Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “But, uh, what about the servants?”

  “What about them?”

  “No one can know I’m here, and they’re bound to talk.”

  “I have already instructed my butler and head housekeeper to make sure the staff don’t gossip about your presence, and believe me, the servants will do as they’re told. For one thing, it’s not exactly appropriate for me to have a young woman staying here. That’s as good as any reason for them to stay quiet on my behalf.”

  “Oh, yes, I see.”

  “Why don’t you stay the night? In the morning you’ll be able to think about what to do next with a clear head.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, and Malcolm, I’m truly grateful.”

  “Good, then it’s settled.”

  “May I take this drink? You were right. It’s helping me relax and warming me.”

  “Of course you may. Would you like me to walk you back to your room?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m going up myself.”

  Rising to his feet, he moved across to her and offered his hand. Gazing up at him with a Mona Lisa smile, she accepted, but as he closed his fingers around hers, his heart began to pound.

  She slowly stood up.

  Her body was perilously close to his.

  Her emerald eyes sparkled.

  For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  “How will I ever repay your kindness?” she asked softly, her voice more a whisper than speech. “You saved me tonight.”

  “I am glad I was there to do so, and this bears repeating. You have a safe haven here. I will never betray you.”

  “I still don’t understand. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “True, but I have an excellent nose.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I can smell trouble when it knocks on my door, and dishonesty when it falls from a person’s lips. I can also smell a pure heart—and fear. You carry both.”

  “What an extraordinary man you are,” she breathed, her fingers clasping his with a strength that astonished him.

  “I don’t believe I’m extraordinary, but I do believe I have an excellent sixth sense, especially about people.”

  “Forgive me, but I simply must do this.”

  She suddenly, softly, sweetly, and shockingly pecked him on the cheek.

  “My goodness,” he mumbled, trying to will away the abrupt stirring in his trousers. “Thank you.”

  “No, Malcolm, thank you, with all my heart.”

  He was still holding her hand, and loath to let it go, he led her across the room and out the door, only then releasing it for propriety’s sake. Though unlikely, they could run across a servant.

  “Your home is very beautiful,” she remarked as they climbed the stairs. “I love the paintings, especially the landscapes.”

  They’d reached the landing, and as he walked her the short distance to her door, an acorn of an idea floated into his mind.

  “Goodnight, Connie, but before I go,” he said, lifting her jewelry from his pocket, “I believe this is yours.”

  “My bracelet,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, it’s mine. I hid it in the coat for safekeeping. Thank you for believing me. Thank you, thank you. This bracelet is my most precious possession. Not that I have anything anymore, but even if I did...”

  “Sleep well,” he said warmly, resting his hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to fear tonight.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Their eyes locked.

  He was about to lean down and lightly brush her lips with his, but clutching the bracelet to her chest, she abruptly turned around, entered her room, and closed the door.

  * * *

  As Connie slipped into the warm coziness of her bed, a lone tear trickled down her cheek. Quickly wiping it away, she tried to swallow back the heat in her throat. Malcolm Mead’s kindness was both a blessing and a curse. The soft bed and wonderful food reminded her of all she’d lost.

  “He’s not one of them,” she murmured, the thought giving rise to hope. “Maybe I can trust him.”

  Reaching for the snifter of brandy on the nightstand, she took a long swallow, closing her eyes as the luxuriant liquor spread its comforting warmth through her body.

  But as often happened, the horrific scene flashed through her head.

  The moment that had changed her life forever.

  She had escaped death from the hands of a murderous noble, only to find herself fighting for her life in the streets of London, a grimy, cruel world completely foreign to her.

  Hiding in the shadows, searching for scraps to eat and a safe place to rest, she’d somehow survived, mostly through the kindness of a woman who asked no questions, and offered shelter when her husband was gone.

  When Connie did manage to close her eyes and sleep, more often than not, the drama would play itself out in her dreams. But since she’d decided to find the fiend who had slaughtered her dear parents and sent her running for her life, the nightmares had become less frequent.

  Swept up by a yawn, she returned the glass to the nightstand and sank into the luxury of the soft mattress. Though she’d lost her faith in God after that horrendous night, she often prayed to her dear mother and father. Holding the bracelet tightly, she began to whisper in the dark.

  “Dearest Mamma,” she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut, “I have crossed paths with a kind, wonderful man. Is it possible he can save me from my wretchedness? Please, please, will you send me a sign? I’m so afraid to believe in anyone. I miss you and Papa so desperately, but I feel you around me. Am I in this warm bed because you guided me to this place—to him?”

  Unable to stop the flood from her eyes, she let the tears flow, sobbing her anguish into the pillow until she descended into sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Malcolm woke with a start.

  Remnants of a disturbing dream floated through his head, and though he couldn’t recall the specifics, he sensed it had carried an important message. A sliver of light through the heavy curtains told him it was morning. He usually slept until Corbin brought him a cup of tea around eight o’clock. Squinting as he peered at the small carriage clock on his nightstand, he discovered it had just passed seven-thirty, but he was wide awake.

