The Earl Takes a Fancy

by Lorraine Heath

  “Ah, gel, don’t be like ’at.” His hand came up fast, before she could react, tightening around her jaw, lifting her head, threatening her ability to breathe because his foul stench was causing her to gag to the point of retching. “Don’t force me to teach ye manners like I did yer mum. Ain’t pleasant schoolin—”

  “Get your bloody hands off her.”

  The growled words were feral, frightening, even to her. Dibble reacted instantly, snapping his head back in surprise, his eyes going wide, his grip loosening as he lurched around—

  Matthew pounded a tightly balled fist into Dibble’s face that caused blood to spurt from his nose as he staggered back and landed hard on the floor. Matthew was nearly a blur as he straddled the prone man, grabbed a handful of his shirt, lifted him slightly, and hit him again. Dibble grunted. Another blow and he went limp.

  Breathing harshly, straightening, Matthew came to her and looked her over, concern reflected in his eyes. With a grimace, he gently touched her jaw. It was tender, and she suspected it was already showing signs of bruising. “Did he harm you anywhere else?”

  “No.” A lie. How did she explain the pain he’d caused her heart? “He claims to be my father.”

  “I thought your father died at war.”

  She nodded jerkily, shook her head. “My mother told me she loved my father, but how could she love that?”

  “He could have been lying. Do you have any rope so I can bind him before going to fetch a constable?”

  “No, but I have my kite string.”

  “I can make do with that. Will you fetch it for me?”

  She ran up to her lodgings, got a pair of scissors, and cut the reel of string from her kite, then hurried back downstairs to where Matthew waited. When she arrived, he rolled the man named Dibble over onto his belly and held out his hand for the string. “I can tie him.”

  “Make it tight.”

  He brought Dibble’s wrists together. She knelt and began wrapping the kite string around, over and under, his wrists. “He said his name is Dibble.”

  “You’ve never seen him before?”

  “No.”

  “Fancy, he was probably lying. Part of a game he plays to dupe someone into giving him what he was seeking to obtain.”

  She desperately wanted that to be true, but he’d been so confident. “What do you think will happen to him?”

  “The constables will lock him up in a cell. In a few days he’ll go to trial for attempted robbery and accosting you.”

  She drew some comfort from his words, wanting Dibble locked up for being a nasty bit of rubbish if nothing else.

  “There, that’s good. Cut the string, knot up the ends.”

  As she tried to position the scissors, she realized her hands were shaking too badly. Matthew closed his hand over hers. “It’s all right.” Taking the scissors from her, he finished off the task. Then moved down to Dibble’s feet. “I don’t want him getting up and running off while I’m gone.”

  “I have a skillet. I could conk him on the head if he wakes.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  When Dibble was tightly bound, Matthew cradled her cheek. “I won’t be long. Close the door, bolt it in case he has friends. Don’t open it until I call for you.”

  “You will be careful.”

  He gave her a cocky grin. “I will be back, I promise.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and stuffed it into Dibble’s mouth. “For good measure, in case he wakes up. You don’t need to hear his horrid words.”

  Then he was gone, and she was left alone with this vile creature. After bolting the door, she moved nearer to him, crouched, and studied his face, searching for any familiar characteristics, looking for any of herself in him.

  It was impossible to know what his nose might have once looked like because it appeared to have been broken or smashed several times. She wondered if he was a boxer by trade. She couldn’t imagine that he was a very successful one. She recalled his eyes being dark, but she was rather certain she’d gotten her eyes from her mum. Black hair, but so was her mum’s.

  His cheeks were rounded. Hers high and sharp. He had a mole on his jaw near his ear. She had no moles.

  His eyes popped open, and she fell on her bottom in surprise. He began struggling with the bindings and groaning.

  “You won’t free yourself. You might as well save your energy.”

  To her astonishment, he went still and glared at her. He said something but she couldn’t make out the words through the cloth. She scooted back until she felt the wall behind her. “I have no interest in hearing your lies.”

  Then she waited for what seemed like an eternity for Matthew to return. When she heard him calling for her on the other side of the door, she’d never known such joy. Nor had she ever seen him so authoritative as he ordered the constables about. They were deferential toward him, seeming to want to ensure they worked to his satisfaction. The first night she’d had the impression he was accustomed to being in command. But now here was clearer evidence that he was a man not only willing to take charge, but comfortable doing so.

  Dibble protested the entire time as the constables replaced her meager bindings with iron manacles and chains around his wrists and ankles. None too gently, they hauled him out. When they were gone, Matthew looked back at her. “You’re trembling.”

  “I’m just cold.”

  He closed the door, bolted it, strode over to her, and wrapped his arms securely around her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right. You’re all right. Let’s get you up to your rooms.”

  “I have his chin.”

  Matthew went still for a heartbeat before tucking his finger beneath said chin and tilting her face back so he could gaze in her eyes. “Your chin is far more lovely, far cuter than his.”

