Not that he didn’t have a sound reason for his lust. He slid into the doorway to get a better look at her.
Yes, she was miles above his station. Despite what Griff had uncovered about her da’s title, the world still thought her an earl’s daughter, and she had the breeding to match. And yes, she was lame.
But any man with an ounce of sense would desire her. Especially a man with a profound appreciation for all varieties of fine women.
He drank in every inch of her, glad to have the chance before she noticed him. What a perfect picture of a female. Aristocratic features and skin as smooth and creamy as new ivory. A slender figure swathed in white muslin with her swan’s neck prettily yoked in a blue wisp of a scarf. Not to mention the feathery curls peeking out from under one of those annoying bonnets that hid all her hair.
He’d sure like a look at it. There must be oceans of silky mahogany wrapped up tight under there, just waiting for a man to unwind it so it could flow free over her naked body, so he could stroke it and bury his face in all that soft, woman-scented—
His pego roused in his trousers again, making him groan. Fool thing, to be angling after the likes of Lady Helena. What was he thinking? If any man came within ten feet of that fair swan, especially the bastard son of Wild Danny Brennan, she’d be squawking loud enough to wake the dead. That was the trouble with swans—they were pretty from a distance, but close up they were foul-tempered as the very devil.
Which made it all the more intriguing that she’d come to him for help. Nearly begged him for it, too. He was sure she’d always thought him coarse, and she probably thought him unscrupulous. So what could she possibly want with him now?
He shoved away from the doorframe. He’d made her wait long enough—might as well find out what daft notion had brought her to St. Giles.
“I see the tea is here,” he said as he entered and noticed the tea tray sitting a few inches from her ladyship’s sketch pad.
She started and closed her pad. “Yes. Do you want some?”
“All right. I’m parched this morning.” Some wickedness made him add, “That’s what happens when a man’s spent half the night entertaining.”
As he’d expected, she colored right up. Ah, he was a scoundrel to tease her so, but how could he resist making her blush so prettily?
Ducking her head, she daintily poured him a cup of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Both, if you please.”
The tiny smile on her lips as she added milk to his tea struck him as curious. Until she gave it to him and he drank some. “This tea’s cold,” he grumbled.
“What do you expect? Your landlady brought it in over twenty minutes ago.”
The hint of reproof in her voice was unmistakable. Impudent wench.
“Didn’t I rush down here fast enough to suit your ladyship?” He set his cup down on the table. “P’raps I shouldn’t have bothered to dress. P’raps you would’ve preferred to have this conversation with me in my drawers.”
To his satisfaction, her blush deepened to scarlet, and she drew the edges of her pelisse closer together. “Just because you enjoy cavorting naked in front of women doesn’t mean the women take pleasure in it.”
He rested his hand on the table and bent closer, feeling full of mischief. “Never had any complaints before.”
“Given your choice of companion, that doesn’t surprise me.”
He laughed, which only seemed to annoy her further. The lass was still peeved over Sall and her boldness? And after he’d sent the shameless tart home without even a kiss, too. “I take it you disapprove of my ‘choice of companion.’”
“I don’t care in the least whom you consort with,” she declared with an elegant little sniff.
“But I’ll wager you have your own ideas about who it should be.” Bent on devilment, he added, “P’raps a woman like your ladyship?”
“Certainly not!” Then, as if realizing too late the insult behind her words, she stammered, “I-I mean…that is…”
“It’s all right,” he put in, annoyed by her answer, though he supposed he deserved it for teasing her. He straightened from the table. “You needn’t worry I’ll make improper advances to you, m’lady. I prefer the sort of woman who enjoys seeing a man in his drawers.”
Just that quick, her embarrassment turned to frosty hauteur. She glanced away. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you live where such women abound.”
He had the odd feeling that he’d insulted her, though he couldn’t imagine how, and to his surprise, her distant air irritated him. “Ah, and where do you think I should live? Hidden away in the country like your ladyship? Where you can avoid the world and its troubles?” He dropped his voice to a thrum. “Where big nasty men like myself don’t bother pretty women?”
She continued to stare woodenly beyond him at the cracked mantel. “I assure you, Mr. Brennan, we have our share of nasty men in Stratford-upon-Avon. And they have no compunction about making our lives a misery. Indeed, that’s why I’m here.”
That brought him up short. “What do you mean? Has somebody been causing you trouble?” Though it wouldn’t surprise him. When she was vexed, the woman had a tongue that would strip bark from a tree and draw any man’s ire.
“No, not me, not exactly.” Focusing her gaze on her fingers, she toyed with her sketch pad. “I mean Juliet.”
“Juliet?” Why, the little innocent was scarce out of the schoolroom. Would some wretch dare to hurt her?
Apparently Lady Helena mistook the reason for his surprise. “You remember her, don’t you?” Her gaze glittered bright with self-righteousness. “My youngest sister? The one you pretended to court while your employer seduced Rosalind?”
So she still hadn’t forgiven him for that. “My former employer,” he reminded her. “And yes, I remember your sister very well. She was the one who didn’t hold my mistake against me. Come to think of it, you’re the only one in your family who does.”
