Reaching her, he bent forward, bracing his hands on the armrests of her chair as he loomed over her retreating form. Except there was nowhere for her to go. His face was level with hers and so very close she was able to spot the faint imperfection of a scar beneath his moustache.
“Tell, me, Regina.” Her name dripped with contempt and yet she still liked the way he said it. Which surely meant she was crazy. “Do ye think yer father loves ye?”
“Of course.”
“Even though he would ’ave pushed ye into an unwanted marriage if ye hadn’t run away?” His eyes bored into hers with unrelenting ruthlessness.
Regina’s heart drummed frantically against her ribs. Every muscle in her body strained in response to his anger. She wanted to flee it while standing her ground and pushing it back until he returned to the man he had been just a short while earlier.
“As misguided as his intentions were, my father was only trying to do what he believed would be best for me. Women have so little to hope for unless they marry well. Papa gave me the chance to become a marchioness and a duchess in waiting.” It occurred to her that she was defending her father for something she didn’t agree with, but Guthrie’s anger made it impossible for her to act differently. “As Stokes’s wife, I would have been welcomed everywhere. My future would have been secured both financially and socially.”
“An’ in exchange ye would ’ave been miserable.”
“Without a doubt. But happiness isn’t what most peers strive to obtain. At least not in marriage.” Relaxing now that the worst of the storm seemed to have passed, she sighed. “I proved myself to be a disappointment. My parents will never forgive me for that.”
“No. They probably won’t.”
Startled by his lack of sympathy, Regina struggled to understand what it was that caused him to act this way when he’d been so pleasant before. It had happened when she’d mentioned his father, but—
“It’s late an’ I need to rest,” he told her bluntly. “Ye ought to retire too fer the night.”
“Of course.” She winced at how weak she sounded when all she wanted was to prove her strength. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for helping me today.” She headed toward the bedchamber door.
“One moment.”
She froze, her skin heating as if it were caught in the sun when she sensed him step up behind her. “What is it?” Her voice was merely a hesitant whisper.
“I don’t think ye can undo all those buttons on yer own.”
And before she could fathom his meaning, she felt his fingers at the nape of her neck. He worked swiftly and with the skill of a man accustomed to undressing women. This thought caused an unpleasant knot to form right beneath her ribs even as her stays seemed to shrink against the swell of her breasts. Good lord, she wanted to lean back into him and…and what? She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted next and before she was able to figure it out he gave her a gentle nudge forward.
“There. Ye should be able to manage the rest on yer own.”
Speechless. Regina muttered an incoherent, “Thank you,” and entered the room where she would be sleeping, in a bed that was so very his.
“Make sure ye lock the door,” he told her gruffly. When she turned back to stare at him, he added. “It’s fer yer own safety.”
5
When Regina woke the next day, she completed her toilette then dressed as well as she was able to do on her own, twisting and contorting until she managed to close most of the buttons at the back of her gown. Locating a comb, she used it to smooth out her hair and then pinned it in a simple knot.
With this accomplished and feeling as though she was better prepared to tackle the day, she went to the window, drew the curtain aside, and looked out. A grim exterior greeted her. It was as if all color had been sucked from this part of town and deposited elsewhere. Everything was painted in brown, black, or grey, from the building across the alley, to the laundry hanging from the clotheslines between them, to the three-legged dog scampering after a man dragging a cart.
Turning away from the dismal scenery, Regina considered the door leading into the parlor. She’d locked it as Guthrie had told her to. Last night, she’d puzzled over what he had meant when he’d said, “It’s fer yer own safety,” until she’d fallen asleep. The words returned to her now and made her wonder once more if he’d meant he might pay her a midnight visit if she left the door unlocked – if he’d take it as an invitation to join her in bed – or if there were some other danger from which she needed protecting.
The first option caused a flutter to rise up from deep in her belly while the latter sent icy chills down her spine. She reached for the shawl Laura had kindly offered to lend her and wrapped it around her shoulders. The fire Guthrie had built last night had burned out, allowing the cool autumn air seeping into the room to replace the comforting heat.
She craved a cup of hot tea. But would Guthrie be awake by now or would he be lounging on the sofa, stretched out with his legs resting on the armrest? If so, she had no wish to disturb him. Especially if he’d removed some articles of clothing for the sake of comfort. Not that she would fault him for doing so, but considering how grand he looked when fully attired, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see him in only his shirt and trousers.
So she gave her attention to the other door in the bedroom. U-shaped, The Black Swan had a central courtyard with direct access to the street. Overlooking it was a walkway onto which all the upstairs rooms exited. While playing cards yesterday, Regina had learned that these rooms were occupied by MacNeil, Claus, Patrick and Gareth, the cook.
Guthrie had told her not to return downstairs because it increased the chance of her being found. She’d promised him she wouldn’t leave the upstairs rooms. But it was morning, which meant there would be no customers yet. And besides, she needed Laura’s help with the rest of her buttons and was now getting really hungry as well. So she made her decision and exited onto the walkway only to have her path cut off by MacNeil, who’d apparently been sitting on a chair right outside her room.
