Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Come in,” she called, pulling on her robe.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Malcolm asked, walking into the room and giving her a swift kiss.

  “Extremely well,” she replied, delighted to see him. “What about you?”

  “I had an eventful night. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I know you did,” she said with a giggle. “So did I. I’m sure that’s why I slept so deeply.”

  “Ah, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Malcolm remarked, though a grin curled the edges of his lips. “I know we have very little time to talk before leaving, but I must tell you something. I need you to think about it during the journey.”

  “Is it about the dinner party? I’m dying to hear what happened. We didn’t have the chance to discuss it last night.”

  “And whose fault was that, young lady?” he retorted with a wink.

  “The chap who wrote the book, then the chap who gave it to me to read!”

  “Ha. You are so cheeky.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she quipped with a grin, “but whatever it is you want to tell me, you’d better hurry up.”

  “You’re quite right. We had an intruder last night.”

  “Someone broke into this house?” she asked anxiously. “Oh, no.”

  “As you have probably noticed the library door squeaks rather loudly. Both Corbin and I heard it.”

  “The burglar was in the library? Oh, dear.”

  “Don’t worry. Your brilliant idea worked like a charm.”

  “Thank goodness, but if you both heard him, why weren’t you able to catch him?”

  “I didn’t want to, but we’ll talk about that later. The good news is I got a very good look at him. I’m going to describe him, and I want you to tell me if he reminds you of anyone. He was in his mid to late twenties, thick, dark, wavy hair, not as tall or as muscular as me, but I wouldn’t call him short.”

  “Nobody is as tall or as muscular as you, Malcolm,” she said softly, her heart skipping as she recalled their antics the night before.

  “Stop it!”

  “It’s true.”

  “Connie, please, you must think. Who do you know with very thick, dark, wavy hair, in his twenties, and average build?”

  “That could be half the men I used to know,” she said, shaking her head, “except... no! It can’t possibly be him!”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. It’s completely absurd.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Who came to mind?”

  “Roger Witherspoon. That simpering, boring duke-to-be I almost married. His hair is amazingly thick and dark—and it’s wavy too—but he’s as timid as a church mouse. He’d never rob a house, and why would he? He’s the son of the Duke of Hatley. He stands to inherit the title and a fortune. “

  “He’s also a member of the historical society,” Malcolm said pointedly, “and he was at that dinner just before that awful night.”

  “Well—yes, but—”

  “Connie, people are often not what they seem.”

  “Be that as it may, if you met him you’d understand. You obviously don’t believe what happened was a random robbery.”

  “No, Connie, I don’t,” he said solemnly. “For starters, this man didn’t take anything, and there’s plenty of small items he could easily have carried off.”

  “Oh, right. Good point.”

  “Whoever is after the statue is desperate to find it,” Malcolm continued, “and this morning I woke up with a thought. Maybe this person suspects you knew where it was hidden, and when you ran off you took it with you.”

  “That is a good theory. Yes!”

  “Percy Cavendish made a song and dance about claiming to have seen you. Gossip travels fast, and I’ll bet the fiends who stole it in the first place and killed your parents believed it.”

  Connie paused.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “Goodness me!”

  “From your description of Roger, he does sound like the intruder I saw last night,” Malcolm declared, knowing it was the same angry man who’d left Samuel Mountbatten’s home, but not yet ready to tell her that part of the story.

  “It still seems highly unlikely to me, but—Malcolm, his hair,” she said urgently. “Was it parted on the side, in the middle, or swept back?”

  “On the left side. Why?”

  “Roger has to part his hair on the left side because he has an odd cowlick. If he doesn’t, it sticks straight up in the air. Gosh. I still can’t believe he’d be involved in anything like this.”

  “I know you have to start getting ready, but I have one last question,” Malcolm said gravely. “How friendly was he with Lord Mountbatten?”

  “Lord Mountbatten never had children, and Roger had become like the son he never had. At least, that’s what my parents said. Is their friendship important?”

  “I believe it is, but we’ll talk more later. I’ll see you downstairs, and try not to worry.”

  “That won’t be easy, but at least now I know why Mrs. Melville was so anxious.”

  “Ah. Corbin would have told her about the intruder. I’ll have a word. She probably just needs some reassurance.”

  “I’m so glad we’re going away,” Connie muttered. “You don’t think they’ll follow us down there do you?”

  “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it, and even if they do,” he said, lowering his voice, grabbing her and roughly jerking her into his body, “I’ll be there, and I won’t let anything happen to you!”

  “Ooh, you just made my knees weak.”

  “By the time I finish with you tonight, they won’t work at all. I intend to utterly ravage you.”

  Planting his lips on hers with a quick, crushing kiss, he abruptly released her and strode from the room.

  She dropped on the edge of the bed. Though drama swirled around her, she knew his parting promise would be the only thing on her mind for the entire trip—and every minute after that—until night fell and they were finally in his bed.

