by Jade Lee
It was to be expected, of course, given her situation, but it was still amazing to hear the way her mind worked. She noted that Mr. Johan pretended to be a scholar, but his glee in relaying his experience at Mr. Frazier’s funeral suggested a gossip’s heart. Apparently the church had been filled to the rafters, so everyone had an opinion of Scheherazade as she made her final good-bye.
Lady Haverson had been in London at the time of Kit’s supposed death. Her girls were not out yet, but she had gone to the parties and heard that Lady Blackstone—Scheherazade Martin at the time—left London straight after the funeral and was not seen for an entire month. And then, up she pops as Lady Blackstone.
Her daughters were a bit more detailed with their information. Emily, who was likely to marry a very nice vicar, said that Lord and Lady Blackstone resided in a town near London. They have two sons and a third on the way, whom they hope is a girl. Susan, who is rather portly but has a good heart, corrected her sister on this point, saying that they had two daughters and were hoping for a son. She found it of particular note that Mr. Rufton—a young buck recently come to town, still a bit wild in his oats—thought they seemed happy together. He had seen them both recently at the Tavern Playhouse and they were quite in love.
And so it went, first with the gossip about Scher and Brandon, Lord Blackstone, and then on to what people had relayed about his family. His eldest brother was married and firmly ensconced in the baronetcy, two others were not. Lucas, his favorite brother, was wandering about the continent somewhere, and the youngest, Paul, was somewhere up north. His cousins were busy propagating heirs. Only one was a serious gambler, another a rake.
Kit’s face was clean and the water boiling by the time she finished speaking. He had listened raptly to her voice and her words, marveling at her mind, focusing on the nuances of her speech rather than the fact that she was recounting tales of his own his family as if it were a stranger’s. Because it was a stranger’s.
“And that is all that I can think of,” she finally said. “Though I am sure this will be discussed quite thoroughly in the next few weeks, so there is bound to be more. But perhaps,” she ventured gently, her expression tentative, “you would like to find this out on your own? Perhaps visit your brother at the baronetcy?”
Visit Donald? Donald who had been prosaic by the time he was twelve. Donald who always had to stand up to speak. Donald who had chucked him under the chin once and called him a good boy like a dog. What would Donald say to him now? Probably that his brother had turned into a mad wolf and should be put down.
“Yes,” he said, lying as fast as he could find the words. “Yes, I should love to see my brother again.”
“Excellent,” she said with a grin, which made him glad he had lied. She had a beautiful smile. “And now, sir, I believe your bath awaits.”
He stood from the chair, feeling awkward as a silence descended between them. Fortunately, there was work to do, so he shifted to the boiling pot. She made to help him, but he glared her back.
“I have worked with much worse, I assure you, and this is too hot for you,” he said as he lifted the pot and began to pour it into the tub. It splashed him, as was inevitable, but it was nothing to him who had worked with boiling pitch.
She stood to the side, watching him with a strange expression on her face. Part rapt expression, part horror, and much thought. She was thinking, his angel, as she watched him work, and he wondered what wandered through her mind.
Then it was done. The tub was filled, the water cooled enough by what had already been filtered and waiting. She had brought him perfumed soap and a fine towel. All that was left after he set the boiling pot to the side was to undress and submerge himself.
He looked at her, his angel, who was abruptly coming to the same realization. If she did not leave right now, he would shuck his filthy breeches and reveal himself to her. All of himself, including his thick and jutting erection.
He should have hid himself, but he was feeling too battered from the day’s events to hide his body’s condition and too embarrassed to know how to smooth over the awkwardness. But, of course, only the lingering shadow of Kit was embarrassed. The beast he was had no apology for his lust. The beast was thinking of dragging her into the steaming tub with him.
“Have you ever seen a naked man before?” he asked, wondering what prompted him to be so blunt.
She nodded, clearly struggling to put on a brave face. “I cared for all my father’s needs. He was bedridden for nearly two months.”