  Reaching across to the bell cord and giving it a tug, he slipped from the bed and padded into his bathroom. As he splashed his face with water, he paused to stare at his reflection.

  Like a bolt from the blue it hit him.

  “No, surely not,” he muttered under his breath. “All those times I admired her, wanted to meet her...why did I not recognize her right away? Now I understand her dreadful state and her fear, though not why she’s picking pockets, and certainly not her presence in this neighborhood. What am I to do?”

  If he was discovered harboring the infamous, sought-after fugitive, the consequences would be severe. He’d be ruined, and probably end up behind bars at the pleasure of Her Majesty. It would be the end of his life as he knew it, and certainly hers.

  The sound of Corbin’s arrival broke into his heavy thoughts, but he was glad of his butler’s arrival. If there was ever a time Malcolm needed a cup of tea to steady his nerves, it was at that precise moment.

  “Good morning, sir,” Corbin said, as Malcolm walked back into his bedroom. “Will you have your tea in bed as usual, or would you prefer the tray on the coffee table?”

  “Definitely in bed,” Malcolm replied, climbing back between the sheets. “Ah, I see you’ve brought toast as well. How is it you always know what I need?”

  “I thought you might want something to tide you over before breakfast, sir,” Corbin declared, setting the breakfast tray in place. “Most of your dinner was left on the plate after the arrival of Lord Cavendish and the constable.”

  “Indeed,” Malcolm mumbled gravely. “That was a most disturbing interruption and quite ruined my appetite. Any interesting headlines in the paper this morning?”

  “Noth
ing of particular note, though the society pages are busy with the season drawing to a close. Will you be attending any of the balls to which you’ve been invited?”

  “I promised Lady Edith I’d escort her to one or two of them, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood. They can be so frightfully tedious. Speaking of Lady Edith, unless I hear otherwise, she’ll be arriving for morning tea and bringing some of her unwanted clothes for our guest. What she cannot use I’ll donate to charity.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll have Mrs. Melville on hand to help.”

  “About Connie,” Malcolm said tentatively, “did you instruct the staff to remain quiet?”

  “I made it very clear, sir. No one will breathe a word.”

  “Good. Thank you, Corbin. Please repeat the warning. Keeping her presence here unknown is imperative. That will be all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the stately butler withdrew, Malcolm poured the tea, added the milk and sugar, then took a grateful swallow. Like gazing at the flames in a fireplace, drinking tea in bed first thing in the morning helped him to think.

  “For my own protection, and hers, I must proceed with extreme caution,” he murmured. “That means Edith must not see her, but I cannot keep secrets from Edith. This is indeed a problem. A very big problem.”

  * * *

  Connie slowly opened her eyes.

  The soft patter of light rain on the window made waking in the warm, soft bed even sweeter. She wasn’t shivering in a dark, dank corner, wondering where she might find food, or fearful a policeman might recognize her. The grimy back streets offered cover, but she couldn’t let down her guard, not for a moment. Though venturing into the upper-class neighborhood was terrifying, the risk had to be taken, but she’d been perilously close to disaster. Had it not been for Malcolm’s gallantry her fate would have been sealed.

  The clock on the mantel above the fireplace read a few minutes before eight o’clock. Yawning as she sat up, she stretched her arms above her head. The air had a nip to it, but a nip was a far cry from the chill that was usually seeping through her bones. A second yawn swept through her as a gentle knock landed on her door, and Mrs. Melville entered carrying a tray.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said with a kind smile. “I’ve brought you a pot of tea and some toast. Breakfast will be served in about half-an-hour, but I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Melville,” Connie said gratefully as the housekeeper set the tray over her lap. “This is so thoughtful.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I’ll be back shortly with your clothes. We couldn’t remove all the stains, but at least everything is clean and dry. You just relax, and if you need anything the bell cord is behind the drapes by the window. It’s not a very convenient spot, but there you have it. I suppose the original owner of this house must have wanted it that way.”

  Mrs. Melville’s cheery conversation made life seem normal, but as the kindhearted housekeeper left and closed the door behind her, Connie let out a sigh.

  Nothing had changed.

  Her life remained far from normal.

  She was still trapped in no-man’s land with very little hope of achieving her goal, but at least she was temporarily safe and warm. Drinking the delicious hot tea and munching on the crisp, perfectly toasted, buttered bread, she closed her eyes and relished the moment.

  * * *

  Sitting at the breakfast table perusing the morning newspaper, Malcolm kept glancing at the door. When Connie finally entered, his heart skipped. She looked even more beguiling than she had the night before.

  Mrs. Melville had swept her hair into the modern style, her eyes were no longer bloodshot, and the dark circles had disappeared. Her dress, freshly washed and ironed, didn’t appear bedraggled, and even seemed to fit better. He now remembered her as the lovely young lady of society he’d so longed to meet. Her plight was truly heartbreaking.

  “Good morning, Connie,” he said, rising from his chair. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Better than I have in a long while. I’m so awfully grateful, Malcolm.”

