Compromising the Marquess

by Wendy Soliman

  “If he is then he would hardly invite me to witness it.”

  “Then why has he invited you? Dearest, consider. We’re not grand young ladies. Our Uncle Percy is a sweet gentleman but quite incapable of protecting you in such a situation.” Beth’s eyes grew very wide. “If the marquess intends to ravish you, you couldn’t complain, not when you’ve deliberately put yourself in that position.”

  “He will not ravish me,” Leah said, patting Beth’s hand. Unfortunately.

  “You cannot possibly know that.”

  “Actually, I can.” And somehow she did. “Whatever the marquess is up to, he is still a gentleman to his fingertips. Nothing will happen to me.”

  Beth offered a halfhearted smile. “If you’ve quite made up your mind, I suppose I might as well save my breath. But be sure to let me have a full account tomorrow. I might as well enjoy your adventure vicariously.”

  “You can be sure that I’ll tell you it all.” Well, most of it. “Now, get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”

  Leah left her sister still looking uneasy and went to write an article for Mr. Morris about the marquess’s future bride.

  * * *

  Hal sprawled in his chair at the breakfast table, perusing the local newspaper. He barked a laugh when he read the account of the mill and passed it to Rob.

  “Well, now we know,” he said.

  “Know what?”

  “Miss Elliott’s reason for being at the fight.”

  Rob’s brows shot up. “You think she wrote this?”

  “Who else?” Hal rubbed his jaw, unsure if he was more annoyed or amused by his discovery. “If you entertain doubts, take a closer look at the phraseology.”

  Gabriel read the passage over Rob’s shoulder. “‘A brutally aggressive pugilistic display that caused the uncivilised mob—gentry and servant alike—to bay for blood.’” He laughed. “I see your point. No man would describe a common-garden mill as brutal.”

  “‘The combatants displayed to advantage,’” added Rob, laughing also. “She obviously appreciates a naked male torso.”

  Hal grunted, disturbed by that prospect of Miss Elliott’s appreciation being thus directed. “She must need the money. I’d been wondering about that.”

  “About what?” Rob asked, looking up from his coddled eggs.

  “She told me they lived in Wapping and that their parents are both dead. They’re now living in Sir Percy’s gatehouse, but on what?”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. Perhaps the parents left them provided for.”

  “Bethany told me that her father owned a printing press but died in an accident,” Gabriel remarked.

  “Which would explain Leah’s knowledge of the written word.”

  “It would also explain why she’s poking round the Boar,” Rob said. “If the Wilkinson woman put it into her head that something’s amiss there, then presumably she’d want to know what it is, just in case she could profit from it.”

  “You can hardly blame her for trying to support her sister.”

  Hal waved aside Gabriel’s defence of the pretty younger sister. “No one’s blaming her for anything.” Yet.

  “So long as she doesn’t get anywhere near The Celandine, she can’t do any real harm,” Rob said.

  “Ah.”

  “What is it?” Rob and Gabriel asked together.

  “Nothing of consequence.” Hal chose not to tell his brothers that he’d actually asked Leah to join him on board. They would probably think he’d taken complete leave of his senses and have him committed to Bedlam. He couldn’t help thinking so himself but was strangely reluctant to rescind the invitation.

  “Mrs. Wilkinson and Miss Lewis are here, my lord,” Potter said, entering the room in his habitual stately manner. “Are you at home?”

  Hal sighed. “I suppose so. Show them into the small sitting room, Potter. I’ll see them in a moment.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Can I be the one to hide this time and eavesdrop? I might learn something.”

  “Be my guest.” Hal pushed himself to his feet, deciding that Leah Elliott had a lot to answer for. Before meeting her he hadn’t thought twice about avoiding Mrs. Wilkinson when she endeavoured to interfere in his affairs. Branding him a coward was an effective way of recalling him to his duty.

  “Mrs. Wilkinson, Miss Lewis,” he said, striding into the sitting room. “What a delightful surprise. How are you ladies today?”

