That Despicable Rogue

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Hello, Prim,’ he said, and watched her jump out of her skin.

  ‘Hello, Mr Jameson,’ she replied, a little too wide-eyed for his liking. ‘It is a fine evening for a walk.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘What are you doing?’

  She blinked, and licked her pretty pink lips nervously before answering. ‘I saw that this little graveyard was in dire need of some care and decided to tidy it up. I think that it is important to be respectful of the dead. Don’t you?’

  Ross glanced at the headstones and then back at her face, so that he could gauge her reaction. ‘This must be the Runcorn family plot.’

  ‘Is that the family who lived here before?’ she asked, with just the right amount of uninterest, so that he was almost convinced that she was unaware of that fact.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ He pointed to the newest stone. ‘I won this house from the last Earl of Runcorn in a card game.’

  She did not look surprised by this statement, but her face was just a little too blank. Such information should at least cause her to raise an eyebrow.

  Instead she stared at him levelly. ‘I read about that in the newspapers. He died shortly afterwards, did he not?’

  ‘Come now, Prim. If you read about it in the newspapers then you already know that he blew his own brains out.’

  He detected the smallest of winces at that, but she covered it quickly.

  ‘Perhaps he felt he had no other choice,’ she said after a beat of silence. ‘He must have been quite desperate to do such a thing.’

  ‘I think he was actually being quite selfish. He had just gambled away his house. His fortune was already long gone. Suicide gave him a way of not having to explain all that to his family. He should have avoided being so reckless with the only thing he had left.’

  Hannah could not argue with him because she felt much the same way about her brother’s actions herself. However, to agree felt disloyal—especially as George was lying beneath her very feet. Jameson had happily entered into a card game with her brother and had taken the house. That fact had led to George’s death. Jameson might not have held the gun that had killed him, but he had certainly provided the ammunition. That detail did not appear to give him a moment’s regret. However, that was not something that she could take him to task about yet.

  ‘Do you win many houses in card games?’ She felt it was a fair question.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘This is the first. I once won a ship, though. And a tiara. I gave that to my sister, although she has never had any cause to wear it. I usually play cards for money.’

  ‘Does it not bother you that in doing so you might be causing the ruin of others?’ Hannah tried to make her tone inquisitive, rather than accusatory, but a hint of the latter sneaked in nevertheless. It made his expression harden slightly.

  ‘I suspect that question is loaded, Prim—especially as you obviously read the newspapers enthusiastically and know full well that they have accused me of the ruination of many good men. But, to answer your question, all I will say is that I did not ask any of them to sit down at the card table with me. Nor did I encourage them to risk their entire fortunes on the turn of a card. The simple truth is, a fool and his money are soon parted. Therefore if it had not been me who relieved them of their purses it would have been somebody else.’

  Hannah had not considered that—but it still did not excuse his cavalier attitude. ‘But when they run out of money you allow them to be reckless and stake things of far greater value. The Earl of Runcorn, for instance. When he ran out of money why did you continue to play with him? Surely the decent thing to do in such a situation would be to decline?’

  ‘That idiot came to White’s with the deeds to this house in his pocket! Who does that? He had every intention of gambling it—if I had not relieved him of it then somebody else would have. He was an atrocious card player—the more he lost, the more transparent and sloppy he became. One way or another, Barchester Hall was doomed to have a new owner that night. It might as well have been me.’

  Hannah felt the bile rise in her throat at the sheer reckless stupidity of her brother. He had purposely and wilfully taken the deeds to their home to the club! She had not known that pertinent detail before. It beggared belief.

  His voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Some men find the lure of Lady Luck too great to resist, Prim. Gambling becomes an addiction to them, and the more they lose the more they are prepared to risk.’

  There was a slightly wistful expression on his handsome face as he looked at her brother’s grave.