“I doubt he needed you as I do,” he said.
She blinked, then straightened. “Such a thing is not a need, sir, but a want.”
“Sometimes it is a need,” he said, his mind already filling in images that should not be in his head. Would she turn willing if he dragged her to the floor now? Could he kiss her into compliance, offer her pirate gold and jewels to quiet her conscience? “Have you ever touched a man when he is like this?”
Her eyes jumped to his. “Certainly not!”
“I do not know how it is for a woman, but for a man, that first brush is like a brand—burned into our memory forever. Does she grip him hard and make him her slave? Does she feather a touch that torments with its very lack of substance? Or is it somewhere in between? Firm and yet so sweet as to make a man hunger for her with every breath in his body.”
She stared at him then, her eyes drifting slowly down to where his organ pushed at his breeches only to return back to his face. And in her gaze, he read interest, desire, and then a slow creeping coldness.
“You are thinking of her. Of Scheherazade.”
He jolted in shock, not because she was correct but because his former fiancée was the furthest thing from his thoughts.
“I am sorry for your loss, sir,” his angel said tartly. “But you will find no substitute in me.”
“Then you best leave now,” he said as he popped the button at his waist. “Only a woman could keep me from that bath.”
“Good night, sir,” she said, the melody gone from her voice. “Leave the tub when you are done. I will have the footman clean it up tomorrow.”
He didn’t wait to respond but pushed his pants down to his ankles. He made his movements abrupt, startling even, but he watched from the corner of his eye. Sure enough, she was gone when he straightened, but she had lingered long enough to see him naked. Long enough to catch a flash of the whole of him before propriety made her flee.
The sight of her looking at him was so mesmerizing he relived it over and over again as he sunk into his first real bath in seven years.
Chapter 5
“Oh my God, it’s true! You’re still in bed! Imagine the day that I wake before you! Oh, Maddy! I have had the best idea ever!”
Maddy pushed up from her disaster of a bed and squinted at the clock beside her bed. Just after ten o’clock in the morning. Rose was right. Usually she would be up by now and finished with the morning chores. But as she had spent until nine o’clock this morning tossing and turning while trying not to dream of a certain man, ten o’clock felt especially cruel.
“Maddy! Are you even awake?”
“Please, don’t shout, Rose,” she groaned. “I have a terrible headache.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Rose’s girlish squeals were indeed giving her a terrible headache.
“But you must listen to me! I have the best idea in the absolute world!”
“Rose, please. Don’t bounce on the bed.”
“But you’re not listening! Oh dear, are you ill? You’re not ill, are you? It would ruin everything! For I have the best—”
Gathering her resources, Maddy surged forward and slapped her hand over Rose’s mouth. Her cousin gasped in surprise, then started giggling. Her breath was warm and ticklish, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. It didn’t take long to melt Maddy’s annoyance. After all, Rose was delightful when she had such enthusiasm.
Surrendering to the inevitable, she let her hand drop away from Rose’s face. “Now, sweethear
t, go ask for some very strong tea, please—”
“But—”
“I know you are bursting with ideas, but I need a moment to wash my face.”
“It’s the perfect—”
“Go get me some tea, Rose,” she said a little more tartly than she intended. “I shall get paper and ink together and prepare to write down every tiny scrap of your wonderful thought.”
Rose’s face brightened. “That’s an excellent idea! There will be all so many notes—”
“Tea, dear. I need that tea!”
Rose huffed, clearly restraining herself as she left. Fortunately, the girl no longer bellowed down for what she wanted, but would rush all the way to the kitchen.
The kitchen! Where everyone would be chattering about the bath that someone took last night. Oh Lord, what would Rose make of that? Nothing, she hoped. After all, it made sense that Mr. Frazier needed a bath. It was just that no one had been called to help him. That was what everyone would be wondering. Who had helped Mr. Frazier? Then they would think Maddy had helped him because that was what she did in this household—helped manage things—and then the speculation would soar from there.
