A Roguish Gentleman

by Mary Brendan

  He was comfortable with treasures; as a mercenary and bounty-hunter he had had regular contact with precious artefacts: Spanish gold, Eastern jade, African ivory, ancient Egyptian pottery… He’d been rewarded in all manner of currency—even recently crafted Sheraton and Hepplewhite furniture—and never turned any down. Now he was paid in diamonds and amethysts and he was devising ways he could give them back…without ceding what he wanted.

  He leaned back in the chair, rested his head back into the leather, but the hawkish gleam between his lashes was still on the scintillating collar laid out on the desk in front of him.

  Far, far back in his mind, it occurred to him that he ought to be travelling to Kent and directing his architect and his builder on renovation schedules for Stratton Hall. A few weeks ago, there was little else on his mind but building on his new and very gratifying success. He’d been proud of what he’d, alone and unaided, achieved.

  His father’s original ill-gotten gains had been laundered by the years and by legitimate transactions into an international business empire. As the youngest son he had been last in line as far as inheritance went. But he’d been reared knowing indulgence: by a father who believed in primogeniture yet compensated for it in other ways, by a mother who doted on her wild child, and by brothers who spoiled him through guilt at taking the lion’s share of the family businesses and property. It didn’t worry him. He let them all know it didn’t worry him…not a bit. It was fair: Luke and Tristan worked harder and gave more time and commitment than he was prepared to sacrifice from his hedonistic life. He’d make his own way…and he had, very enjoyably, ignoring convention and morality along the way. He had his own codes: he never did more than flirt with women his brothers or friends cherished. He was loyal and protective to those he cherished, if unwilling to be restrained or tamed by their reciprocal concern and affection. Until now. Only there was no reciprocal affection. He was making marriage plans with a blonde temptress who disliked him. And he hadn’t the vaguest notion why he was so adamant he would marry her. It wasn’t the money. But he had to tell her it was, for both their sakes. It was all that was sensible to believe after such a short, stormy acquaintance. It was all she’d believe: that he was a hireling who was owed payment and was not shy of taking her dowry…or taking her as his mistress should she withhold consent to the nuptials. She was haughty, rude and defiant, yet something in her touched his soul…because he recognised the sham. She was bleeding still from a ten-year-old wound and vulnerable to the salt society used to season its contempt. He sensed a poignant wistfulness that made him want to fight alongside her, shield her from male lust and female spite. The instinct to care and protect had subtly, swiftly circumvented his lechery and a wry smile was all that rued its passing.

  He sat forward, rested his elbows on the desk. One broad palm supported a tanned, concave cheek as he frowned thoughtfully at the sparking gem. Which brought him to just what the little fool thought she was about by consorting with harlots and pimps in some East End hovel. He wasn’t about to have a wife of his risking assault or disease roaming amongst God knew what sort of squalid low life.

  From what Edwina had artlessly disclosed, he guessed the situation to be thus: Elizabeth had risked further disgrace last night from selfless motives. She had come to collect her necklace with the sole intention of using it to redeem a fallen woman. She had planned to buy a friend’s freedom with her inheritance. His eyes closed and something leaden settled in his stomach. If he’d given in to her pleas and allowed her the necklace, she would have taken it straight there. She would have actually journeyed, unescorted, into the heart of the stews with a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery in her pocket. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  A slight smile softened the hard set to his sensual lips. He didn’t think she’d want to hear that within a week of being ransomed, the drab would be back in Wapping searching for her fancy man and touting for business. Or that meanwhile her precious heirloom would be sold off stone by stone for the price of the freshest young doxy to be had, or a keg of geneva.

  Her rescue plan had an almost charming simplicity. It also relied heavily on honest reciprocation from reprobates. It was naïve…very innocent behaviour…and something about that was discordant with what he knew, or thought he knew, along with the rest of society, about her past. And there was something else, something odd he recalled Edwina muttering when he’d brought Elizabeth home… His reflection tailed off and he glanced at the clock as it chimed half past two.

  Palming the collar, he let it drape glittering over his bronzed skin for a moment. Was he going to hand it over to her now? Or was he going to prevaricate a while longer? He didn’t want to renege on his promise to return it today. But when he’d said he would, he hadn’t known why she wanted it.