  “Why would he come here and say what he did? Why would he claim to be my father if he’s not?”

  “Perhaps he’s a swindler. What did he want?”

  “Money. Money not to show up at a ball and tell people he sired me.”

  “Your family has been making a name for itself with their success and their marriages into the nobility. From time to time they make the gossip sheets. A couple of years back there was that article in the Times about your brother’s hotel. A family of by-blows. The man was playing the odds that you might not know who your father was.”

  “I think he might have been telling the truth.”

  “Will you tell your mother about him, ask her?”

  She nodded. “I’d planned to see her in the morning, to tell her about the ball. Mick’s carriage will be readied for me.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  His kindness was her undoing as tears threatened. “No, it’ll be best if I see her on my own. But I appreciate the offer.”

  With a nod, he dipped down and lifted her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to carry you upstairs.”

  “I can walk.”

  “I know, but if I’m holding you, I can start warming you.”

  She settled her head into the curve of his shoulder as he began striding toward the stairs. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

  “It doesn’t take much strength when I’m carrying a cloud.”

  “I’m heavier than that.”

  “Not by much.”

  When they reached her rooms, he carried on through to her bedchamber—which was easy enough to determine as it was the only other room—and set her gently on the bed. With tenderness, he removed her slippers. “Will you trust me to loosen your lacings?”

  She nodded. He came around behind her, and she was very much aware of his fingers working along her spine, not stopping with the gown but loosening the lacings on her corset as well. When he was done, he urged her to lay down and draped a blanket over her. He stretched out beside her, wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face to his chest, and began rubbing her back through the blanket and her clothing. />
  “I’ll have you warmed in a jiff.”

  Her teeth were clattering from a cold deep within her that was threatening to turn her blood into ice. “I can’t seem to stop trembling.”

  His lovely ministrations ceased briefly as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. “Slip your hands in here.”

  “I can’t do that to you. My fingers are like ice.”

  “I can bear the momentary discomfort. What I can’t bear is your suffering.” Taking one of her hands, he guided it between the parted cloth, settling her fingers against his smooth, heated skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him stiffen.

  “I’m sorry.”

  When she would have removed her hand, he held it in place. “It’s all right. Now the other.”

  Doing as he bade, she thought the hottest of fires would not have thawed her so completely, nor would they have felt so welcoming.

  “Better?” he asked quietly, and she did little more than nod. “Good.”

  He returned to rubbing her back, and her body grew warm, lethargic. She sank against him but her mind raced like it was a runaway mare desperate to escape the horrors that had befallen it. “If he sired me”—horrific images bombarded her—“I can’t imagine that my mother loved him, that she would have welcomed him into her bed. He was so vile, so nasty.”

  “Perhaps he was a very different fellow when he was younger.”

  “Can one change that drastically in twenty years? He said she needed to keep a roof over her head. Why did she turn to him for help? What did he require of her?”

  “Sweetheart, don’t torment yourself with questions. Everything he said could have been a lie.”

  “Yet it contained a spark of truth.” Her fingers had lost their chilling edge, so she slid her hands around his sides to his back, holding him close. “I can’t bear the thought of what she might have endured at his hand.”

  “They can’t bring charges against him for what he did so long ago, but I’ll see to it that the magistrate knows and that his past actions be taken into account when sentenced.”

  “I supposed I’ll have to testify—”

  “I’ll do it. No reason for you to even go to the trial. My word will suffice.”

  “But I’m the one he attacked.”

  “I saw it happen and can serve as a witness. You’ve lamented how the law treats women unfairly. The courts do the same. I don’t condone the reality of it, but a man’s testimony will hold more sway than a woman’s. Trust me, sweetheart, the blighter will never bother you again. I’ll ensure it, one way or another.”

  He sounded so confident, so in command, so certain he could bring about the outcome she desired. She wouldn’t mind not seeing Dibble again, and yet she had a responsibility to ensure he never bothered her again. But she wasn’t in the mood to argue about it at the moment. She would do what needed to be done when the time arrived. “How did you know to come?”

  “As you’re aware, I tend to look across at your window before retiring. I noted the back door ajar, pale light spilling out into the mews. I knew you’d closed it after I left. I wanted to reassure myself nothing was amiss.”

  “I was surprised by how quickly and efficiently you dispatched him.”

  “I’ve done a bit of boxing for sport, among friends. Some are more competitive than others.”

  She would enjoy watching him box, but then she took delight in watching him breathe. “I’m warmer now, if you want to leave.”

  “I’d rather stay.”

  The relief overwhelmed her, and she snuggled more closely against him. She’d always known dangers existed in the world, but until tonight none had ever touched her.

  Chapter 20

  To Fancy’s surprise, within Matthew’s arms, she’d slept. He’d stayed until dawn and then slipped out the back. No one seemed to be about, so her reputation was safe.

