Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

by Julia Justiss

  Greville remembered his shock and despair when the truth had finally sunk in that he was not going to be able to talk his way off the ship. ‘It nearly was.’

  With neither the training nor experience as a sailor, suffering from the unaccustomed labour and poor food, for a time he feared he might never leave the fleet save with his feet weighted down, slipped over the side under the cover of a Union Jack.

  ‘Had it not been for the doctor who tended me and one old salt who’d been at sea since he was a five-year-old powder monkey, I might not have survived. He kept the bullies from tormenting me, went out of his way to teach me how to perform my duties.’

  ‘Had a friend meself among Illustrious’s crew. Everyone called him Old Tom, been in the service since sails was first made, he used to say. You woulda known him, I expect.’

  ‘Indeed, I did! It was Old Tom who helped me. An excellent sailor, and I’ve never met a finer man,’ Greville said warmly.

  ‘We sailed the China coast together, and there weren’t never a better Jack Tar in a gale or a fight. Sure wouldn’t mind having more of his ilk here, what with what’s going on now.’

  Greville recalled Lord Bronning warning his son about smugglers and the concern the lieutenant had just expressed. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Always been smugglers here—how could there not be, close as we be to the French coast and duty on brandy and fripperies being so high? Things been run for years by John Rattenbury out of Beer, a right kindly gentleman the folks hereabouts call Rob Roy. But lately, a gang from Sennlach near Land’s End been trying to take over his territory, led by an out-and-out cutthroat more fit to captain a pirate crew.’

  Porter shook his head. ‘Black John fired at the last revenue cutter that got close to his ship, wounding three and killing one sailor outright afore he slipped away into the mist. I hear he gets local people to move goods for him—whether they be willing or not.’

  ‘Is that why there are no cutters at anchor now?’

  ‘Aye, they’re all out looking for him, though I’m not so sure the next dust-up won’t come on land. There were a fight between Black John’s men and Rob Roy’s last month over how they was forcing some folk to store his cargo. Then, just last week, Farmer Johnson was found murdered. It’s said he refused to hide contraband for Black John. My friends in the village tell me some in Salters Bay been saying they better stand up to Black John afore he takes out them what resist him, one by one.’

  ‘Sounds like a man who needs killing. I don’t think I’m able yet to wield a cutlass with any force, but I’d be glad to help out if I can.’

  ‘You get yourself healed first afore you think of joining a fight,’ Porter advised. ‘Well, I reckon the lieutenant will send word when the Admiralty makes up its mind.’ He patted Greville on the arm. ‘It’s the Navy, though. Don’t expect it will be quick.’

  Greville thought of the enticing Miss Neville. ‘Slow is fine with me.’

  The old seaman chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t expect nothing else from a man who’s hanging his hammock in the house of a beauty like Miss Neville!’

  Who was by now probably waiting for him at the inn. Cheered by that thought—and by recalling the arrogant Lieutenant Belcher’s teeth-gnashing indignation at finding his subordinate on familiar terms with so rich and beautiful a lady—Greville bid the sailor goodbye and headed off to find the Knight and Dragon.

  Chapter Eight

  After an enjoyable lunch at the inn, during which Mr Anders kept them amused with naval anecdotes, Amanda let him hand her into the gig for the drive home.

  For a few moments, the pleasant tingling sensation created by the touch of his hands at her waist halted all other thoughts. Then it faded and her present worries rushed back.

  Their excursion was almost over, and she’d still not worked out how to have a private word with Mr Anders about whatever he might have learned of the smuggling threat. She didn’t think it wise to broach the matter in front of Althea; she had enough to worry about without having her Navy-mad cousin decide to go haring off investigating on her own. Or worse, take it into her head to help the free-traders bring in cargo, as Amanda suspected her bored brother George might be doing.

  She hadn’t wanted to voice the fear to Papa, but after what he’d said about the local smugglers, the many nights her brother had absented himself and the mornings she’d caught him creeping in had taken on an ominous new meaning. If something as exciting as a battle between rival smuggling groups was going on, George would very likely want to be right in the thick of it.