  He stood up abruptly and replaced the gem in his safe. She might have slipped under his guard when he wasn’t looking, but he wasn’t completely overwhelmed. Strong men made weak by beautiful women were worthy of the utmost contempt, so he’d always thought. Besides, if anyone was shortchanged at present from this crazy deal, it was him. Edwina owed him; Lady Elizabeth Rowe damn well owed him. He’d kept himself leashed last night. One kiss they’d pacted and she’d withdrawn. He knew she’d been enjoying it. So had he…too damned much! It had started out as an ostentation of his seductive powers and finished with him luxuriating in the pure sweetness of it all. Just like some novice libertine. He’d keep the necklace awhile, and prove to himself he wasn’t acting like a novice libertine. He was still in control.

  Having dropped Evangeline at her door, Elizabeth and Sophie now sat in the small salon of Sophie’s parents’ cosy townhouse in Perman Street.

  Placing down her teacup, Sophie pulled out of its wrapping the length of silver lace, then draped it over the chair back. She peered at it from different angles.

  ‘It’s just right,’ Elizabeth reassured her. ‘So delicate…like a cobweb… It will suit you wonderfully.’

  Sophie giggled that she hoped that didn’t mean she resembled a spider, but her eyes were speculative as she looked at her grave-faced best friend. ‘What has upset you the most today, Elizabeth? Being accosted by that rat, Cadmore, or meeting the Viscount with a…um…lady friend?’

  Elizabeth immediately sipped from her cup. It clattered back onto its saucer. ‘Neither bothered me,’ she blurted with a bright smile.

  At Sophie’s ironically winging eyebrows, the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth drooped. ‘Oh, very well; I admit that I certainly would have preferred missing both of those gentlemen in that warehouse today.’ A shapely, slender hand worried at her brow. ‘I hate Cadmore! He’s a detestable lecher. And I hate the Viscount because…’ She tailed into silence. ‘I’m quite sure he’s a detestable lecher, too. But I’ve, as yet, no proper proof, so I’ll say I hate him because…because… Oh, I just hate him! He has insulted me and threatened me and done various other things.’ A hand flap concluded the explanation as she slumped back into the sofa.

  ‘He’s extraordinarily handsome, Elizabeth,’ Sophie tendered mildly. ‘Not at all as I would have imagined. I don’t think he looks rough at all. Quite the reverse. He seems…sophisticated and polished. And he wanted you to stop and talk to him.’

  ‘I doubt his companion did,’ Elizabeth remarked sourly. ‘She was very beautiful, wasn’t she?’ was added on a twisted little smile.

  Sophie grimaced agreement. ‘Very. But then so are you, Elizabeth. I’ve always envied you your wonderful eyes and hair. You’re younger than she is. You could easily outshine her, if you wished.’

  ‘But I don’t wish,’ Elizabeth lilted. Picking up the lace, she draped it about her friend’s slender shoulders, cocking her head to assess the effect. A violet glance arrowed at the stately burr-walnut case-clock in the corner. It was almost five-fifteen. She would leave at six of the clock. She calculated the Viscount and Edwina would have concluded their meeting by then. She calculated, too, her absence from home adequately convey
ed her resistance to the ‘tiresome engagement’.

  Perhaps Stratton’s lady love might object to his marriage and persuade him to retain the status quo. She didn’t look the sort of woman to allow herself to be relegated. In fact, Elizabeth, thought dully, she looked the sort of woman who might be a little like herself: a little too proud. Wandering to the window, she scanned the busy street but saw nothing. She trusted he would leave her necklace with Edwina. She believed him a man of his word on that score. She just hoped Edwina’s untimely revelation last night hadn’t made him too suspicious about why she desperately wanted it. In any case, the truth shouldn’t unduly bother him. Whether she kept or disposed of her jewellery would be of no interest once he had her dowry promised in its stead.

  ‘I hate to see you looking so anxious, Elizabeth. Is something else troubling you?’ Sophie asked quietly, on joining her at the window. She slipped a comforting hand through the crook of a soft-skinned arm.

