Devilish Games 0f A Virtuous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance)

by Scarlett Osborne

  Letitia sat. “Does Miss Scott ever read in here with you?” she asked.

  Harriet bubbled with laughter. “Miss Scott? Of course not! She’s not interested in books about pirates. And besides, if she sat down in all my pillows like this, I don’t think she’d ever be able to get back out!”

  Letitia was unable to hold back a laugh. Nonetheless, she couldn’t shake the feeling that sitting here in Harriet’s bedroom was a step too far. She may well have grown up in a room just like this one, but as far as Lord Radcliffe was concerned, she was nothing but a lowly kitchen maid.

  Nonetheless, she felt reluctant to leave.

  Just a few minutes. What could it hurt?

  Harriet tapped the front cover of the book impatiently. “It’s your turn to read.”

  Letitia opened the book.

  “From chapter three,” Harriet pushed. “And you have to do the voice of the pirate king.”

  Letitia laughed. “You are a bossy little thing, aren’t you,” she said playfully. She wished she had a little of Harriet Fletcher’s self-assurance.

  “Harriet?” The door creaked open to reveal Lord Radcliffe. He peered down at their fortress of pillows with a bemused look on his face.

  Mortified, Letitia leapt to her feet. “I’m sorry, My Lord. I didn’t mean to… I—” Her words tangled. “I’ll leave. I—”

  Lord Radcliffe’s hand shot out and touched her shoulder. “Please, Miss Cooper. You don’t have to leave on account of me.”

  The touch of his hand made a bolt of energy jolt through her body. Lord Radcliffe pulled his hand away suddenly, as though he had felt it too.

  “You don’t have to leave,” he said again, his voice husky. “Harriet seems to be enjoying your company.”

  “That’s right,” Harriet piped up from the floor. “I am enjoying your company.”

  Lord Radcliffe chuckled, making Letitia smile too.

  “I’ve to be back in the kitchen in a few minutes,” she said.

  “You said you were going to read to me,” Harriet pushed.

  “I’m sure Margaret will manage without you for a little while longer.” Lord Radcliffe grinned. “I’ll tell her I had you do a most important task for Harriet and me.”

  Letitia smiled inwardly. She could almost hear the rant such a thing would elicit from the cook.

  “We’re reading about pirates, Papa,” Harriet said brightly. “Do you want to hear? Miss Cooper is going to do the voices and everything.”

  Letitia felt her cheeks color, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

  Lord Radcliffe chuckled. “How could I miss such a thing?” He sat beside his daughter on the floor and brought his knees to his chest.

  Letitia felt her chest warm at the sight of him. How endearing it was to see the Marquess huddled on the floor with his little girl like this.

  Harriet looked up at her expectantly. “Sit down, Miss Cooper.”

  Letitia hesitated. Surely, she couldn’t.

  “You heard the Lady,” Lord Radcliffe said with a smile. “Sit down and read us the story.” He caught her eye playfully. “With the voices and everything.”

  And so, Letitia sat, tucking her skirts carefully beneath her ankles. She picked up the book. Harriet leaned forward to see the page, her elbow pressing against Letitia’s knee.

  Letitia was acutely aware of Lord Radcliffe sitting on the other side of his daughter. She could see him on the edge of her vision. Could feel that dizzying magnetism exuding from him body. Could feel his eyes on her.

  She swallowed heavily. Forced herself to focus.

  “Chapter Three,” she said. “The Pirate King…”

  * * *

  That evening, Algernon found himself marching edgily across his sitting room. He pulled open the drawer of the sideboard. Rummaged through it until he found a pipe and tobacco box.

  Though he made his money in the tobacco business, Algernon was not fond of smoking. He hated the feel of it in his throat. Hated even more the way the stale scent of the tobacco lingered in his clothing. But tonight, he felt an odd need to smoke a pipe. Felt as though such a thing might settle him. Perhaps might make him begin to behave a little more appropriately.

  What had he been thinking, asking Molly Cooper to sit and read fairy stories with him and his daughter?

  He had not been thinking. That was all there was too it. He had let the lustful thoughts that had begun to well inside him take him over.

  Algernon could see how much Harriet enjoyed Miss Cooper’s company. A man would have to be a fool not to see that. The thought left a warmth inside him. Since she had escaped to the market, Algernon had been acutely aware of how bored and lonely his daughter was. He was endlessly glad there was someone in the household that might make Harriet want to pile up all her pillows on the floor and read with her. But in the case of Molly Cooper, such a thing felt dangerous.

  Because when he had sat on the floor beside them, Algernon had caught a glimpse of something far more than a kitchen maid entertaining his daughter. He had seen, fleetingly, the possibility of a family.

  The thought had come from nowhere. And it had terrified him. Lusting after a beautiful young kitchen hand was one thing. This was quite another.

