Royce was situated not far from the group containing Julian, and as he continued to watch him, Royce was struck again at how unmistakable were the Devlin features. Except for the obvious male and female differences, Julian and Pip bore an undeniably striking resemblance to each other. As they should, Royce thought wryly, considering that the Earl no doubt had sired them both. Yet there were subtle differences; the shape of Pip’s face was entirely different, even though she shared with Julian the haughtily arched black brows and exotically shaped gray eyes, as well as the black, curly hair and the determined chin. Royce had first thought that he had overestimated Pip’s resemblance to the St. Audries family, but having grown used to her face these past few days and now astutely observing Julian’s corresponding features, he acknowledged that, if anything, he had underestimated their similarity. He hadn’t yet decided how to use Pip’s resemblance, but he was confident the answer would come to him when necessary.
It was by now early evening, and Royce wandered over to his guests who were beginning to take their leave. Half an hour later, nearly everyone, including Zachary and his friends, had departed in search of other amusement. Only Ponteby, Newell, Atwater, and Wetherly remained in the salon, and it suddenly dawned on Royce that Stafford, who had been there not a second ago, was missing.
Instantly suspicious, albeit for no good cause—Stafford could have left without taking his leave—Royce excused himself for a moment and stepped out of the salon into the main entrance hall. If Stafford was, as he suspected, still in the house, where would the man have gone? Royce glanced up the stairs, but then dismissed that idea—it was unlikely that even Stafford could think of an excuse to seek out the upper portions of the house. Of course, the man may have left the room for no more mysterious reason than he needed to use the water closet, but Royce, his unease growing with every moment, doubted it. Deciding to take a quick look into the dining room on the slight chance that Stafford had merely gone in search of a bit more food, Royce crossed the hall and was on the point of opening the double doors that led to the dining room when he heard Pip’s outraged voice on the other side. Immediately throwing wide the doors, Royce charged angrily into the room only to be brought up sharply by the scene that rapidly unfolded before his eyes.
It might have been an accident that Stafford had returned to the dining room just in time to discover Pip clearing away the used dishes, or there may have been a more sinister motive behind his actions. At any rate, he had found Pip, looking very pretty in her blue and white gingham gown, a half-full tureen of carp soup in her hands. Apparently, after catching her arm, Stafford had proceeded, as best Royce was able to ascertain, to make her a most improper offer. Pip had reacted with characteristic aplomb.
The carp soup sloshing dangerously, Pip’s cheeks stained rosy with temper, her gray eyes flashing like summer lightning, she jerked her arm out of Stafford’s grasp. “Why, you bloody bugger! Get your filthy hands off me! And I’d sooner lie in the gutter with a swineherder than to suffer your touch!”
Even as Royce crossed the dining room, Stafford made the mistake of grabbing hold of Pip’s shoulders and shaking her. “We’ll just see about that, you haughty little bitch!” And oblivious of the soup tureen between their bodies, he crushed Pip’s body next to his and brutally kissed her.
Royce had only covered half the distance of the room before Pip yanked her mouth away from Stafford’s and, managing to escape his hold, proceeded to empty the contents of the tureen over his head. Stafford yelped and leaped back a step as the fine china tureen shattered when it hit the floor. Pip, however, wasn’t finished with him yet. Taking vicious aim, she brought her knee up savagely between his legs, making him nearly double over with pain. “And that,” she snarled, “is to make certain that you don’t make the mistake again of pressing your attentions where they most definitely are not wanted!”
“And if you don’t understand precisely what she means,” Royce added silkily, “I shall be happy to explain it further to you—after I rip out your liver and have it for dinner!”
Both Pip and Stafford spun around at Royce’s voice, but while Pip’s face revealed her delight at his appearance, Stafford went pale and nervously mopped the remains of the carp soup from his face with a linen handkerchief. Hastily he said, “Nothing to get upset about, old fellow. Just a serving wench.”
Royce’s eyes narrowed and he took a threatening step nearer to Stafford. “But you see, she is my serving wench! And I object strenuously to my servants having to put up with the likes of you!”
