Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Surely you protested this injustice!’

  ‘Of course. But apparently pressed men often try to talk their way out of service, and I had nothing but the quality of my speech to support my claim of being a gentleman. The lieutenant in charge, doubtless not wishing to make another foray ashore to find someone to replace me, told me I could present my case to the captain once we were on board.’

  ‘But by then, you were at sea and nothing could be done,’ she surmised.

  Greville grimaced, remembering those first wretched days. ‘Since the first lieutenant was no more impressed with my protestations than the shore guard, I wasn’t permitted to see the captain until long after the ship left British waters. So, yes, by then, nothing could be done.

  ‘Although I came to believe my service aboard ship was divine intervention, sent to help me correct my life’s course, there’s no avoiding the truth that I was beaten, drugged and sold to a press gang.’ He looked away, not wishing yet to see the condemnation and disgust that should by now have replaced any tentative approval he’d earned in her eyes. ‘It probably was outrageous for Lord Englemere to prevail upon your father to offer me hospitality. I’m still amazed he didn’t send me packing that first day.’

  ‘It’s you who have been outrageous, Mr Anders, right from the start,’ she replied.

  So much for their budding friendship. Ah, well, ’twas doomed anyway. He was about to agree and bow himself off when the tenor of her voice sank in.

  Surely that couldn’t have been…amusement he heard in her tone? Certain he must be mistaken, he whipped his gaze back to her face.

  Rather than looking repulsed or offended, though, she merely seemed…thoughtful. ‘Not that I do not recognise you made grave errors. But in the end, you recognised the wrongs that had been done and took steps to correct them.’

  ‘True, but by then, many had already been forced into desperate need. And even then,’ he said, still disgusted by his arrogant naïveté, ‘Barksdale was able to take me unawares, like a drunken country boy rolled for his purse on his first trip to London.’

  ‘How could an honest man predict the depths of evil to which a villain would descend?’ she countered. ‘Certainly you conducted yourself well aboard Illustrious.’

  Greville nodded. ‘Once I accepted that there was no escaping my fate, I believe I did, at such limited tasks as a landsman can perform.’

  He laughed ruefully. ‘The unexpected sojourn at sea gave me plenty of opportunity to reflect upon my life, to promise myself and the Almighty that I would do better, if granted a future. And while confined aboard, I had much time to observe sailors, from deckhands to senior officers. Most of the men, though rough and unlearned, were honest and hard-working, the sort one would want at one’s back in a fight and be proud to call friend.’ With a touch of defiance that reminded him of Althea, he concluded, ‘I admired them.’

  She nodded. ‘As I admire the farmers here. Many have so little, yet they make much out of it. It’s…humbling.’

  Greville sucked in a breath, feeling as if the ground had been cut away from beneath his feet. There could be no mistaking her words: she actually…understood.

  Awe and amazement filled him that a girl of her beauty, class and privilege seemed to share his unconventional views. He’d been right when he’d seen her that first moment in the hallway: she was an angel.

  It took a moment for his scattered wits to summon a reply. ‘It is humbling indeed,’ he agreed, adding wryly, ‘and over the last nine months, humility is a subject in which I’ve received a thorough grounding. Not without good cause. Save the service I rendered aboard ship, I’ve done little else of worth in my life.’

  ‘A little more humility would benefit us all. But I should not too much disparage a gentleman who endured what many of his class would not have survived and emerged from the ordeal a better and wiser man.’

  Once again, she’d surprised him, pronouncing a judgement far kinder than the one he’d levied upon himself. ‘A most charitable assessment, Miss Neville, that I fear I do not deserve. I’m not nearly as good a man as I’d like to be.’

  Because when she looked at him like that, with sympathy and understanding and, yes, respect, all he wanted to do was tip up that lovely face and kiss her. Pull her into his arms, absorb the warmth of her beauty and goodness deep within him. Hold her so tightly, her lush curves moulded into the hardness of his body while he went on kissing her, mindless and senseless with wonder and need, until she was as gasping and as needy as he.

  Then lead her to his room, gentle her with caresses and more drugging kisses until she urged him to ease her out of her garments. Savour her sweet eager innocence as he taught her how to use her mouth and breasts and body to give and receive joy, to experience the fulfilment only the union of a man and a woman could bring.

  His mind was so carried away with sensual imagining, he was shocked to discover, moments later, that her face was indeed closer, her lips only a breath away from his. Had he moved towards her, or had she leaned up of her own accord?

  Whatever brought her mouth so near, he bent that last small distance, compelled to brush his lips against the ones she seemed to be offering.

  Just a taste, his body urged. Just a taste, it promised.

  And then he was kissing her, light and long and slow—had he ever kissed a virgin? He didn’t think so—long and light and slow while his body hummed and buzzed and pulsed and sparked.

  Stilling the hands that burned to explore her, he went on kissing her, letting her decide when to pull away. When, finally, she did so, the effort required to force himself to let her go made his whole body shake.

  ‘I’d…better leave,’ she said, trembling as well.

  ‘You most certainly should,’ he agreed when he could speak.

