by Cheryl Holt
“What does that mean? Is your devoted swain planning to rush to Kirkwood and chase Damian away?”
“No.”
“Is he prepared to let you stay with him to save you from residing in that decrepit cottage?”
“Ah…no.”
“Has he set a wedding date so he could marry you at once?”
Her scowl deepened. “You’re speaking in riddles, Mr. Roxbury, and I’ve never been adept at deciphering them. What are you implying?”
“Mr. Bean won’t help you, and he doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you know this because…?”
“Because I know his type.”
“His type?”
“He’s a weak boy who’s been gripping his mother’s apron strings since the day he was born.”
“If that’s what you suppose, then you’re not as smart as you assume.” She flashed a rigid smile. “It’s been marvelous chatting with you, but my mother is expecting me.”
She strutted off in a huff, but he grabbed her and slipped her hand into his arm, forcing her to stroll with him. When she tried to pull away, he simply held her tighter, and she bristled with affront.
“You don’t have my permission to touch me,” she said.
“I’m doing it anyway.”
“I’d rather be alone, Mr. Roxbury. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a few things on my mind. I’d like to ponder them in silence.”
“You can ponder them while we’re walking. In fact, why not mention them aloud? I’ll give you my opinion.”
“Why on earth would you imagine I want your opinion?”
“I’m aware of all that’s happened. You’re in a quandary, and your precious Mr. Bean will never come up to snuff.”
“He might surprise you.”
“No, he won’t, and for a girl who’s suddenly poor as the dickens, you’re being much too arrogant.”
“I’m not…poor.”
She pronounced the word poor as if it was an epithet, and he laughed. “What are you then? You have no money, no home, no servants, and you don’t even own the clothes on your back. In my book, that makes you poor.”
“What about my clothes? Of course I own them.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Who owns them then?”
“Damian.”
She stumbled, missed a step, and he reached to steady her.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“Your brother gambled away everything. Even the clothes on his back—and on yours.”
For a lengthy interval, she gaped at him, then she sputtered, “Are you claiming Miles…Miles…”
“I’m not claiming. I’m flat out explaining how reckless he is, and you’ve been completely at his mercy without realizing you were. What will you do now? What are your plans?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m debating my choices.”
“You asked Mr. Bean for assistance?”
She dithered, then admitted, “Yes. He’s my fiancé, and his mother has been my mother’s friend since they were girls. Who would I ask besides them?”
“What did they tell you?”
“They’ll write some letters for us. Harold can be very…commanding.”
“Harold can be?” Kit might have laughed again, but when he saw how upset she was, he tamped down his mirth. “It’s futile to write letters, Miss Marshall.”
“Why?”
“Because the court hearings are over. The foreclosure is accomplished, the property has changed hands, and the new owner has taken possession.”
“But…but…what will become of me?” She started to tremble, as if she was just beginning to note the perilous waters in which she was swimming.
“Did Harold offer any aid beyond the letters?”
“No.”
“I feel duty-bound to warn you not to count on him.”
From how she stiffened, he suspected she’d already determined that Harold wouldn’t be her savior, but she didn’t say so.
They huddled in the quiet forest, with her studying her feet, and him studying her. The moment was fraught with possibilities, as if any secret could be shared, as if any wonderful thing might transpire.
“I have an idea,” he ultimately mumbled.
“What is it?”
“What if you decided to count on me instead?”
“Count on you? In what way?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Damian has hired me to work as his estate agent.”
“He’s not staying at Kirkwood?”
“No. He hates it here.”
“Then why has he done this to us?”
“He’s getting even with your father and brother.”
“For what offense?”
“For their ruining his life.”
“How did they do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t want to ever hear it.”
“Why wouldn’t you? It’s having a horrendous impact.”
“How can it matter what occurred? Mr. Drummond may be getting even with my brother, but the consequences are landing on me.”
“Yes, they are, but I can help you.”
“How?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to marry him, but he was wise enough to keep from voicing a proposal.
His greatest wish was that he’d have a wife and family someday. His own family had been ripped apart when he was a boy, and his orphan’s dream—other than his desire to find his siblings—was to rebuild what he’d lost. He’d had a father and mother, a fine home, servants, and stability. He remembered it so clearly! But his father had died, which had rendered his mother penniless.
Gradually their world had collapsed until there was naught left of what had been. Kit craved that sort of life again, but he doubted he could obtain it with a snooty girl like Sophia.
If he was to take over Kirkwood for Damian, he needed a sensible bride, a reliable and pragmatic bride. Miss Fogarty was probably the female he should be considering, but while she was very pretty, she hadn’t dazzled him as Sophia had.
Besides, if Kit attached himself to Sophia, Damian would be furious—and very hurt. He’d view any connection as a betrayal so Kit had no business salivating over Sophia Marshall.
