One for the Rogue (Studies in Scandal)

by Manda Collins

  “But I didn’t know you thought so,” he said softly, holding the reins in his other hand so that he could slip his arm through hers. “I’m quite flattered.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said tartly, though there was a hint of breathlessness in her voice. “I still think you’re stubborn as a mule.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  “That sentiment is mutual, Miss Hastings,” he said grinning.

  He was still smiling like a fool when the curricle approached Pearson Close.

  A groom stepped forward to take the reins and when Cam asked if he’d seen Northman that morning the man shook his head.

  “No visitors at all today, my lord.”

  Relieved that one obstacle had been avoided, he leapt down and moved to assist Gemma from the vehicle. He’d halfheartedly decided to keep things platonic between them while they were here so as not to antagonize Pearson, but that went the way of the marine lizards when she slid down the front of his body as he lifted her to the ground. He clenched his jaw at the teasing contact, and frowned at her. But Gemma’s only response was an innocent lift of her brows.

  She wasn’t going to give an inch, he realized.

  But really, had he expected anything less?

  Of course not.

  Laughing softly at his own foolishness, he took her arm and they walked together up the front steps.

  When they reached the door, it opened before Cam could lift the gargoyle knocker.

  Fanshawe blinked when he saw Gemma at his side.

  “Lord Cameron,” he said solemnly. Then, looking down his nose at Gemma, he intoned, “I hope you know your companion will not be allowed inside. Mr. Pearson has very strict rules about females..”

  “Oh, I only wish to remain in the entry hall,” Gemma assured him. “I’m Miss Gemma Hastings, by the way. And we’ve come to speak with Sir Everard’s valet.”

  * * *

  At the mention of Sir Everard, the butler’s face turned, if possible, even more dour. “Why would you wish to do that?”

  “We have some news to give him,” Gemma said solemnly. “It’s about his master. Something very unfortunate has happened. I’m afraid he won’t be returning to Pearson Close.”

  Fanshawe’s mouth dropped open, his usual impassive expression erased in his shock. “Do you mean to say that Sir Everard is dead, Miss?”

  “I’m afraid he is,” Gemma said.. “And I discovered his body, I wanted to be the one to tell his valet. What’s his name? Chambers, is it?”

  The butler was still taking in the news that one of the houseguests was deceased. “I don’t know, Miss. This seems most irregular. And there’s been no news of it from—”

  “It’s a most irregular matter, Mr. Fanshawe,” she said, cutting him off, and Cam watched as the older man struggled to decide whether he should allow her in or not.

  “I assure you, Fanshawe,” Cam said, “it’s all above board. I can confirm the dreadful news about Sir Everard. And while my betrothed speaks to Chambers I’ll just go gather my things. I’m removing to my brother’s house for the duration.”

  It was the perfect solution. He would let Gemma speak to Chambers downstairs—with Fanshawe in attendance so that she wouldn’t be endangered on the off chance Chambers was the one who’d killed his master—while he nipped up to search Sir Everard’s rooms.

  Fanshawe, however, was focused on the other news now. “Miss Hastings,” he said, looking mortified. “If I’d known you were the betrothed of Lord Cameron I would not have been so…”

  “Think nothing of it, Mr. Fanshawe,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We only just got engaged this morning. You did nothing wrong.” She clung to Cam’s arm like a limpet and looked up at him with such adoration he felt like a puppy in the hands of a toddler.

  “Indeed,” was his only response. “Now, Fanshawe, if you’ll just take Gemma to see Chambers now?”

  They watched as the man struggled to decide what he should do. Finally, with the utmost reluctance, he gestured them inside.

  Once they were in the entry hall, he frowned at them. “I’ll just go see if he is available. I’m afraid Mr. Chambers likes a tipple and with Sir Everard’s absence he’s been indulging himself.” His bushy brows drew together as he frowned at Gemma. “Wait here.”

  Before they could respond, he had disappeared through the door leading to the kitchens and servants quarters.