“Because I’m the only one in my family not foolish enough to be taken in by every smooth-tongued rascal who lands on our doorstep.”
That tore it. Leaning forward, he planted his hand on the table scarce inches from hers. “For a smooth-tongued rascal, I’ve been mighty accommodating of you this morning. And so far you haven’t given me a single reason for being so.”
She swallowed convulsively, then averted her gaze. “I’m sorry—you’re right. You have been very obliging. I don’t mean to be so ungrateful, but I’m worried sick.”
“About what, damn it? What has happened to your sister?”
“Juliet’s been kidnapped.”
The second Helena spoke the words, she regretted them. They were a trifle misleading, and judging from Mr. Brennan’s shock and fury, they were liable to send him off in the wrong direction.
“What?” he roared, straightening to his full height. “By who? What villains would dare? Have they sent a demand for ransom yet? Surely your father went to the authorities in Warwickshire—”
“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply it was done against her will.” She paused. “That is…well…”
His gaze narrowed ominously on her. “What the bloody hell did you mean?”
Her fingers curled into a knot. “Juliet has run off—has eloped—with a man.”
He looked more astonished than alarmed. “Hold up now—are we speaking of the same lass? Your shy little sister, the one who jumped like a scared rabbit whenever I spoke to her this summer?”
“Yes.” Her tone hardened. “But believe me, she didn’t jump when that…that villain who carried her off spoke to her.”
His expression altered, sharpening his features to flint. “Ah, I see. Lady Juliet has run off with an unsuitable sort, one beneath the touch of your family.” His sarcasm made it only too clear that he thought any of them lucky to find husbands at all.
She shook off that lowering thought. “I’m almost certain he’s a fortune hunter,” she said defensively, “and I fear that he’s worse.”
There was a long pause. Then he crossed his arms over his chest with a belligerent air. “I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me.”
“That should be obvious: I want you to help me find them before it’s too late.”
“Me? Why not hire a Bow Street runner?”
She looked blankly at him. “A Bow Street runner? What is that?”
He sighed. “I forgot you’ve spent most of your life in the country. Well, m’lady, Bow Street runners track down missing persons, among other things.”
“Oh. Still, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to find one.”
“You found me,” he put in dryly.
Was that unusual? Did he hide himself away in St. Giles because he didn’t want anyone to see his poverty? It was hard to believe he’d prefer it here. She could see soot-blackened, dilapidated buildings through the window and hear tenants arguing through the paper-thin walls. “Finding you was easy. I merely asked Griff’s coachman to take me to where you lived.”
“And he brought you to St. Giles, just like that?” He shook his head in obvious disgust. “I’ll have the wretch turned off for that foolishness.”
“You most certainly will not. I told him it was urgent, and I promised there would be no repercussions if he helped me.”
“Oh, did you, now? Nice of you to appropriate Griff’s servants like that. Why not ask one of them where to hire somebody to track Lady Juliet?”
“Because servants gossip. I’m certainly not going to let Griff’s servants know what really happened, after taking such great pains to hide it from our own servants.”
“What did you tell yours?”
“That Juliet had gone to London alone to visit Rosalind, and I was following after. Because if word got out that Juliet had run off with some unsavory character—”
“—your family’s good name would be ruined,” he finished for her.
“Don’t be silly—I don’t care one whit about that. What worries me most is Juliet’s future. All she has ever wanted is a husband who will make her happy, and I am quite sure this man will not. And if anyone hears of the elopement, she’ll be ruined, even if she is still…chaste…when we recover her. I know nothing about your Bow Street runners’ skills or reliability, but I could not trust anyone to be discreet in this matter.”
“Yet you trust me?” he said, clearly surprised.
“To be discreet? Certainly. And Griff trusts you to run Knighton Trading while he’s gone, so why shouldn’t I trust you with this?”
“That’s another thing. I’m s’posed to be helping Griff.” He began to pace the room with quick, forceful strides. “And you may find this hard to believe, but I also have my own business to run. I advise gentlemen on how to invest their money, and I already have more clients than I can handle. I don’t have time for chasing after foolish girls who elope with unsuitable men.”
“I would have gone to Griff if he were here. I did send him and Rosalind an urgent message, but it won’t reach them on the Continent for days, and this matter requires haste. So I came to you. You’re the logical choice.”
When he raised an eyebrow, she continued in a softer tone, “You know Juliet and seem to like her. I’m sure that if you heard the whole of it, you would understand why I consider this situation so dire.”
That seemed to give him pause. Slowly he approached the table, then settled his hip on the edge, not far from her. “I’m listening.”
Yes, and crowding in upon her with his giant’s body that blocked the meager sunlight silting through the grimy window behind him. Must he loom like the great God of War poised to pounce? It was most unsettling.
She would have stood and moved away if she could, but she’d die before she let him watch her struggle to her feet with her usual awkwardness.
Instead, she concentrated on replacing his half-empty cup on the tray and tidying up the chipped tea things. “About a week after Griff and Rosalind were married, a man named Captain Will Morgan came to Stratford-upon-Avon. He claimed to be interested in seeing the sights in Shakespeare’s birthplace while on leave from the regiment quartered in Evesham. But he stayed nearly three weeks, which I thought excessive. Indeed, although most people found him amiable, I distrusted him from the first.”
