“Think?”
“To think about what Eustacia had said. And about what I was going to say to you.”
“Dammit, Victoria. You could have just given me the paper, and not told me anything.”
“No! I wasn’t thinking about that,” Victoria wailed a little. “I wanted to work out a way to use the rules one last time to tell you why I should marry you.” Victoria plucked at her skirt and cast Bill a shy glance. Bill frowned at her. “Eustacia was right. They were ruining my life. But I can’t just cast them aside. I, I clung to them like a life raft, but you only need a life raft when you are at sea. Now that I’ve reached dry land, I can choose when and whether or not to use them.”
“Life raft? How many rules are there?” Bill asked suspiciously, still clutching the list.
“Ten, no thirteen. I made up three myself.” Victoria laughed suddenly and licked her lips. “The first is make friends with servants…”
“Very apt,” Bill said with a twist to his lips. “A smith is a servant in a way. And Victoria.” Bill paused and pushed back a lock of her golden hair with his free hand. “I would have been your servant in any way you liked, all you had to do was say the word.”
Victoria gasped as a warm flush heated the bottom of her neck. “The second,” she continued breathlessly, “is do the minimal work and allow them to tell you themselves. Well I’m reversing that. You should do the minimum work. Bill, I love you, I want to marry you. I always have done, but bloody rule three…” Victoria stopped as Bill brought his head down and caught her lips in a bruising kiss. “Bloody rule three,” she gasped, waving at the coachman who had turned to see what the commotion was, “always got in the way, keep up appearances.”
“That,” Bill murmured, “is definitely a rule you should discard, unless… unless the appearance that you want to keep up is that of the passionate, fiery woman that lies beneath.”
Victoria shivered as Bill stroked her bare arm. “I haven’t finished. Rule four says if discovered act like nothing has happened. You discovered me Bill, not in the physical sense but in the sense of the true me. No one else has ever done that, not even my brother. I can’t act like nothing has happened. You, you have changed me.”
“You did say that you didn’t have to obey all the rules.”
Victoria nodded. “Rule five… analyse what you have learned. I should have done that long ago. Here was a man in front of me that continued to interest himself in me despite repeated rejections. I placed too high a regard on who I was, my place in the ton, keeping myself together mind and body. I didn’t seek to understand who you really were. I’m sorry.”
Bill threw his head back and laughed. “Do you know what Freddie said to me?” he said seriously. “He said that I was a jumped up smith trying to get together with a highborn lady. But that was alright because I wasn’t pretending to be anything other than what I was. Even though to be honest I had a hard time working out who I was.” Bill pushed the list that he still clutched into his pocket and turned his body fully to her.
Victoria shook her head. “Poor Freddie. He needs a woman to take him in hand. Or at least something else to occupy his interest.”
Bill shook her arm lightly. “Tell me more about the rules, my love.”
“Oh, rule six and seven, don’t jump to conclusions and don’t pressure your suspects.” She swallowed. “The conclusion that I draw is that for my own sanity, Mr. Standish, you should marry me. And in direct contravention of the rules, if you don’t marry me, I shall see that Percy and George and the rest of the rabble make your life uncomfortable for the rest of your days.” Victoria tried to inject as much light heartedness into her voice as possible. But she was serious. She had spent so much time refusing to marry the man that now, when she wanted it most, she could not believe that he might ask again.
“Percy and George, eh?” Bill cocked his massive head on one side and sat back in his seat, crossing one large elegantly clad thigh across the other. Victoria gulped and vowed to continue.
“Rule eight.” She stopped and coughed. “Rules eight and nine, be patient and don’t allow anyone to get too close.”
Bill raised an eyebrow and put an arm along the back seat of the barouche. He took a lock of hair from the nape of her neck and twirled it round a long elegant finger.
“I’m going to amend them,” Victoria said hurriedly. “If you want to marry me, I will be patient. And if you marry me, I won’t let anyone else get too close…”
“And number ten?”