Wild Maddy Wilson—the girl who’d run with gypsies—helped bathe a pirate when everyone else was asleep. My goodness, what talk there would be! And once the servants started, then it wasn’t long before the peerage picked up the tale. And before long, her name would be irremovably linked with Mr. Frazier’s scandals, all of them, all the way back to his falling in love with an actress. And that would end any of her matrimonial chances this season.
She fell back against her bed with a moan. She hated that her entire life had been reduced to the endless search for a husband. She never used to care what people thought of her. But then her father had died and she had come to live here. And now—just yesterday, in fact, after her talk with Uncle Frank—she had realized just how very much she hated it. The endless gossip and the endless work. Parties night after night and for what? So she could make prattle with pompous men, get her toes stepped on by clumsy ones, or worse yet, sit on the sidelines being ignored while Rose flirted and chattered an endless string of nonsense. Lord, she was tired. And now her reprieve was up because she heard her cousin’s rapid tread on the stairway.
Marshaling her strength, Maddy dashed to the door and turned the lock. It wouldn’t hold her cousin off for long, but it would last while she went through her morning ablutions. Sure enough, the doorknob rattled.
“Maddy! Maddy! The door’s locked!”
“What? Just a moment, sweetheart!”
“Maddy! Why would you lock the door?”
“Hmmm? Just habit, dear. There are men in the house, you know.”
“Oh yes, I know! That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Heavens. She couldn’t have the girl shout it in the hallway. That would only add fuel to the gossip fire. “Hush, sweetheart! You’ll wake your father.”
Truthfully, nothing could wake Uncle Frank once he fell asleep. It was his only defense against the noise Rose could create.
“Then open the door!” called Rose in an extremely loud whisper.
Maddy in no way felt ready to face the day, but she pulled open the door anyway. “Come in, Rose, come in. And lower your voice.”
“Do you think I woke Father? I hope so because I have the most wonderful idea!”
Maddy went back to brushing her hair, trying to use the motion to soothe her disordered thoughts. It didn’t work. Certainly not with the thought of Mr. Frazier waking and intruding on her morning as well.
Meanwhile, Rose dropped onto the bed only to jump up again. “You didn’t get out any paper and ink!” she said. “Oh, never mind. I shall take notes while you listen. It really is the most marvelous idea.”
“Of course it is,” Maddy said, her mind spinning to her wardrobe. What could she possibly wear? Not a work dress. They were to have afternoon callers. Though he did say he liked her work dress much better than her favorite one, which now had mud smears on the skirt. And all of her nice dresses were just the same, with panels on the side and flounces at the hem. One even sported three full flounces.
“Maddy, I have decided to host a tea party!”
“Lovely idea. Do you think there’s a gown of yours that I could borrow? Something too large for you?”
Rose trilled a laugh. “You know there’s nothing I have that will fit you. Just take money from the household budget if you want a new gown. Say it was a gift from my pin money. Papa won’t notice.”
No. But he would notice if there weren’t a maid to clean his room or food on the table. When Maddy had first arrived, the staff hadn’t been paid in months because of Rose’s “borrowing” of the household money.
“I’ve told you that we can’t do that, Rose,” Maddy admonished. Which meant Maddy would have no new clothes. So she selected her least ornate gown with the tiniest panels on the side. It was another white one, of course, but it sported a single rich green ribbon beneath the bodice, which gave her a nice form, she thought. Plus it had a fichu to cover her throat bruises, which she had just noticed in the mirror. Thankfully, Rose wasn’t very observant. Still, she pulled her dressing gown tight and high before giving Rose her complete attention.
“All right, sweetheart. I’m sorry I took so long today. Tell me, please, right away, exactly what your wonderful idea is.”
Rose huffed in disgust. “But I already told you! I’m going to host a tea party!”