  She’d tried to send Althea off on an errand before they left the inn. But since the girl was perfectly indifferent to visiting the haberdasher or the local modiste and there was, alas, no bookseller in town, Amanda hadn’t been able to shake herself free of her cousin’s company after Mr Anders rejoined them.

  There’d be no opportunity for a private chat now, with Althea seated right beside them in the gig. Tuning out her cousin’s chatter, Amanda tried to figure out how she might create a chance to talk with Mr Anders once they reached Ashton Grove.

  ‘…open air so energising, I believe I shall ride once we get home.’ Althea’s words penetrated her abstraction. Amanda looked up sharply to see her cousin direct a hopeful glance at Mr Anders. ‘Would you like to accompany me?’

  To Amanda’s relief, Mr Anders said, ‘Perhaps another time, Miss Holton. Poor spirited as that makes me appear, I must confess to being somewhat wearied by our excursion today.’

  Amanda didn’t doubt it. She’d seen how he’d grimaced, one hand going instinctively to cushion his wounded side after he’d hauled back on the reins to halt and then control their frightened team during the near-collision earlier.

  He’d steadied them masterfully. That incident and the way he drove today demonstrated a skill at handling the ribbons any Society Corinthian might envy.

  Had he been a Corinthian? He’d not yet explained how he came to enter the Navy as a mere common sailor. Amanda wished for once she was as heedless of proper behaviour as Althea and could just boldly enquire about this and several other very personal matters.

  She knew he’d attended Cambridge. What else had he done for what looked to be thirty-odd years? Amanda had to admit to a very ill-bred curiosity.

  She came back from her reverie to hear Mr Anders encouraging Miss Holton to proceed without him and chose a favourite path on which he might ride with her later.

  Excellent, she thought. When Althea stepped down at the entryway to go change into her habit, she’d invent some excuse to remain in the gig while Anders returned it to the stables. That would gain her a snippet of time on their way back to the manor for her to speak with him.

  It would be only a short walk across a flat bit of Ashton Grove land, but an unexpected thrill of anticipation ran through her. Would he think she was asking for something other than advice if she were bold enough to solicit his company?

  She recalled that moment on the terrace at Ashton when, startled, her eyes had locked on his. Heat had blazed across her skin, her bosom, her lips. Every nerve awakened, she’d sensed the descent of his lips towards hers, anticipated the brush of his hands at her sides. Urgency flooded her to feel the warmth of his hard chest against her body, the press of his mouth upon hers.

  Her face and ears flaming at the memories, surreptitiously she fanned herself, blessing the fact that Althea continued to chatter on, holding Mr Anders’s attention. Though her experience was limited, she did have some notion of what had transpired between them on the terrace. Now she felt acutely aware of him seated beside her, radiating a strength, warmth and boldness that urged her to draw closer.

  Lust was the blunt name for the force pulling them together, a force, she was nearly certain, he felt as strongly as she. A year ago in the autumn, before her second aborted Season, Mama had taken her to the local assemblies in Exeter, to acquire a bit of town bronze before she had to appear under the far more exacting eyes of the London ton.

&nb
sp; Several attractive young gentlemen had pursued her. She’d felt a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach when one particular man, a rogue with knowing eyes and a wicked smile, let his fingers linger just a bit longer than was proper on her waist and wrist when he helped her in or out of her carriage.

  Mama would have been horrified had she ever learned, but she’d even let Lord J. of the dancing smile and roving hands walk her into her cousin’s garden and steal a kiss behind the rose arbour.

  Like the scent of the autumn blooms that masked their intrigue, the kiss had begun as a sweet, light sensation. Then came the shock of a wet tongue brushing her lips, a firm hard hand stroking her breast.

  Aghast, she’d broken away immediately and run from the garden…not sure whether it was the audacious Lord J. or her own response to him that had frightened her the most. She’d returned to Ashton Grove the next day, never able to decide whether she was glad or happy she wouldn’t see her rogue again.