“Record and remember.” She hung her head. “I couldn’t think of anything for that one.”
“I’m quite interested in the three that you added yourself,” Bill said quietly.
“Do I have to?”
Bill nodded. “You kept that list from me for two weeks. I felt like a laughing stock. It’s the least that you can do.”
Victoria took a deep breath. “Never-let-a-man-tell-you-what-to-do-ever-again,” she said in a rush, shutting her mouth like a trap.
“I can see where you might be coming from on that one,” was all that Bill said. “And the others?”
“Rule twelve, the more people think they know about you, the more you can hide.”
“Hmm. An eminently sensible rule. One that I could have employed time and time again. You see, Victoria, mon petit beignet de crème, it is about who you want to hide from.”
Victoria opened her eyes wide. The last time he had called her that had been several years before, when they first met. She shivered as Bill slid his hands into her hair and undid the fastenings that held her elaborate style in place.
“And the last rule,” he whispered. “Before I give you my answer?”
Victoria leaned her head back into his caressing hand. “Beware the lady with the brass hair pin. I want to change that one,” she added hurriedly. “Beware the lady with the brass hair pin, who loves you.” Victoria closed her eyes and waited for the mocking laugh. But it never came.
“I accept,” she heard through the haze of her embarrassment. Bill’s voice ran shivers through her body. She had never heard it tremor, nor sizzle with such emotion. She opened her eyes and looked him fully in the face.
“Victoria Colchester, I believe that you have done for me, what you asked me to do.” He frowned. “You have given me not only all the reasons why you should marry me, but the reasons why I should marry you.”
Victoria made to speak, but Bill put a finger to her lips. “I have one more rule to add to your list.” Victoria blinked. “Victoria Colchester, on her wedding night to Mr. Standish, shall allow him to give her a final course of treatment, to love her and if she should so like it, allow him to administer it in perpetuity for the rest of their days.”
“Oh yes,” Victoria breathed, as Bill removed another pin from her hair. “Oh yes, of course.”
EPILOGUE
Edward Fiske sat bolt upright in the pew and faced forward. His ash blond hair was cut neatly around his ears, and his grey coat sat loosely on his shoulders. He barely looked round as another man slid into the pew.
“The last time I was in a church,” the man slurred, “I thought I was sat next to the second to last sane man in London.”
Edward sniffed as the smell of alcohol assaulted his nostrils. He couldn’t believe that Lady Colchester, Mrs. Standish as she had just become, would invite a drunk to her wedding. Her husband on the other hand just might have done. Amongst the wedding guests there were all sorts of… oddities. Perhaps a homeless man had wandered into the church by accident? He drew his coat around him a little further. But the man wouldn’t stop talking.
“And now that bloody man. That jumped up smith has had the gall to go and marry. I thought bloody wrong, didn’t I?”
Edward shuffled round in the narrow pew with a feeling of horror. He swallowed as he met the still keen-eyed gaze of Lord Lassiter staring at him. He wanted to turn back and face forward. But one didn’t ignore a peer of the realm. Especially if that peer was about to beco
me one of your colleagues working for the Crown.
“Err yes?” he said.
“And now there’s only one sane man left. And that’s me. It’s a crying shame.” Freddie seemed not to have needed Edward’s response.
“I’m not married,” Edward said, keen that the facts should represent themselves.
“But you’re not sane, man,” Freddie said, seeming to acknowledge their conversation for the first time.
Edward frowned and pulled at his grey coat. Freddie can’t have known surely? He kept those types of things well hidden. He had been doing so well.
“You’re a bloody accountant, bean counter, adder upper. No sane man would do something like that and like it.”
Edward stopped pulling at his coat and gave a quick sigh of relief. Although it was short-lived.
“So tell me. Why did you give up on Celine?”
