A Roguish Gentleman

by Mary Brendan

  ‘Come, let me quickly introduce you to everyone. Then I should like to speak to you privately before dinner.’ His voice had lost its intimate, indulgent edge and become brisk.

  Elizabeth felt chilled again, although her composure was consolidating. Of course, he would be businesslike now he had steadied her nerves…made her presentable. This was, after all, business, however attentive and chivalrous he contrived to be in front of his kith and kin.

  When this invitation had been issued at the beginning of the week she had presumptuously believed he was eager his family and friends should find favour with her. Now, she was more inclined to think the reverse was true. Doubtless, he wanted her approved by these imposing people before irrevocably committing himself. He intended she play the part of an agreeable, prospective spouse. Pride and indignation wedged a blockage in her throat. Well, she would have little choice but to cooperate tonight, even if she never did so again! And she expected him to reciprocate by playing the part of an honest gentleman and returning her necklace when she demanded it!

  With a huge, settling breath, her sculpted chin tilted confidently just as they reached a sofa. She steeled herself; she was fine and ready; she was a Marquess’s daughter. And then she looked down into the smiling, turquoise eyes of the lady her intended had taken shopping.

  She had not realised just how literally he meant…quickly introduce. Within what she guessed to be under fifteen minutes, Elizabeth found herself being returned, by her host, to the double-doors of the drawing room she had so recently entered. Her head was reeling from the effort of remembering names, from an amazement at the sincerity and warmth of the welcome she and her grandmother had received from these people. She could discern no sly looks or whispered asides from the ladies as she passed by the sofa. None of the gentleman had ogled her, although she understood the approval in their eyes as they took a look at Ross in that subtle, meaningful way men had. And all present were so astonishingly good-looking! Even his gracious, doe-eyed mother was still attractive. She couldn’t ever recall being in a room with so many beautiful people.

  ‘Mr Guy Markham…’ boomed out close behind them, startling Elizabeth out of her pleasant reflection.

  Guy swept in, looking a little overheated and harrassed. Spying his friend at once, just inside the door, he blurted, ‘Sorry, Stratt, to be so late. Blasted axle nigh on departed company with the carriage in Oxford Street. That footman of yours who’s handy with the tools is giving my man some assistance with it…’ Giving proper attention to his friend’s companion, he suddenly declared, ‘Well, Lady Elizabeth Rowe! And not looking a jot different from when last I saw you! How have you been?’ He found one of her hands and gallantly raised small, white fingers to his lips.

  ‘Very well, sir, thank you,’ Elizabeth said amiably, with a little dip of her smoky-blonde head. Feeling now quite light-hearted, she was about to return the courtesy and ask how he did, but found that she was being backed through the closing doors by Ross, while Dawkins, his butler looked scandalised by his master’s undignified behaviour: squeezing them a path past him through the aperture.

  ‘Find yourself a drink, Guy, and then speak to my mother, would you? She was only asking after you this morning,’ Ross sent casually back over his shoulder.

  ‘Oh…right….’ Guy said, bemused. He tilted his nut-brown head to watch his friend disappearing from sight.

  ‘Dinner is ready to be served, my lord,’ Dawkins informed his master in a cautionary tone once he had closed the doors with a precise flourish.

  ‘Not quite yet, Dawkins. I’ll tell you when…’

  Dawkins inclined his head in acceptance of the dictate and marched, arms swinging, away along the carpeted corridor.

  Aware of being studied, Elizabeth glanced up very quizzically from beneath her lush, brunette lashes. She looked down again, heart hammering in response to a wordless discipline she read in his eyes. A tentative move to re-enter the drawing room was blocked. Instead she found herself being steered determinedly along the corridor by a firm hand practically spanning the back of her tiny waist. He released her, swung open another door, and tersely gestured for her to enter.

  His aloof manner made her exceedingly apprehensive, yet she knew she needed a little discreet conversation with him if she was to recover her necklace tonight. Inside the room, a roving inspection registered that it was a study with book-lined walls and an imposing desk spanning the entire area beneath a wide casement window. Beyond the glass, stars studded a black sky.

