by Mary Brendan
Joan gasped in astonishment and outrage as he made to walk away from her. Nobody, apart from her papa, spoke to her in that tone of voice. Imperiously she retorted, ‘You may halt this instant. I have not finished speaking to you, sir.’
‘But I have finished with you...’ was sent casually over a shoulder as he strolled away.
‘Come here this instant, you impertinent lout.’
He pivoted about and returned so swiftly that Joan skittered back some steps, her heart pulsing in her throat.
‘Well? What do you want?’ Drew enquired with silky softness.
Joan could think of nothing to say and neither could she raise her eyes to meet those that were singeing the top of her head. His muscled thighs were in her lowered line of vision, encased today in black breeches that seemed as closely moulded to his powerful physique as the charcoal-grey tailcoat he wore. Had she not known what Drew Rockleigh did for a living she might have mistaken him for a businessman rather than a barbarian. Only the faint healing marks on his face and knuckles gave the game away that he was a street fighter.
‘You’re finding it hard to apologise for your rudeness, are you?’ Drew suggested, mockery in his tone, as she continued to glower at the small space of grass that separated them.
‘I have done nothing that requires an apology.’ To her shame Joan knew that was far from the truth. She’d just been horribly pompous and arrogant and her bewilderment at having allowed him to taunt her to act out of character simply added to her inner turmoil.
‘You need not apologise?’ he paraphrased silkily. ‘I seem to recall having heard that from you before. It was no truer then than now.’
Heat seeped into Joan’s cheeks. She had indeed said something similar to him following her outrageous visit to his hunting lodge. With Pip driving the trap, she’d journeyed late at night, seeking Luke Wolfson, but her future brother-in-law had not been there. Rockleigh had found himself in the unenviable position of having compromised a duke’s daughter while minding his own business in his own home. Joan had felt ashamed to have caused him trouble, but even when he delivered her safely home and prevented her father chastising her with a slap, a simple ‘sorry’ had refused to roll off her tongue. Neither had she graciously thanked her escort. She had thought of writing to him and humbling herself...until her father recounted that Drew Rockleigh had refused point blank to salvage her reputation and marry her, even with great financial inducement to do so.
No doubt he would have her like a shot now, Joan thought sourly. The jibe withered on her tongue as she saw his sardonic expression and knew he’d read her thoughts.
‘Nothing’s changed for me...’ he drawled.
‘Oh, but I think it has,’ Joan replied, bristling with indignation. ‘Once you displayed a modicum of gentility and good breeding—now you appear to be just a violent heathen.’
Drew smiled, glanced over her head to where her aunt and Vincent Walters were pretending not to gawp too obviously. ‘The vicar told you he wants to save my soul and get me to attend church, did he?’
‘Reverend Walters told me more besides about you,’ Joan blurted before she could stop herself.
‘He told you what about me?’ Drew’s demand was speciously soft.
‘Nothing I want to repeat.’ Joan knew she would never explain her comment so spun about, preparing to retreat. She’d discovered he was a womaniser and, tempted though she was to fling it in his face, there were certain breaches of etiquette she baulked at committing. Hot-headed she might be, but Joan hoped she was never vulgar.
‘Come...we both know I’m not decent and the vicar’s put some embellishment to the fact.’ With a single stride Drew strategically repositioned himself in her path. ‘We’re also both aware that you’re no shrinking violet and your reputation won’t stand scrutiny,’ he purred. ‘So tell me what Walters said.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Joan demanded.
‘I’m guessing he told you I’m an incurable reprobate, best avoided.’
‘I’m guessing that you have deliberately misconstrued my meaning.’ Joan eyed him warily. ‘You commented on my reputation and I’d like to know why.’
‘You know why. I compromised you two years ago. Or rather you compromised me. Your father attempted to make me pay for your mistake.’
‘Perhaps he did, but you were never in any danger of having to do so, sir. I made it clear from the outset that I’d sooner enter a nunnery than become your wife.’