“Oh, come now!” Stafford muttered. “Less than a week ago she was just some little pickpocket from one of the worst rookeries in London. But just so you don’t misunderstand me, I am willing to pay you for her.” Smiling unctuously, he said, “Name your price and I’ll take her away and you won’t be bothered with her again.”
Royce’s hands closed roughly about Stafford’s starched cravat. “She isn’t for sale! And if I ever catch you within a mile of her, I shall take great pleasure in personally severing every limb from your body.” Giving Stafford a powerful shake, he asked dangerously, “Have I made myself clear?”
“My dear boy,” drawled Ponteby from the doorway, “you have made yourself clear to all of us! Now, do please unhand the poor creature—I’m certain you have frightened him near to death with your crude American manners.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Royce was annoyed to see that the others were corning into the room. His temper abating a trifle, he loosened his hold on Stafford and, as if not trusting himself, moved slightly away from him. He looked at Pip, who had watched the scene with wide gray eyes, and motioned for her to leave. With a swirl of blue and white skirts, she disappeared instantly.
George raised his quizzing glass in the direction she had disappeared and murmured, “The little pickpocket?”
Royce nodded curtly, his fists clenched menacingly at his sides.
Clutching his ruined cravat, Stafford took comfort from the presence of the others and in a voice filled with outrage said, “The man attacked me! He physically assaulted me!” Gaining courage with every passing second, he drew himself up and uttered portentously, “I shall have to call him out!”
“Oh, no, that would never do!” said George. “Can’t fight a duel over a mere pickpocket! No matter how lovely she is!”
“I have no intention of fighting a duel with Stafford,” Royce said coolly, advancing determinedly in Stafford’s direction. “I do, however, have every intention of throwing him out of my house!”
Stafford took one look at the grim expression on Royce’s face and decided that retreat was the better part of valor. He hurried toward his friend, Wetherly. “Well! ’pon my word, Martin, let us leave here immediately!”
Precisely how much he had seen or what Wetherly thought of the unpleasant scene that had just taken place was difficult to ascertain. His swarthy face was expressionless, and the dark eyes revealed no emotion whatsoever. His voice prosaic, he said, “As you wish.” Wetherly bowed slightly in Royce’s direction, saying politely, “Good day to you, Manchester. Delightful time.”
Chambers appeared at the doorway suddenly, obviously, from the wary look on his face, having learned from Pip what had transpired. Royce glanced at his butler and then, looking at Wetherly, said levelly, “I’m pleased you enjoyed yourself. Chambers will show you the way out.”
There was a peculiar silence after Chambers had escorted Wetherly and Stafford from the dining room. George broke it by murmuring, “A deucedly nasty pair of fellows. Can’t think why you invited ’em to the house.”
Dryly Royce commented, “I didn’t—they just sort of came along, and at the time it seemed less trouble to have them underfoot than to shake free of them.”
George nodded slowly. Looking across at Atwater, his usually sleepy expression replaced by anxiety, he asked, “Think there will be a lot of talk? Wouldn’t want Royce to be troubled by a lot of nonsense.”
Atwater shrugged. “I’m su
re they will waste no time telling the Earl what happened, and if he can twist the story to make Royce appear in a bad light, I’m positive that he will. However, I believe the entire sordid incident will blow over.”
“Perhaps,” said Newell, his dark eyes thoughtful. “I wonder, though, if there is any real danger that Stafford will carry out his threat and challenge Royce to a duel.”
Royce snorted. “Gentlemen! I appreciate your concern, but I’m not worried about the likes of Rufe Stafford! If he wants to spread this tawdry little tale from one end of London to the other, it doesn’t bother me—after all, he was the one caught making advances to my servant! And as for meeting him in a duel, it is out of the question.”
“Why?” George asked interestedly.
“Is Stafford particularly noted for his skill with either the sword or the pistol?” Royce asked patiently.
George shook his head, and Royce smiled. “And would you characterize my expertise with both weapons as trifling?”