  ‘It is a disease, and it makes them become desperate. Sometimes they do terrible, abhorrent things—which seem perfectly reasonable to them when they are in the grip of the addiction—and they do not even consider the dire consequences their actions might have for others. Poor old Runcorn did not only bring the deeds to White’s—he also brought a loaded pistol. Why would he do that? There are no footpads or murderers loose in White’s. I believe that he had every intention of ending his life if he lost again. It is sad, but he chose his own destiny.’

  Hannah had the urge to stamp on her selfish brother’s grave. She had not realised that it was possible to be more angry with him—but she was. And as for Jameson...

  ‘But you benefited from his stupidity,’ she said quietly, willing herself to stare at her feet when she wanted to scratch and claw at him instead.

  ‘As did you, Prim.’

  His words were like a dash of cold water and her head snapped up.

  ‘If he had not lost the house to me, then you would not be housekeeper. You would be working for somebody who does not see past your age or your lack of experience. I doubt there are many employers daft enough to keep on a servant who has fed them a complete pack of lies and who continues to disapprove of her benevolent employer quite so openly.’

  Although he was still smiling, there was a challenge in his green eyes that made her nervous. She was alienating him at a time when she needed to build his trust—especially as she still had no tangible evidence to prove any wrongdoing on his part.

  ‘You are quite right, Mr Jameson. I doubt many other employers would entertain such a difficult servant and I am grateful that you do.’ She flashed him her best friendly but shy smile. ‘I need to keep my forthright opinions to myself. It has always been a character flaw. You are a decent man, Mr Jameson. Please do not take my impertinent questions as evidence of my disapproval. I am simply curious about the motives of the Earl of Runcorn. He must have been a very troubled man.’

  Initially he stared at her warily, and then his mouth quirked up in acknowledgement of her apology.

  ‘Are you aware that you appear to have acquired a dog?’ she asked, as a means to change the subject.

  ‘We are merely walking in the same direction,’ he said dismissively. ‘If we ignore him he will go away. Shall we walk back to the house together, Miss Prim, or would you find the prospect of that too distasteful?’

  Hannah forced another smile. She would rather walk over hot coals, but under the circumstances she had no other option. ‘That would be pleasant, sir. Thank you.’

  She sailed through the gate he held open for her and he offered her his arm. Hannah stared at it in surprise.

  ‘I see,’ he said in amusement. ‘You feel that it is improper for me to offer you my arm?’

  Hannah nodded, more than a little relieved when he shrugged and dropped the offending limb back to his side. ‘I am your employee, sir. Employees do not, as a rule, take their employer’s arms under any circumstances.’

  ‘Or kiss them?’

  Hannah felt a hot blush stain her cheeks. ‘Indeed. You most definitely overstepped the boundary last night. But you were drunk, so I will forgive you.’

  ‘I could not help noticing that you were not drunk, Prim, and yet you kissed me back.’ He winked at her and smiled smugly.

  ‘I most definitely did not! You caught me by surprise with your outrageous behaviour! You cannot go around
manhandling the staff,’ she declared, sounding a great deal like a schoolmistress reprimanding an errant pupil.

  Once again she was telling him off—not that he did not deserve it—but she really had to make an effort. Her whole future depended on it.

  Hannah decided to change the subject tactically. ‘I spoke to Reggie this afternoon. He confirmed that you did indeed inherit him with a building—although he tells the tale a little differently from you.’

  ‘Does he? What did he say?’

  He had stuffed his hands into his pockets—something a gentleman would never do—and she could not fail to notice his casual attire. The light breeze moulded the soft linen of his shirt to the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, emphasising his lean and muscular body. She now knew a little of what that body felt like, and it was not at all unpleasant.

  Despite her disapproval, she could see what other women found appealing about him. He was irritatingly handsome. His dark, almost black hair was ever so slightly ruffled, and it curled a little at the nape of his neck and around his forehead. His sea-green eyes always seemed to be twinkling with amusement, as if he found the whole world and everyone in it one big joke that only he understood.

