Seducing the Ruthless Rogue

by Tammy Jo Burns

  She walked, mingling with other residents of her impoverished neighborhood. Cassie nodded to those that she knew. She paused and spoke to others. After walking aimlessly, she arrived at a small park. It was nothing like Hyde Park or Green Park, but there were trees and flowers. The park also lacked children running about because parents that lived here did not have time to take their children out to play, and sadly most of the children were working in some manner themselves.

  Cassie found herself drifting, wondering just how the other half lived. The Duke and Duchess of Hawkescliffe were nice, but she knew they were not the normal members of the ton. She wondered what it would be like to attend a society event. What would it be like to dress in finery and mingle with the wealthy and privileged? Why are you even thinking about this? She asked herself. Why would you want to mingle with the people that you despise? But again, she found herself thinking about all the people she had recently met and how warm and welcoming they were. Perhaps they were not all as cold and despicable as she once thought.

  “You will never have the opportunity to find out,” she said aloud. She started to stand when she saw a familiar figure on the other side of the park. The man who remained uppermost in her thoughts stood talking to a food vendor. Mack exchanged money for a meat pie. He nodded his head at the vendor and entered the park. He must have seen her for he paused then turned around. Anger suffused her. Until she saw him approach the vendor, give the man more money, and receive another meat pie.

  He entered the park once more and approached her. She straightened, and pulled her light shawl close about her shoulders. She looked down and realized she had forgotten to tug on her gloves before leaving the house. Ink stains covered her hands, one of the downsides of being a writer. She could do nothing about it now. Her heartbeat picked up a little as he came closer.

  “Hello, Cassie,” he said. His Scottish brogue caused invisible shivers to race up her spine.

  “Director,” she returned.

  “Someday I’ll have you calling me Mack.”

  “I doubt that,” she retorted.

  “Ach, now, you don’t think so? Hmmm.” He pulled out a handkerchief, popped it open, and draped it on the bench next to him, away from Cassie. He lay the uneaten meat pie on it and folded the corners up to cover it. Then he bit once more into his. The aroma escaped, surrounding them.

  Cassie’s stomach growled loudly, embarrassingly.

  “Hungry?” Mack asked.

  “Not in the least,” she stubbornly replied. Again her stomach growled as he took another bite.

  “I tell you what, lass. I’ll let you have this other meat pie, which I must say is delicious, if you will address me by my name.” He held his hand up, stopping her when she would speak. “Let me clarify. You cannot call me ‘Director’, ‘Director McKenzie’, ‘Stuart’, or ‘Stuart McKenzie’. I want to hear you say, ‘Mack’.”

  Silence.

  “It is the most delicious meat pie you can find in all of London. His wife makes them, and I know she has a secret ingredient. They are amazing, you really must try them. I know you can say it,” he coaxed.

  She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders and crossed her arms in a huff. How dare he manipulate her with food? Why am I even staying here? “You are a despicable man, and I hope that you choke on that most delicious meat pie, Director McKenzie,” she gritted out, standing and looking disgustedly at him. Cassie turned to leave when a pop sounded. At the same time she felt a burning in her arm, she went flying through the air. Cassie landed on her back with a large, muscular Scotsman on top of her, and half a meat pie smashed between them.

  “Stay here.”

  Suddenly the weight of Mack on her disappeared as did the man himself. She went to push herself up, but her right arm collapsed. Cassie managed to sit upright, using only her left arm. She looked at her right and saw a hole in her shawl and dress, and both were slowly turning red.

  “I’ve been shot.” She lifted her left hand and shakily probed the wound. She felt something hard and round. “Oh, goodness,” she said, blinking, as the pain began to radiate from the wound.

  “Miss Cassie,” someone called as they ran up to her.

  Cassie tried to concentrate, but started feeling dizzy, and the world began to sickeningly spin. She felt flushed and beads of sweat popped up on her forehead and upper lip. Alfred swam in front of her, becoming two and three, then morphing back into one. He looked worried, poor boy.

  “Stay back,” the boy growled to someone approaching from the other direction.

  Cassie managed to swing her head around. Mack approached. At least she thought it was Mack. There were too many of them to be certain. She squinted and shook her head, trying to clear it. Yes, that was Mack.

  “I know him, Alfred,” she managed to get out before collapsing back on the ground, closing her eyes.

  ***

  Mack heard the pop and reacted by jumping towards Cassie and knocking her to the ground. He did a quick scan of her face and saw that she was breathing and her eyes were blinking.

  “Stay here,” he ordered Cassie before pushing himself up and running towards the sound of the gunshot. There was confusion among the pedestrians. “Where did they go?” he asked several people, but none of them could answer him. Finally, one old man pointed at a coach that was traveling at a reckless speed down the street. People and animals alike were running across the street to get out of its way.