  ‘Actually, yes,’ Elizabeth admitted. She sighed. ‘I saw something awful when returning from Sunday School with Hugh…’

  ‘You must stop going! You are being too reckless entering that slum to teach those poor little wretches.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t the children,’ Elizabeth reassured, facing Sophie. ‘I encountered a lady I once knew well. She had her come-out the same year I did. I classed her as a social equal and a friend. She has fallen on such terrible…harrowing times, Sophie.’ Her voice broke and she sensed tears needle her eyes. ‘Truthfully, it makes me feel so ashamed for even thinking I have problems. I must help her! But I’m not sure how.’

  Sophie quickly steered her friend back to the sofa and sat beside her. Taking Elizabeth’s hands in hers, she pleaded, ‘Tell me, at once! What on earth has gone on?’

  Some minutes later, Elizabeth had recounted all that had passed between Jane Selby and Leach and Hugh and herself late on Sunday afternoon. Sophie flopped back into the plump cushions with her neat little hands covering her lower face. Mingling horror and astonishment was very apparent in the brown eyes widening above her fingers.

  ‘How…awful!’ Sophie finally exploded. ‘The poor woman. To be deceived so. And by a man she believed loved her. And the poor babe!’

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ Elizabeth quietly explained. ‘I’ve no idea how old he is: whether a babe in arms or a young child. What can be done, Sophie?’

  Sophie helplessly shook her head. ‘It seems this repulsive Leach wants money or he’ll not let her go. I have a small amount left from my allowance,’ she volunteered immediately.

  ‘I think he will want a substantial amount. Hugh said that Nathaniel Leach springs from a family of thieves. His mother is a notorious bawd and a fence. They will doubtless let Jane and little Jack go free if the price is right. But then where are they to go? Jane maintains her parents have disowned her, and Edwina is loath to help, let alone take her in.’

  Getting into the spirit of the drama, Sophie leapt up and raced to the door. ‘I shall see what I have to pawn.’ Some minutes later, she was back with a reticule stuffed with odd pieces of jewellery. They were tipped onto the sofa between them and picked through: silver combs and earrings, a pearl ring and a broken gold bangle. Sophie disentangled a small gold locket and pulled it to one side. ‘Not that.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘It was Fiona’s,’ she explained, referring to her elder sister who had died of smallpox, aged fifteen.

  Elizabeth laid a hand on her arm. ‘It’s very good of you, Sophie, to part with anything at all. But I’m not sure this vile man will be moved by anything less than a substantial bribe.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘And Hugh will not be of any help at all! Not only is he intimidated by Edwina—she has forbidden me to go back there—but he believes it is too late to help Jane, in any case. He insists she will never leave her fancy man…that she is somehow in his thrall! What nonsense! What do men know of these things! They are all such conceited creatures. Yet I believed Hugh to be different.’ She tutted her disgust. ‘And Grandmama endorsed his male chauvinism; simply to frighten me into staying away, I’ll warrant. But I’ll not be so easily put off!’ She paused for breath. ‘You must keep it all confidential. Please don’t breathe a word that I intend to somehow help Jane and her little son.’

  ‘Of course!’ Sophie stressed. ‘And I shall assist in any way I can. ’Tis the time to do the deed.’ She suddenly interjected, in all seriousness, ‘Mars…planet of action…is currently mid-heaven. It’s a good sign.’

  Elizabeth gave a little choke of laughter. ‘Well, we’re certainly going to need all the good auspices we can get!’

  ‘Well, miss, what have you to say for yourself?’

  Elizabeth removed her bonnet in the hallway, then shook out her crumpled, pearly locks. Slender fingers combed casually through them. ‘What have I to say for myself?’ she echoed with mock pensiveness. ‘Ah, I know, what you’re hinting at. It concerns the Viscount’s visit, does it not?’

  ‘Indeed it does!’ Edwina shrilled in high dudgeon.

  ‘Well I shall oblige you then and say: did he bring it?’

  ‘Did he bring what, may I ask? A big stick with which to beat his graceless future wife? Who could blame him if he did?’

  ‘Did he bring my necklace?’ Elizabeth enunciated, overlooking her grandmother’s boiling physiognomy.

  ‘Well, if he did, he took it home with him again. And serve you right if he did do that. Had you scraped the grace to drag yourself home before he left half an hour ago, perhaps he might have handed it over! If, indeed, he had it with him.’