  She was honest enough to admit she’d be delighted to repeat the experience—with Mr Anders’s hand at her breast and Mr Anders’s tongue tasting her lips.

  In fact, the thought of him doing so sent a veritable blast of sensation through her, making her nipples tingle and sending a rush of liquid heat between her thighs, far dwarfing in intensity the response she’d had to Lord J. that long-ago afternoon.

  She drew in a shaky breath, not sure what had just happened. She only knew it was fortunate the rose garden at Ashton was now nothing but sad brown sticks stripped of foliage, awaiting spring.

  As she and her desires must do. If she wanted to fulfil Mama’s dream of making an advantageous match, she couldn’t racket about Ashton Grove, kissing available men when the fancy struck her.

  Even though the urging to do so had been stealing over her with increasing frequency ever since that interlude on the terrace, she thought—and realised she’d instinctively slid closer to him.

  This would never do, she told herself, moving towards the outer rail of the gig and firmly yanking her thoughts away from his too-attractive torso.

  Ah, yes, it was time to get herself wedded and bedded indeed!

  Since Mr Anders was not a member of the political elite into which she aspired to wed—assuming wedlock was of any interest to him, which he’d given her no reason whatever to believe—she’d do better to turn her thoughts to someone who was…like Lord Trowbridge.

  If what their neighbour said was true, here was a gentleman who seemed a perfect choice to make all her plans a reality.

  Not that she doubted Mr William’s word, but he, like Papa, preferred to tend his acres and remain in country. He’d have no way of knowing whether Trowbridge’s attractive exterior was matched by an excellence of character worthy of his family’s position among the ton and his father’s prominence in government.

  Lady Parnell would know. Amanda would just have to wait until London, where she could rely upon that lady to guide her choice. But in the interim, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know Trowbridge better. After finding a way to speak privately with Mr Anders, she would speak with Papa about arranging a dinner.

  She squelched a frisson of unease at the little voice pointing out that, despite her appreciation for his many assets of family, title and position, she felt for him nothing like the strong, instinctive attraction that pulled her towards Mr Anders.

  Stealing a few moments with her guest turned out to be easier to arrange than she’d hoped. By the time the gig turned into the entry gates at Ashton Grove, cloud banks had blown up, accompanied by a sharp wind that promised rain. Anxious to get in a ride before the weather turned, as soon as Mr Anders pulled the gig up before the entry Althea scrambled out and flew into the house. While Anders waited for the footman to assist Amanda down, in a voice she hoped sounded quite natural, she informed him she’d like to continue on to the stables, as she needed to speak with the head groom, and would like to claim his escort to the house afterwards.

  He made no comment, only setting the horses back in motion, though she dared not sneak a glance at his expression.

  It took only a few moments’ thought to come up with a topic to discuss with Jenkins. Though the head groom gave her an odd look when she enquired about the ordering of tack, a matter that was certainly not of sufficient urgency that she needed to seek him out this particular afternoon, thankfully he asked no awkward questions while Mr Anders stood by, waiting politely.

  Then, finally the moment arrived. Heart hammering in nervous anticipation, she turned to Mr Anders, who offered her his arm. The jolt of sensation as she laid her hand upon it, for a moment, blew every other thought out of her head.

  Obviously not as affected by the contact as she, Mr Anders was able to chat politely about their pleasant day’s outing, giving her time to recover.

  Gathering up her scattered wits, she said, ‘I must offer my apologies for kidnapping you, but I needed to speak to you without Althea being present.’

  ‘You flatter me,’ he replied. Then, a naughty light gleaming in his eyes, he added, ‘Do with me what you will.’

  Back into her head flew the image of kissing him behind the arbour, his mouth on hers, his tongue seeking…

  Jerking her thoughts away, she said, ‘You may recall my father mentioning his concern about a rather ruthless group of smugglers who’ve moved in to challenge the local men. My brother George, after being sent down from Cambridge, asked and was refused Papa’s permission to await the beginning of his next term in London. I fear that, bored and resentful of being forced to remain far from his friends and amusements, he may have become involved. Confounding the revenuers and maybe earning himself a cut of the profits is just the sort of thing that would appeal to him.’