  Just as Cam was about to remark on Chambers’ intoxication, Gemma was sprinting toward the staircase.

  “What are you doing?” Cam hissed, hurrying after her. “Get back here.”

  “You get up here,” she said in a low voice, over her shoulder, as she hurried up the carpeted stairs. “If we don’t get to Sir Everard’s bedchamber before Fanshawe emerges with Chambers we’ll lose our chance.”

  She meant, of course that she’d lose her chance to search the baronet’s rooms. But by now he’d realized it was impossible to change Gemma’s mind once she had decided a course of action. So, mindful that they didn’t want to be caught out by the butler, Cam hurried to catch up with her.

  Chapter 11

  Though she would very much have liked to take a detour into Mr. Pearson’s collections room, mindful of the reason for their presence in the house, Gemma let Cam lead her toward what had been Sir Everard’s room during his stay at Pearson Close.

  “I can’t believe you’ve got me into this,” he said under his breath as they hurried down the hall.

  “You really are far more circumspect than your swashbuckling reputation had led me to believe,” Gemma said, careful to keep her voice just above a whisper. “I would have thought a little housebreaking was child’s play for an adventurer like yourself.”

  Cam snorted. Or was that a growl? It was so hard to tell when he was dragging her alongside him.

  “Contrary to what you may have heard,” he said, his harassed tone all too clear, “I am not a common thief, nor am I accustomed to circumventing the authorities.”

  She almost tripped when he stopped short before a door near the end of the corridor.

  “This is Sir Everard’s room?” she asked in a low voice.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she realized how unnecessary her question had been.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Nervous.”

  Cam turned to look at her, and she was surprised when he gave her a rueful smile. “Me too,” he said.

  Then placing his ear against the door, to see if there was any movement within, he listened for a moment. Seemingly satisfied, he depressed the thumb latch and in one swift move, hustled them both through the open door.

  The room was dim thanks to the gray skies outside and the lack of any indoor illumination. Cam found a candle near the door, lit it and gave it to Gemma. Then he moved with admirable stealth to the lamp on the writing desk and lit it as well.

  With light it was easy to see that Sir Everard’s valet was perhaps not the most adept at his chosen occupation. The floor was strewn with clothing and papers and all sorts of items that a gentleman of a certain social status would bring along on a week’s long stay.

  “Someone has been here before us,” Cam said with a frown.

  “Or Sir Everard was a very untidy person,” Gemma offered, scanning the disarray. “Though I believe yours is the more accurate assessment. Even a valet with a penchant for drink would not dare leave his master’s rooms like this.”

  “He might if he knew his master wasn’t coming back,” Cam said.

  “We can discuss it later,” she said. “Fanshawe has likely found him by now. I’ll take the desk, you look through the papers on the floor.”

  Cam didn’t argue, but knelt amongst the papers nearest the bed. Gemma moved to the desk and began scanning the documents strewn across the surface.

  Most of what she found were scientific papers that had been disordered to such a point that it was impossible to tell which page went with which study without the kind of careful examinati
on for which they had no time. So she just began stacking them in a tidy pile.

  “Any luck?” Cam asked from the floor, not looking up from his own task.

  “They’re geological studies and scientific papers,” she said as she worked, “but they’re so disorganized it’s impossible to tell which page goes with which study.”

  “We might have time to—”

  The sound of voices in the hallway stopped him mid-sentence.

  “Fiddlesticks,” Gemma said crossly. “I hoped we’d have more time than this.”

  She finished pulling pages into a stack and clutched it to her chest.

  Cam, likewise, got to his feet holding a similar sheaf.

  “What do we do?” Gemma asked, looking with alarm at the door as the voices got closer.

  It had been her idea to brazen their way into Sir Everard’s bedchamber but her scheme hadn’t got much farther than that.

  Cam, however, was already at her side, pushing her into the adjoining dressing room.

  They had just managed to shut the door when she heard the bedchamber door open and hit the wall.