  They appeared taken aback by his civility. “I am perfectly well, I thank you, my lord, but—”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He swished the tails of his coat aside and sat himself across from the old harridans.

  “It’s about the Boar’s Head.”

  “My brother told me of your concerns regarding that establishment.” Hal leaned forward, schooling his features into an expression of polite concern. “Tell me what it is precisely that makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “There was a fistfight there the other night.”

  “You astound me, Miss Lewis.” Hal adopted a scandalized expression, trying hard not to laugh. “I do hope you weren’t exposed to such a spectacle.”

  “No, indeed not. I locked my doors and kept my brother’s blunderbuss close at hand.”

  “Thank goodness.” He turned his attention to the other lady. “Did you see it, Mrs. Wilkinson?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Then, excuse me, but how do you know that it actually took place?”

  The ladies exchanged a swift glance.

  “I can’t actually see the Almighty but that doesn’t mean He isn’t there.” Mrs. Wilkinson folded her hands in her lap, looking smugly satisfied with her argument.

  Hal raised one brow. “You’re comparing a brawl with the existence of God?”

  “No, of course not.” Mrs. Wilkinson’s self-righteous expression showed early signs of strain. “You’re deliberately twisting my words.”

  “No, madam, I’m merely trying to understand them.” Hal took a deep breath, already bored with this exchange. “Let’s, for the sake of argument, assume that the fight you refer to actually took place. In what way did that impinge upon the lives of the villagers?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Was anyone attacked? Were crimes against property or person committed?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “You would know if it were the case, would you not, Mrs. Wilkinson?” Hal forced himself to remain patient, knowing how important it was to keep the wretched woman away from the Boar. “The local populace looks up to you and keeps you informed of happening in the village, do they not?”

  “Perhaps.” Mrs. Wilkinson sat a little straighter. “I pride myself on doing my Christian duty.”

  “But it’s not safe for ladies to walk alone through the village,” Miss Lewis wailed.

  “Why on earth not?” Hal adopted a quizzical expression. “My sister frequents the village all the time.”

  “Always escorted by a footman, or a maid. Besides, no one would dare to lay a finger on Lady Felicity.”

  “This is a seafaring town, ladies, and the custom brought to the village by such men is welcomed by the tradespeople. Do you not sell them fripperies for their sweethearts, Miss Lewis?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, but I—”

  Mrs. Wilkinson glared at Miss Lewis, presumably because she knew nothing of the increase in her trade. That was probably because Hal had only recently thought to arrange it.

  “Perhaps they have money to throw about,” Mrs. Wilkinson said with a derisive sniff, “but they don’t attend church. Their souls are in dreadful peril.”

  “And there is drunkenness and coarse language,” Miss Lewis added.

  “Mrs. Jessop’s hens were so disturbed by the noise from the fight that they didn’t lay for two whole days.”

  Hal’s lips quirked. “How unfortunate, but since Jessop lives some distance from the Boar, I think their uncooperative behaviour must be a coincidence.”

  “Hens
are very sensitive creatures.”

  “Rest assured, ladies, that I have taken your concerns to heart.” Hal stood to indicate that the interview was at an end. “I shall keep a close eye on affairs. Should anything happen that threatens the welfare of any resident of the village, I shall take swift and decisive action. On that you have my solemn word.”

  “Well, Venita,” Miss Lewis said, fluttering her sparse lashes as Hal extended a hand to help her to her feet, “I think that puts our minds at rest, don’t you?”

  “For now, perhaps.” Mrs. Wilkinson threw a darkling glance at her friend. “But the moment I hear of anything untoward happening, you may be sure that I shall be back.”

  Hal didn’t doubt it. “Thank you for bringing your concerns to my attention, ladies,” he said, handing them over to Potter and making a swift exit.

  His brothers looked up as he reentered the breakfast parlour.

  “God save me from interfering biddies,” Hal muttered.

  “Have you placated them?” Rob asked.

