by Mary Brendan
‘She likes the idea of being in love with a good man.’ His lips twitched in self-deprecation. ‘Compared to some of her previous gentlemen friends I am a good man, in her opinion. Whereas in your eyes I’m—’
‘An excellent man,’ Joan interrupted quietly, becoming bashful beneath his answering smile. She turned away and her eyes skimmed over the blood on the floor. ‘What have you done to those three villains?’ she whispered. ‘Have you killed them all?’
‘I haven’t killed any of them as far as I know. I imagine Stokes might swing for his crimes, but that’s for a court to decide. As for the two itinerants, they’ll probably recover from the bullets I put in them and join Stokes in gaol.’
Joan’s teeth anxiously nipped her lower lip. ‘Where are they all now?’
‘The bruisers had disappeared by the time I got back from delivering Stokes to the magistrate. They’ve doubtless dragged themselves off to find a sawbones to patch them up, but they won’t get far. The dragoons are already hunting them down.’ Drew plunged his hands in his pockets. ‘Stokes was my primary concern; I wanted him safely under lock and key without delay.’ He paused. ‘The magistrate has a full report of what went on here and that I shot two men.’
‘You were only defending yourself!’ Joan cried hotly. ‘I hope they all rot! Especially Stokes. He attempted to vilely blackmail me. I’ll gladly testify on your behalf against that wretch and risk the consequences of a scandal.’
Her passionate speech prompted Drew to chuckle and the warmth in his eyes caused a self-conscious blush to stain Joan’s cheeks.
‘Thank you for the offer and for everything else you’ve done for me tonight. But there’s no need for you to get dragged in any further. I’ve influential friends who will speak for me.’ Drew shrugged. ‘I’ve done nothing I regret and pulled a gun on them as a last resort.’
He brushed a scarred knuckle over her sharp little chin. ‘Somebody as sweet and innocent as you doesn’t deserve to be tainted by this or to be tattled over.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t talk to me as though I’m a child. I’m older than your mistress, I’ll warrant,’ Joan returned waspishly.
‘In years, maybe...’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Joan demanded, bristling.
‘You’ve had little experience of life’s dark side, Joan. And I’m not criticising, but paying you a wonderful compliment when I say so...’ About to add something, he gestured in frustration instead. ‘Come, it is time you went home now. If your father grows anxious over your whereabouts he’ll suffer a relapse.’
‘It’s good of you to think of him, and, yes...indeed, I must go.’ Joan sighed. The idea that her father might fret over her absence was already spurring her to head towards the exit.
She turned at the kerb and gazed up at him; there was so much more she wanted to discover about his past. Equally she wanted to know what the future might hold for them; she wasn’t ready to relinquish her dreams of them spending their lives together, happily married with a brood of children. In her mind played a sweet domestic scene of a loving husband and a doting papa showing his heirs how to ride ponies and fish the lakes and streams, as her own father had kindly taken time to teach her. But Joan knew there were obstacles to overcome...the greatest of which was that she couldn’t be certain that the man she had fallen in love with and wanted to marry returned her feelings. Oh, he wanted her still...desire was smouldering at the backs of his eyes and every touch he gave her, however small, held a caress. And she believed his gallant need to protect her person and her family’s reputation was also genuine.
‘Would you come with me to Mayfair?’ The plea had tripped off her tongue before she could stop it. The longer they were together the likelier it was that she’d learn more about it all.
‘Of course I’ll take you home.’ Drew glanced over her head, his mouth slanting in sultry amusement. ‘If you want my company in that coach I’m happy to oblige.’
The tempestuous passion they had shared the last time they had travelled alone was already building into tangible force between them. On that stormy night Joan had wanted to be rid of Drew’s presence. This time she would beg if necessary for him to stay with her. Her breathing had slowed and her bosom felt heavy and tender in anticipation of him touching her as he had before. Quickly she turned away, feeling unbearably restless, and allowed Drew to help her alight.