  “Please help yourself to breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the buffet on the sideboard. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty from which to choose. My cook makes excellent scrambled eggs. I have no idea what she does to make them taste so delicious.”

  “Thank you. I haven’t had scrambled eggs in a very long time. I’ll definitely try them.”

  Waiting until she sat at the table and Corbin had poured her tea, Malcolm folded the newspaper and put it aside.

  “Connie, have you given any thought to staying a few more days?”

  “A few more days,” she said wistfully. “I would like that very much, but I—uh—I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” then pausing, she added, “for either of us.”

  In spite of her desperate need for a place of safety, she didn’t want to put him in danger.

  “I’d be delighted to have your company, but we can talk more later. Right now you must have your breakfast. I should warn you though, I have a very good friend coming here this morning to—”

  “Here?” she said, her eyes darting up from the plate. “I’m not sure I care to meet anyone.”

  “I don’t expect you to,” Malcolm said patiently, “but you’ll be pleased to know she’s bringing some clothes. She’s about your size. I hope I don’t offend you by offering castoffs.”

  “Malcolm, you don’t offend me at all,” she said earnestly. “I’d be most grateful.”

  “Excellent. Mrs. Melville will take them into the Red Room, and you can wait there or in the library until my friend leaves.”

  “That would be for the best. I don’t wish to be rude, and I apologize for remaining a mystery, but it can’t be helped.”

  As a frown crossed her brow, he could almost read her thoughts. Could she trust him? Her presence in his house put him in danger, not just from the law, but those who would do her harm, but it was so wonderful to have a warm, safe roof over her head. How long did she dare stay?

  “Connie, I will not pressure you further. If you choose to tell I’m here to listen. In the meantime, eat your eggs before they get cold. When we’re finished I’ll take you into the library. Perhaps you might find a book or two of interest.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  He could see the relief on her face, and as she hungrily devoured her breakfast, an idea he’d been considering now seemed inevitable.

  * * *

  A short distance away, Lady Edith Whitby was excitedly selecting garments for Malcolm’s intriguing visitor. As she laid another dress on the bed for her maid to carefully fold and place in a box, her mother wandered in.

  “Edith, dear, are you sure you want to part with these?” she asked, moving to the bed and studying the clothes. “I thought you liked this blue one.”

  “I suppose, but I haven’t worn it once this year. It doesn’t fit quite right.”

  “But would anyone needing a dress from a charity want an evening gown?”

  Edith paused. Her mother had a point.

  “You’re right, Mother. Daywear would be more practical.”

  “I think I’ll come with you. I have no plans this morning, and I’d like to see Malcolm.”

  “And I’m sure he’d like to see you, but I’d hate for you to deal with this weather just to be—”

  “I don’t mind dreary days,” her mother said, interrupting her. “Besides, I’d like to learn more about this charity. Is it a new one he’s involved with? Perhaps I can help too.”

  “Yes, you might be able to,” Edith replied, “but I was going to say, I’d hate for you to deal with this weather just to be subjected to Chelsea Barrington and her mother. He said they might be there.”

  “You didn’t mention this at breakfast.”

  “Between you and my chatty big brother who decided to stop by without warning, I was barely able to tell you anything.”

  “Yes, Brian does carry on a bit. You know,” her moth
er said thoughtfully, “perhaps I should remain here after all. We have the dinner on Saturday night, and I promised cook I’d discuss the menu today. I really should get that taken care of.”

  “That would probably be for the best, but you’re very welcome. I know Malcolm would be happy to see you.”

  “Give him my regards, and tell him if he needs anything from me, he should stop by. I’ll be happy to do what I can. I’ll see you later, dear.”

  As her mother left the room, Edith smiled a satisfied smile. She knew her mother despised the Barringtons. Deciding to include the evening dress after all, she left it on the bed and turned to her chest of drawers to find the unworn lingerie she’d just bought.

  “Be sure to tie the string tightly,” she said to her maid who was closing up the first box. “We don’t want the clothes spilling out on the wet streets.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  With over an hour to spare, Edith prayed for the time to pass quickly. She couldn’t wait to arrive at Malcolm’s, and with any luck, meet the mysterious visitor.

  Chapter Five

  Leaving the dining room and walking down the hall with the kind, handsome stranger, Connie’s prayer to her mother the night before lingered in her head.

  Please, please, will you send me a sign...?

  Staying in the safety and warmth of the lovely home—even if only for a few days—was a dream come true, but how could she remain without telling Malcolm the circumstances behind her tragic state of affairs? That would mean trusting him. Could she? Did she dare?

  “Take your time and have a good hunt,” he offered, ushering her into the library and closing the door. “I have many books from which to choose. Do you like Lord Tennyson?”

  “Lord Tennyson?” she repeated, her heart skipping. The famous author had been her mother’s favorite.

  Was it a sign?

  It had to be!

  “What on earth’s the matter?” Malcolm asked. “You look quite shaken.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” she began hesitantly, “but there’s something I must tell you.”