ll ask Mr Kavanagh to help, won’t you?’ Claire said sulkily. ‘You seem very friendly with a man known as a rogue.’

  ‘And I am thanking my lucky stars that he has been obliging!’ Faye returned.

  ‘He said you had an accident in the trap.’ Claire frowned at her sister while looking her over. ‘Were you badly hurt? You appear quite well apart from a mark on your face.’

  ‘I’m sore, that’s all. Mr Kavanagh was good enough to help me get back on my feet.’ Faye touched the graze on her cheek.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry that you went out looking for me and got into trouble, but there was no need. I was safe enough with the Lees—’

  ‘You said you were allowed home after a payment was made,’ Faye interrupted, pouncing on something else she recalled Claire had uttered.

  ‘Mr Kavanagh gave Donagh’s father some money. It was from you, I suppose,’ Claire accused.

  ‘It wouldn’t have occurred to me to send a ransom for you.’ Faye raked some tangled blonde locks off her forehead. ‘And who is Ruby?’

  ‘She’s the young lady you called Mr Kavanagh’s friend. Peggy said she’s his harlot.’ Claire’s cheeks turned rosy. ‘Kavanagh was furious when Ruby came looking for Donagh.’

  ‘Did she stay at the camp with the Lees when Mr Kavanagh brought you back?’ Faye asked, astonished.

  ‘No! Donagh wanted me, not her,’ Claire said proudly. ‘Anyway, Mr Kavanagh wouldn’t have allowed it. He threatened to shoot Donagh if he laid a finger on Ruby. He must be very jealous.’ Claire paused. ‘He took Ruby home first on her little pony and shouted for his servants to take her inside, then he galloped straight around the fountain and brought me back here on horseback.’

  Suddenly it became clear to Faye why Kavanagh had not stopped long enough to speak to her about the evening’s events: he’d been in a rush to get back to his fickle mistress at Valeside Manor.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’ Claire sounded quite timid.

  ‘Not yet, you’re not, miss!’ Faye said sternly. ‘You’ve another vital question to answer.’

  Claire hesitated by the door she’d been about to open, a guilty flush on her cheeks as though she’d guessed what was coming next.

  ‘Were you and Donagh ever completely alone together?’ Faye unconsciously held her breath while waiting for her sister’s answer.

  ‘I suppose we were, but his father and granny were just outside the caravan and all Donagh did was kiss me a few times.’ Claire chewed her lower lip. ‘I swear that’s all.’

  ‘And if it gets out, it’ll be more than enough...’ Faye said in a resigned murmur.

  ‘I’m not sorry... I love him,’ Claire mumbled.

  ‘I’ll bring you up some tea.’ Faye addressed her sister’s back as Claire fled from the room to avoid further interrogation.

  Having put the kettle on the hob, Faye sank down into the chair. Claire was safely back home, she impressed on herself. That was the most important thing. Mr Kavanagh’s business with Ruby was his own. Yet it seemed strange to her that a woman—even one as young as Ruby appeared to be—would risk her relationship with a handsome, landed gentleman to favour an itinerant youth.

  She massaged her aching temples, suddenly too exhausted to carry on any further inner debate.

  The kettle whistled and Faye made a pot of tea, stirring the leaves and watching the whirling specks until she felt pleasantly entranced. Her lids fell over her eyes and she undulated her aching shoulders. Mr Kavanagh had warned her that she’d ache like the devil tomorrow and indeed it was so even though the clock on the wall had only just struck half an hour after midnight. She poured two cups of tea, then put the crockery on a tray and carried it upstairs.

  The wavering light from a single candle and her sister’s muted snuffles gave Claire’s bedchamber an eerie air. For a moment Faye was tempted to carry on to her own room without giving Claire her tea. Her sister needed to reflect on what she’d done, but Faye guessed those tears were prompted by feelings of self-pity rather than shame. She placed the cup and saucer on the dressing table, then went out again without saying a word.