Having settled into the seat with a soft sigh, Joan realised that, wanton or not, there was nothing she craved more than his wooing casting out of her mind a depressing fact: people would be shocked at the idea of a duke’s daughter seeking a match with a street fighter.
Chapter Seventeen
Pip grinned as his new passenger gave an order to make good speed to Mayfair, then sprang lithely aboard. Pip had always liked Mr Rockleigh and if Lady Joan Morland had fallen for the gentleman boxer then in Pip’s eyes she was a finer person because of it. He realised that others wouldn’t hold that view...her kith and kin, for example. Pip had high hopes that the Duke and Duchess would put Lady Joan’s happiness above all else, but her snooty Aunt Dorothea was likely to swoon at the idea of the bare-chested ruffian who’d rescued them from a mob joining the family.
Pip knew what it was to be the underdog: there were plenty of folk who thought Anna a cut above him and that a lady’s maid deserved better than a stablehand. Whistling, he took up the reins, impatient to get out of the narrow lanes and to the open road. He’d get a warm welcome from his sweetheart when he arrived back in Upper Brook Street with his mistress safe and sound.
The moment the coach lurched forward Joan quickly resumed their conversation. She was still hungry for information about Drew’s background and wanted to encourage him to speak about Stokes’s association with his family. The more they talked, the more trust would build between them. Physically they seemed made for one another, but Joan craved a strong emotional bond, too, for without it desire would eventually wither and die.
‘Were you referring to Wellington when you said you had an ally to call on should Stokes try to blacken your name?’ They were sitting face to face and she inclined closer, eager for his answer.
Drew nodded. ‘Wellington is aware that Stokes is corrupt.’
‘Did you tell him that Stokes schemed against you?’
‘Wellington knew of Stokes’s villainy long before I had personal experience of it. Stokes used to be a quartermaster in the army.’ Drew pressed his broad shoulders back against the hide upholstery, staring into the night. ‘His rank gave him access to the stores and their valuable contents. He began counterfeiting bills for provisions and taking payment for himself. He got away with it for quite some time, but eventually was suspected of theft. As soon as he got wind of an investigation he deserted before he could be formally charged.’
‘The treacherous villain!’ Joan gasped.
‘Indeed, and considering an army marches on its belly, and we were at war with France at the time, he wasn’t just a thief but a traitor, depriving troops of essential rations.’
Joan shook her head in utter disgust, but her deep-grey eyes clung to his, appealing for him to continue the story.
‘He’d feathered his nest, but still wasn’t satisfied. After he absconded he coerced serving soldiers to steal victuals so he could continue making a profit. He avoided respectable areas of London, concentrating on selling to innkeepers on the rougher side of town. He made sure to cover his tracks well, keeping himself out of sight by hiring a gang of itinerants to distribute the goods.’
Joan frowned in concentration, while weighing up facts. ‘Miss Cook worked at an inn. Did the landlord of the Cock and Hen buy from Stokes’s men?’
‘I saw Charlie Clarke paying for sacks of flour and barley on several occasions. It’s possible he didn’t know they belonged to the Crown, but he’s no angel. He would have realised they’d be
en stolen.’
‘It was quite a lucky coincidence that you and Miss Cook became friends; you might not have been at the tavern to witness the crime otherwise.’
‘A lucky coincidence, indeed,’ Drew echoed, a touch of wry amusement in his voice.
‘Why do you say it like that?’ Joan asked.
‘The Cock and Hen is a haunt for thirsty boxers after a tournament. Stokes’s men are street fighters and regulars in Charlie’s place... I made sure I had an excuse to be there to observe them.’
‘You sounds as though you chose to become the Squire rather than were forced to it,’ Joan said slowly. ‘And it seems that Miss Cook’s employment was also of benefit to you.’
‘Yes...I chose to inhabit Ratcliffe Highway.’ He paused. ‘And I needed a reason to frequent the Cock and Hen so often. Constance’s presence there proved useful.’ He met Joan’s eyes squarely. ‘Constance is a sweet girl and I grew quite fond of her...but for me our relationship was as much business as pleasure.’ Drew’s gaze remained steady, a spark of defiance at the backs of his eyes. ‘I know I sound callous, but Constance was aware from the start that it would be a brief liaison, not a love affair.’