  Mack raced down the street, but the coach was too far ahead. When it did slow down enough to turn the corner, where the family crest should have been there was nothing. Someone wanted to remain anonymous. He bent over and caught his breath then turned and jogged back towards the park. Cassie was sitting up, a young boy kneeling beside her. As he approached, the boy practically snarled at him.

  “Stay back.”

  “I know him, Alfred,” she slurred before collapsing.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “She’s bleedin’,” the boy said.

  “Where?”

  Alfred moved Cassie’s hand away from where it covered the wound. It came away covered in blood.

  “Cassie,” Mack shook her to rouse her awake. “We need to get you home.”

  “I think the bullet’s still in my arm,” she said.

  Mack carefully probed the wound. “I believe you’re right. I’m going to use your shawl to wrap around your arm.” She nodded her head. He took the shawl and wrapped it tightly to staunch the bleeding. The boy hovered the entire time. “There,” he said, once he was satisfied with his handiwork. “Let me help you stand.” Mack assisted her. He could tell she was unsteady by the way she gripped him. “You’re doing fine,” he said.

  “Miss Cassie, do I need to go with you?”

  “No, Alfred. Mack will see that I get home. Thank you.”

  The boy nodded and left the pair, continually looking back.

  “He likes you.”

  “He’s a sweet boy.”

  “You sound better.”

  “I think I was just, well…”

  “Shocked. It isn’t every day that someone is shot.”

  “I suppose not.”

  He paused at the bench and picked up the still-covered meat pie and placed it in his coat pocket. Mack watched her give him a look. “I’m hungry and we’re wearing mine. Now, we need to get you home.”

  “Did you find them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “Napoleon Bonaparte. He seems to fit the description. Are you deaf, woman, or do you just like to annoy me? I said I didn’t see them.”

  “You don’t have to yell at me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “God, give me strength,” he said looking towards the sky.

  “I didn’t know he helped devils,” she replied.

  “I…”

  “Yes?”
r />   “Nothing,” he muttered. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Mack noticed they were being followed. He turned around to see a half dozen mutts following them.

  Cassie turned around, too, and began laughing uncontrollably.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think the dogs want your meat pie.”

  “Well, they’re not getting it.”

  They continued walking until they reached the front door of her house. Mack beat on the door until it opened.

  Chang paled when he saw the bloody shawl wrapped around Cassie’s upper arm. “Missy Cassie, you hurt.”

  “She’s been shot,” Mack barreled into the house dragging Cassie along, and shutting the door on the hungry dogs.

  ***

  The doctor had been called and was seeing to Cassie’s wound. Chang paced the house speaking in his native tongue, which sounded like gibberish to Mack. Mack retrieved Sir Graham from his workshop located behind the small house. Cassie’s father seemed much less concerned about her injury than Chang.

  “Sir Graham, I must tell you that I feel responsible for your daughter’s injury.”

  “And why is that young man?” The older man looked up from his science book, a look of confusion on his face.

  “I have had assassination attempts on my life before.”

  “I see.”

  Silence.

  “Sir Graham, shouldn’t you be demanding to meet me at dawn?”

  “To what point? It happened. She is going to live. And I believe that the bullet could have very well hit its target.”

  “You believe the shot was intended for Cassie?”

  “Tell me where you were at the time it happened.”

  “I was sitting on the bench.”

  “And my daughter?”

  “She had just stood up from sitting next to me on the bench. She turned to face me, I’m sure to criticize me about something.”

  “And she was shot in her upper right arm. That seems to me it is quite a distance from you. I would think it much more likely that someone intentionally meant to shoot Cassie.”

  “If that is the case, why do you seem to be so calm?”

  “Because I know that she is going to be fine, and now she will be more aware of the danger surrounding her.”

  A knock sounded on the door. It was opened and there was chattering back and forth. The door shut and Chang entered the parlor where Sir Graham and Mack sat.

  “Boy brought this for Missy Cassie,” Chang waved an envelope in the air.

  “I’ll take it,” Sir Graham said and held out his hand. Her father took the envelope and placed it on a low table.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Mack asked.

  “Not mine to open,” Sir Graham replied, returning to his science book. Mack reached for it, but Sir Graham grabbed it first. “Nor is it yours, young man,” he said, reading once more.

  A knock sounded on the door frame to the parlor. A large, ruddy man stood in the doorway. Mack shot to his feet, Sir Graham merely looked up from his book. Mack gave the older man an irritated look.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Dr. McGregor said.

  “The dizziness,” Mack prompted.

  “To be expected after being shot,” he scoffed in his gravelly Scottish brogue.

  “I would like to talk to her.”

  “Go ahead. I tried to give her some laudanum, but she refused, stubborn woman. She’ll be wanting it when she can’t sleep in the middle of the night for the throbbing. I had to dig that bullet and debris out. Never once yelled or cried.”

  “That’s my girl,” Sir Graham said before returning once more to his book.

  “Thank you, doctor. Send the bill to my office.”

  “I always do,” he laughed boisterously before leaving the house.

  “Sir Graham, Chang, I would like to have a word with Miss Graham.”