  It wouldn’t hurt Claire to dwell, uninterrupted, on the consequences of her behaviour, Faye thought as she quietly closed her sister’s bedroom door.

  Chapter Eight

  A few settled days passed by during which a strained calm returned to Mulberry House and the Shawcross family. Michael had received a sketchy explanation for his sister’s disappearance a few nights’ ago and seemed uninterested in hearing more. Now properly recovered, he was getting itchy feet and was keen to lark about with his friends. Faye thought it best to keep him apart from Edward until recent dramas had faded in everybody’s minds.

  As for Claire, the more she dwelled on the way Donagh had bowed down to his father, the clearer it became that she would have been as firmly under Bill Lee’s thumb as was his son, had she stayed with them. She felt despondent about her lost love and about the damage she’d done to the people she cared about. Peter Collins was the sort of character who’d avoid having a wife with a sullied sister and Claire knew she’d never forgive herself if Faye was jilted.

  Now a semblance of normality had returned, Faye had decided that making contact with Mr Kavanagh was long overdue. He would be entitled to believe her the veriest ingrate if she didn’t soon thank him. She didn’t want him to think ill of her because she thought well of him. Whatever others said about his character she would judge as she found and she found him to be a very generous and helpful neighbour.

  Committing to paper the details of her sister’s mischief wasn’t an option and an equivocal note of thanks would serve no purpose. She needed to talk to him privately to discover more about the Lees and what money he’d paid them on her behalf. Claire might deem a few kisses bestowed by her gypsy lover as nothing much, but just that news circulating would be enough to ruin her. Nevertheless, Faye hoped it was the truth. Her sister had seemed besotted by Donagh Lee and heaven only knew what liberties she might have allowed him had Mr Kavanagh not dragged her home when he did. The caravans had moved on, yet Faye fretted that the youth might sneak back to try to persuade Claire to elope with him again.

  Pulling paper and pen from the drawer in the bureau, Faye sat down at the table, mulling over how to phrase a request for Mr Kavanagh to call. Or she could pluck up the courage to go and see him. Faye knew she harboured a vulgar wish to meet Ruby. Of course, they couldn’t be introduced, but she might bump into Kavanagh’s fascinating young mistress by accident if she visited Valeside Manor.

  Barely had she written his name in elegant script when the rattle of an approaching vehicle could be heard through the open window. She put down her pen and hurried to peer along the lane.

  Faye recognised her small trap and at the reins was the tiger who had attended Mr Kavanagh’s curricle in Wilverton. Quickly she went outside.

  Her slender fingers were shielding her eyes from bright sunlight as she gave the lad a smile. ‘Thank you for bri
nging my vehicle back.’ Faye noticed straight away that the damage had been repaired and a new wheel fitted to replace that splintered by the pothole. She glanced at the sturdy pony in harness.

  ‘The master says you can keep this one till your own pony’s healed. I’ll ride back on Star.’ He indicated the larger animal tethered to the back of the trap.

  Faye gazed earnestly at the lad as he climbed down. ‘I feared the worst for poor Daisy. Is she recovering, then?’

  ‘She was in a bad state, but Old Willie’s worked his magic on her. She’ll need a good resting, but will be fully back on her feet in time.’ He grinned. ‘That’s if she’s not too fat to move. That little mare loves her nosebag.’

  Faye gave a relieved laugh on hearing that Daisy was fit enough to enjoy her hay. ‘Oh, yes, she does tuck in and she likes carrots and an apple, too.’

  ‘I’ll spoil her with a carrot when I get back.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Faye said huskily, blinking back tears. She realised that with all the commotion she had forgotten about little Daisy’s plight. But it seemed Mr Kavanagh had not. He’d got his man to tend her pony and nurse her back to health. Not only that, he’d loaned her one of his own animals so she had transport.

  ‘I’ll see to that,’ Mr Gideon growled, indicating to the lad that he’d uncouple the placid pony and lead it away to Mulberry House’s stable. He’d hurried from the kitchen with his wife on hearing voices; they were both regarding with suspicion the master of Valeside’s gift.