  But as she traveled in the coach, her mind filled with the images of the horrid man who’d come to her door. His black teeth, his black, black eyes. While she knew she could have gone to Mick for help, for reassurance, for some unfathomable reason, she’d wanted Matthew. Not only because he required no explanation regarding what had happened but the comfort that he’d provided had seemed so much more intimate than what her brother would have given. Oh, certainly Mick would have held her and murmured words of reassurances, would have meant all he said and did, but she didn’t know if he could have gently begun piecing back together her heart.

  She should have been stronger, shouldn’t have allowed it to shatter so easily by what might be false words. But what was broken, when repaired, became stronger.

  At least that was the mantra running through her mind as she stepped out of the carriage, with the assistance of the footman. When Fancy stepped inside, her mum sang from the kitchen, “I’ve just put the kettle on.”

  This woman she loved so very much wandered into the living room and staggered to a stop. “Oh, my dear girl, whatever has happened?”

  Fancy felt the tears forming and was powerless to hold them back as her mum’s arms came firmly around her. “Mum, please tell me it’s not true. Please.”

  Her mum went very, very still, so still Fancy wasn’t even certain she continued to breathe. Or perhaps she simply couldn’t because her daughter was holding her so tightly.

  “What are you talking about, love?”

  The slight tremble in her mum’s voice, the hesitation as though she already knew the answer and hadn’t wanted to ask the question caused Fancy’s chest to tighten to such an extent, she thought it might cave in on itself. “A man came to see me last night. His name is Dibble.”

  Her mum’s body jerked as though she’d been delivered a physical punch by a giant. Leaning back, Mum studied her face. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing.” Not wanting her mum to worry, she couldn’t confess how for a few moments he’d terrified her, and she’d been afraid he would hurt her—until Matthew put a stop to that. “He wanted money, claimed to be my father.” Based on her mother’s reaction, she feared she had the answer she’d been seeking, but still she asked the question anyway. “He wasn’t lying, was he?”

  Her own eyes damp, her mum cradled her face with one hand. “I’m so sorry, pet.”

  “Did you love him?” She was well aware one didn’t always have control over one’s heart and the path it wanted to travel.

  “Ah, no, pet. How could you think I’d love such a vile excuse for a human being? But from the moment I realized I was increasing, I wanted you.”

  She shook her head. “But I don’t understand why you ever let him touch you.”

  Her mum stepped back. Her eyes grew damper before she finally shuffled to her chair and dropped into it as though a boulder had suddenly landed on her. “Sit down, pet.”

  Fancy didn’t want to. Her body seemed to sense that at any moment she would want to flee and needed to be in position to run as quickly as she could. Still, she couldn’t deny her mum’s simple request, so she eased down onto the edge of the chair across from her, but couldn’t relax as every muscle remained tense, awaiting a blow.

  “He was the landlord, you see. While people paid when they left their babes with me to raise, it wasn’t enough to last years. Not able to leave my five wee ones alone, my options were limited for working. I didn’t read well and that put me at a disadvantage. Which is one of the reasons I’m so proud of you for your teaching.”

  She’d known her mum struggled with reading, had no memory of ever seeing her read, of ever having her read to her.

  “So I made matchboxes and did piecework. Your brothers and sister, as they got older, they began working. But still coins were often scarce, and when I didn’t have the money for the rent, well, he had other ways I could pay him.”

  Her stomach roiling, Fancy slammed her eyes closed. “He hurt you.”

  “He never raised a hand to me. Because I didn’t love him, it wasn’t pleasant having him touch me, but I couldn’t have my children put
out on the street, now could I? Don’t cry, love.”

  Her children. Children who had once belonged to others, to people who had brought them to her to care for. And she’d raised them as her own. Opening her eyes, she swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “It was horrible, what he did. He needs to be punished.”

  “Your brothers saw to that. You growing inside me couldn’t stay a secret for long, so I told them the truth. They were fourteen, big strapping lads. They took their fists to him. He never bothered me after that. Didn’t even ask for rent money anymore. Course, Mick eventually bought the properties around here.”

  “Did Gillie know about my . . . about Dibble, as well?” She couldn’t attribute the word father to him.

  Her mum nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  “Because I never wanted you to be ashamed of where you come from. I never wanted you to doubt that you were a welcomed addition to my life. I loved you from the moment I realized you were going to be.”

  Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed for all her mother had endured, for being forced to let that maggot touch her. And she wept for herself, because part of that man was inside her. Not a war hero for a father, not a grand love.

  Her mother’s arms came around her. “I’m so so sorry, love. After the lads saw to him, I thought he would stay away forever. No reason for you to know my shame.”

  Fancy jerked her head up. “Your shame?”

  “For laying with a bloke I hadn’t wed.”

  “Ah, Mum, the shame is his, not yours.” Yet even as she said the words, she realized she felt a sense of shame as well. It hadn’t been easy growing up born out of wedlock, but at least she’d believed she was the product of something beautiful. To know ugliness had been responsible for creating her made her want to weep all over again.

  “We can debate that later. Once your brothers find out about his visit—”