  * * *

  Fighting his raging erection, Malcolm hurried down the hall and into his suite. Connie profoundly affected him. Just being in her presence for a few minutes sent his blood boiling. Though they’d been discussing serious matters, her lips begged to be kissed, and he’d wanted to rip off her robe, toss her on the bed, and thrust his rampant manhood inside her. It had taken a great deal of effort to stay focused on their conversation, but when it came time to leave, he’d given into temptation. Clutching her scrumptious body, he’d kissed her fervently, then told her exactly what he’d be doing to her that night.

  Pulling out his watch, he decided he had just enough time to relieve his bursting cock. Moving quickly into his bathroom, he leaned against the wall and hastily freed his member. Urgently stroking, he imagined Connie tied to his bed, her crimson backside raised for both pleasure and punishment.

  “I’ll fuck you long into the night,” he grunted, yanking fiercely on his manhood. “I’ll show you what a groundskeeper’s son can do.”

  His cock suddenly jerked in his hand, spewing its essence as a series of crackling sensations pulsed through his limbs. Letting out a deep groan, his shoulders slumped, and he sucked in a deep breath.

  Feeling much relieved, he cleaned himself up, then leaving the bathroom, he retrieved his solid leather bag and favorite gloves. Heading off to the library, he intended to pack the Statue of Kharute under some books, but as he trotted down the stairs, he wondered if it might be safer to leave it right where it was.

  You don’t think they’ll follow us down there, do you?

  Connie’s question echoed through his head.

  “Blast,” he muttered under his breath as he strode down the hall. “She could be right. The culprits might think I’m going to the country to hide the damn thing.”

  Entering the library, he moved directly to the row of shelves holding precious pieces of artwork he’d bought, and others he’d inherited fr
om his benefactor. Among the bronzes, porcelain figurines, and other items, sat an oddly shaped black sculpture. With no distinguishing features, it was an example of the latest in abstract art.

  Malcolm chuckled.

  Connie had suggested covering the golden Statue of Kharute with quick-drying plaster of Paris, then painting it black and placing it among the other pieces on the display shelves. The only concern had been the drying time of the paint, but the room had just been dusted and cleaned. Malcolm knew the object would sit undisturbed for at least three days.

  As he stood studying the unrecognizable statue, the idea of leaving it exactly where it was began to take hold. Plaster of Paris chipped easily, and it could get damaged during the trip.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Corbin said, entering the room.

  “Yes, Corbin?” Malcolm answered, ambling away from the bookshelves.

  “Holly the kitchen maid is with me. She has something she wishes to tell you, and it’s rather important.”

  “Bring her in.”

  The moment the young woman entered, Malcolm could see she was visibly upset. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she was nervously fiddling with her apron.

  “Go on, Holly, tell the master what you told me,” Corbin said sharply, “and be quick about it.”

  “I’m ever so sorry, sir,” the girl whimpered. “I left the door to the glass house unlocked, sir.”

  “I see,” Malcolm remarked, surprised by her confession. “Why did you do that, Holly?”

  “I, uh, I can’t say, sir, but when Mr. Corbin said he’d have the police over to question everyone about it, I—uh—I had to tell him. I know I wouldn’t be able to stand up to a policeman, and I don’t want to go to jail, sir. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  “Corbin, will you leave us, please?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Waiting until the butler had left and closed the door, Malcolm walked slowly across to the quaking maid and guided her further into the room. Corbin was an intimidating figure, and though he’d created a ploy that had brought out the culprit, Malcolm thought a softer hand would get the whole truth.

  “All right, Holly,” he said firmly, but not unkindly, “it’s just the two of us. I need to know why you left the door unlocked, and I promise as a gentleman, it will remain our secret. I won’t tell the police, or Mrs. Melville, or Corbin, but I must know exactly what happened.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The young housemaid stared up at Malcolm with dread and fear in her eyes. Someone had put the fear of God in her. He had to make her talk, but he needed to tread carefully. She reminded him of a terrified animal. If he was too demanding he would only exacerbate her panic.

  “Holly, I hate to see you this upset,” he said, softening his voice. “I can help you and I want to. I don’t believe for a moment you would have left that door open unless you felt you had no choice. Is that how it happened?”

  “I can’t tell you, sir,” she said woefully. “I want to, but I just can’t.”

  He paused.

  He needed a different tack.

  “I already know this has to do with the man who was loitering at the servant’s entrance,” he said, lowering his voice as though he was already part of her deadly secret.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, Holly, I do,” he replied, relieved his guess had been right. “I know he frightened you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek.

  “I’m just not sure how he did that, but no one can hear what you say, and I won’t reveal it to anyone. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe you, but, uh, if I tell you and he finds out somehow...” she stammered, her face crinkling in anguish.

  “Holly, did he threaten to harm you?”

  “Uh, not me, sir.”

  “He threatened to harm someone you care about? Holly, that’s terrible.”

  “Someone I care about very much,” she said earnestly. “I couldn’t bear it if she was hurt because I didn’t do what he said.”