  She turned quickly about, heart pumping. ‘I know my reputation is tarnished already, my lord, and I know I have previously engineered just this sort of private tête-à-tête, but I really think, as you have company, it is best we are not alone like this.’

  He had not moved away from the door and stood resting back against it, arms crossed over his chest, watching her. Some silent seconds later Elizabeth dropped her prim gaze from his hard face. The aubusson carpet, the walnut panelling, seemed less unyielding.

  ‘I’m very angry with you.’

  The bald admonishment, delivered dispassionately, rendered her speechless. She had believed he had tolerated her initial lack of social graces. She had demonstrated impeccable breeding ever since. To now remind her of her panic, fling it in her face in that…that careless manner… Glossy, violet eyes blazed at him as she chewed at her lower lip.

  ‘I believe you owe me an apology, my dear…once again.’

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak. Humiliation blocked the words in her throat. Her lips quivered then pressed closed. She had allowed him to lead her here imagining that, prior to announcing their betrothal, he wanted to impress upon her that the sordid details of their wedding contract be kept confidential. She had been certain he wouldn’t want these eminent people to know he’d been outwitted by a wily old woman.

  ‘I…I have already apologised,’ she finally burst out in a tight little voice. ‘I did not mean to act with such…such crass dependency, or embarrass you, if that’s what you feel I have done. I think it more likely I have made a fool of myself. Nevertheless, as you wish to hear it one more time: I am sorry. I am sorry for ever coming here tonight—’

  ‘Ah, I see…’ he broke into her fierce defence. A small smile quirked his mouth. ‘No. I didn’t actually mean that, Elizabeth. Your insecurity and vulnerability don’t bother me. In fact, it’s quite endearing. I like you close to me…needing me.’

  ‘What, then?’ she whispered, unable to hide her astonishment at that revelation.

  He pushed away from the door. ‘What, then?’ he mimicked. ‘What, then…about a tiresome engagement we had arranged earlier in the week that you failed to attend. Does that strike a chord? I’m quite happy for you to feel ashamed of that crass behaviour. Do you?’

  Elizabeth bristled beneath his sharp, sardonic censure. ‘No,’ she snapped.

  ‘Why did you deliberately stay away from home and avoid contributing to the wedding plans? Because you thought I had been shopping with my mistress earlier that afternoon?’

  Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her silky, silver hair. ‘I…I thought no such thing!’ she burst out. Her complexion, if possible, became hotter, not only because it was an arrant lie but because the elegant lady she had just met, and learned was his sister-in-law, Rebecca, had greeted her with such sweet friendliness. And she had referred to her to Edwina as a doxy!

  ‘Why, then?’

  ‘I…I was upset by…by a certain…event. And I had more important things to do!’ And all of that was the truth! she exhorted herself, remembering how shaken she had been by Linus Savage assaulting her in the fabric warehouse. She also recalled she and Sophie investigating ways to raise money for Jane Selby that afternoon after their shopping trip. Without doubt, her time had been far…far more vitally spent in that charitable occupation than in returning home to pick over a venal marriage contract with this hateful…hateful man!

  ‘What certain event upset you?’ he asked as he came cl
oser.

  ‘It’s a private matter…’

  ‘That you can share with your future husband. I’ve told you…I take an interest in my betrothed’s problems.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Elizabeth rebuffed him frigidly. ‘For I shall deal with all of them alone.’

  ‘Even those that necessitate you slumming around Wapping docks to find this friend fallen on hard times?’

  Elizabeth swallowed, froze beneath his astute scrutiny. ‘Yes. Especially those…’ she eventually forced out. He was barely a foot away now, and she was aware of his hot stripping gaze flowing over her body, lingering where the tonal velvet pile was rippling alluringly at breast and hips.

  His fingers curled by his sides before disappearing to clasp behind his back. ‘There are times, Elizabeth, when I’m not quite sure how I keep my hands off you.’

  She shot a startled glance at him, then at the door as though measuring its distance.