  ‘You’ll tell me what you learn tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. But better not to do so in a dark library at midnight. I am trying to become a better man, but flesh and blood can only resist so much.’

  She gave him the wicked smile of a temptress. ‘Good,’ she said. And walked out.

  Greville sat down abruptly, then sprang up, sitting in his tight breeches having become suddenly uncomfortable.

  What was he to make of that interlude—and her parting remark? He shook his head, wishing he had more—any—experience with virtuous young maids.

  She certainly hadn’t seemed affronted. No, his body confirmed, she’d been an enthusiastic participant in the caresses they’d exchanged, melting compliantly against him, her little murmurs of pleasure urging him on.

  Had it been a tease? A desire to experience a forbidden thrill?

  A mistake?

  Or something natural and inevitable for them both, a confirmation that she was drawn to him as powerfully as he was to her, despite everything that should keep them apart.

  And would. He mustn’t forget that. She was destined to become the wife of a wealthy, powerful peer. He would go into government service or land management, tending important affairs…but as secretary or agent for a man like the one she would marry, who could offer her more status and wealth than he would ever amass.

  Impatiently he brushed that brutal fact from his mind. For now, he would embrace whatever joy life offered, an old Greville principle the new Greville intended to practise.

  He’d start by fulfilling her request that he find out all he could at the coastal station. He hoped the information might relieve her anxiety, though he doubted it. In any event, he intended to search out one George Neville and have a pointed chat with him, and discover if Bronning’s heir was dabbling in illegal activities that could get him killed, injured or transported.

  Where could they safely meet for him to report back to her? If he couldn’t keep his hands off her, they had no future even as friends.

  Tenderness and awe flooded him again as he recalled the amazing fact that, rather than consider her tenants simply as menials who worked the estate, mere implements like farm tools and draught ho
rses, she saw them as people, valuable and worthy of respect. It seemed he’d been teasing her from the first about a sense of superiority she did not possess.

  But how was he to have guessed she shared his values, she who had enjoyed from birth every advantage meant to make a lady of her class feel superior and indifferent to those beneath her?

  Though he should have seen it; indeed, he was sure, on some level, he had already realised the truth after watching her converse with field hands and shepherds, lace-weavers and farmer’s wives. The genuine concern and mutual respect were evident in her interactions with these people who knew her well, whom she had no need to impress. How could he not have tender feelings for such a beautiful, accomplished, compassionate lady?

  Now that was a dangerous conclusion, he thought, tossing out a mental sea anchor to bring this suddenly perilous line of reflections to a halt. Resolving to focus instead on what he needed to discover tomorrow in Salter’s Bay, Greville headed for his chamber.

  Chapter Twelve

  By late morning of the next day, Amanda had to force herself to continue with her daily routine. Tense and distracted, she went about consulting the housekeeper and the estate agent, supervising maids, footmen and laundresses, though she was too anxious to give these domestic matters her full attention.

  She’d not seen George since early yesterday; unable to prevent herself, she’d checked his bed and confirmed it had not been slept in. She’d not seen Mr Anders at breakfast, either, but Sands told her he’d already ridden into town. Oh, that he might discover what was going on and end this painful uncertainty, let her know just what sort of danger was afoot!

  As she hurried down the hallway to meet Mrs Pepys in the kitchen, she passed the library door, and her feet stopped of their own accord. An unconscious smile curved her mouth as, in her mind’s eye, she pictured Mr Anders within, his handsome profile and tempting lips outlined by candlelight.

  A much more complex man than she’d thought upon first meeting, she reflected. He’d begun by teasing—and tempting—her, while he disconcerted her with his unexpected perception. She’d come to rely on his logical, level-headed approach and his discretion. She thought she’d come to know him well—until last night, when he’d confessed to lapses in judgement and responsibility that should have shocked and disappointed her.

  The way he’d gazed directly into her eyes as he revealed his disgraceful past said he expected her to be shocked and disappointed. That he expected his revelations would likely cause him to forfeit her good opinion.

  He had acted badly. She probably should be more appalled and disapproving. But the very fact that he did confess, fully aware of what his honesty could cost him, swayed her in his favour. He had offered no excuses, nor did he try to equivocate about bearing full responsibility for his mistakes.

  True, he had failed in his duty, but who among us has not? she thought, recalling her clumsy handling of George and her ignorance of Althea’s despair during her mother’s final days.

  However slow to respond, Mr Anders had eventually recognised his lapses and tried to rectify them. When thrust into truly dire circumstances, he had responded with courage and fortitude. She could think of no reason he would own up to faults that he himself expected would diminish him in her eyes, unless he possessed a character worthy of her respect.

  That he trusted her, and valued her enough to offer the truth, impressed and touched her.

  His experiences were far different from those of any gentlemen she’d met or was likely to meet in London. Might that be why he fascinated her in a way the much more eligible Lord Trowbridge—whom he’d routed handily at dinner—did not? A unique and different man, moulded by living in a clash between two radically different worlds, one of privilege and one of poverty.