As George remembered how many wafers Royce had effortlessly notched one morning last week at Manton’s Shooting Gallery, as well as his deadly grace with the rapier, his anxious expression vanished and he smiled sheepishly. “Forgot!” he said unabashedly. “You’re right—wouldn’t be fair for you to meet him.”
The four gentlemen continued talking for a few minutes longer, and then Ponteby, Atwater, and Newell took their leave of Royce and headed to their various establishments to change for whatever evening’s amusements they had planned. Shutting the door firmly behind them, Royce hesitated for a long moment in the elegant foyer, thinking over the scene with Pip.
Had it been just coincidence, he wondered uneasily, that Wetherly and Stafford had attached themselves to himself and his friends this afternoon? Or had it been deliberate? And was it just an accident that Stafford had found Pip alone in the dining room, or had Stafford been purposely searching for her? His face grim, Royce stared unseeingly up the winding staircase. Had the one-eyed man decided to take a different tack? Could Stafford have been working at his direction? Stafford had attempted to get Pip out of the house—first with his improper suggestion and then by offering to buy her.... It wasn’t only thieves in the night who constituted a threat to Pip’s safety. Wanting to reassure himself that she had suffered no harm from Stafford’s handling, he went in search of her.
When Pip had escaped from the ugly scene in the dining room, she had been too angry at Stafford and too relieved by Royce’s timely interference to think very clearly. Furiously scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand as if to wipe away the foul taste of Stafford’s kiss, she had dashed into the kitchen and, ignoring the interested stares of the other servants, had spoken quietly to Chambers, giving him a brief report of what had just transpired. Chambers’s shocked exclamation and his speedy exit from the kitchen had caused a raised eyebrow or two, but when it became apparent that Pip was not going to tell the others what she had told him, they turned their attentions to whatever tasks they had been doing before her sudden entrance in their midst.
Ivy, however, gave her an inquiring look, and Pip walked over to her side near the big, black stove, where she was busy cooking a lemon-brandy sauce for tomorrow’s custard. In a low undertone, Pip quickly related all that she had told Chambers. When she finished speaking, Ivy looked at her closely and asked with concern, “Are you all right? The gentleman didn’t hurt you?”
Pip flashed her a brief smile. “I think your sympathy should be with him—he’s the one who had a tureen of hot soup dumped on his head!”
Ivy frowned. “I just hope that you are not blamed for what happened. The gentry can be such fools at times!”
Pip was on the verge of asking her what she meant when Ivy dismissed her by saying briskly, “Well, there is no help for it, and for the time being, I think I’ll keep you busy in the kitchen. Go help Alice in the scullery.”
It was only then, as she helped Alice wash and scour the dirty dishes and pots, that Pip had time to actually think about what had happened in the dining room.
She hadn’t been frightened when she saw one of the gentlemen coming into the room, although she had been a little nervous. She hadn’t been a servant for very long, and this would be the first time all the lessons that had been drilled into her the past few days by the other servants would be put to the test. But there had been something about the gentleman, something about the furtive way that he had entered the room and the pleased expression that had suddenly flashed across his face when he had seen her, that had made her uneasy. Telling herself she had lived among thieves too long, she had smiled brightly and asked, “May I help you, sir? Is there something I can get for you?”
The gentleman was expensively dressed, his cravat as white and rigidly starched as the ones worn by Royce and Zachary, and the cut of his coat bespoke fine tailoring, yet there was something about him that continued to make Pip edgy. His smile was a little too oily, the gleam in the brown eyes a bit too pronounced, and his tone of voice ... There had been such satisfaction in his voice, such sordid meaning in his tone, when he had said, “Oh, I’m quite certain that there are several ways that you could help me, my dear.” Pip had been instantly on her guard.
When he had propositioned her, when the import of his vulgar offer had sunk into her brain, Pip’s first reaction had been astonishment. In fact, she had been so astonished by the notion that this utter stranger seemed to be laboring under the assumption that she might like his attentions that she had very nearly giggled. But when he had taken hold of her arm and had repeated his suggestion, any desire to giggle had been instantly banished. And she certainly had not felt like giggling when he had put his wet mouth against hers!