So no, he wouldn’t propose marriage, but he was certainly eager to propose another type of arrangement. She’d be shocked and insulted, but he agreed with Damian on one salient point: When a woman was desperate, when she was out of options, any port in a storm could offer a safe harbor.
“I could do some things for you,” he said, “but in exchange, you would have to do some things for me.”
She frowned. “What…things?”
“I’m bored and lonely, and I could use a bit of company.”
“What kind of company, Mr. Roxbury? What exactly are you suggesting?”
His lazy gaze wandered down her torso. With her glorious blond hair, big blue eyes, and curvaceous figure, she was definitely a sight.
“You could be my mistress.”
“Your…mistress?”
“Yes.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I believe that’s the most odious comment ever uttered in my presence.”
She tried to yank away, but he wouldn’t release her.
“Let me go,” she fumed.
“No.”
“Are you about to ravish me? Should I scream for help?”
“As if I have to force myself on you to receive what I want.”
“If you don’t force me, how will you get me to comply?”
“In a few more days, once Damian is tired of toying with your brother, he’ll evict you. I’m betting you’ll be glad to give me whatever I ask.”
“In your dreams, Mr. Roxbury.”
“Yes, in my very vivid dreams where I have you by my side for as long as you’ll stay there. It would make me very, very happy.”
“You’re insane.”
“No, Damian is the crazy one. I’m actually qu
ite normal and rational.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve spoken to you on precisely two occasions, and yet you’ve had the audacity to tender a salacious proposition.”
“I wouldn’t have unless you seemed the sort of person who might seriously consider it.”
“I repeat: You’re insane, and I’m leaving.”
“Have you ever been kissed, Miss Marshall?”
“Yes, Mr. Roxbury, I have been.”
“Well, you haven’t been by me, but you should be.”
She snorted with disgust. “Really? Why is that?”
“You might like it so my proposal would sound more appealing.”
“Nothing about your proposal could ever appeal to me. I have a fiancé who I’m about to wed. I can’t tarry in the woods, misbehaving with you.”
Kit was positive she would never be Mr. Bean’s bride, and even if she eventually was, why not engage in a flirtation in the interim? It wasn’t as if they’d run to Mr. Bean and tattle.
He pulled her close so their bodies were pressed together all the way down. She was very shapely, rounded in all the right spots, and his cock sprang to attention. He had a creative imagination, and he could already picture how she’d look lying on his bed without any clothes.
“Mr. Roxbury!” she complained. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“You’re a woman, Miss Marshall, so you have no idea what’s best.”
“You suppose that kissing you will be good for me?”
“Absolutely, and I can guarantee it will be much more enjoyable than it will ever be with Mr. Bean.” He grinned. “Has he ever tried?”
“Tried what? To kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you are too, too ridiculous.”
“And you talk too much.”
He dipped down and kissed her, capturing her lips in a passionate manner, giving her no chance to protest or prevent what he intended. She didn’t struggle to end the embrace, but she didn’t exactly participate either.
He simply proceeded, and when he drew away, he was still grinning. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“It was horrid,” she claimed, but she appeared confused, as if maybe she’d liked it more than she should let on.
“It wasn’t horrid. Don’t be a shrew about it.”
“But…you manhandled me. You forged ahead as if I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m not a foolish boy, Miss Marshall. Nor am I a waffling man who can’t decide what he wants. I take what I want. I don’t dither about it.”
“You want me?”
“In every way I can possibly have you.”
“I can’t guess what that means.”
“Don’t worry, if you ally yourself with me, I’ll show you.”
“With each word you speak, I am more shocked, and you are more shocking.”
“I’ve shocked you with a little kiss and a few flirtatious remarks?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll likely astound you with what I attempt next.”
His comment must have sounded alarming, because she hastily stepped back, putting even more space between them.
“I’ve had enough of you,” she said. “Don’t wait for me in the woods. Don’t watch for me to pass by. Don’t accost me ever again.”
“I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Find something else.”
“No. I’m having too much fun bothering you.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t try it again or I’ll…I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he asked when she couldn’t finish.
“I’ll tell my mother.”
“There you go, threatening to tell your mother on me. Grow up, Miss Marshall. Fight your own battles.”
“I’m not fighting a battle with you. Obviously you haven’t realized it, but you’re so far beneath me I can barely see you.”
“And don’t be snotty. I don’t have the patience for that kind of conceit.”
“If I’m displaying too much conceit, you don’t have to tolerate it. Stay away from me.”
“I can’t. I like making you angry. You’re very pretty when you’re angry.”
“You’re being ridiculous again,” she scolded.
“You don’t recognize the peril of your situation.”
“My situation is fine.”
She whipped away and stomped off. He thought about marching after her, about stopping her just to prove he could. But he wasn’t leaving Kirkwood, and there would be plenty of opportunities to wear her down.