  “Of course. Take this to her, would you, boy? Make sure you don’t read it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mack replied, irritated at the way the man waved off his concern for Cassie. He snatched the envelope out of the older man’s hand and then made his way down the small hall and up the stairs. Mack lightly knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” Cassie called. “Oh, it’s you,” she said upon seeing Mack.

  “Yes. Your father doesn’t seem too concerned about your health.”

  “He’s concerned,” she said. “He just has better things to do than pace the floor with worry. That’s what Chang does.”

  “And how are you feeling?”

  “I’ve felt better,” she said.

  “I’m sure you have. You should have taken the laudanum.”

  “No. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

  “Well, since you seem to be doing better, I will go. This came for you,” he tossed the envelope on her lap and left the room. “Chang, take care of her. I fear she will not take the time to allow herself to heal properly.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. McKenzie,” Chang bowed.

  “Call me Mack.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Mack,” Chang bowed once more.

  “Good evening, Sir Graham.” The older man waved negligently, but kept reading his tome. Mack shook his head and continued to walk out the house. The dogs that had followed him earlier were still waiting outside for him. Then he remembered the meat pie and knew that was what the dogs wanted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the meat pie filled handkerchief. Mack tossed the food to the dogs, instructed them to share, and then turned towards home. As he walked, he kept replaying how unconcerned Sir Graham appeared and his irritation grew. No wonder Cassie had been satisfied with the once a week cat and mouse game they had performed the last year. She probably cared more for the old man than the old man cared for her.

  Mack stopped and purchased a copy of The Times on his way home from a newsboy. He tucked the paper under his arm and continued on his way, his stomach growling. Mack cursed himself for having forgotten the meat pie and allowing it to grow cold, but his concern had been with Cassie rather than his stomach. Mack spied a food vendor that was closing for the day, and his mouth began to water. He waved the man down and jogged over to him.

  “Do you have any more meat pies?”

  “Aye, sir.” Mack bought two, one for him and one for John, thanked the vendor, and then headed home. He entered the house. “John, I’ve brought you a meat pie,” he called.

  The man popped his head out from the kitchen. “Well, that is what I bought for our supper,” John said.

  “Good, because I really didn’t want to share with the likes of you,” Mack headed for his study and sat down behind his desk. He placed both meat pies and the newspaper on the desk. “John, bring me a…”

  “You bellowed, sir,” the servant mocked. “I assume this is what you were calling for,” he placed a cool, frothy tankard in front of him.

  “Thank you.”

  “Hmph,” the man turned and left the room.

  Mack took a bite of his supper and spread out the paper. The first page, the headline shouted about the wars—We Are Surrounded. The article went on to discuss how England now fought a war on every side, and the battle with Bonaparte constantly depleted the number of English soldiers. The author speculated about how England would do in a second war with the American colonists. Several times he said, “Director Stuart McKenzie refused to comment as did Lords Bathurst and Liverpool.”

  Mack said some unkind words in Gaelic before taking another bite of the pie and turning the page. His eyes drifted across the pages until it came to the Editorial by C.E. Jones. He read the article and was impressed with what the author said. The author spoke of the plight that widows and orphans of soldiers killed in the war faced. The lack of support the government provided them. All of it was sad and true.

  He found himself thinking of Mrs., no, Lady Thompson and her children. Not only had she been left in the cruel world because of her husband’s death, but also because her family had turned thei
r backs on her when she was younger. That in turn got him to wondering about the author, C.E. Jones. How did this person have such an intimate knowledge about the widows and orphans of the war? Perhaps he should have a talk with Lady Thompson before she left his brother’s house.

  Chapter 12

  Cassie read the letter for what seemed the hundredth time. She wanted to bring awareness to those that read The Times, but she didn’t realize it would be like this. She did not know she would receive threats. Cassie knew that she had been the target of the shooting, not Mack, as he seemed to think. A week had passed since the accident and she was healing quite nicely.

  The worst part about the entire situation was when the doctor dug the bullet and debris out of the wound. She had refused to give over to the pain, refused to scream or cry. She did not want to show any weakness, not in front of her father and most definitely not in front of Ma…Director McKenzie. If she was careful, she could even continue with her writing without jarring the injury too much.

  She received a letter from John Walton, Jr. Esquire, the owner of the The London Times the day of the shooting. He demanded a meeting with C.E. Jones in his office immediately. According to the note, he had “most urgent news to impart.” Cassie was grateful for the wound and being unable to leave the house. She painstakingly composed a note back indicating Jones had fallen ill and would be unable to keep the appointment.

  Cassie waited anxiously for a reply to her note, all of which were passed through Alfred. Before he agreed to deliver her note, he demanded that Chang take him to the house so that he could see Cassie with his own eyes and make certain she lived. Once he felt satisfied, he left the house and went about his day, promising to see her note made it into the appropriate person’s hands. He arrived the next morning with a new note that brought disconcerting information.