  Elizabeth’s mouth pursed into a rosebud. The relief that she had avoided him by such a narrow margin was barely acknowledged. ‘He said I might have it today!’ she exploded as her foot stamped on marble.

  Edwina ignored the tantrum. ‘We are to dine with Ross and his family on Friday. The documents are signed pertaining to the dowry. The marriage is to take place in three weeks…’ she listed out.

  Elizabeth’s violet eyes darkened as her pupils grew large with shock. ‘Over my dead body,’ emerged in a croak.

  ‘That can no doubt be arranged. The Viscount looked murderous, I can tell you, when I said you were not yet home. By the time we had twice taken tea and talked of trivialities and he realised you had no intention of putting in an appearance, I thought he might take himself off again without concluding the deal. Even Pettifer said he’d never seen him look so fuming.’

  ‘More likely he was aggrieved at having cut short his shopping trip with his mistress,’ Elizabeth snapped into her grandmother’s censure. But she couldn’t ignore the writhing in her stomach on learning how well she had succeeded in annoying him.

  Edwina looked sharply at her granddaughter. ‘You saw him out today?’

  ‘Indeed. He was shopping with his doxy in Pall Mall.’

  Edwina’s face softened, and for the first time since her granddaughter had walked through the door with September sun silhouetting her petite figure and haloing her glorious hair, Edwina felt kindly disposed towards her. She took one of Elizabeth’s small hands in a pudgy palm. ‘You don’t want to get upset over that vampish brunette,’ she cajoled, patting at white fingers. ‘Trollops like Cecily Booth are soon forgotten by the likes of Stratton. She might be younger, but she can’t hold a candle to you in face or figure. Ross will never give her a second thought once he has you as his wife.’

  ‘Oh, indeed! You’re absolutely right about her, Grandmama,’ Elizabeth dismissed on a shrill laugh. ‘The trollop I was referring to is actually a little older than me, I should say, and blonde and very beautiful. Mayhap, he’ll not be quite so eager to cast her off. How many in all do you imagine there are?’ Without awaiting a reply, she made for the stairs, aware of her grandmother stunned into speechlessness for a change. She had given her something to chew on, she knew. In a determined show of nonchalance, and ignoring her stomach’s squeamishness, Elizabeth began swinging her bonnet on its ribbons as she lightly ascended the stairs. But the same phrases tumbl
ed through her mind as had earlier that afternoon in the fabric emporium: Damn you, Stratton! I just don’t care!

  ‘I’m glad you chose that gown: I’ve always thought it suited you.’

  Elizabeth managed a smile at the compliment. She fussed over pushing a pin more securely into her elaborate, lustrous coiffure. A slender finger wound a smoky-blonde tress into a tighter ringlet, then twiddled the damson-coloured velvet ribbon threaded there. Abruptly she sat back against the squabs, gripping her fidgeting fingers in her lap.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ Edwina asked as they rattled over cobbles in her luxurious barouche heading towards Grosvenor Square.

  ‘Of course not!’ After a moment a glossy-eyed glance slanted across the dusky interior of the coach. Elizabeth noticed her grandmother was smiling. A small, reciprocal smile slanted her soft mouth. ‘Well, perhaps a little. It is a while since I socialised with anyone other than Sophie and her parents. Or Hugh and ladies from the Society of Friends.’

  ‘You call that socialising?’

  Elizabeth ignored the dry comment. ‘I’m a little out of practice, that’s all it is,’ she explained away her uneasiness at dining with the Viscount’s guests. She soothingly smoothed her unsteady fingers back and forth against the rich, plum velvet of her stylish gown, while restoking her agitation by wondering whether any of those who were to be present tonight were cognizant with her history.

  Edwina had told her before they left Connaught Street that the Viscount’s mother seldom left Cornwall where she led a quiet life. It was unlikely she would have bothered herself with beau monde scandals. His brother, although a wealthy aristocrat, now resided in Brighton with his family and used his Mayfair townhouse but rarely. Edwina had then complained she wasn’t sure which other people were to be present, although she guessed Guy Markham might, and that failing was all Elizabeth’s fault. Her last meeting with the Viscount had been so strained due to Elizabeth’s non-appearance that she had forgotten all the little essentials over which she had meant to quiz him.