‘You found her useful, you mean,’ Joan said coolly.
‘I treated her well and promised her nothing. I was honest with her up to a point. She never knew about my ulterior motive for being in the locality,’ Drew admitted tonelessly.
‘And you had an ulterior motive for that as well! Had she known you were acting a part, she would have thrown you out of her bed, I expect,’ Joan said tartly. ‘I know I would have done so, in her place.’
Joan caught her lower lip between her small teeth, becoming warm beneath his sultry, quizzical look. He was confident enough of his powers of seduction to make light of her comment. She wondered if she would also have accepted his terms and the crumbs of his affection as Constance had, rather than do without him.
‘So, you have been masquerading as a man down on his luck, street fighting to earn his living. In fact, you have been working undercover for the Duke of Wellington.’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ Drew confirmed, sounding unapologetic. ‘Wellington did me a great service, protecting my family’s good name. It was the least I could do to help him break up the gang stealing from the military while at the same time thwarting my sister’s avarice.’
‘You lied to me about having been defrauded?’
‘I’ve never lied to you,’ Drew replied and, leaning towards her, he caught her small hands in his. ‘But I have allowed you to believe that I’d been swindled, just as I’ve let my sister and Stokes believe it.’
Drew let go of her fingers as they stiffened in his.
‘I want to tell you everything so I’ll start at the beginning.’ He sat back in the seat. ‘After Stokes deserted, Wellington sent out investigators to hunt him down. They managed to find him after a few months; it then came to light that he’d met my sister and they’d become lovers.’ His mouth twitched ruefully. ‘This all happened at about the same time as I first made your acquaintance, when I was spending a lot of time in Devon. The Iron Duke is a good friend despite the differences in our stations in life. He got a message to me, offering me the chance to get my sister and niece away from Stokes before the dragoons closed in. It was good of him to allow me time to protect my niece’s reputation and what remained of my sister’s good name.’ He paused. ‘Within a short time of returning to London to try to sort things out I realised that Bertha and Stokes were plotting to swindle me.’
‘If you knew, why did you not nip it in the bud?’ Joan frowned.
‘I could have stopped them, but I knew Bertha would never let the matter drop. She’d always been determined to snatch some of our stepfather’s legacy.’ Drew paused. ‘In Stokes she had somebody who would back her to the hilt; but had he been taken by Wellington’s dragoons, she wouldn’t have given up her scheming. She’d have seduced another poor fool into assisting her and would have continued plotting to rob me. I thought the simplest way to stop her might be to allow her to try, then thwart her.’
‘Are you sure she was so determined to steal from you?’ Joan was shocked to hear that Drew thought his sibling so perfidious.
‘I had caught Bertha going through my private papers. On that occasion she explained away her impertinence by saying she’d been looking for jewellery, hoping to show it to Cecilia.’ Drew chuckled softly. ‘She knew very well that the ruby parure was kept in a bank vault because she’d pleaded to be given it on several occasions. I knew she wanted the gems to sell, so refused; besides, our stepfather’s will stated that the parure be presented as a wedding gift to the first of any granddaughters he might have as long as the prospective bridegroom had my blessing. Peter Rockleigh had passed away before Cecilia was born.’
‘You think that your sister was interested in finding documents rather than the jewellery?’
‘She was searching for property deeds to take and would have got away with the originals that day had I not caught her red-handed.’
‘You moved them somewhere safe after that?’ Joan guessed.
‘Yes...I did...but I left good copies in their place. When Cecilia eloped with her groom I set off to catch up with her, knowing that in my absence Bertha would rifle my desk. She was a regular visitor to my house, always turning up petitioning for loans. My servants had been instructed to let her in if she called. And she did, with the excuse that she’d left her gloves in my study. She behaved exactly as I expected her to: she suspected nothing and took fakes, then returned a day or two later, leaving counterfeits in their place. The originals have been lodged in a bank vault for quite a while now.’
