Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “No,” she said vehemently, “and I apologize for interrupting, but I won’t hear of it. If you think I’ve suffered through all these terrible weeks to go off someplace and hide away while you’re pursuing the evil monster who stole that artifact and killed my wonderful parents, you’re mistaken. I’d go back and live in the shadows or in that shed before I’d leave!”

  “My goodness,” Malcolm said with a grin. “Listen to you.”

  “I mean it. I’ll be careful and I’ll stay out of sight, but I absolutely will not go anywhere—not until I find him. Or you find him. We find him!” she exclaimed with a wave of her hand.

  “Drink your tea.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, drink your tea. You need to settle down.”

  “I don’t need to settle down. I meant what I said.”

  “I believe you, but if I agree, you have to promise to do exactly as I say. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  A knock on the door startled them both.

  Corbin entered.

  Malcolm immediately sensed something was amiss.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. You have a visitor.”

  “I’ll be right there. Please wait for me in the hall.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Malcolm, you look worried,” Connie said anxiously as Corbin left. “Why didn’t Corbin say who it is?”

  “He didn’t want to, and I can guess.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Not yet. Come with me to the door and lock it behind me. Don’t answer to anyone but me. I won’t be long.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said as they started across the room. “Can’t you explain?”

  “I will, but for the moment you need to trust me.”

  Giving her a quick kiss, he left the room, then waited to make sure he heard the key turn.

  “You can tell me now, Corbin,” he said quietly as he joined his butler. “Who is this visitor?”

  “As you guessed, sir, I didn’t wish to mention it in front of the young lady. The man in the foyer is a detective, sir.”

  “Where did you put him?”

  “Nowhere, sir. I left him just inside the door.”

  “Not worthy of the drawing room?”

  “Detective or not, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving him there,” Corbin replied solemnly as they walked to the stairs. “He seems a gruff sort, sir.”

  “That doesn’t bother me in the least. I can handle gruff.”

  “I’m sure you can, sir.”

  Malcolm grinned.

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Corbin.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  They reached the landing, and the moment Malcolm spotted the man loitering near the front door, he agreed with Corbin’s assessment. The stranger was medium height with a stocky build, a thin mustache, longish hair, and an ill-fitting brown tweed suit. He reminded Malcolm of a boxer.

  “How can I help you?” Malcolm asked, trotting down the stairs and striding up to him.

  “Hackworth’s the name,” the man declared.

  “I’m a busy man, Mr. Hacksworth. What can I do for you?”

  “I understand you visited the Clifford home today. What was your business there?”

  “You told my butler you’re a detective,” Malcolm said sharply, stepping closer and towering over him. “Show me your badge.”

  “I—uh—I’m a private detective.”

  “As I thought. Corbin, please show this gentleman out.”

  “But—”

  “Tell your employer if he wants to ask me anything he can come here and question me personally. Good day, Mr. Hacksworth, and I warn you, if you bother me or any of my household, I’ll throw you into the street myself, and I promise you, it won’t be pretty.”

  Wordlessly the man pivoted on his toes and hurried away. The quick, athletic move confirmed Malcolm’s guess. Hackworth had been a fighter. Quickly following him, Corbin closed and locked the door.

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Corbin said apologetically. “He said he was a detective. I just assumed he meant with the police.”

  “Of course you did, and most people would have thought the same.”

  “May I ask, sir, how you knew he wasn’t?”

  “Initially, it was just my sense of him, but when I referred to him as Mr. Hacksworth, he didn’t correct me. A genuine detective would have.”

  “Ah, yes, sir. I see. I will be asking to see the badge in future.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Malcolm said, heading back to the stairs. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Though Malcolm found the unexpected visit disturbing, he was also pleased. It meant he’d already attracted the attention of the enemy. Eager to share the news with Connie, he walked swiftly down the hall to the salon and knocked.

  “It’s me, Connie. Open up.”

  He waited.

  No response.

  “Connie!” he called, knocking again and trying the handle.

  It wasn’t locked.

  His pulse ticking up, he entered the room.

  “Connie?”

  His heart skipped.

  The salon was empty.

  The cabinet sat open.

  Connie was gone, and so was the Statue of Kharute.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Racing down the hall to Connie’s room and knocking loudly, Malcolm waited anxiously for a response. Getting none, he opened the door. The room was empty. Doing his best to control his panic, he drew in a long breath and tried to think.

  If she’d run off it hadn’t been through the foyer, and the only other way out was the servants’ entrance. That seemed unlikely. The back staircase wasn’t easy to find. It was far more likely she was still in the house, but why had she left the salon, and where had she gone?

  “Damn and blast,” he muttered under his breath. “You were in the salon. The closest room to that is my suite. I wonder—”

  Charging back down the hall, he burst into his room.

  “Connie? Are you in here?”

  “Malcolm?”