  ‘Reggie told me that you rescued him from a life of mindless violence—like a hero.’

  He stopped and stared at her astounded. ‘He did? That sounds positively gushing.’ Then he grinned. ‘But I suppose there is no point denying the truth. I am, in actual fact, a saint.’

  Hannah could not help smiling at the self-deprecating way he dismissed the praise, as if it was of no matter. ‘He also said that you moved him out of the warehouse during a particularly harsh winter.’

  ‘He most definitely did not say that, Prim. For a start I have never heard him use the word “particularly”. It has far too many syllables in it. And, secondly, he firmly believes that I needed him to look after me.’

  ‘But you do not deny that the cold winter had a bearing on your decision?’ she teased. ‘Therefore I have to believe that you have a charitable streak buried under all that charm and bravado.’

  He turned towards her and did his best impression of a man affronted. ‘Hardly. The cold winter notwithstanding, I could not keep him in the warehouse. It was filled with Chinese porcelain at the time and I feared that he would break it all. You must have noticed how clumsy he is. I was simply protecting my investment.’ Then he grinned boyishly. ‘And now I am stuck with him.’

  ‘Of course you are. That is why you have moved him into one of the family bedrooms here at Barchester Hall.’ Hannah was intrigued to see how he was going to get around that particular fact.

  He stopped momentarily and glared at her with his hands on his hips. ‘Have you not seen the size of the oaf? He is built like an oak tree! The beds in the servants’ quarters would shatter into matchsticks if he rested his enormous bulk on one of them. I put him in that room because it has the sturdiest bed.’

  His amused eyes locked with hers, and for a moment she basked in their warmth, then he shrugged, stuffed his hands back in his pockets and started to walk again—as if he knew that she could read the truth in his eyes but admitting the truth about himself made him feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Now that I know that you are not a widowed hag I am a little intrigued about your background. Tell me a little bit about you, Prim.’

  Chapter Nine

  Hannah felt a jolt of nerves and tried to brush him off with banality as she quickened her pace. ‘There is nothing interesting to tell. The decorators will start work on the morning room tomorrow. We should probably discuss how you would like the hallway to be done, so that I can order the materials. I was thinking green would look good—not so dark as to be oppressive—perhaps a sage-green would be appropriate?’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ he said, wagging his finger in admonishment and purposefully slowing his gait. ‘I will not allow you to change the subject. If you will not volunteer information about yourself I shall have to ask you questions—and as your employer I will demand that you answer them honestly. For example, you are such a pretty girl—why are you not married?’

  Hannah felt her smile instantly slip and struggled to retain it. She was not entirely sure of the answer herself. A version of the truth would be easier for her to remember, she realised, feeling a little sick as memory assaulted her.

  ‘I think those years passed me by, sir,’ she admitted, hoping that it sounded convincing. ‘When my parents died I went to live with my aunts for a while. After that I had to seek employment.’ She kept the small lie to a minimum and hoped he would not probe her story further.

  He digested this for a moment or two. ‘Then why not become a governess? Surely your age and marital status would not be an issue with such a position? And at least you would have more free time and less responsibility.’

  Another innocent question that reopened old wounds. Children were one more thing that would not be in her future now. ‘I lack the patience required to look after other people’s children, sir. Also, I lack some of the finer skills that many good families insist upon in a governess. My piano-playing is abysmal, at best, and I have no talent for languages.’

  He appeared a little confused, and then shook his head. ‘How peculiar,’ he said finally. ‘I would have thought that the most important thing to do for a child is to love it.’ He stopped walking and turned to her. ‘I am not sure I will ever fully understand the gentry, Prim. I am trying—but half of what they do truly baffles me.’

  ‘I think you must give specific examples, sir. What baffles you?’

  ‘Too many things to list now. But there are quite a few that you might be able to shed some light on, seeing as you have worked for them. Why, for instance, is it considered poor form to introduce yourself to somebody? Why must I wait an age for somebody else to introduce me when I am perfectly capable of doing that for myself?’