  He put the pipe back in the drawer and took his greatcoat from the hook beside the front door. He didn’t need tobacco. He needed someone to talk to.

  * * *

  Edward Greenwood, Earl of Wesley, had been Algernon’s closest friend since their days at Cambridge. Though Algernon had drifted apart from most of the gentlemen he had studied with, his friendship with Edward remained as sturdy as ever. The Earl, unlike most of the other noblemen in that liquored-up Cambridge circle, understood Algernon’s need to have a business of his own. To have a life that was more than an endless parade of pleasure-seeking and hangovers.

  “Well now,” Edward said, finding Algernon in the parlor where the butler had deposited him, “a spontaneous visit from Algernon Fletcher. I suppose stranger things have happened.”

  Algernon held out the brandy bottle he had brought with him. “I’ve recently acquired this fine drop. A gift from a client. I need someone to help me drink it.”

  Edward chuckled. “You know I can always be counted on for such things, my friend.” He went to the oak cabinet in the corner of the room and pulled out two crystal glasses, uncorked the brandy, and poured. He took one glass and sat back in the armchair opposite Algernon.

  “Well?” he said.

  Algernon took the other glass from the table and brought it to his lips. “Well what?”

  Edward sipped his brandy. “Come on, Radcliffe. You can’t expect me to believe you’ve come all this way just to share a drink?”

  “I wanted to see an old friend,” said Algernon. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  Edward chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I know you too well for that tall tale to work.”

  Algernon sighed. Edward was right, of course. They’d known each other far too long for fibs and falsehoods. And Algernon couldn’t deny showing up on a friend’s doorstep was something of an anomaly. There had to be a reason behind it.

  He gulped his brandy. “Business,” he said. “It’s something of a challenge at the moment.”

  It wasn’t entirely a lie, he reasoned. There had been the mess over the Baron of Mullins’s error-riddled ledger.

  And the challenge of keeping my mind off my new kitchen hand…

  “You work too hard,” said Edward. “You ought to take a little more time for yourself. You told me yourself, your business is going strong. Surely you can allow yourself to step back a little. Have a little recreation time.”

  “I’ve no desire for recreation time,” said Algernon. “It does nothing for me.”

  “How would you know?” Edward pushed. “When was the last time you got out of the house and met new people?”

  Algernon drained his glass. Edward was right, of course. He hadn’t so much as set foot in a ballroom since Charlott
e had died.

  “How old is Harriet now?” Edward asked, leaning back in his chair and bringing his glass to his lips.

  Algernon knew what he was really asking.

  How long has it been since your wife passed? How many years have you been locking yourself away like a hermit? How much of your life have you let pass you by?

  “Harriet is ten,” he admitted. “And utterly brilliant. Sharpest mind I ever saw. Her governess says she’s the brightest student she’s ever had.”

  Edward nodded and ah-ha’ed and mustered up the appropriate level of interest, before saying, “You need a lady in your life, Radcliffe. You’re still a young gentleman. You shouldn’t be locking yourself away like this.”

  Algernon said nothing. Perhaps Edward was right. Perhaps a wife was what he did need. After all, look at him, lusting after the kitchen hand like some love-deprived sailor. Surely a sign that he had been alone for too long.

  But how could he ignore the fact that it had been Molly Cooper herself who had awakened these thoughts in him? Before she had barreled into his life, he had been content with his business, with his daughter, with the safe and familiar confines of his manor. He would happily never have looked at another lady again.

  “The Duke of Eastbury’s ball is coming up,” Edward reminded him.

  “Yes.” Algernon had received the invitation. He had already declined with due diligence. It was a wonder he still got invited to these things.

  “Rose and I will be attending,” said Edward. He jabbed a finger at his friend. “You ought to come as well.”

  Algernon sighed. A part of him baulked at the thought. He remembered the whole mess of these things. Young ladies trussed up in ribbons and feathers, gentlemen watching with open mouths and overflowing glasses, the air crackling with tension and pretentiousness, and unspoken sexual energy.

  He had met Charlotte at such an event. After their most pleasant waltz, she had moved on to the next name on her dance card. Algernon had acted quickly, sending his calling card to her father’s manor the following morning, eager to make his interest known before another well-meaning fellow swooped in and seized her first. The entire thing had felt like little more than a business transaction.

  Algernon knew he had been lucky to have found a wife with whom he had eventually fallen in love with. Far too many husbands and wives, he knew, spent their entire marriages as little more than strangers. Algernon and Charlotte had taken every meal together, had shared a bed each night, despite having dressing rooms of their own. Finding a wife with whom he was happy to do such things felt like the greatest of victories. He suspected that, were he to go through the whole rigmarole of marriage a second time, he would not be so lucky.