Maddy nodded, waiting for the rest of the news. After all, tea was hardly the most original of ideas. “Well, I suppose that’s a lovely idea,” she said slowly.
Rose leaned back in her chair, making no attempt to write anything at all. “But you are thinking it’s a normal tea. It won’t be, Maddy. It’s going to be the event of the Season!”
“Well, forgive me, dear, but I don’t see how.”
“Because I’m going to reunite Scheherazade Martin and Mr. Frazier at my tea.”
Maddy stilled, horror blooming uncontrolled in her body. “Miss Martin is no longer a miss, Rose. She’s Lady Blackstone, and why would you want to be so very cruel to Mr. Frazier?”
Rose stiffened at the criticism. “Well, he has to see her sometime, doesn’t he? Why not at my tea?”
“Because it’s cruel! Can you imagine how hard it will be on him? To see the woman he loved married to someone else? And in front of everybody?”
“It is absolutely not cruel,” Rose replied heatedly, “because there’s more.” She abruptly leaned forward, her eyes going dreamy. “You know, don’t you, that Papa has said I must find a husband this Season.”
Maddy leaned against her post on her bed, frowning slightly. “I know he has high hopes for you this Season, but that doesn’t mean you must—”
“He said I must.” Rose scrunched up her face in disgust. “He said he will not support me another Season. If I don’t get married he will throw me out on the street!”
Rose’s voice was very dramatic, as was typical for her. Unfortunately, Maddy couldn’t quite dismiss it as untrue. She knew exactly how thin the household accounts were. And given her uncle’s discussion with her yesterday, she knew he wanted Rose to marry and leave the home. In fact, he probably said so quite clearly to Rose.
“Nevertheless,” Maddy said firmly. “You are his daughter. He would not throw you out on the street. He loves you. And besides, you know it would look very bad on him, and he would find that vastly uncomfortable.”
Rose nodded and carefully wiped away a tear. She did indeed look shaken, but Maddy had no way to tell if her cousin really believed in her fate or was just becoming a better actress.
“But, you see, it doesn’t matter,” said Rose, her face the picture of trembling bravery. “For, you see, I have decided on a husband.”
“Of course you have not!” Maddy cried. “The Season hasn’t even really begun! You can’t possibly have—”
“I’m going to marry Mr. Frazier!”
“I’m going to marry Mr. Frazier!”
“But . . . But why? I mean, he’s hardly the type of gentleman you usually want.” Rose tended toward handsome, glib-tongued dandies. Mr. Frazier was nothing of the sort.
“He called me beauty, don’t you remember? He said I was beautiful and then later called me his beauty. His beauty.”
“Wasn’t that Mr. Morgan?”
“Of course not. That was Mr. Frazier! As if I would pick a servant as my husband!”
Maddy sighed. “Mr. Morgan is not a servant, Rose. And of course you are very beautiful.” With her petite body, blond curls, and striking blue eyes, Rose was the epitome of English female perfection, unlike Maddy, who was dark haired, large, and overly curvy. “But that still doesn’t tell me why you want to marry Mr. Frazier. Many men have called you beautiful. Scores of them.”
“Think of it,” she said sweetly. “He’s cousin to the earl, is rich as Croesus, and will very rapidly become the catch of the Season.”
“You’re the daughter of an earl. To marry Mr. Frazier would be a horrible mésalliance.”
“My earldom is decrepit and useless, whereas his is wealthy and thriving. And besides,” Rose added straightening her spine in indignation, “haven’t you always said I should marry for love? That with my title and beauty, I could pick whomever I want?”
Maddy shifted uncomfortably. “Of course I did, sweeting, but why would you want Mr. Frazier? He’s rough and . . .” She almost said scarred, but she couldn’t voice that without confessing how she’s seen his scars. “And he’s just come back from a horrible ordeal.”
“Exactly!” cried Rose. “Don’t you see? He’s a tragic pirate, returned for his fiancée only to find her married to someone else. That’s tragic!”