  ‘I am not sure that I know,’ she replied with a smile, ‘except that it is the proper order of things.’

  He pulled a face. ‘And why is it improper to dance with the same lady more than once at a ball?’

  ‘I can answer that! To dance with a woman more than once declares to everybody that you have a particular interest in her.’

  ‘Surely that is the whole point of dancing with her in the first place?’ He looked outraged. ‘Why else would a man prance around the floor like an idiot unless he wants to let the woman know he has a particular interest in her?’

  Hannah sighed dramatically. ‘But you would be announcing your interest in public. People would get ideas.’

  ‘Where I come from we want people to get ideas. It lets them know that they should back off. I wouldn’t want some other fella going after my girl.’

  It was the first time his diction had slipped in her presence, alluding to his coarse roots, but she found it strangely charming instead of repulsive.

  ‘And why on earth is a man judged by his ability to ride a horse?’

  ‘Good horsemanship is a skill that all gentlemen are taught almost from the moment they can walk,’ she said in response. ‘Ladies embroider and gentlemen ride.’

  ‘Then I shall never be a gentleman,’ he declared resolutely. ‘I do not care for horses.’

  ‘Why ever not? Most horses are gentle beasts who like people.’

  He glared at her for a second, and then shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Horses do not like me. They have a tendency to evacuate their bowels whenever I go near them.’

  Hannah laughed derisively at this ridiculous statement. ‘I think you are being a tad over-dramatic, sir.’

  ‘I am not. I speak from experience. My first job was as an ostler at a coaching inn. I only lasted two days! Every single horse I came into contact with soiled my boots. And I tried riding once. It frankly terrified me.’

  He looked so aggrieved that she could not help sniggering. ‘What was it that frightened you?’

  He thought for a moment, and then gave her a rare glimpse of the man
beneath all the bravado.

  ‘In hindsight...nothing. I suppose it was being at the mercy of the animal. I need to be in control of things. If I am not I feel uncomfortable.’ He was starting to look a little uncomfortable at this admission too, but he quickly covered it with another boyish grin. ‘We are talking about me again. You are very good at distracting me. Where were we? Ah, yes—you and marriage. You are still young, Prim. Perhaps...’

  ‘There is no “perhaps”. I have no intention of getting married now.’

  He appeared genuinely bemused. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘The older I get, the more I appreciate my independence, sir. If I was married I would have to live my life at the mercy of my husband’s whims and edicts. I prefer to be in control of my own destiny—much like you do, apparently, so you of all people should understand.’

  His dark eyebrows drew together and he frowned. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, that is a very cynical attitude, Prim. I like to be in control of my business and my life, but I have no intention of behaving like a tyrant towards my future wife. I should imagine that marriage is a very pleasant state to find oneself in—so long as it is with the right person.’

  ‘Why, then, are you not married, sir?’ she responded sarcastically.

  ‘I am not averse to the idea. I just do not have the time to go hunting for the right woman yet. Once my sister is happily settled with a decent man then I will. I believe I shall settle down to marital bliss quite happily. Until then I prefer to keep my options open.’

  ‘I thought your sister was much younger than you? Why would you put off your own wedding until after hers?’

  ‘I should like to know that she is well taken care of before I divert my attention from her welfare. She is young and impressionable, and therefore ripe for fortune-hunters or scoundrels to take advantage of her.’

  Hannah regarded him sceptically. ‘I see. And your current lady-friend—does she know that you do not consider her an “option”, as you put it, for being the future Mrs Jameson?’

  He threw back his dark head and laughed. ‘You really are quite forthright, aren’t you, Miss Prim? Francesca was never an “option”—and, to be fair, she was well aware of that fact. Francesca was merely a...dalliance...a convenient outlet for a little while.’ At her bemused expression he clarified. ‘Lust. I know that you are quite familiar with the concept, Prim.’