  As the wave of relief flooded his body, he couldn’t place from where the tiny voice had come.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m down here,” she squeaked, crawling out from beneath the bed.

  “Good heavens! What on earth are you doing there?”

  “I thought it would be safer,” she replied, slowly getting to her feet.

  He stared at her in shock.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I thought it would be safer.”

  “But you’ve never been in this room. How could you possibly know that? I told you to stay in the salon and lock the door.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Where’s the statue?”

  “Under your pillow. It’s the last place anyone would look for it.”

  “I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” he muttered under his breath, marching to his door and bolting it, but as he turned and walked back to her, a thought crossed his mind.

  “Connie, I’m going to ask you something, and I want the truth.”

  “I’ll always tell you the truth, but why are you so upset?”

  “Is this a ploy to make me spank you?”

  “No! Of course not! I told you I wouldn’t ever do that again, and my bottom is tender enough, thank you very much.”

  “Not as tender as it’s about to be,” he growled, stepping briskly into his dressing room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Retrieving this,” he exclaimed, walking back into the room holding up a stiff strap he’d hidden away in a locked drawer. “You are so willful!”

  Marching forward and grabbing her by the arm, he yanked her skirt and petticoats over her waist.

  “You promised to do as I say, and a moment later you totally disregarded my instructions,” he scolded, landing the leather across the center of her backside.

/>   “Ow, oh, Sir!” she wailed, her thin silk drawers offering little protection.

  “Keep the noise down,” he barked, continuing to swat. “I cannot believe you took it upon yourself to ignore me and leave the salon.”

  “Ow, ow, ooh, I’m sorry, Sir. Please stop.”

  “I didn’t know where you were or what was going on. I was worried sick!”

  “I didn’t—ouch—think about—ouch—ow—that.”

  “Obviously,” he grunted, ripping the fragile fabric apart to expose her bottom. “You will not disregard my instructions again,” he scolded, raining the hard leather on her naked skin. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sir, yes, yes,” she wailed, throwing an arm behind her. “I should have stayed like you said. I’m sorry.”

  As he dispatched the strap against her sit spot with several good licks, she dove her head into the bed and let out a wild howl.

  “It appears I’ll have to send you to my country estate after all,” he declared, coming to an abrupt stop, then resting his palm in the center of her crimson backside he let out a heavy breath.

  “No, Sir, please don’t,” she sniffled, staring at him over her shoulder with pleading eyes. “I panicked, but it won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “You panicked? Why? Did something happen?”

  “Corbin didn’t say who the visitor was,” she replied breathlessly, “but he looked worried. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure the police had returned to search for me.”

  Shaking his head, Malcolm began to rub her scorched behind. Corbin’s discretion, though well intended, had caused her imagination to run amok. Feeling a pang of guilt, he hoped he hadn’t acted too hastily, but the swift, sharp spanking would be an ounce of prevention. The time might come when taking matters into her own hands could prove life-threatening. The circumstances surrounding them were growing more dangerous. The Statue of Kharute was now in his possession.

  “It wasn’t the police,” he assured her, continuing to rub away the sting, “and even if it was, I would have found a way to get you to a secure hiding place before they entered the salon.”

  “That was the thing,” she mumbled. “There was nowhere in that room to take cover, except behind the drapes, and that wasn’t a very good option.”

  “You must trust me in the future,” he said firmly. “I promised to help you clear your name and take care of you, but I can only do that if you let me.”

  “I understand,” she said with a long sigh. “Ooh... you spanked me so hard.”

  “Not really,” he remarked, helping her off his lap, then standing up and hugging her tightly. “Just hard enough to make my point.”

  “You certainly did that,” she grumbled, sinking against his chest.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said, his voice softening. “I have a cane in my cupboard, and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

  “That sounds dreadful, but you don’t have to worry, Malcolm. I won’t.”

  “We should go back to the salon to talk. I have to tell you about the visitor. I also need to think about where I can keep the statue. I can leave it where it is for the moment, but I must find a secure hiding place.”

  But she felt divine in his arms, and loath to break their embrace he held her a moment longer.

  “I have an idea about that,” she offered as they finally broke apart.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me? You may be willful, but you’re a very clever young lady.”

  * * *

  When Connie had convinced herself the police were about to march through the door, she’d remembered Malcolm had mentioned his bedroom was next to the salon. With nowhere to hide where she was, she’d lifted the heavy statue from the cupboard, and barely able to carry it, she’d walked the short distance to the very next door she assumed would take her into his suite.

  The moment she’d entered, she’d come to an abrupt stop.

  There was no question the bedroom belonged to the master of the house.

  In spite of the heavy object in her arms and fear coursing through her veins, she gazed in wonder.

  She was standing in the bedroom of her fantasies.

  Heavy burgundy drapes fell from the canopy of an imposing, heavily carved, dark wood bed sitting directly across from an oversized black marble fireplace. A low fire burned, but she could imagine blazing flames filling the room with a romantic golden glow on a snowy winter night.