  His expression was bemused, self-mocking. ‘Then again, if I yield to it, there’s a possibility they might go straight for your throat. Such a waste…’ As if to remove temptation, they were shoved into his trouser pockets. As if to remove her inclination to flee, he abruptly walked away. ‘So; let’s try again. What upset you that afternoon. Was it Cadmore?’

  Another artless blush betrayed her.

  Ross swore beneath his breath, at her wordless confirmation of his suspicions. ‘Did he speak to you? Insult you? I saw him, too, whilst I was in that shop. He looked guilty as hell. Did you tell him we are betrothed?’

  ‘Of course not! Why should I tell him any such thing?’ Noting the intelligent, speculative glitter in his eyes, she blurted, ‘I can deal with the Earl of Cadmore. I have been doing so for almost a decade.’

  ‘Yes, I know. And I’ve just witnessed how that constant doing so has taken its toll on you. What did he say?’

  Elizabeth dropped her eyes, her stomach churning again with sick shame as flashes of that venomous stare, that muttered invective, bombarded her mind. She didn’t want to recall it…she wanted it forgotten.

  ‘Tell me…’ he insinuated silkily, sternly, into her turbulent thoughts.

  Elizabeth jerked her head to frown at the comforting glow in the hearth. ‘It was nothing…nothing much at all. I forget…’ She choked an acrid laugh. ‘He is never very imaginative. I’m sure you must know what men say to women in such circumstances.’

  Ross walked close and a hand spanned her face, gently bringing it to look into his. ‘No, I don’t know. What did he say?’

  Compliance came suddenly, unexpectedly. ‘He said I was a brazen bitch who had known the dregs of society and that he would make me pay for my insolence and have me if it was the last thing he did. There! That is what he said…amongst other things. I told you he was not very original and you would already know the gist of it. Did you not say something similar to me yourself? Are you satisfied now?’ She jerked her ashen face from his fingers and backed away.

  Ross stared at her, his face seeming a tense, fleshless mask, as though his skin had tightened on his bones. Then he frowned as though in profound puzzlement. She noticed white bracket his mouth, a muscle close to it pull spasmodically. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ was all he said.

  ‘Can we go back to the others now?’

  ‘No.’

  Elizabeth gestured futility with a pale, graceful hand. ‘Why on earth not? What is to be gained by staying here alone? It can only lead to further bickering between us.’

  Ross rested his weight back against the desk, braced his hands either side of him. Abruptly snapping his head up, he gazed at the ceiling. ‘Come here,’ he requested. When she remained still, he dropped his face to look at her and extended a hand. ‘Come here.’ His fingers beckoned.

  She looked warily at those long, tanned fingers that a few days ago had so gently skimmed her skin, scorching fever in their wake.

  ‘Come…’

  She recognised the edge of command in that final, short summons. Slowly she approached him, halting just out of reach. Rocking forward, he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her between his spaced feet, holding her until she ceased straining. She was aware of his shady dark chin close to her forehead, aware of the spicy, sandalwood scent of him, the warmth of his hard masculine body.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry that I ever said any of that to you. I wanted to apologise before but got distracted. You do that to me. Make me forget things, make me say and do odd things. You’ve turned my world upside down… I don’t know why I shall go into my dining room in a short while, and face people I care about, to announce my marriage, when privately I know my fiancée dislikes me. Unless, in a way that defies logic, I care more for her than anything else, and sense it’s worth the risk carrying on because I’m hoping…chancing…that in time, she will like me…’

  Elizabeth slowly raised cynical violet eyes. ‘It’s not the money,’ he said in response to that look and the unspoken words souring her full, sweet lips. ‘God knows, it’s not the money. I don’t need it…leastways, not that much.’

  Elizabeth plumbed his eyes, searching for his soul…searching for deceit and sophistry. This was Ross Trelawney, a frantic part of her brain reminded her, as she sensed her scepticism melting beneath his liquid gold gaze and her body tilting towards his. Viscount Stratton was really Ross Trelawney, the bounty-hunter, hellion and seducer par excellence, she rigorously impressed upon herself. A decade ago she had witnessed snippets of his wild carousing with her own eyes, had heard gossip of much, much more. Only a few days ago, her grandmother had let slip he kept a vampish brunette mistress, and she had wondered how many others catered to his pleasure. He was a hard-hearted villain and a hardened rake, as he had described himself not a week since, while in this august house in a room very similar to this one. Yet he wanted her to believe such a man held tender feelings for her? That he didn’t intend wedding a scandal-wrecked spinster simply to recoup the fortune a crafty old woman had tricked out of him? Only recently he had mocked her presumptuous expectation that he might propose marriage, then callously given her unchoosable options to repay him.