  “I might have known she was up to no good,” she heard Fanshawe say in an aggrieved tone as she and Cam huddled together on the other side of the dressing room door. “But I hadn’t thought Lord Cameron would be in on her scheme.”

  “All the ladies up at Beauchamp House are trouble,” Squire Northman muttered in response.

  Gemma let out a little huff of anger at that unfair bit of criticism, and Cam clapped a hand over her mouth. When she glared at him, he widened his eyes and put a finger to his lips. She got the message and indicated that he could remove his hand. Which he did, but not without another gesture for her to keep quiet.

  Really it was too unfair that she had to remain quiet while her character was being unfairly maligned.

  Unfortunately, this interchange was too late to keep the men on the other side of the door from hearing her initial outburst.

  “Who’s that?” Fanshawe demanded, causing Cam to swear silently.

  Then, before she even knew what was happening, Gemma was propelled backward against the window and being thoroughly kissed. But though the kiss was breathtaking, she wasn’t too overcome to notice Cam removing the stack of pages from her hands. Nor did she miss the way he fiddled with the window behind her. She felt a burst of freezing air on her back, then almost as quickly as it happened, it was gone.

  Her attention was diverted again, however when Cam pressed the full length of his body against hers, and she was lost in the heat and strength of him. She slipped her arms up around his neck and slid her fingers through the silky hair at his nape.

  For several moments she forgot where she was and was lost to the sensations his every touch sent coursing through her.

  She was opening her mouth wider to welcome him in when the door to the dressing room burst open.

  “Lord Cameron!”

  Fanshawe’s pronunciation of the name drew out every syllable in a very good impersonation of a scolding nanny.

  Though she’d known their intrusion was coming, it still managed to make Gemma jump in surprise.

  Cam, however, was unfazed. Not hurrying to move away from her, he pulled back and rubbed his nose against hers, before kissing her softly one last time.

  Then he put his mouth at her ear and whispered, “Follow my lead.”

  Gemma was too bleary-eyed to argue and allowed him to pull away then bring her against his side.

  “What is the meaning of this, Lord Cameron?” Fanshawe demanded. “I did you a courtesy by fetching Chambers, but I didn’t intend to allow the lady above stairs. You know that Mr. Pearson does not hold with females of any sort in this house.”

  “Fanshawe, don’t be such a prig,” Cam said with a laconic drawl. “The lady is my betrothed and … well…”

  Northman, who had been watching them through eyes narrowed with suspicion raised his brows. “She wasn’t your betrothed when I visited Beauchamp House earlier this morning, Lord Cameron.”

  Cam’s laugh was so utterly knowing and just-between-us-lads that Gemma wanted to pinch him. It was only thanks to their audience that she did not.

  “You know how it is, old man,” he said with a shrug. “A bit of danger goes a long way toward changing a lady’s mind.”

  “That’s all well and good, Lord Cameron,” said the magistrate, “but what has that to do with your presence in Sir Everard’s dressing room? Which just so happens to be connected to a dead man’s disarrayed bedchamber?”

  Gemma was having a very difficult time not answering the man’s questions. Subterfuge was not her forte. But Cam was not a stupid man. He had some sort of endgame in mind for this and she had to let him follow his plan.

  “They wished to speak with Sir Everard’s valet,” Fanshawe told him before Cam could answer. “But the fact that he’s nowhere to be found, coupled with the untimely death of Sir Everard leads me to believe they knew all along he wasn’t here and merely wished to divert my attention so they could pilfer through Sir Everard’s things.”

  Cam laughed softly. “Do you hear that, dearest?” he asked Gemma. “They think we came here to steal from Sir Everard.”

  Gemma laughed, but it sounded hollow to her own ears.

  Before she could say anything, however, Cam continued. “I hope you won’t think too badly of me,” he said to the other two men. “But I’m afraid, we came here for a far less nefarious reason.”

  “Well, we haven’t got all day, man,” said Northman with a scowl. “Spit it out.”

  Gemma felt Cam squeeze her hip, and she read it as a warning. What on earth was he going to say?