‘Did they sell your property?’ Joan sounded both angry and sorrowful.
‘No...they wouldn’t risk that in case the lawyers looked too carefully at the documents and uncovered the fraud. But they had no trouble in using them as collateral against loans from usurers. My apparent fall from grace gave their tale a ring of authenticity: Stokes maintained that I had sold out to him to pay off foreign creditors and had afterwards slipped out of sight rather than be incarcerated in the Fleet.’
Joan sat quietly digesting all she’d heard. ‘It’s a truly evil thing to have done. You hate your sister, don’t you? I can’t blame you,’ she stated sadly, reflecting on the great affection she felt for her stepsister Fiona.
‘It is a mutual feeling. Bertha has long resented the fact that my stepfather favoured me. Understanding her profligate nature, Peter Rockleigh left her little in his will other than some small pieces of our mother’s jewellery.’
‘What will become of her?’
Drew shrugged. ‘She deserves to be punished for her part in the crime, but any scandal would attach to Cecilia and my sister knows it. In time she’ll find another besotted fool to link up with.’
‘You won’t allow Cecilia to be in such another’s orbit, surely?’ Joan said, astonished.
‘I have a feeling that Cecilia might soon be another man’s responsibility and I’ll gladly relinquish the chit to him and the ruby parure.’
‘May I take that as a hint she is about to receive a proposal from somebody of whom you approve?’ Joan sounded optimistic.
Drew smiled slowly. ‘You may...and that’s why I didn’t want you approaching the fellow. There was no need for my niece to have asked you to intervene on her behalf; I had already done so.’
Joan slid forward on the seat, for the first time that evening smiling with real happiness. ‘You have spoken to Mr Laurenson and know of his intentions?’
Drew pulled a face that was as good as a confirmation, but he teased, ‘I couldn’t possibly say...just yet. I’ll let the poor chump approach her first. He is intending to journey to the West Country next week.’ Drew frowned. ‘As for the other poor chump... Lord Regan was not so happy to hea
r what I had to say. He’s no fool and knew there was a chance he might not be Cecilia’s father. He genuinely thought that the money he handed over would be used for her benefit rather than Bertha’s. Finding a girl an eligible husband is a costly business and he wanted to finance her Season in town and see her settled in case she was his offspring.’
‘It was good of him.’ Joan felt rather guilty for having thought the old fellow a lecher. ‘Will Lord Regan cause a rumpus over it and want back his money?’
‘No...he knows he’s been a gullible fool, but he doesn’t want the whole ton to be aware of it. Besides, he was pleased to hear that Henry Laurenson is on the point of proposing.’
‘Cecilia will be delighted that Henry has followed her to Devon. She might not want to wait to formalise it all. I hope she doesn’t persuade him to elope.’ Joan giggled, quite tempted to hug Drew for being so kind to his niece. ‘If they do make for Gretna, you must still allow her to have her rubies!’ However casually he spoke of the lovebirds, Joan knew that he had taken time and trouble to broker the match to please Cecilia. And he had set everything else to rights, even to the extent of making a difficult explanation to Lord Regan.
‘You indeed do know how to survive and succeed, don’t you, Mr Rockleigh?’ Joan said rather soberly.
‘It’s in my nature,’ he said, ‘as you know.’
Their eyes held and the lightness in the atmosphere was dispersed by renewed tension.
‘Is there a chance that you and your sister might be reconciled?’
‘I don’t think so; we share blood, but nothing else. She whores to get what she wants; she got that from our mother... I fight to get ahead. Perhaps I got that from my father, but I couldn’t say for sure,’ he ended with grim humour.
‘Who was she?’
Drew’s eyes swerved from the coach window to narrow on her.
‘Your mother...who was she?’ Joan asked.
‘Rosemary Wilding. She lived off the docks as did most people round Ratcliffe Highway.’ He stared through the window as the carriage turned a corner.