  ‘If you like me, and repayment isn’t important, give me back my necklace,’ Elizabeth challenged in a breathy voice.

  ‘So you can do what with it? Hand it over to a pimp in the naïve hope he’ll hand over your friend? Life isn’t that simple, Elizabeth.’

  ‘It is! It’s that simple!’ she choked. ‘Whatever you say, I know it’s that simple. Just as I know you’re lying when you say my dowry isn’t important to you. It’s everything to you. At one time you threatened me with abuse and my grandmama with gaol simply to lay hands to it! But now you know for sure you can’t have it without me, too. So you pretend to care. You’re as calculating and crafty as Edwina, but to her I owe so much, not least my affection. To you I owe nothing. You don’t like me! That’s not what you feel at all!’

  Ross looked at her. Then laughed, a bitter sound that grazed his throat. ‘Very well; we’ll do it your way. I’m motivated by lust and greed. In which case, you can have the necklace tonight after you give me a kiss. Not a very equal exchange, but as I’ve guests in the house and little inclination to scandalise my mother, I’ll allow you to satisfy my lechery another night. Then we’ll go in to dinner; pretend we’re blissfully happy and I’ll announce we’re to be married in three weeks.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ His dark brows hiked idly, as though he really couldn’t care any more.

  ‘Not three weeks… It’s too soon…’

  ‘Not for me it isn’t,’ he drawled drily. ‘Three weeks.’

  Elizabeth licked her full, soft lips, while she considered. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Get my necklace.’

  ‘When you’ve kissed me.’

  She looked at his lean, dark face. His eyes were still closed, black lashes fanning his cheeks…child’s lashes, she thought hysterically as she marvelled at their length and the slight curl to them. Un
observed, she studied the incongruous beauty of his rugged features: thick black brows, wide forehead above, softened by lengthy strands of glossy mahogany hair; straight, strong nose, flaring slightly, well-moulded lips that were a little narrow. She hastily suppressed the urge to touch a finger to the cleft in his chin and curiously test the abrasiveness of shady masculine skin along his honed jaw. His breathing was easy; his powerful chest, resplendent in figured cream waistcoat, was expanding towards the plum velvet curving over her bosom. He was composed; he couldn’t give a damn whether she complied or not. She could walk away. She had wanted to before. She had been ready to forfeit angling for her necklace earlier just to escape to the drawing room and other company. Now, that seemed unbelievably craven and selfish. Jane Selby and her little son had been easily abandoned; yet she was their only hope. It was that simple!

  ‘What sort of kiss?’

  His lashes raised. ‘What sort of kiss?’

  ‘One for you or one for me?’ she gravely enquired.

  His mouth twisted wryly in comprehension. ‘One for us, Elizabeth…’ he said, adopting her solemn tone.

  She looked again at his sensual mouth and he watched her. She fidgeted on the spot a little. He watched her. Her hands began to raise as though to touch him, then clasped in front of her uncertainly. She pressed her lips together. Her eyes met his.

  ‘Come closer, you can’t reach from there,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh…yes…’ Elizabeth said on a faint smile.

  He returned her the same sort of faint smile.

  She shifted further forward between his spaced feet. Her hands brushed unintentionally against the twill-sheathed iron muscle of his inner thighs and recoiled. She tried to nonchalantly rest them on the desk, by his, but found it too far away. The movement left her tilting precariously off balance. She clutched at his sleeves, steadying herself, her face against his shoulder. Her eyes squeezed shut in mortification. ‘I…I’m sorry but I’m no good at this. It’s been too long since I…when I was last fond of someone…in the manner of wanting to kiss them, that is…it was…very long ago.’