  By the time she’d finished, the teasing light had gone out of his eyes. ‘What makes you think he might be involved?’

  Quickly she described the many nights her brother had been absent and the mornings she’d caught him sneaking in, not always in his cups. To her dismay, rather than passing off her concern with a joke about hovering womenfolk and a recommendation that she loosen the young man’s leading strings, Mr Anders’s expression turned more serious.

  ‘He’s certainly been absenting himself during the hours that smugglers would be moving their cargoes. And both Lieutenant Belcher and Petty Officer Porter at the Coastal Brigade station mentioned there’d been a marked increase in tension lately between the local men and a group of newcomers for control of this stretch of coast. The Cornish group seems not at all averse to violence.’

  His words confirmed her worst fears. ‘Did you learn anything more about the situation?’

  ‘Nothing specific. But Porter did say he thinks some sort of altercation might be imminent.’ Anders shook his head. ‘I wish I’d known of your concern before I reported in. Though I’m not due to return for more than a week, perhaps I will drive in sooner, see what else I can discover.’

  ‘I would be most grateful! And if you would, please don’t mention this to my cousin. She might be moved to try to investigate on her own, and she is as heedless of danger as my lackwit of a brother.’

  ‘Poor Miss Neville!’ he said with a sympathetic smile. ‘Yet more concerns to occupy you. No wonder you wish to escape to London.’

  She flushed, feeling both ashamed and resentful. Was it so wrong that she wished to escape dealing with such a tangle of problems? ‘That makes me sound self-centred and frivolous.’

  ‘I meant nothing of sort!’ he protested. ‘Excuse me, but you seem far too young to have been saddled with the many responsibilities you must shoulder. And shoulder with excellence, I should add.’

  Her resentment dissolved in a glow of pleasure at his compliment. ‘But here I am, selfishly chattering on about my own concerns. What of you? Did Lieutenant Belcher have any information about your situation?’

  He grimaced. ‘Precious little. He wasn’t even aware that I’d be reporting. He’s going to send a note to the Admiralty, requesting their guidan
ce.’ He grinned. ‘I’m afraid he didn’t think much of this former gentleman-turned-landsman. He made it quite clear he doesn’t want me involved in any of his patrol work.’

  ‘If there’s a confrontation in the offing, I should think he would want to muster every able-bodied hand.’

  Too late, she caught the connection and could have bitten her tongue. He must have as well, for as he watched her face flame, a slow, teasing smile curved his lips.

  ‘I’m glad you think I’m…able-bodied,’ he said softly, his velvet voice rich with sensual undertones.

  Oh, she did indeed! With his head tilted towards her, those arresting green eyes fixed on her face, his lips curved in a wicked smile, he was temptation incarnate. Her fingers itched to explore, from the broad shoulders down his chest to the trim waist…and lower. Lean up just a bit, rest her hand on his shoulder, and she might brush his mouth with her own…

  Her pulse hammered and she jerked her gaze away. With a shuddering breath, she forced her feet back in motion. If this was how well she was going to resist the pesky attraction that kept pulling her to him, she’d better get back to the house, and quickly.

  When he caught up to her, it seemed he’d accepted her silent rebuff. In a normal tone, he said, ‘Belcher was probably right. I’m feeling infinitely better these last days, but if I had to shoulder a weapon or wield a sword, I’m afraid I still wouldn’t be of much use.’

  Perhaps his nearness had rattled her normal sense of propriety, for she found herself asking, ‘Did you wield a sword when the pirate ship was taken?’

  ‘I did.’ His mouth thinned and his gaze went to the far horizon. ‘I served in the Quartermaster’s Corps during the Waterloo campaign, which mostly involved coordinating the movement of provisions in and around Brussels. We never saw any actual fighting. I hope I acquitted myself well when we took the pirate’s vessel, but battling for one’s life in a skirmish is nothing like fencing at Angelo’s.’