This time Edward could not stop himself. His eyes flickered to where the glamorous ex-courtesan sat in the sea of what seemed to be a very female-heavy wedding audience. He turned round to look at Freddie again. Freddie gave him what could only pass for a grin stolen from a shark.
“From what I hear you might need a little help yourself if Miss Fanthorpe has anything to do with it.” Edward licked his lips. Had he gone too far?
“Touché, Mr. Fiske. Touché. The bean counter has claws. I’m not sure why the devious minx has set her cap on me but she’ll soon give up when she finds out I’m not reliable.”
Edward faced away as Freddie made no effort to disguise the hip flask he took from his pocket.
“You know,” Freddie continued conversationally, “you’ll need that kind of daring as you go after Mr. Khaffar. From what I heard, he doesn’t like you very much. It seems old Granwich has it in for you too. I wonder what you did to get that assignment.”
Edward knew what he had done alright. He just wasn’t going to tell an expansive Freddie, or anyone else for that matter. He chewed his bottom lip, a habit he had formed as a boy, hoping that Freddie would stop speaking.
“You are bloody lucky Pablo Moreno survived his brush with death,” Freddie continued. “Although from what I hear he’ll swing at Newgate in a month. You’ll have to see what you can find out from him about Mr. Khaffar, although as his ex-accountant I’m not sure he’s going to be very amenable to you.”
“Yes,” Edward said monosyllabically. It was indeed the only lead he had.
“Well I…” The rest of what Freddie was going to say was lifted away in a cloud of organ music. Edward sagged in relief, even allowing himself a little chuckle as, after the bride and groom passed, Miss Fanthorpe collected the unprotesting Freddie and shuffled him away.
His own way out of the pew, however, was blocked. Angry eyes stared him directly in the face. She had not toned down her dress for the occasion. She did not need to, for she was Celine.
“Going somewhere, cheri?” the ex-courtesan asked.
***
“Did you see his face?” Victoria asked as Bill handed her back into the white barouche.
“Which one?” Bill said with a chuckle. “I remember being sat with Freddie last year. He claimed we were the only sane men left. I wonder what he was telling Edward.”
“Oh, definitely Freddie’s. Do you think I was a little mean to suggest to Miss Fanthorpe that she set her cap on Lord Lassiter since Mr. Cryne was no longer… eminently suitable?”
“Not at all. That woman seems to have grit and determination. She’ll keep Freddie on his toes. It might even solve one or two of his problems. Edward on the other hand…”
Victoria nodded. She had had a small tête-à-tête with Celine a few days before the wedding. Just to clear the air. And to make sure that Celine never approached Bill again for treatment or anything similar. That was her domain now. Victoria swallowed as Bill stroked her spine. She had daringly laid it bare in her wedding dress. She was no longer the confined Victoria. She was a woman of passion, shivering passion.
Victoria turned to Bill as the barouche came to a halt outside Colchester Mansions. “Do you think that I might have my last round of treatment now, Mr. Standish, after all, it is in the rules?”
Bill’s eyebrows flickered upwards. Slowly he climbed out of the carriage and, with ease, plucked her from its door. Swinging her round, and into his arms, he held her up as light as a feather. Victoria laughed into the bright sunshine.
Turning as lithe as an athlete, cradling Victoria in his arms, Bill strode across the doorstep of the house, past the new brass name plaque and open-mouthed wedding guests and past the newly painted empty walls of the hall. He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached Victoria’s bedroom, he kicked the door open, and with care laid her on the bed. Pressing a small kiss to her cheek, he was gone.
“Wha…?” Victoria managed from a sea of sensual mist. “Where?”
Bill stood at the door of the bedroom and looked down at the two wet noses that poked curiously round the door. He smiled. “Out Brutus, out Ponzi.” Gently he pressed the inquisitive snouts back into the hall. “No witnesses, or rules are needed now. This is just for Victoria and I.” Gently he drew the door closed and turned back to the bed.