She frowned up at him. “Are you guarding me?”
“Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well?”
His politeness forced her to reevaluate the way she’d greeted him. She felt herself relax a smidgen. “Good morning.” Her breath misted slightly in the cool morning air. “I slept very well. Thank you.”
“Would you like a breakfast tray brought up?”
Regina took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “I need Laura’s help with my dress, and after that, I was actually hoping to have my breakfast in the dining hall instead of up here by myself.”
MacNeil glanced toward the courtyard. “I’m afraid Guthrie wouldnae like that. I’m sorry.”
Following his gaze, Regina spotted the man on whose goodwill she now depended and noted that he was very much awake. Instinctively, she took a step closer to the walkway railing so she could get a better look. His plum colored jacket from yesterday had been exchanged for a burgundy frock coat. The trousers he wore were once again plaid, this time with red lines running through them to match the coat and the satin band wrapped around the crown of his black top hat.
With him were a pair of boys no older than twelve, one with tawny hair, the other with brown. Positioned across from each other, they stood with arms raised and their hands curled into tight fists.
“Is he teaching them how to fight?” Incredulous, she’d asked a question to which the answer was obvious. These were children for heaven’s sake. They ought to be taught how to settle disputes without the need for violence.
“Just watch,” MacNeil murmured.
Huffing out a breath of distinct disapproval, Regina did as MacNeil asked. She watched Guthrie take hold of one boy’s hand and slowly move it forward to indicate where it would make the best impact against the other boy’s face. Regina bristled. If this was how children were raised in this part of town, it was little wonder that the crime was so high here.
&nb
sp; “Now ye raise this arm ’ere to block,” Guthrie said as he showed the other lad how to stave off the blow.
They continued like this, moving slowly and without either boy actually hitting the other. And as she watched, Regina forgot that she disapproved. She became more and more engrossed in Guthrie’s method of teaching. With the kind of extraordinary patience that deserved to be admired, he explained different steps, thrusts and counter-attacks, and then worked to correct the mistakes the boys made. He even tousled their hair and laughed with them when they got something right.
It was mesmerizing to see, this mentoring side of Guthrie that made room for laughter. Clearly he took pride in teaching these boys how to fight. That he cared for them and that they cared for him in return was evident in how they interacted. Swallowing, Regina felt a sharp pang in her breast. She and Marcus had shared a similar bond, and she realized now how much she missed him. Today, she’d write him that letter.
“He’d make an excellent father,” MacNeil said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Perhaps. But I think it a pity to bring more children into a place such as this,” she said, her eyes fixed on Guthrie who’d now taken off his hat and was urging the boys to try and take it from him. Practice was apparently at an end and it was time to engage in some playful fun.
“They look happy enough, those two,” he told her gruffly. “The way I see it, there are more important things in life than being born into wealth and privilege.”
“Forgive me. I meant no offense. It is just that—”
“A child has no say in the matter, and you wouldnae wish to force upon them a life of hardship surrounded by crime.” Regina nodded and was somewhat surprised when MacNeil chuckled. “That’s his reasoning as well. For the most part.”
Astonished that a man like Guthrie would think in those terms, Regina cast her gaze back at the courtyard where one of the boys was now pulling on his coattails in an effort to hold him still while the other tried pulling his raised arm down so he could grab at the hat. It was difficult to figure Guthrie out. On one hand, he was this protective individual who seemed to care about others, but on the other, there was the threatening element she’d witnessed last night.
Realizing she had a chance to question MacNeil about him, she said, “I once read that he was suspected of being involved in a smuggling operation involving the illegal selling of champagne from France. Is that true?”
“He’s had his hands in a lot of endeavors,” MacNeil told her vaguely. His lips curled into a sly smile and he leaned a bit closer, lowering his head until it was level with hers so he could look her straight in the eye. “But he’s never killed anyone unless he had to.”
With a gasp, Regina recoiled and instinctively looked back at the man whom they’d been discussing. “He…” She forgot her words when he looked up at the same moment, his dark gaze colliding with hers and washing the smile from his face. Was Guthrie truly capable of being so violent? She wouldn’t have thought it, based on what she’d seen of him so far. And yet…she could not forget the angry look in his eyes last night when she’d mentioned his father.
“Time for you to return to your room, my lady.” MacNeil held his hand out toward her bedchamber door. “I’ll make sure Laura comes to assist you and that your breakfast is brought up soon.”
Numb and unsure if remaining here one more day was wise, Regina went back inside and closed the door.
“I’ll get ye both somethin’ to eat,” Carlton told Sam and Jacob as he watched Regina turn away from the railing and disappear inside. The boys were progressing well, which was good since their mothers and sisters would have to rely on them for protection now that their fathers had passed.
Carlton strode into the kitchen where bacon already sputtered and sizzled on the saucepan Gareth was wielding. Blayne was there too, his large frame propped against the wall as if he supported the building. From the oven came the sweet and wholesome scent of freshly baked bread.