He’d spent many years around desperate people. He had been one of those desperate people so he fathomed how circumstances could grind down a person, how you chose paths you never imagined you would. She’d ultimately descend to that low spot too, and he’d be there for her as she fell from the bottom rung.
“Miss Marshall?”
He assumed she’d ignore him, but apparently he was already having an impact. She halted and glared over her shoulder. “What?”
“When you hear from Mr. Bean that he’s severed your betrothal—”
“Mr. Bean will not sever our betrothal. We’ve been engaged since I was a girl, and he’s a gentleman.”
Kit was betting it would happen before the afternoon was over. “When he does, let me know right away.”
“For what reason would I, Mr. Roxbury?”
“So I can latch on to you before any other fellow has the chance.”
“Latch on to me. You talk as if I’m a hog at the fair.”
“You’re destitute and in trouble, and I’m willing to have you anyway. From where I’m standing, you’re lucky I’m interested.”
“Lucky!” she huffed. “Goodbye, Mr. Roxbury. You’re a menace and a nuisance.”
“You can call me Kit. Or Christopher. That’s my Christian name.”
“Are you still laboring under the delusion that I would call you by your Christian name?”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t we be friends?”
“Because you’re an idiot, and I don’t like you.”
With that parting shot, she flounced off. He watched her until she rounded a bend and vanished from sight, then he strolled after her at a leisurely pace.
He couldn’t figure out why she intrigued him. He was eager to chase after her, but if he caught her, she probably wouldn’t be worth having. But he loved all that sass and temper, loved how her eyes sparked with irritation when he was aggravating her. It would take a long time to grow weary of her, and he would relish all the interactions they’d share prior to that moment arriving.
He continued on, wondering if he shouldn’t confide his attraction to Damian, if he shouldn’t admit she’d captured his fancy. Damian might be humored by the notion of Miss Sophia being ruined and having to serve as mistress to a man she didn’t like—that man being Kit. He might deem it a fitting conclusion.
Or he might not think that so it was likely best to keep it a secret.
Until what point? an irksome voice taunted.
He didn’t have an answer to that question, and he wouldn’t fret over it. He’d survived turmoil all his life. He’d survive this too.
He started whistling, speculating as to where he should wait so he’d have a clear view when the messenger came from Mr. Bean to break his betrothal. Though Sophia didn’t believe him, he wasn’t wrong about Mr. Bean. She’d be free and unencumbered by nightfall or he’d eat his hat.
Damian at 13…
I can’t believe you’re finally going.”
“It’s taken ages, hasn’t it?”
Damian smiled at Michael Scott. For months, he’d been languishing on a prison barge anchored in the middle of the Thames. No one had any information as to why they hadn’t departed for Botany Bay.
There were rumors of a lack of funding for the voyage, refusal of the insurance companies to provide coverage for the perilous journey, a dearth of crew m
embers to work the sails. There weren’t many sailors who would willingly sign on to a vessel filled with criminals.
Then suddenly, whatever the problem, it had been solved. After interminable delays, they were leaving the next day.
All morning, families had been coming on board to say goodbye to their sons, brothers, or husbands. They brought money and supplies to make their loved one’s conditions more bearable.
Damian had no family and hadn’t expected a guest so it was a comforting surprise to have Michael appear.
“I wish I’d visited sooner,” Michael said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Damian insisted. “It’s grand that you’re here now. I don’t feel nearly so invisible.”
“We haven’t stopped worrying about you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I tried every trick I could to get you released, but your judge won’t budge on the penalty he imposed. He’s determined to punish you boys, and none of the guards will cross him.”
“Maybe he had his pocket picked too many times.”
“Maybe,” Michael agreed, and they laughed.
“Bugger him,” Damian spat. “The fat old sot can choke for all I care.”
“My lawyer claims the Crown will try to educate and civilize you so you’ll become an upstanding citizen of the realm.”
Damian snorted at that. “I’ve met the teacher, and I’ve met my fellow shipmates. Trust me, there will be no learning or civilizing for this group.”
“Nevertheless, I want you to study hard whenever schooling is available to you. I want you to come back and work for me. I plan to be very rich someday so I’ll need you to have the skills to assist me.”
“You really think I’ll be back?”
“People make it—occasionally.”
“Name one.” Of course Michael couldn’t. They were quiet for a minute, pondering the dire future that was approaching much too quickly. Then Damian said, “I doubt I’ll be back, Michael. In fact, I doubt I’ll survive it.”
“You have to survive it for me. I have to imagine someone can return from there.”
“Why?”
“So if they ever arrest me—”
“They never could!” Damian loyally declared.
Michael shrugged. “Who can guess what might occur? I have to hope it’s possible to come back. If anybody can manage it, let it be you.”
Damian was wise beyond his years, and he looked at the world through very clear eyes. No one returned from the penal colonies. Even if a person lived to complete his sentence, he had to purchase his fare back to England. What convict could ever earn the money to book passage?