Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06]

by My Notorious Gentleman

  “Wait. What? What are you talking about, in love . . . ?”

  She tilted her head at him with a knowing stare. “I heard about your broken engagement at the Lievedon Ball.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Trevor muttered, looking away, bristling.

  Miss Kenwood shook her head. “Why do you sit here suffering?” she asked in a frank tone devoid of malice. He could tell she was only trying to help, but he wanted to throttle her for bringing it up. “You’re like a tiger with a toothache, roaming around ready to bite anybody who comes across your path. If that woman broke your heart, then let her fix it. Go and win her back. You deserve a chance at happiness after all you’ve been through. Why should you accept this if you love her?”

  “Well, thank you for your advice, but my affairs are my own,” he answered, rather more coldly than he had intended.

  She said nothing, studying him like she had done with the soggy twin this morning, scanning him for bumps and bruises.

  Trevor looked away, his jaw clenched.

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” she persisted after a moment. “I can only conclude that’s why you had no interest in all those ladies chasing you at the Lievedon Ball. Why you danced with me that night, I can hardly fathom, but it explains why you couldn’t even be bothered with a beauty like Calpurnia. You’re still in love with your former fiancée.”

  “No, I’m really not,” he said with cold conviction.

  “Look, I’m only trying to help you—”

  “Don’t! Please. For one thing, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Laura can go hang for all I care. For another, it’s none of your damned business.”

  “It is my business, actually! The people of Thistleton have already been through enough—including Marianne. Now you come along, a trained killer with a chip on your shoulder the size of Gibraltar. With all due respect, my lord, can’t you see that you’re, well, a bit of a menace?”

  “I am most certainly not!” he said indignantly.

  “You are!” she exclaimed. “You’re angry at the world. Why don’t you go and reconcile with the one you love instead of taking out your bitterness on everyone around you?”

  Trevor stared at her, amazed. He’d never been spoken to in this fashion in his life, at least not by a female. By his old handler, Virgil, maybe, but certainly not by some preacher’s daughter.

  Nonplussed, he swept to his feet and kicked his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, certain tasks require my attention at the Grange.” He tossed a few more coins onto the table for Marianne, then turned to go.

  “Lord Trevor,” she chided, at which he pivoted with a cold stare.

  “Sorry, did you have still more advice you wanted to share with me?” he bit out.

  “It’s not advice!” Grace exclaimed, and at least had the decency to blush after all her preaching. “I’m only saying, it’s obvious to me that you need to make peace with your old life before you’re truly ready to start your new one here. Otherwise, your problems will only follow you. That’s how it works.”

  “Ah, so that’s how it works, I see. Thank you for enlightening me to life’s mysteries. What a great comfort it must be to you, having all the puzzles of existence so thoroughly in hand! How fortunate for me that you’re right next door if I should ever need your instructions on how to put my bloody boots on in the morning!” he bellowed before slamming out.

  Slack-jawed with astonishment at his roar, Grace stood staring at the door, still shuddering on its hinges.

  Not until today had she ever considered herself capable of murder. But that man just might drive her to it.

  Indignation broke forth from her in a torrent when she finally regained the power of speech. “What a barbarian!” she burst out, unable to help herself. “Oh, the sarcasm! The arrogance! I’ve never met such a thoroughgoing boor!”

  She was quite past caring what anybody thought of her, in her outrage.

  Marianne returned for their lesson with the tea. “Aw, he’s not that bad, Miss,” she said with a grin.

  “Oh, yes, he is! That cretin needs his head knocked!”

  Marianne seemed much too amused by it all. “He was very pleasant to me.”

  “I’ll bet!” Grace fairly spat.

  “Fine figure of a man, though, ain’t he? A hero, too, so they say.”

  Grace snorted. “A few minutes in his presence would quickly dispel the illusions of anyone so deceived.”

  Marianne folded her arms across her chest and studied her in amusement. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Me? Don’t be absurd!” she exclaimed, though it was pointless to deny the scarlet fire creeping into her cheeks. “He’s insulting and intolerable. You try to help some people—!”

  But Marianne let out a low, throaty laugh. “The only help that one needs is a woman in his bed,” she murmured, much too knowingly.

  “For God’s sake, Marianne!” Grace plopped into the nearest seat at the ex-harlot’s frank declaration. “You know you mustn’t talk like that in front of me!”

  “Well, it’s true.” Marianne laughed and pulled out a chair. “Stallion, that one. Poor love, he needs it bad.”

  Grace looked at her for a moment, at a loss. But as curiosity overcame her, she could not hold back. She leaned closer and whispered fiercely, “Did he proposition you?”

  “Never got a chance, Miss, as I’d already propositioned him. He’s got such big, strong hands . . . Did you notice? You know what they say about that.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea on this earth what you might mean.” She stared at her disreputable pupil, wondering if a broken heart over his gorgeous former fiancé would drive the blackguard into Marianne’s arms—and her bed.

  It was all too unspeakable.

  “Which do you prefer, love, the couch or the floor?” With a shiver of remembered lust at his kisses in that darkened room at Lievedon House, Grace could still hear the echo of his husky whisper in her memory, could still feel the sensual heat of his big, powerful body against hers.