  Hal grimaced. “God alone knows. I’m for the boat. I need to check on our visitor.”

  Chapter Eight

  Leah endeavoured to slip unobserved from the gatehouse that afternoon but was thwarted when she literally ran into Meg at the scullery door.

  “You didn’t ought to be gallivanting about like that,” she said, looking Leah up and down and tutting. “No good can come of it.”

  “Don’t fret so, Meg. Needs must. I’ll be fine.”

  “In London perhaps, but it’s different in the country. There aren’t so many people about and you’ll never pass for a lad.”

  Leah grimaced. Technically, Meg was her servant. In reality she was a surrogate mother who loved her and didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She might be at leisure to worry about Leah’s reputation but Leah had no time to spare for such nugatory concerns. She couldn’t afford not to meet Lord Denby and would just have to rely on his instincts as a gentleman preventing him from taking advantage of her.

  She sighed. Hopefully he’d let slip a snippet or two of information that would interest the gossip-hungry readership of Mr. Morris’s newspaper. It had happened before. People became indiscreet when they grew accustomed to her presence. Admittedly, in those situations she’d been able to lose herself in a crowd and no one realised who she actually was. Lord Denby did know her true identity and she would be alone with him on his ship—a potentially lethal situation. Still, rather that than throw herself on her Uncle Percy’s charity indefinitely, a situation which exposed her to the constant diatribe of criticism that sprang from her aunt’s sour lips.

  Jonny straightened up from stacking logs, presumably because he thought he would be required to accompany her. Pickle, similarly minded, wagged his stubby tail, ran in several tight circles and scratched at the door.

  “Stay here, both of you,” she said, addressing her remark to Pickle.

  “Are you sure, miss?”

  “Quite sure, Jonny,” she said, wondering if she actually was. “Stay here and help Meg.”

  “Right you are then.”

  Grateful for his incurious nature, Leah set off for the Boar. As she trudged down the lane, she wondered where precisely she was supposed to meet his lordship. Presumably he would expect her to enter the tavern and seek him out. The prospect of cutting a path through the rough clientele of that establishment caused her a moment’s hesitation. Then she thought of her fast-dwindling resources, drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders in a defiant gesture.

  She could do this. She could.

  As she drew level with the tavern, Leah had cause to rethink her strategy. It was teeming with activity, people spilling out the door, milling about in groups and blocking the road. The raucous laughter and coarse language that assaulted her ears severely tested her resolve. Without Jonny, whom she now regretted leaving behind, she felt exposed and vulnerable, convinced that his lordship wasn’t the only person who’d seen through her disguise.

  She loitered on the expanse of ground behind the tavern, drawing several curious glances from the dubious types already lingering there. She ignored them and directed her gaze towards the beautiful boat anchored in the bay. It had been too dark, and she’d been too preoccupied, to pay it much attention the last time she’d been here.

  The tranquil scene settled her nerves. The sun was setting behind the brightly painted boat as it rocked gently with the tide. It looked so normal, so quintessentially English, that she wondered if she was wrong to suspect Lord Denby of sinister activities. As usual, her lively imagination was inventing trouble where perhaps none existed. She was suddenly filled with a ridiculous desire to sail off somewhere exotic with the handsome marquess, leaving all her problems behind for someone else to wrestle with.

  Except there was no one else. At least, no one to whom she would entrust her precious sister’s care.

  She couldn’t let her guard down. It might look innocent enough but, if she was right about the marquess being involved in secret activities, that boat must be at the hub of his operation. She didn’t know how she could be so sure. She just was.

  Leah shaded her eyes with her hand to try and see it more closely, wishing she had a telescope, or that she’d had enough time to educate herself about the ship before embarking upon this madness. She prided herself on her thoroughness and disliked undertaking anything without first doing extensive research.

  A wherry she’d noticed earlier had now reached shore but she barely spared it a glance. Instead her attention remained focused on the ship as she wondered what secrets it held and how best to persuade it to give them up.