Victoria raised herself to her elbows and pouted. “I believe I won’t need my shoes,” she murmured, pointing her toes and letting her dress slide off her leg.
Bill’s throat contracted as a milky white calf slid into view. His chest constricted tighter than when all the chains had been locked around him. Quickly he made his way to the bed and took hold of an elegantly clad foot. He slid his hand up Victoria’s leg. She arched in pleasure.
“My treatment, please,” she whispered. “My very talented Mr. Standish.”
Bill smiled. “Anything for my lady.”
Their tale is over, but for others, the story has only just begun…
Before turning the page to read the Prologue to Maddening Minx the fifth book in the Brambridge Novels series:
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Reckless Rules is the fourth book in the Brambridge Novels series. The other books currently available in the series are Somewhat Scandalous, Burning Bright, Dangerous Diana, (Reckless Rules) and Maddening Minx. Click on the titles to discover more about them, or visit www.pearldarling.com for my blog, books, and more.
Finally and most importantly, if you'd like to dive straight in to read the prologue of the next book in the series, Maddening Minx, please turn the page now!
MADDENING MINX
BOOK FIVE OF THE BRAMBRIDGE NOVELS
PROLOGUE
Edward descended the stairs from the attic, pushing the spider cobwebs out of the way with windmilling thrusts of his right arm. Going up there had been madness. And yet he did so every time he visited.
A cackling followed his footsteps as he reached the bottom of the stairs and kicked the door shut with his boot. Wiping his hands on his coat, he strode down the hall, his feet clicking against the polished oak floor boards; mad mad mad with every step.
“Ah there you are. You’ve been up to see her again, haven’t you?” The middle aged lady that appeared in front of him folded her arms across the gold lace of her bodice and glared him with equally golden eyes.
Edward sighed. “Yes, Dowager Lady Rochester. I have, as I do so every time I visit.”
“Hmmph. Visit. You should be here all the time. There is plenty of work for you to do here.”
“I must go. I’m late already.”
“Back to London again I suppose.”
Edward nodded. “I’ll see Franklin and then I will be gone.”
“I don’t know why you don’t take him with you. It’s
not natural to leave him behind. And to take his younger brother with you seems to me rather odd.”
“We have an arrangement.”
“Your father and I had an arrangement.”
“It’s not quite the same with Franklin’s brother.”
The lady did not laugh. Turning on her heel, she clattered back down the corridor and, entering a room to the right, slammed the door with a huff. “I’ll not say goodbye,” she shouted through the wood of the door.
Edward smiled. That was her way of saying goodbye.
Ducking his head into the open door on his left, he glanced around the room. Franklin stood in the corner, meticulously hanging the coats of bath superfine and solid buckskin breeches and riding outfits on long hangers, before packing them into paper. He looked up and nodded.
“Look after her… them won’t you, Franklin? Contact me in the usual way through Alasdair. The offices haven’t moved.” Edward scratched the side of his face. Two days growth and still his whiskers hadn’t lengthened.
“I will, sir.”
Edward banged the door jamb with a fist and turned to go. “I’m off.”
“Err, sir!”
“Yes?”
“Your coat.” Franklin pointed at Edward’s torso, his gaze flicking to where Edward had smeared the dust from the attic.
“Ah yes. Good memory, thank you Franklin.” He shrugged off the coat in one fluid movement before crossing to the bed and laying the coat on the pile of clothes Franklin had already prepared. “At least someone’s thinking clearly in this house.”
Franklin sighed a heavy sigh and, picking up the dirty coat, hung it over the edge of the wardrobe. “My regards to Alasdair, sir.”
“I’ll pass them on Franklin.” Whistling a jaunty sea shanty, Edward strode out of the bedroom and clattered down the stairs and into the great hall.
The butler waited for him with a brown ill tailored coat hung loosely in his gloved fingers.
“Alasdair is outside, sir. It looks like it might be beginning to snow.”
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