Even now, thinking of it made her stomach lurch. Not even recalling the look on his face when she had dumped the tureen of soup over his head and had used her knee to further emphasize her displeasure with his actions could dispel her feeling of having been sullied in some indefinable way. His kiss had been horrible, and she shuddered slightly. To think that he had actually thought she would be flattered by his attentions!
Putting the plate down on a nearby counter, she picked up another, her thoughts automatically flying to Royce and the odd excitement she had felt when she had heard his voice and had looked around to see him rushing into the room. A dreamy little smile curved her mouth. He had been magnificent! Those tiger eyes full of fury, the lean, hard face angry and intent, and the aura of danger that had radiated from his tall, powerful body had taken Pip’s breath away. Now, if he had been the one to kiss her ... A flush seared its way up across her cheeks, and almost angrily she wiped the plate in her hand. What a fool she was! It was thoughts like those that would put her feet irrevocably on the path her mother had trod, and Pip found the idea of selling herself to whichever gentleman took her fancy utterly distasteful.
Not that she condemned her mother! Lord, no! Jane had lived her life as she had seen fit, and Pip would have been the last one to sit judgment on her, but even if Pip had long ago come to grips with her mother’s way of life, that didn’t mean she wanted to live the same way. Her lips curved ruefully. It was rather strange, actually, that none of Jane’s children were particularly interested in pursuing the life their mother had shown them. Jacko wanted to be a farmer, and Ben, well, Ben had always been fascinated with horses, and Pip suspected that given half a chance, he would be blissfully content doing anything that allowed him to move among the glossy-coated four-legged creatures he so admired.
And as for herself ... She frowned. What did she want out of life? Her mouth twisted. For the present she would settle for escaping permanently from the one-eyed man! And after that? Her little face thoughtful, she absently reached for another plate. St. Giles didn’t encourage dreams, but if there was a dream that Pip cherished, it was one of respectability. She didn’t know how she was to obtain it, but if there was ever a chance to leave behind her squalid past, to live like normal people, she knew she would leap at it. Deep in her heart
she hungered for the conventional life that Chambers and Ivy led, almost envied them their stolid respectability. Since she had been too busy living by her wits, thoughts of love and marriage had never entered her head, but she suddenly found herself wishing desperately that somewhere there were a man—a good man, a respectable man—who wouldn’t care a fig about whether her parents had been married or about what she had done before she met him. She wanted a man who would love her for what she could be, one who would sanctify their union by marriage and allow her to experience all the placid domesticity that had escaped her so far. A grin flitted across her face. Well, perhaps, not too placid! She sobered, realizing the futility of her dreams. She’d just have to content herself with Jacko’s dream of going to America. But if they achieved the impossible and managed to reach America, would she really be happy working on a farm with her brothers for the rest of her life?
If they owned a farm, Jacko would be happy, and if the farm had horses on it, then Ben would be happy, but what about her? Would that sort of life make her happy? Yes, she admitted helplessly, if that life had a man like Royce Manchester in it! The thought had slid so slyly into her mind that she had been unable to suppress it, and she gasped at her own audacity. Who was she to think that someone as wealthy and respectably connected, someone as sophisticated as Royce Manchester, would ever be willing to offer someone like her more than the occasional sharing of his bed?
Pip had no illusions. Men like Royce really only had one use for women like her, and that was as their mistresses. Was that how it had been for her mother? she wondered sickly. Had her mother met a man whom she had wanted under any circumstances, and when that man was finished with her, had she been so heartbroken, so devastated, that it hadn’t mattered what happened to her after that? It frightened Pip and made her angry to think that her infatuation with Royce Manchester might lead her to fall into the same trap her mother had, fall into it and end her days in the same pitiful way. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let that happen! No more silly fancies, she vowed grimly. None!
Whisper To Me of Love Page 16