  Stepping forward and dropping the weighty statue on top of the bed, she discovered the dark red and gold coverlet was woven from fine velvet. Running her fingertips across the luxurious fabric, she found herself thinking how marvelous it would feel against her skin.

  But quickly pulling herself back to the present, she’d raised a pillow, pushed the relic beneath it, then dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. To her great relief she’d found plenty of room. When the police marched in, and she was sure they would, she’d be able to shimmy into the darkest part against the wall and remain invisible. Stretching out on her back, she’d sidled into safety, but it seemed only a few minutes had passed when Malcolm called her name. Crawling out, the scowl on his face made her want to crawl right back. She quickly realized leaving the salon had been a mistake.

  His hard, quick spanking had shocked her.

  Then his warm embrace had melted her.

  He was unlike any man she’d ever encountered.

  He was a gentleman, but with a tough grit that lived just below the surface.

  I spent my life in fine schools and the grand home of a duke, yet I’m the humble son of a groundskeeper. I am a man betwixt and between.

  Walking back to the salon with the comment ringing in her ears, she pictured his muscled arms swinging an axe and felling a tree. The image sent her goosebumps popping, and a delicious, sexy heat through her entire body.

  * * *

  Watching her settle gingerly on the chaise lounge, Malcolm wanted to strip her bare and view her reddened backside. Recalling the beauty of her naked form sent a rush of energy to his manhood. The willful young woman had bewitched him, and he silently mused that perhaps the statue carried a curse after all, but one sent from Cupid.

  “Malcolm, why are you looking at me like that?”

  Her question took him by surprise.

  “Am I so transparent?” he asked softly, thinking how unique she was.

  Not only had she survived circumstances that would have defeated most people, she still carried a steely determination to find the monster who had murdered her parents and had plotted to place her in an asylum.

  “I suppose you’re still angry with me,” she muttered, staring at her hands.

  “No, Connie, I’m not angry with you, and I was looking at you because I was admiring your beauty and spirit.”

  As she raised her eyes, he caught his breath. Her deep green eyes held a sparkle, and a rosy blush flamed on her cheeks.

  “Malcolm, you are so...”

  “I’m so what?” he pressed, leaning closer.

  “It’s as you said. You’re a gentleman, but, uh, more.”

  He smiled.

  She was right, and he planned on showing her just how much more he was. Impulsively dropping his head and kissing her, he lingered his lips, and though he ached to take it further, he reluctantly pulled back.

  “As much as I would like to continue,” he murmured, “we must discuss the matters at hand.”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly, “though I might have difficulty concentrating.”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ll start with the visitor. He claimed to be a detective, and he was, but not with the police.”

  “You mean he was one of those private investigators?”

  “That’s right, but I wouldn’t say he was a man of caliber.”

  “Ooh, that just gave me the willies.”

  “It was rather disturbing. He knew I’d been to your former home.”

  “Oh, no. Do you think you’r
e being watched—or this house is?” she asked anxiously. “Did he follow you?”

  “That’s what I suspect, and if I’m right your run-in with Cavendish already has tongues wagging. The possibility that you’re in the neighborhood might smoke out our villain, but I’m not ready for that to happen yet. We need to have a foolproof plan in place or we could both end up in trouble.”

  “Gossip spreads like wildfire in society, but you said if that’s the case. How else would he know you were at my home if he hadn’t followed you?”

  “Someone might still be keeping an eye on your parents’ house, though after all this time I doubt it.”

  “Kendrick’s very alert. I think he would have spotted anyone skulking around, and he would have warned me.”

  “I liked that man the minute I met him,” Malcolm declared. “When this is over he’ll be rewarded for taking you food and watching out for you. That was a risk.”

  “He did more than just bring me food. He had the key to the house, and if I happened to be there on cold, rainy nights, he’d let me in and I’d sleep downstairs in the servants’ quarters. He made me promise not to go upstairs. He was worried if someone came in I wouldn’t be able to make it out. Staying down there I would have been able to slip through the servants’ door, and there were a ton of nooks and crannies to hide.”

  “Then it’s as I suspected. Your house is not being monitored, but mine is.”

  “What do we do?”

  “After the visit from Cavendish and the constable last night, I began to give this a great deal of thought. Originally I planned to keep you safe by sending you to my country estate, but now I’ve decided you and I will go there together and let the dust settle.”

  “That sounds wonderful, but whoever is watching the house will see me leave.”

  “No, they’ll see me leave in a carriage alone, followed by Baker, he’s my valet, Mrs. Melville, and a housemaid.”

  “Are you saying I’ll be the housemaid?”

  “Precisely. Hopefully they’ll assume you got away from me just as I told Cavendish and the constable.”

  “This is a brilliant plan,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Is there staff at your country place?”