  The boy took no offence, preparing to mount his ride home, then he hesitated. ‘Oh...I forgot...the Viscount asked me to give you this.’ He pulled a letter from his pocket.

  ‘The Viscount?’ Faye queried in surprise.

  ‘Mr Kavanagh—he goes by different names depending where he is and who he’s with. Some folk know him as Major Kavanagh.’ The boy seemed proud of his master’s many guises.

  ‘I see,’ Faye said faintly, taking the parchment; she regretted that she’d not sent her letter first. It was bad manners on her part that she’d delayed for too long and he’d had to write to her, possibly with a note of what she owed him.

  ‘Well...too good to be true is the Viscount, if you ask me,’ Mrs Gideon opined sourly, watching the tiger riding away. ‘Good turn after good turn Major Kavanagh does you.’ She jerked a nod at the parchment in Faye’s hand. ‘Now, I wonder what that says?’

  ‘I expect he enquires after my health after that tumble I took. Or quite rightly he might expect to be reimbursed for what it cost him to liberate my sister.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Nelly said flatly. ‘And I reckon he might have a proposition for you about paying the debt off,’ she added drily. ‘Especially if he’s heard about your business with that charlatan Westwood. And who hasn’t round here?’

  Faye darted her housekeeper a sharp glance. She knew Nelly wasn’t criticising her, but issuing a blunt warning. Mrs Gideon cared about her and didn’t want to see her at the mercy of a lecherous rogue. But Faye didn’t think Ryan Kavanagh was a rogue...

  ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Hungry eyes.’ Nelly nodded portentously. ‘A man like that does a pretty woman favours because he wants favours in return.’ She stood, hands on hips, staring at the note in Faye’s hand as though expecting her mistress to open it and read it to her. ‘It’s a crying shame that Mr Collins went back to his ship and isn’t here to protect you.’

  ‘Mr Collins will always have his ship to return to, Mrs Gideon. But it doesn’t matter; I am used to his absences and can look after myself,’ Faye said stoutly. ‘I’ll have a pot of tea in the front parlour, please.’ She had noticed her housekeeper’s eyes were still on the letter so slipped it out of sight into her pocket. ‘I’ve the household accounts to go through; please let me know what we are short of and I’ll put in an order for it.’ She started walking back towards the house, aware of the couple’s mumbles as they followed her.

  * * *

  Once the tea tray had been put down and the door had closed on her housekeeper’s stiff back, Faye let fall to the blotter the pen with which she’d been writing in the ledger. Slowly she drew forth Kavanagh’s note from her skirt, but momentarily was too timid to open it. Exasperated with herself, she broke the seal with a quick snap of her fingers.

  Unfolding it, her emerald gaze flew over the few lines of bold black script. She read it once more, slowly. As she’d anticipated the note expressed his hope that she was recovering from her accident and confirmed what the tiger had told her: her pony wasn’t yet well enough to be returned, but she was welcome to borrow his animal until Daisy was able to walk home. Of the drama with the gypsies, or the debt she owed him, there was no mention.

  Faye felt strangely disappointed, without knowing why. She felt restless, too, without knowing why. She needed to speak to him, she decided, and stood up and paced to and fro. She was sure that Mrs Gideon was wrong about Kavanagh wanting to coerce her into bed. He had looked at her with desire in his eyes, but he wasn’t the first stranger to do that. She’d been told by her father at her debut that she was fortunate to have such lovely looks and that her fair hair and green eyes would snare her any husband she wanted. She’d already set her heart on her childhood sweetheart, but she was woman enough to secretly appreciate a gentleman’s smouldering glance confirming her allure.

  The master of Valeside had a beautiful young mistress to satisfy his needs and he had seen Peter accompanying her home from the fair. Kavanagh had told her he’d made it his business to find out about her. It was no secret in Wilverton that she was betrothed to Peter Collins, just as it was no secret that she’d suffered a financial setback. He knew all of that.