Drew’s amusement turned to silent laughter. ‘So you did...but, capital fellow that I am, I saved you from a life of vows and celibacy by rejecting your hand and your father’s bribe of lands and riches to go with it.’
‘Very noble...’ Joan scoffed croakily. ‘I trust, despite your unfortunate position, that I can count on you still being a capital fellow?’
‘Your secret’s safe with me, my lady.’ Drew’s voice was rich with humour as his honey-coloured eyes flowed with insolent leisure over her figure. ‘But that might be all that is...so stay in Mayfair and do your good works there.’
Mingling thrill and alarm streaked through Joan. She knew if she pushed this man too far she might bitterly regret it...so flight was now the sensible option. Indeed, it was the only option because her aunt was marching towards her. Lady Regan was also staring at them and passing carriages were slowing down so the occupants could covertly watch the Duke of Thornley’s daughter conversing with a handsome, if ill-matched, stranger. Joan wondered whether any of them had recognised her modestly attired companion as Drew Rockleigh.
‘Move aside,’ Joan commanded. Chin elevating, she attempted to step past him, but was again thwarted. ‘Should my father find out about this he will punish you for your insolence.’
‘I should have let him punish you. God knows you’re in need of some sense and discipline instilled in you.’
‘Why did you not, then?’ Joan challenged. She held her breath, unsure why his answer was of vital importance to her.
‘Damned if I know...’ Drew sauntered off with a low, throaty chuckle.
Joan pressed together her lips, preventing herself again succumbing to an urge to order him back. She was furious that he’d had the last word—blasphemous, too!—and then walked away from her before she could quit his presence. But she was also hurt by his final remark. She’d hoped he’d say he’d wanted to protect her from her father’s wrath, but perhaps she’d played a minor role in the incident and it had really been a contest of egos between two antagonistic gentlemen.
Chapter Four
‘You must accompany me to Pall Mall and speak to Lady Regan.’ Dorothea’s small fierce eyes fastened on her niece’s profile. ‘Everybody suspected that more than how the Wolfsons do was occupying the two of you. I fielded questions as best I could, so make sure you tell your papa how I tried to protect you from gossip.’
‘Mr Rockleigh and I also talked about the beggars who stopped our coach,’ Joan offered up one truthful titbit.
‘It’s your duty to come with me to explain yourself.’ Dorothea snorted as a blush spread on Joan’s cheeks. ‘If you colour up, Lady Regan will know you’re guilty of something. And never mention those atrocious vagabonds, I implore you.’ Dorothea’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she fingered the mourning brooch on her shoulder. ‘I thank the Lord that this precious memento of my dear departed husband didn’t fall into the clutches of that avaricious wretch.’
‘It is not avarice, but cold and hunger that makes the poor act so.’
‘You defend them?’ Dorothea barked, eyes popping in shock.
‘No...theft is theft, but I understand how such an environment might corrode a person’s honesty and dignity. I know, too, that the rot could be stopped if the disadvantaged were able to share a few of the things that we take for granted.’ Joan cast a damning eye on her aunt. ‘Helping sl
um urchins to better themselves through learning to read and write is surely a step in the right direction; I find it inconceivable that any decent person would ignore the need for children to be given a basic education.’
Dorothea gulped indignantly at the pointed reminder of how she’d sat sulking in the vicar’s parlour rather than assist with the lessons that day. ‘Those vile people would have robbed and murdered us but for Mr Rockleigh’s intervention. They should be horsewhipped...every one of them,’ she warbled dramatically. ‘Say nothing about any of it to my friends; they will find it abhorrent to know we came close to such taint.’ Dorothea waggled a cautioning finger. ‘Of course, the dreadful tale of what occurred is bound to circulate eventually now you have told the vicar all about it.’ She sent her niece a blameful glare. ‘So you will come and have some tea with us?’
‘I’m afraid not; I shall go straight home.’
‘You are the most selfish miss!’ Dorothea hissed. ‘Your father will be livid to know you have been consorting with Rockleigh again.’
‘He won’t mind me having a conversation with my brother-in-law’s friend.’ Joan sounded more confident than she felt. ‘Besides, there is no need for Papa to be bothered with any of it.’