“I see ye’re outdoin’ yerself fer the second day in a row, Gareth.” Carlton went to stand next to Blayne while the cook cracked some eggs into a bowl and whisked them. “I take it that’s fer her ladyship since the rest of us tend to make do with porridge fer breakfast.” Not because he couldn’t afford to feed his men better, but because he’d always believed that porridge gave the stomach a solid foundation on which to start the day.
“Aye. I told her I’d send up a tray,” Blayne explained. “And I didnae want her to be disappointed after yesterday’s meals.”
Carlton nodded. “I suppose the standard’s been set.”
Gareth’s brow folded in a number of creases. He was a stocky fellow who looked like he took great pleasure in his own cooking. “I’ll not serve gruel to a well-bred lady, Guthrie.”
“Of course not. An’ ye shouldn’t.” He crossed his arms and watched as Gareth began melting butter on a second pan. “In fact, the more hospitable we are, the more likely she is to enjoy her stay. Which is why I’d like fer ye to make her a cake.”
A clatter of cooking utensils conveyed what Gareth thought about that. “I’m not some fancy pastry chef you brought here from France.”
“An’ what? They’re the only ones who know how to make such delicacies?”
“You know what I mean.” Gareth stared in exasperation at the food he was cooking. “I don’t know the first thing about baking cakes.”
“Then I suggest ye learn,” Carlton told him wryly. He glanced at Blayne, who appeared to be following the conversation with rapt interest. “Her ladyship mentioned that she’s never had the chance to try one and that she would like to do so, so—”
“She’s never had cake?” Blayne asked in disbelief.
Carlton sighed. “Somethin’ to do with her mother insisting that it would ruin her figure.”
Gareth scratched the back of his head. “I bought a cookbook once, out of interest. There might be something in there I can try.” When Carlton prepared to thank him he hastily added, “But I’m not promising you that she’ll like my efforts.”
Accepting this eventuality, Carlton stole a small piece of bacon from the plate his cook was preparing and turned to Blayne. “Did ye learn anythin’ more about that carriage I had ye look into?”
Blayne pushed away from the wall and straightened himself to his full height of six feet five inches. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He watched Carlton for a moment, glanced briefly at Gareth and then back at Carlton. “How did it go last night?”
“I woke up tryin’ to strangle the bookcase,” Carlton confessed. Talking about his father, thinking about what had happened, had made the man he hated most return to his dreams.
“When I spoke to Lady Regina earlier,” Blayne murmured, “she showed no sign of concern, so you must not have been very loud.”
Carlton expelled a breath he’d not even realized he had been holding.
The thought of her learning how dangerous he could actually be was cause for real concern. Hell, he ought to send her away before he hurt her. Or did something monumentally foolish like kiss her.
Last night he’d been tempted.
Christ, when he’d helped her undo the buttons of her gown, he’d had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms. Which had left him in a state of severe discomfort for a good while after.
Shaking off his awareness of the attraction he felt toward her, he said, “There’s a good chance things will get worse the longer she stays, so I hope I can count on ye to keep an eye on me, Blayne.”
“I’ll do my best,” Blayne promised as he took the tray that Gareth had prepared for Regina. When he was gone, Guthrie addressed his cook. “Can ye please get food fer Sam and Jacob as well? I told them I’d get them somethin’ to eat.”
“Of course.” Gareth cleared his throat. “About that cake you want me to make…”
“Just add some cream an’ I’m sure it’ll be well received.” When Gareth looked hesitant, Guthrie said, “The important thing is fer ye to try yer be
st.” Gareth muttered something that made Carlton grin as he left the kitchen. Stopping by his office briefly, he leafed through his notebook, reminding himself of some unfinished business he had to take care of. Just because he’d been given the chance to go after his greatest foe didn’t mean there weren’t other men for him to deal with.
Satisfied with the goals he had set for himself, Carlton locked his notebook away in his desk drawer, returned to the front of the tavern, and headed toward the stairs. It was time for him to check on his guest.
“Guthrie?”
He turned in response to Philipa’s voice and was slightly startled by how haggard she looked, as if she hadn’t slept in years. “Any news about Scarlet?” he asked.
She shook her head. “She still hasn’t returned. And I’ve not received any message from her either.” Her eyes took on a watery shimmer. “Something’s not right. I can feel it, but I can’t think of what to do.”
“I’ll conduct another search,” he promised. When she nodded tightly and thanked him, he asked, “Would ye like a cup of tea or perhaps somethin’ stronger to calm yer nerves?”
“No. I must get back and check on the rest of my girls. They’re all distraught by Scarlet’s disappearance, so I’d like to be there to help them through it.”
“Ye’re a good woman, Philipa.” He could see that she made an effort to smile in response to the compliment, even though it looked more like a grimace. When she was gone, he took the stairs two at a time and strode toward his parlor door.
Blayne had resumed his post on the chair outside, keeping guard just as Carlton had ordered. Blayne tipped back his head to better address him. “Word just arrived from one of the lads keeping watch over Hedgewick’s home. There was a lot of activity yesterday with several carriages coming and going.”
“Did the boy say who was in them?”
“Mostly men. But an unmarked carriage with loads of luggage on top did depart with a middle aged woman of quality in it. Could have been the countess.”
The Forgotten Duke Page 7