  Indeed, being a strictly virtuous woman, she did not care to count how many times that guilty scene had played out in the theatre of her mind ever since she had made the ruffian’s acquaintance—no matter how she tried to banish it. Once she had thought of it right in the middle of church! What was happening to her?

  Then she became aware of Marianne regarding her in sardonic amusement, one hand on her hip.

  Grace slowly looked over at her.

  Worldly and scarred by her experiences as she was, Marianne’s dark eyes danced.

  “What?” Grace muttered in chagrin, lowering her head.

  “So, you’s a flesh-and-blood woman after all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You fancy ’im,” she teased.

  “No, I don’t! Don’t be absurd! I pity him! I tolerate him . . .” She tried again when Marianne tilted her head and arched a brow. “Oh, very well, he drives me mad. But not in the way that you think! Oh, promise me you’ll stay away from him,” Grace pleaded, “for your own sake! I’m sure he’ll only hurt you. He’s a hardened, bitter warrior. A killer and a spy. Bloodshed is second nature to him, and he doesn’t care about anyone but himself!”

  “If you say so, Miss.”

  “I only say it for your own good!”

  “Oh, right, right, o’ course.” Marianne nodded, but still looked amused as she picked up her first book. “Don’t you worry, Miss. It ain’t like with me and George-boy. After all you done for me, I’ll keep me distance. That one’s all yours.”

  Chapter 11

  Still furious, Trevor cantered his horse back to the Grange, his brooding stare fixed on the dusty road ahead.

  Devil take her, who did that Kenwood woman think she was, taking him to task like an errant schoolboy—twice in one day? How dare she say such
things to him? He barely even knew her!

  But by the time he arrived at the farmhouse and flung himself down off his sweat-flecked horse, he was beginning to wonder—gallingly—if she might not have a point.

  He swore under his breath and shook his head to himself with her words still ringing in his ears.

  “You can’t begin your new life here until you’ve made peace with the old one.”

  What she said made sense, as much as he hated to hear it. But it wasn’t Laura he most needed to try to forgive.

  With a wordless grumble under his breath, he gave up fighting the task he had known in his bones that he’d need to do sooner or later. Letting out a disgusted sigh, he unlocked his weathered front door, then stepped inside and marched straight up to his chamber to pack a few things for his trip to Scotland before he changed his mind.

  He had no choice.

  It’d be a cold day in hell before he ever told her so, but Grace was right. It seemed he’d have no peace here at his new home or anywhere else until this thing was settled. Like it or not, the time had come to go and face Nick.

  “Daughter!” The reverend’s voice came from his study later that evening. “I would speak with you!”

  Grace had just come in from watering her garden and called back, “I’ll be right there!” She put her watering can away and wiped her hands on her apron as she headed for her father’s study.

  It was not uncommon for him to ask her to listen to a section of his sermon for the coming Sunday, to see if it flowed. That was what she had expected when she stepped into his office and found him sitting at his desk, pen in hand, his spectacles perched on his nose.

  He looked up. “Ah, there you are. Sit down. Close the door, please, won’t you?”

  She did, then took her seat on the other side of his desk. “Sermon giving you trouble?”

  He furrowed his brow with a thoughtful expression, but did not quite answer the question. “Yes, I wanted to talk to you about . . . the quality of mercy.”

  She nodded attentively and folded her hands in her lap, wondering which passages of Scripture he would be using for the coming Sunday.

  “We must never forget how important it is to forgive others their faults. That is the one thing God requires of us if we wish to be forgiven our own. Likewise, we must take care to ward off falling into pride and wounding charity by judging others we meet on our road. We must never forget what our Lord told the Pharisees was the most important of all the Commandments—to love God, and our neighbor as ourselves.”

  He fell silent while she considered his message with a shrug. “It’s a little dull,” she said with a tactful but adoring smile. “Aren’t you going to start this week with one of your funny stories?”

  He frowned in surprise.

  “Daughter, weren’t you listening?” he asked with an arch look.

  She furrowed her brow. “Yes. Why? Am I missing something?”

  “Grace,” he murmured, his tone chiding, but his gaze still fond. “Surely you have learned by now how important it is to make strangers feel welcome in our community.”

  “Of course—” she started, but then her eyebrows shot upward.

  She started forward in her chair as understanding dawned. Her jaw dropped.

  “This isn’t your Sunday sermon?” she exclaimed.

  “Afraid not, my dear. I must say,” he offered delicately, looking troubled, “I don’t like what I’ve been hearing about your behavior toward our new neighbor at the Grange.”

  Grace stared at him in shock.

  Her behavior?

  Oh, no, she suddenly thought. Had Papa found out about the kiss?

  But he couldn’t have!

  Only Lord Trevor and she knew about that, and besides, if he had heard about it somehow, he wouldn’t be this calm.

  Then what else had she done?

  Her thoughts swept over a summary of her recent activities. It only took a few seconds to confirm that she had done absolutely nothing wrong of late. In fact, she was quite offended at the mere suggestion.