  “He told you if you didn’t leave the door to the conservatory unlocked, and if you mentioned talking with him to anyone, he’d harm this person and it would be your fault. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t know what to do, and I still don’t know what to do,” she lamented, then sniffling and looking up at him with pleading eyes, she asked, “Are you going to give me the sack, sir?”

  “Certainly not. I don’t blame you at all, but if something like this ever happens again, I want you to come and tell me personally.”

  “Really, sir? Come to you?”

  “Yes, Holly. Really. Do you promise?”

  “Yes, sir, and thank you, sir.”

  “One more thing. When he ordered you to do this, was he gruff?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall, then he leaned over me and... and...”

  “It’s all right, Holly. Please tell me. I must know everything.”

  “Sir, it was awful. He dangled a rat in front of my face, sir.”

  “A rat?” Malcolm repeated, rage rising up inside him. “What type of man would be so cruel?”

  But it was a question to which he already knew the answer. A thug in the employment of a thieving, murdering scoundrel of the worst kind.

  “It was horrible, sir. Rats are often around in the back even though we do our best to keep it clean and put poison down.”

  “From now on, you’re not to go out there by yourself. Make sure the footman is with you. I’ll tell both Mr. Corbin and Mrs. Melville so they know. You can go now, and don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word.”

  “Um... sir?”

  “Yes, Holly?”

  “Um... it was Mrs. Melville,” she whispered. “He said he’d hurt Mrs. Melville, and she’s been ever so kind to me. Please, can you make sure nothing happens to her?”

  “Holly, I swear I will protect both of you,” Malcolm replied, managing to keep his voice calm, though he wanted to punch the wall from fury.

  “Thank you so much, sir. I’ve been so scared.”

  “You don’t have to be scared anymore. Off you go.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

  As she wiped her eyes and hurried away, Malcolm curled his fingers into fists.

  “Monsters. These men are monsters.”

  People will say or do just about anything to protect the ones they love.

  He couldn’t recall where he’d heard the words, but they floated through his head.

  A shiver shuddered down his spine.

  Goosebumps pricked his skin.

  He was on the verge of seeing something.

  It was right before his eyes.

  Adrenalin pumping through his body, he strode back to the bookcase and stared up at the bizarre black shape hiding the priceless artifact.

  “I wish you could talk. I’m missing something, but what is it?”

  “Talking to yourself, Malcolm?”

  Turning around, he watched Connie glide toward him dressed in the maid’s uniform. Wicked thoughts suddenly danced in his head.

  “The carriage will be here any minute,” she announced, interrupting the salacious images forming in his mind’s eye. “Why isn’t that in your bag yet?” she added, glancing up at the statue.

  “Your suggestion we might be followed has given me second thoughts. Our ancient Egyptian artifact is so cleverly disguised it will be safer staying right where it is.”

  “It’s a bit nerve-racking leaving him behind, but I agree, and I worry about traveling with that plaster of Paris covering him up. It breaks so easily.”

  “I had the same concern,” Malcolm said solemnly. “For that very reason I’m going to make sure this room isn’t disturbed while we’re gone. I’ll tell Corbin to have the upstairs cleaned from top to bottom, including my quarters. That will keep the staff busy.”

  “Malcolm,” she murmured, moving close to him. “I’ll miss you on the
journey.”

  “I’ll miss you too. There’s nothing I’d like better than to have you with me on the train. One of these days I’ll secure a private compartment for us.”

  “Ooh, a private compartment,” she whispered, stepping even closer. “I like the sound of that.”

  “I’ll fondle you off and on through the entire journey,” he breathed, lowering his lips to her ear. “I’ll have you dripping wet and begging for me by the time we arrive at our destination, then make you wait until after dinner before touching you again.”

  “Now my knees are all wobbly,” she whimpered. “Did you have to say such things?”

  “Making your knees wobbly gives me great pleasure,” he murmured, placing his finger beneath her chin to gaze down at her flushed face. “If we had more time, and I wasn’t worried about Corbin coming in here to announce the arrival of the carriage, I’d grab you right now, thrust my hand under your dress, and press it up against your womanhood. I know I’d find the gusset of your drawers lovely and damp. You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you, Connie?”

  “Ooh, Malcolm, you’re so wicked.”

  “Answer me,” he growled, throwing caution to the wind and clutching her around the waist. “You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, yes,” she panted. “I am.”

  “And I am more wicked than you can possibly imagine, but that’s exactly what you want. Admit it.”

  “It is,” she said breathlessly. “I want every bit of wickedness you can muster.”

  Though aching to kiss her with wild abandon, he reluctantly released her and took a step back. A moment later he was glad of his restraint.

  “Pardon me for interrupting, sir,” Corbin said, entering the room, “but the carriage is here.”

  “Yes, Corbin, thank you,” Malcolm replied slowly, a thoughtful frown crossing his brow. “I just need another minute.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Malcolm, what is it?” Connie asked as Corbin left. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but I have an idea,” he replied, quickly placing a couple of books into his bag. “Hackworth will be watching the house. I want to fool him into thinking this case contains the statue.”