  None the less, she wished that her losses had escaped his notice. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. If he had omitted a request for reimbursement because he felt that way...

  Faye dropped his letter into a drawer and locked it. Turning for the door, she marched up the stairs and into her chamber to tidy her appearance. She perched on the stool in front of her dressing-table mirror and studied her reflection. Her clear ivory complexion had just a hint of indignant colour heightening her cheekbones. Yet she had no proof that Ryan Kavanagh thought pityingly of her...or that he ever thought about her much at all...whereas she found it hard to put him from her mind for any length of time. And she knew that was wrong. Peter should occupy her thoughts yet, lately, he rarely did.

  Abruptly dropping the hairbrush with which she’d been teasing her fair curls into place, she found the cash she kept at home in a safety box in her wardrobe. If she owed more than the three sovereigns she had, then she’d have to visit the bank. Collecting her bonnet and light silk cape from her clothes press, she knocked on her sister’s door. Claire was lying on her bed’s coverlet, flicking over pages of a journal.

  ‘I’m going out, but you must stay in. Don’t go calling on Peggy.’

  ‘I don’t want to see her!’ Claire glanced up sheepishly. ‘Will we still be able to go to town in the spring and stay with Auntie Aggie?’

  ‘I don’t know... I expect so...’ Faye forced a smile for her sister; she’d no idea what the future held any more. But hiding away hoping for the best wouldn’t help; she had to do something to limit any scandal brewing. Tackling Kavanagh over what had gone on seemed as good a way as any to start.

  * * *

  Mr Kavanagh’s pony was a biddable creature, but a gelding and more sprightly than Daisy. Faye kept him to a slow trot even when she felt the little animal straining to increase the pace. It was an intelligent beast, too, turning homewards at the bend in the road before she’d needed to steer the trap towards Valeside Manor.

  This time when travelling up the long drive beneath a canopy of whispering lime leaves, Faye made no attempt to conceal her arrival and, heart in mouth, went boldly right up to the front entrance.

  The house rem
ained quiet even after she’d clattered the bell for the second time. Faye strained to listen, wondering if she could hear a servant approaching within or whether the beat of blood in her ears was mimicking the pad of feet.

  Feeling deflated, she waited a few more seconds, then slowly descended the long flight of stone steps with her skirts in her fists. It seemed her intrepid mission to beard the lion in his den had been a squandered effort.

  ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘What?’ Faye had spun about at the first syllable uttered by that velvety baritone voice, primed as she’d been to hear it.

  ‘The pony...was he easy to handle?’

  ‘Yes...thank you...’ she gasped out automatically.

  He had approached, unseen and unheard, along the terrace that led to the east wing and now stood high above her close to the oaken doors she’d moments ago rapped on. He was stripped to the waist and the skin of his slick, muscled torso resembled cloth-of-bronze satin. His long black hair was wind-whipped, giving him a youthful and wickedly mischievous air.

  ‘I...I seem to have interrupted you in...something...’ Faye stuttered in acute confusion. She was unsure what he had been doing that necessitated him being wet with sweat and half-naked. But in the ensuing silence she could hear a faint sound of male shouts issuing from the stable yard behind the house. ‘I’m sorry... I should have sent word of my visit.’

  Ryan raised the towel in his hand, drying his damp face and nape in a single cursory rub. ‘Then you’d have sent another cancelling it.’ He impaled her with a blue stare of subtle mockery. ‘Too impulsive, aren’t you now, Miss Shawcross...like me.’ He draped the towel about his strong brown neck and gave her a crooked smile.

  Faye quickly descended the rest of the steps, her heart hammering crazily. If he was telling her she’d acted inappropriately, he had no need to. She knew it already. But when one’s sister had already risked dragging the family name through the dirt, observing etiquette seemed de trop—containing the scandal was vital. ‘I’ll come back another time as you are busy. But I must speak to you urgently, sir,’ she called breathlessly from the safety of the gravelled drive. She gathered the reins in her hands and held fast to them.