  But he was not going to the Duke’s ball to find a wife, Algernon reminded himself. At least, not yet. This was not about marrying. It was just about taking his first tentative steps back into a world he had all but forgotten.

  Chapter 8

  The Baron of Mullins returned home from a business meeting to find his butler waiting for him in the entrance hall.

  “Mr. Black has information for you, My Lord,” he said.

  “Information?” The Baron’s heart began to quicken. He unwound his scarf and slid off his coat, near flinging it at the butler in his impatience. “Where is he?”

  “Waiting for you in your study, My Lord.”

  The Baron bounded up the stairs and threw open the study door. His footman, Black, was waiting in one of the small wooden chairs beside the desk. He stood at the sight of his superior.

  “Mr. Black? You’ve news?” The Baron closed the door behind him.

  “Possibly, My Lord.” Black was a wiry man with thin shoulders and long, spidery fingers. He twisted a button on his waistcoat as he spoke. “I can’t be certain, but—”

  “What do you know?” the Baron pressed. He felt heat prickle the back of his neck.

  Black swallowed. “At Covent Garden market today, My Lord, I wondered if I might have seen Miss Caddy.”

  “Covent Garden market?” the Baron repeated. “What was she doing there?”

  “I couldn’t be sure, My Lord. I saw her only fleetingly. And like I said, I can’t be certain of what I saw. But if it was her, she was dressed in servants’ clothes. She was carrying a basket.”

  Servants’ clothes.

  It made sense. Their scullery maid had reported her skirts missing the day Letitia had disappeared.

  The Baron picked up a pen from his desk and began to twist it edgily between his fingers. “Did she seem unharmed?” he asked.

  “Yes, My Lord. As far as I could tell.”

  “And did you see which way she went?”

  Black hung his head. “I’m afraid not, My Lord. She was gone before I could make sense of it.”

  The Baron nodded slowly. Letitia running around Covent Garden market dressed in servants’ clothes, with a basket in her hand? He was not sure if such a thing made him wild with anger or overcome with relief. If Black was right, there was a chance his daughter was still in London. A chance she could still be found.

  * * *

  Algernon looked down at the two jackets his footman had laid on the chaise in his dressing room. Though they were both made from fine dark silk, they had both become sad and worn with neglect. He couldn’t remember the last time they had seen the light of day.

  After persistent needling from Edward, Algernon had agreed to attend the Duke’s ball. Now, as he stood looking at his two miserable formal jackets, he wished he had thought a little harder about what he might wear to such an occasion. On top of being threadbare and faded, the coats smelled powerfully of mothballs. Wear either of them and anyone within a ten-mile radius would know Algernon Fletcher had not ventured into a ballroom in more than a decade.

  “What are you doing, Papa?”

  He turned to see Harriet in the doorway.

  Algernon smiled, gesturing for her to enter. “I’m trying to decide which of these jackets is less miserable.”

  Harriet bent close to inspect them. Her nose wrinkled at the musty smell. “They are both very miserable, Papa,” she reported.

  Algernon chuckled. “Yes. I’m afraid you’re right.”

  Harriet picked up the navy-blue jacket he had worn to marry Charlotte. “This one is the worst. There are holes in it.”

  She was right, Algernon realized. Moths had burrowed their way through the fine silk in two different places.

  Harriet tossed it on the floor. She held out the gray jacket. “This one will have to do.”

  Algernon took it from her hands and slid it over his shoulders. Mercifully, it still fit.

  Harriet flung herself onto the chaise. “Where are you going, Papa? You never wear clothes like this.”

  Algernon smiled wryly at his reflection. “My dear friend Edward has convinced me to go to a ball.”

  “A ball?” Harriet’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Algernon wished he could share his daughter’s excitement. He was already regretting agreeing to go. He’d not even left the house yet and already he wanted to return.

  “Are you going to dance with beautiful ladies?” Harriet asked excitedly.

  Dance?

  Algernon had quite forgotten how to do such a thing. He chuckled. “I don’t think so. I think I’ll just watch.”

  Harriet sighed dramatically. “Oh Papa. Why would you go to a ball and just watch? That’s like making a cake and not eating any of it.”

  Algernon laughed. He buttoned his jacket and turned to face his daughter. “How do I look?”

  “Very handsome. Although the jacket doesn’t smell very nice.”

  No, thought Algernon. He hoped a few puffs on a pipe and a walk in the fresh air might solve that problem.

  He sat on the chaise beside his daughter. Pressed a firm hand to her shoulder. “You’re to behave yourself tonight,” he told her. “No creeping about the place and running away, do you understand me?”

  Harriet nodded. She had n
ot made any attempts to flee the house since the day at the market, Algernon knew.

  Has not made any attempts to flee since Molly Cooper arrived.

  “I’ll not run away, Papa,” she said brightly. “I’m going to ask Miss Cooper if she wants to read the pirate book with me.”