  Feelings of anticipation and excitement gripped her. Perhaps she was being foolhardy but not for one moment did she consider herself to be in any real danger. She suspected the marquess of using the Boar and the village as a whole to cover his activities and yet felt perfectly safe with him. The conflicting messages coming from her brain left her feeling confused and disadvantaged.

  “She’s a ninety-foot schooner,” said a gravelly voice in her ear.

  Leah started violently. The marquess had crept up on her so quietly that she had no advance warning of his approach. She realised now that he must have been in that wherry. Unlike her, he was equipped with a telescope and, aboard his ship, must have seen her standing here. Even if she hadn’t recognized his deep voice, she would still have known it was him accosting her, even before she turned her head. The aroma of musky French cologne that had clung to him the evening before left her in no doubt at all.

  “She’s quite beautiful,” she said, still staring at the ship’s red and green hull. “How long have you owned her?”

  “For some years now. She’s ideal for my purpose since she can undertake ocean voyages, do close coastal work and ply inland waterways, all with equal ease.”

  “What is your purpose?”

  “Trade, naturally,” he said, sounding entirely plausible. “The Celandine can also sail close to the wind.”

  A bit like her master. “A useful trait,” she said.

  Finally turning to face him, she was unable to suppress a gasp when she observed his attire. He wore tight-fitting breeches, well-worn boots and a white shirt, open at the neck, with no coat over it. He was hatless, his hair in its usual queue. He looked more like a common sailor than a marquess, except for his presence, of course. There was something about him, a natural authority that would prevent anyone doubting his lineage. Curling blond hairs peeped out of the opening of his shirt, earning her fascinated scrutiny. Only when she espied his mocking smile did she realise that she was staring. Embarrassed to be caught gawping, she quickly averted her gaze.

  “Very useful,” he agreed.

  “Tell me, are you as wild as the flower you named your ship after, my lord?”

  He laughed. “I prefer to think of myself as untamed.”

  I’m sure you do. “Even though you have so many responsibilities?”

  “Especially for that reason. The
Celandine is my escape, you see. The rules don’t apply when I’m aboard.”

  “Why is that?”

  He didn’t answer. “Don’t you have your brother and your dog to protect you today?” he asked instead.

  Leah shook her head. “No, I came alone.”

  “It’s unsafe around these parts for a young lad alone.”

  “But I’m not alone,” she pointed out with irrefutable logic. “You’re here with me.”

  He smiled at her then, a slow, complacent smile that lit up his features and made her insides churn with pleasurable sensations. “So I am.”

  His smiled broadened, pure predatory male. Unsure whether to be afraid or captivated, the dilemma inside Leah’s head didn’t bother to communicate itself to her body. She felt a rush of heat sweep through her as she held his gaze. It was madness, being here alone with such a dangerous man, and yet in her disguise as Leon she felt entirely safe. She instinctively knew that, whatever other mischief he undertook on that damned boat of his, he meant her no harm.

  “Shall we?” he asked, indicating the wherry pulled onto the shingle beach a short distance away.

  Leah hesitated for the briefest of moments and then followed him to the small boat. Two men stood guard over it and snapped to attention when they saw Lord Denby approaching. Without thought for his boots, he waded into the shallow water, turned to look at her less suitable footwear, shrugged and swept her into his arms. The breath left her lungs in an extravagant whoosh as he cradled her against his chest and carried her to the boat as though she weighed nothing at all. He lowered her onto the wooden bench in its bow and then climbed in to sit beside her. The boat tilted under his weight and then steadied. His two crewmen pushed it into deeper water, climbed aboard and took up their oars.

  Leah turned her face into the wind, enjoying the feel of the rushing breeze caressing her skin. Strangely at one with nature, she lost herself in the penetrating silence, the raucous noise from the Boar barely audible as they distanced themselves from it. The gentle lapping of water against the side of the small boat lulled her, as did the creaking of oars and the heavy breathing of the oarsmen as they bent their backs to their task.