  The fact that he was handsome and she was attracted to him probably also factored into her judgement of his worthiness, she admitted. The powerful physical force that had pulled her to him from the beginning was fully present last night, despite her anxiety. She probably shouldn’t have ignored the little voice of caution warning, even as she whispered the invitation, that meeting him alone at midnight wasn’t wise. All the while she told herself the situation with George and the free-traders was urgent enough that she would be able to ignore Mr Anders’s annoyingly persistent magnetism, she’d known in her heart that wasn’t true.

  She had thought the initial pull to her intriguing guest would diminish, once she grew accustomed to the novelty of having a handsome, amusing young man about the house. Instead, the fascination seemed only to intensify the longer she knew him and the more she learned about him.

  Pulsing just beneath her worry and concern last night had been a wicked thrill at the idea of meeting him alone, an insistent, insidious desire to test him and discover if her effect on him was as powerful as his effect on her. A hunger to taste his mouth she didn’t have the will to resist, once opportunity, need and clandestine desire collided.

  She’d been driven to discover if one taste would satisfy the urgent need to touch him. Though deep down, she’d known even before she let him—nay, nearly begged him—to kiss her, that the first taste would only make her want more and more and more. The moment his lips touched hers, a sensual haze enveloped her, blocking out every warning of risk and all notion of prudent behaviour.

  Thank Heavens, he had the presence of mind not to go on kissing her, since it seemed she’d left sense and restraint at the library door. After he moved away from her, she’d quit the library with reluctance, drifting to her chamber still in state of heightened arousal that made her body tingle and her nipples spark as the material of her nightrail slid over her naked flesh.

  She’d pictured not soft flannel, but his strong, tanned hands and his warm persuasive mouth moving over her skin.

  When she at last drifted into sleep, her dreams were filled with confused images of kissing and touching and more. Sensations so strong she felt a surge of heat and a throbbing between her legs, a tingle in her breasts, recalling them now.

  Good sense and restraint had not re-emerged until the cold light of morning. Which should warn her, that with her thoughts, senses and emotions all inclining her towards him, she’d better be as vigilant on her own behalf as she was trying to be on Althea’s, lest she end up doing something stupid that would ruin careful plans that had been years in the making.

  First and most important, she must resolve not to be alone with him again.

  Ignoring the little voice within protesting that decision, Amanda resumed her walk towards the kitchen. Suddenly, Betsy appeared at the far end of the hall.

  Stopping short when she spied her mistress, Betsy gave her an agitated wave, obviously entreating Amanda to wait as she rushed towards her. A stab of alarm scattering all other thoughts, Amanda hurried to meet her.

  ‘What is it? What have you learned?’

  ‘I slipped away to check on my brother—and found none of the menfolk home. Ma says they left at dawn. There’ll be a cargo to land come nightfall, and she fears they plan to settle with Black John once and for good. Billy wouldn’t tell me nothing, but the way he looked startled when I asked about Master George, I’m afraid he may be with them, though with Rob Roy or Black John, I don’t know. But you might try to keep him here tonight, miss, for I’m guessing whatever happens will come about once the sun goes down.’

  ‘Thank you, Betsy. I’ll do my best to keep my brother at Ashton Grove tonight.’

  ‘Aye, that would be safest. I just hope all turns out aright!’ Wringing her hands, the maid hurried off.

  Amanda stood motionless, anger, worry and fear roiling in her gut. Before she could keep George home, she’d have to find him. Surely he would return before the run, to rest and change clothes, if nothing else.

  Except…a new worry intervened, dashing her relief. If this cargo were truly that important, George might not return, fearing his prolonged absence could cause Papa to raise uncomfortable questions that would make it difficult for hi
m to get away again.

  There seemed little doubt now that he was somehow involved in the smuggling. Oh, how could he be so rash and thoughtless as to get tangled up in something potentially disastrous?

  Unable at the moment to dispel any of her pressing worries, Amanda forced herself to the kitchen, where she listened in distracted fashion to Mrs Pepys, then continued with her endless list of domestic duties.

  But as the hours ticked by, she grew ever more restless and anxious. Though she made several detours through the breakfast and billiard rooms, the library, the gun room, his own chamber, she saw no sign of her brother, nor had Mr Anders yet returned from his trip to Salters Bay.

  By mid-afternoon, she could stand the waiting no longer. She’d still have enough daylight to ride to town, enquire about her brother at the Sloop and Gull, and return before dark. Once—she refused to let herself think ‘if’—she located him, she’d lure him back to Ashton on some pretext, then use cajolery or outright threats about Papa’s delicate health to talk him or shame him out of participating in whatever mischief was brewing on the Saltern Hills.

  Anxiety beating a pulse within her, hastily she changed into her riding habit and set out for the stables.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Both she and her frisky mare feeling better for a hard gallop, Amanda slowed Vixen to a walk as they mounted the rise where the road to the village curved past the track leading to the ruins of Neville Tour. A feeling uncomfortably like jealousy struck her at the thought that Althea had already taken Mr Anders to what had always been one of her favourite places, the still-impressive ramble of walls around the stone tower where her long-ago ancestor, the Conqueror’s lieutenant, had kept watch over the sea and the river far below.