He snorted, “That’s hardly surprising, given your general distrust of my gender.”
He fixed his too-perceptive eyes on her, making her flinch. He’d done that at Swan Park, too, studying her like a teacher searching out his pupil’s weakness. She could easily guess what he saw—a woman whose lameness ought to make her grateful for any affection men might deign to bestow on her, who ought not to berate them for being untrustworthy. Who ought not to wish they could see beyond her deficiencies to the woman beneath.
She tilted her chin up proudly. Let him think what he wished. It didn’t matter. “All the same, Will Morgan seemed far too interested in ascertaining the extent of Juliet’s and my inheritance to suit me.”
“Even a captain must think practically when it comes to marriage.”
“Mr. Morgan is no captain.” Now came the worst of it. “After I discovered him and Juliet gone, I went immediately to his supposed regiment. They’d never heard of him. He lied to us all from the moment he arrived.”
Mr. Brennan rubbed his brow with slow, even strokes. She couldn’t help noticing his blunt fingers and how surprisingly clean the nails were.
“Very strange, that,” he muttered, half to himself. “Why would he pretend to be a military man? Did he think to impress people?”
“I don’t know. He did ask a great many questions about Papa and his estate, his friends, etcetera.”
“You’d expect that of a man intending to marry.”
“Yes, but doesn’t it seem rather calculated? Not to mention the alarming discovery I made as I came after them in Papa’s coach.”
He gaped at her. “You came after them? Alone?”
“Of course. Why do you think I’m in London?”
Mr. Brennan stood and began to pace again, like some magnificent golden bull. It gave her shivers just watching him, the dawn light streaking his long Samson hair with gilt and lighting his gray eyes to sparkling silver. How much power lay leashed in that massive chest and those wide, square shoulders, barely constrained by the simple linen shirt and serviceable fustian frock coat?
“What if you’d been accosted by highwaymen or footpads or any of the other unscrupulous wretches who prey on women traveling alone?” he growled. “What then? Did your father approve of this?”
“Certainly; he had no choice. He hasn’t any more desire to see Juliet wed to a conscienceless fortune hunter than I.” The fire had died down, and she shivered beneath her thin muslin pelisse.
Mr. Brennan caught sight of it, and his lips tightened into a grim line. Striding to the hearth, he scooped some coals into the hob grate and watched while they burst into flame. “You’re not even sure the lad is a fortune hunter. Juliet’s a fetching lass. P’raps he fell in love with her. I know you believe men don’t marry for love, but young lads do sometimes lose their hearts to pretty women.”
His reproof taxed her temper beyond her control. “Not in this case—or else he loses it with alarming frequency.”
I “What do you mean?”
“He tried courting me first. I rebuffed his advances, of course—”
“Of course,” he echoed dryly.
She glared at his broad back. “But not before he waxed poetic about how he was ‘drawn to me from the beginning’ and how he ‘could not resist my heavenly beauty.’ Needless to say, I knew better than to fall for such false blandishments.”
“Why assume they were false?”
“Because men have little use for cripples, sir.”
She regretted her bald statement the moment he swung around to face her. A gaze deep with understanding bore right through to her soul. Then it darkened, edging slowly down her body, rousing a strange, unfamiliar heat wherever it lingered.
“
Surely not all men are so foolish,” he said huskily.
His look drove a shaft of need so deep into her that she ached with it. No man had looked at her like that since before the illness that had made her lame. Merciful heavens, she’d forgotten how some men could provoke a woman into wanting them with just a sensuous glance.
Why must he be one of them?
Because he was a libertine, of course. He handed out flatteries and flirtatious looks with the practiced ease of a vendor coaxing matrons to buy beauty aids. She, of all people, should know that.
She cleared her throat and attempted to regain her composure. “Not that I cared what Mr. Morgan thought of me one way or the other, you understand.”
“Of course not.”
The seeming gentleness in his voice made her scramble to hide her susceptibility. “He wasn’t the kind of man I would find acceptable under any circumstances.”
A beat of silence. Then Mr. Brennan said coolly, “No, I don’t s’pose he was.”
Gathering her dignity about her, she strengthened her defenses against him. “Mr. Morgan’s actions since then have proved I was right to distrust him.”
“But your sister did not share your suspicions.”
She sighed. “No, Juliet is young and naive. She dismissed my cautions with scarcely a thought. I’m afraid that my…er…viewpoint on men led her to assume I was unjustifiably biased.”
“Can’t imagine why she’d think that,” he retorted. “You said you made ‘an alarming discovery’ while following them?”
She blinked. Lord, he’d been paying close attention. But then, he’d always been one to make a woman feel as if her every word was important. It was another of his little tricks. “On the road, I showed Mr. Morgan’s picture to several people.”
“You have a picture of him?”
“Yes. As soon as I found Juliet gone, I sketched an image as best I could from memory. With the aid of my sketch and a miniature of Juliet, I traced their steps and discovered they were headed south for London, not north to Gretna Green. If he intended to marry her, why did he bring her here?”
A Notorious Love Page 2