  “Well, you know how it is, lads,” he said sheepishly. “Beauchamp House is thick with chaperones. And it’s dashed cold outside at the moment. So we thought of Sir Everard’s rooms, which are unoccupied at the moment and…”

  Gemma felt her face turn scarlet. Cameron was going to pay for this. She wasn’t sure how yet. But she would make it something truly painful for him. And preferably involving bees. There would be no bees about until summer, of course, but didn’t they say revenge was best served cold?

  “And why, might I ask were your own rooms not adequate to your needs, Lord Cameron?” asked Northman, his mouth tight.

  Not wanting to be seen as some passive party to this charade, Gemma jumped in before Cam could. If she were going to be painted as the sort of hussy who would accompany her betrothed to another house so that they could be amorous, she would dashed well make herself a participant with agency.

  “It was my idea, Squire Northman,” she said, snuggling closer to Cam. In a low voice, as if she were afraid of being overheard, she said, “I thought it might be more exciting.”

  To her satisfaction, Squire Northman, who was perhaps the most imperturbable man of her acquaintance, blushed to the roots of his sparse hair.

  Beside her, Gemma felt Cam shake with laughter. Take that, she thought smugly.

  “That is…” Northman, began, then fell into a coughing fit. When he had regained his voice, he continued, “I’ll just ask you two to leave Pearson Close for the time being. Though I must ask you, for investigative purposes, was this room ransacked when you arrived?”

  “Oh yes,” Gemma said in a mournful tone. “I suspect poor Sir Everard’s valet is to blame. If he’s really run off as Mr. Fanshawe said.”

  They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Northman regained his composure and pulled himself up to his full height.

  “Be off with you, then,” he said sourly. “And do not speak of what you found here in this room to anyone else.”

  “And of course I must ask that you and Mr. Fanshawe keep our little secret, too, Squire,” Gemma said with a bat of her eyelashes.”We are betrothed, but I shouldn’t like my sister or her husband the vicar to learn of our little … adventure.”

  “Go, Miss Hastings,” Northman said in a tone of desperation. “And Lord Cameron, I advise you to
be more sensible when it comes to following the whims of your lady. She’s going to get you both into a great deal of trouble.”

  Without pausing to reply, Cam slipped an arm around Gemma’s waist and escorted her to the door as quickly as they could go without running.

  Before they reached the hall, Gemma thought she heard the Squire say, “Dear God, I do not envy Lord Cameron the chase she’s likely to give him.”

  They were downstairs and bundled up in their outerwear in minutes.

  It wasn’t until they were settled back in the curricle that Cam finally spoke.

  “More exciting?” he almost shouted. “Are you mad?”

  Chapter 12

  Cam wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss Gemma or spank her.

  “I’m not a child, Cam,” she said with a roll of her eyes, which alerted him to the fact he’d spoken the thought aloud. “I do know what happens between men and women.”

  “But that isn’t…” he searched for the right words. “That is to say, that sort of…”

  Gemma sighed, and patted him on the hand. “I know this has upset your sense of propriety,” she told him kindly, “but we had best not sit here in the drive of Pearson Close or Mr. Northman will suspect our reasons for being here weren’t quite as carnal as I made them out to be.”

  Cam blinked. Then realized she was right.

  But rather than turning toward the main road that led to Beauchamp House, he directed the horses in the other direction.

  “Where are we going?” Gemma asked, looking far more suspicious than a woman who had just admitted to taking her betrothed to someone else’s rooms because it stimulated her had a right to be.

  “So now you don’t trust me?” Cam asked with a raised brow.

  “That was pretend and you know it,” she said haughtily.

  “It wasn’t pretend when you put your tongue in my m—”

  “Lord Cameron,” she said in a not unconvincing impersonation of Fanshawe, “I was playing a part. Nothing more. Pray do not refer to it again.”

  He had a very good idea of just how much—or little—of a part she’d been playing, but they would save that argument for another time.