‘Had you been with the Rockleigh of old...then I would agree. But the fellow is now in the gutter and you would do well to remember that before accosting him.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Joan protested, although she recalled approaching him rapidly. She settled back into the squabs to stare sightlessly at passing scenery. ‘Would you have recognised Mr Rockleigh had the vicar not told you his identity?’
‘Oh, indeed I would have!’ Dorothea trilled. ‘I got a good look at him this time.’ She studied her niece’s reaction. ‘Such handsome features aren’t disguised by a heathenish tan, are they?’
Joan was saved from finding an answer; she’d suddenly realised that the coach was about to sail past the turning to her home. She rapped on the roof, determined to use her chance to escape.
‘Baldwin’s has in some fine new silk. You will want to choose from the bolts before all the best shades are sold out.’ Dorothea made a last attempt to keep her niece’s company.
Ignoring Dorothea’s angry huff, Joan said farewell, then alighted without waiting for the groom to open the door. Having hopped down, she immediately set off in the direction of Upper Brook Street.
Dorothea’s friends knew that Drew Rockleigh and Luke Wolfson were chums without Joan having to take tea with them and tell them so. The ton also knew that one man lived in luxury while the other... Her train of thought faltered as she realised she had no idea where Rockleigh resided. The idea that he took bed and board in a slum was outlandish considering who he was...or rather who he had been. He didn’t seem unfed...far from it; his strong solid physique spoke of nourishment as well as exercise. Vincent Walters had spoken of high-value purses being won by the victors such as the Squire, as he’d called Rockleigh.
Her aunt’s cronies would have quizzed her mercilessly so they could repeat details of Rockleigh’s disgrace in scandalised whispers. Joan wasn’t privy to his secrets, but if she were, she’d not betray him.
It puzzled Joan why she felt rather protective of a man who exasperated her, mocked her and also alarmed her. But Rockleigh had, not once, but twice now done her a great service. The need to act fairly and return a favour was quite understandable, as her father had recently pointed out. And what else could there be feeding her growing obsession with him?
Preoccupied, Joan entered her home. On looking up, she spotted her stepmother’s maid and some of the other servants hurrying towards the cloakroom laden with garments. Then her darting eyes pounced upon the woman herself. Maude had been tweaking her flattened coiffure into shape in front of a mirror spanning the length of a fancy console table. Packing cases and portmanteaux lined the walls and a convoy of footmen were converging on the vestibule to transport their mistress’s vast amount of luggage upstairs to her chamber.
‘Oh, it’s lovely to have you back and sooner than expected.’ Joan rushed to Maude to give her a hug that was warmly returned.
‘How is Fiona? Is she better now?’ Joan eagerly asked, breaking free of the older woman’s embrace.
‘Your sister is much brighter, my dear, so I decided to get myself from under their feet. The physician has assured Fiona that the queasiness will ease as the babe grows.’ Maude linked arms with her stepdaughter. ‘Come, I am parched and want some tea. Let us sit in the rose salon and have a chat. Then I must snooze for a while and look refreshed for your papa when he gets in.’ She sighed contentedly. ‘I have missed you both, you know. Tobias tells me that Alfred is at White’s and won’t return before we dine so there is plenty of time for us to catch up with all the news.’
‘And how is my lovely little niece?’ Joan asked, removing her bonnet. She ran five tidying fingers through a tumble of dark chestnut curls.
‘Oh, that tot is destined to be a tomboy. Diana likes sticks and stones to play with rather than a doll to dress.’ Maude sounded nostalgic while speaking of her granddaughter. ‘Fiona was the same as a youngster: she would crawl about the garden to catch worms and snails as pets while her little sister behaved prettily.’ The woman shuddered, glancing searchingly over a shoulder. ‘Tobias told me you’d gone for a drive with your aunt,’ she commented as they strolled over marble flags.
‘Dorothea has journeyed on to Pall Mall to browse the emporiums and meet Lady Regan in a teashop.’ Joan sighed. ‘I opted to come home. I cannot abide dawdling about those places just for the latest gossip.’