  Indeed, impeccably behaved as she was every day of her blasted life, her being called to the carpet like this was unprecedented.

  “What seems to be the problem? What have you heard—who’s been talking about me?” she demanded half in outrage.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head serenely. “It does not signify—”

  “Oh, yes, it does! If somebody’s talking about me around here behind my back—”

  “Very well,” he relented, then arched a brow at her. “I hear you have been very hard on Lord Trevor. Unforgiving and unkind. Even a little judgmental.”

  Her jaw dropped for a long moment. “Oh, have you, indeed? And who says so? That barbarian himself?”

  He regarded her in surprise. “No, of course not. I thought you got on well with him the other night when he came here, and at the Lievedon Ball. You danced with him, as I recall.”

  She floundered. “That was before I knew he was a wicked, wicked man—and now we’re stuck with him! He’s rude, he’s arrogant and ornery. And—he’s dangerous!”

  Her father laughed.

  “Papa!”

  “My dearest, we must try to be a bit more understanding.” He studied her. “I’ve never seen you have trouble with a newcomer before. Come, nobody’s perfect. We are all sinners, aren’t we?”

  Her jaw dropped as he gazed at her, refusing to soften his frank accusation. She threw up her hands. “Has everyone gone mad?”

  “Just try to remember that love is our duty, first and foremost.”

  “Oh, I see! That’s what you’d have me do?” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Love a libertine like Lord Trevor Montgomery? And are you speaking as my pastor or my father? Because that is perfectly daft advice for an intelligent man to give his maiden daughter about a former spy!”

  “I suppose you are referring to the fact that he is a handsome bachelor, and you are an attractive young lady.”

  She scoffed, her cheeks coloring.

  “Obviously, these factors do not escape my notice,” Papa said wryly. “But that doesn’t really matter, I’m afraid. He is a human being like any other. I daresay the poor fellow’s already been through more than his share of hell on earth. He came here for peace. He has served his country with honor, and I don’t want to hear about you making an outcast of him in the village. If you turn the people against him, I’ll be holding you responsible. Honestly, Grace, this is most unlike you.”

  “Papa, I’ve done nothing of the kind! I’m not turning anyone against him! Whoever told you such a thing is lying! Who have you been talking to? I demand to know—for I assure you, nobody out there knows anything about it!”

  He shrugged, relenting. “I went down to the pub today to have a bite to eat and spoke to Marianne.”

  “Marianne?” Grace shot up out of her chair, paced toward the window and back, then stopped before his desk again, trembling with fury, her hand propped on her waist. “Indeed! And did she mention how he all but propositioned her today?”

  She didn’t wait for the gentle pastor’s answer, bringing her fist down angrily on the edge of his desk. “That man has got to be taught that there are limits and boundaries to what he can get away with around here. This isn’t Venice, or Paris, or even St. James’s for that matter! He can’t descend on Thistleton like Attila the Hun and start terrorizing the neighbors, Father!”

  She always went from “Papa” to “Father” when she was angry.

  “He scared the stuffing out of the Nelcott boys, then made a beeline for the pub, where he tried to lead poor Marianne astray. He is so full of himself! What about pride? That’s the top deadly sin, as I recall, to say nothing of wrath, murder, lust—”

  “Grace!” her father finally interrupted.

  “What?”

&nb
sp; To her confusion, her father smiled mysteriously. “I see Marianne didn’t tell you the substance of their conversation before you arrived for her reading lesson.”

  “No. I have eyes. I could see for myself—”

  “You should not jump to conclusions,” he chided, wagging a finger at her in amusement.

  She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he smiled at her. “According to Marianne, the whole time Lord Trevor was sitting in the pub with her, he was asking questions about you.”

  Chapter 12

  It took Trevor three days to reach the remote corner of Scotland where the Order’s headquarters lay tucked amid the wild, windswept hills.

  He knew he was close when, riding through the forest, he cantered his horse around the bend, and was nearly attacked by a group of rain-tousled, mud-flecked boys, all about fourteen years old.

  Though they gave him a startle, he laughed as he realized they were Order youths out on a survival-training stint.

  Ah, yes, he remembered those days well.

  Like a wild clan of small, young, wiry barbarians, they bristled around him with their handmade weapons. One lad was instantly identifiable as the leader, of course. Slightly older than the others, with an air about him as if he had been born simply knowing what to do, he signaled his “men” with gestures and hard looks and was instantly obeyed.

  It was Rotherstone all over again, Trevor thought in amusement as he slowed his horse with a wave of nostalgia and raised his hands until the lads saw he was not a planned part of the training exercise, nor was he a threat.

  Having surrounded his horse, they quickly stood down; the young leader clipped out their apologies on the group’s behalf. Trevor assured them—in German, just to challenge their language skills—that it was of no consequence.

  At this, along with his nonchalant reaction to their ambush, they realized he was an agent returning on some business. Then they were in awe, peppering him with excited questions. Though amused, Trevor did not linger, staying only long enough on the road to offer the ragtag band of young heroes-in-training a few words of encouragement to lift them from the misery of their trek, for he remembered all too well how those adventures used to go.