‘You and Fiona are alike, you know.’ Maude chuckled. ‘My eldest would never shop for new dresses either. It was always Verity who loved to have the seamstresses fluttering around her hem with needles and pins.’
‘I find the idea of being like Fiona very agreeable.’ Joan sounded wistful. Her stepsister was indeed fortunate to have a doting husband and an adorable daughter to cherish plus another little one on the way.
‘She has sent you a letter; it’s in my portmanteau. Fiona spoke about you constantly, asking me this and that and when will you visit. She was disappointed you did not accompany me.’
Joan would have very much liked to see her sister and brother-in-law, but when Maude had left for Essex over a month ago Joan had been suffering with a chill and too unwell to travel.
The refreshment arrived promptly after the two ladies had settled themselves in the rose salon.
‘So what scandals have I missed while away?’ Maude sipped from delicate bone china, her lively eyes displaying her eagerness to have some gossip.
‘Miss Richards has been jilted by her fiancé,’ Joan related after a cursory racking of her brains.
‘That doesn’t surprise me! He was a fortune hunter and has probably got wind of her father’s ship sinking off China.’
‘Has it?’ Joan’s eyes widened. ‘What cruel fate. Who told you of it?’
‘Luke had heard the news on the grapevine, then Fiona told me about another fellow who has been greatly reduced in circumstances. I understand that was entirely his own fault, though.’
Joan put down her cup, then waited till the maid had deposited some cakes and disappeared before asking hesitantly, ‘Was Fiona referring to Drew Rockleigh?’
Maude airily waved a tartlet she’d immediately selected and bitten into. ‘Rockleigh is out of favour and never mentioned. The culprit is another fellow who lost his house on a turn of a card to a professional gambler.’
‘How careless...’ Joan gulped her tea. She wished she’d not mentioned Rockleigh now because she feared her stepmother would pick up the thread of the conversation and she was confused as to how to continue. She was still smarting from his maddening attitude to her earlier. She was also still feeling embarrassed about her unpleasantly haughty response to his provocation. Yet, de
spite it all, there was within her a restlessness to see him again that was so powerful she felt tempted to fly to the stables, find Pip, then return to the slum and demand answers to the questions bedevilling her.
‘Fiona is aware that her husband’s friend has had a dreadful time of it.’ Maude popped some stray currants into her mouth. ‘Luke refuses to discuss Rockleigh because he is very angry with the ingrate.’ Maude sighed. ‘These men! They will get themselves into scrapes with their bad habits.’
‘He didn’t gamble away his money!’ Joan had immediately leapt to the ingrate’s defence.
‘Did he not?’ Maude sounded surprised. ‘What did he do?’
‘Um...I’m not sure,’ Joan admitted. ‘Papa heard that some business went bad for him.’
Maude helped herself to another cake. ‘I see...but Drew always seemed a devil-may-care charmer to me.’ She arched an eyebrow at Joan. ‘I recall he paid you rather a lot of attention at their wedding reception.’
‘For the short time he attended,’ Joan countered. Fiona and Luke’s wedding breakfast had been a wonderful celebration held in the ballroom that occupied a sizeable amount of the first floor of the Duke of Thornley’s town house. Wistfully Joan recalled Drew looking heartbreakingly handsome that evening. He had asked her to dance, causing fans to stir amongst the ladies present.
But by ten o’clock he had gone. Joan had been piqued enough by his abrupt disappearance to discreetly try to find him. Her search had taken her from the card room to the supper room and then to wander down the stairs. In the vestibule she had heard two dandies, lounging against a marble pillar, laughing that Rockleigh’s mistress had waited over two hours outside for him in a carriage. Joan had melted away into the shadows in a whisper of lemon silk, not wanting those chortling young bucks to spot her. She’d felt a fool, pining for a man who clearly wanted to be elsewhere and had danced with his host’s daughter out of politeness.
And that had been the last time Joan had been in Drew Rockleigh’s company...until very recently.