“So I won’t be robbed at the pub,” he returned sensibly.
Yes, of course. That meant the other men in the adjoining room were gentlemen, too, all dressed down so as not to attract criminal notice in the city’s poor district.
“I pegged you a thief. A sailor,” she said in an excited fashion. “But I never considered you a gentleman.”
“I wasn’t born a gentleman,” he said to appease her, not sounding the least bit insulted by her rude remarks. “Come back to St. James with me, Amy.”
“St. James!”
The bachelor quarters of London? One of the richest parts of London? He wanted her to live there?
“I can’t live with you openly in St. James!”
“Not openly, of course. I’ll soon find you a position as a lady’s maid or companion.”
She was still confused, flustered. “Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t leave you destitute,” he said firmly.
She glowered at him. “This is all your fault.”
“Then let me make it right.”
A series of objections entered her head: the impropriety, the danger of the situation. If she was discovered living in the bachelor district with Edmund, she would never become a lady’s maid or companion…and yet the proposition, the opportunity for social advancement, was too tempting to resist. Besides, what other choice did she have but to go with the scoundrel? She would be dismissed from the club tomorrow. She would survive off her savings for a short while, and then what would she do?
Amy gathered a deep, fortifying breath. “My things?”
He smiled, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Take what you can tonight. Quincy and I will round up the rest of your belongings the next day.”
She looked around the room, fretting. “I want everything, including the curtains.”
“We’ll collect the curtains.”
“And the rods and finials.”
“And the rods and finials, I promise.”
Amy sighed. “All right.”
He nodded. “I’ll tell my brothers.”
Edmund left the room to converse with the other ruffians about their newly formed arrangement.
Amy stood in the small chamber, her home for the last three years, without a measure of regret. She wouldn’t have to listen to the endless squabbles from the other tenants or the hoarse, distasteful couplings. She wouldn’t have to squat in such ignominious lodgings anymore. Refinement. Breeding. Respect. She’d be surrounded by the elegance, the sophistication of life.
As joy swelled in her breast, she grabbed a carrying bag from the chest and started to gather her clothing and toiletries…but one niggling question still hounded her: How she was going to live with the sensual scoundrel now that he had regained his memory?
Chapter 7
“The Duchess of Wembury?”
Amy’s ears tingled at the sound of the grand title. She glanced at Edmund, seated beside her in the hackney coach. He was bedraggled and surly-looking. To think, he was related to the Duchess of Wembury!
She eyed Quincy again; he was positioned opposite her on the cushioned squabs. There wasn’t enough room in the coach for five occupants, so the two eldest brothers traveled behind them in a second vehicle.
“How did your sister meet the duke?”
As a seafaring family, the Hawkinses hadn’t the social connections to mix with the aristocracy, so Amy was keen to know how they’d worked their way into the tightly guarded circles of the upper crust.
Quincy grinned. “She stowed away aboard the Bonny Meg.”
“Why?”
“She’s rebellious,” said Edmund in a terse manner.
“It’s more like James is hardheaded. He wouldn’t let her sail the Bonny Meg, so she stowed away. The duke was traveling with us at the time, and, well, trapped aboard ship together…”
“I see,” she said knowingly. “Is it a happy match?”
“I think so, but the rest of my brothers don’t like the duke.”
“Oh?”
“He was—”
“Is,” interposed Edmund.
“—a rogue.”
Amy raised a brow at the hypocritical grump seated beside her, who continually disrupted her discourse with Quincy.
Edmund frowned. “What?”
“Never mind,” she said.
She looked back at Quincy. A good thing he was a gossip, for she’d learn little about their unique family dynamic from the surly Edmund. For instance, she’d discovered there was a significant age difference between the brothers, stemming from the fact that their father had been away at sea for more than a decade, pressed into naval service. Upon his return, the family had expanded, and so had their maritime ventures with the acquisition of the Bonny Meg, their ancestral ship.
At the age of one-and-forty, James Hawkins now commanded the merchant schooner, whereas his brother, William, at age nine-and-thirty, captained the Nemesis as a privateer in the Royal Navy’s African Squadron. At one time, the fledglings had served aboard the Bonny Meg, but about six months ago they had joined William’s crew in search of more “adventure,” according to Quincy.
The scamp chuckled. “James almost had an apoplexy when our sister married the ‘Duke of Rogues.’”
“The duchess must be a brave woman.”
He shrugged. “The duke’s a good fellow.”
What about her brother, the barbarian? she thought. He wasn’t such a good fellow. The duchess had gumption if she’d crossed his will…but, then again, to be a respected duchess, Amy would’ve thwarted the man’s will, too.
She glanced at Edmund again. His seaman’s upbringing explained his rough manners, and his rise to the rank of gentleman was the direct result of his only sister’s marriage to the Duke of Wembury. However, Amy was still perplexed by Edmund’s sudden, uncharacteristic sullenness. Wasn’t he happy to be reunited with his brothers? Wasn’t he happy not to be adrift in the city without home or family?
The hackney coach slowed to a halt before the well-groomed town house. Amy peered through the glass in wonder at the three-story edifice, its sleek white façade a brilliant, towering monument, even in the dull darkness.
Quincy hopped out first and maintained the door open for her as she exited the vehicle. Edmund followed, carrying some of her possessions.
She examined her unfamiliar surroundings with scrutiny, muscles tight. If she was going to become a lady’s maid or companion, she had to preserve her respectability. It was late, though, the street deserted, so she relaxed her stiff spine.
James and William approached them as one coach rattled off into the night, while the other one remained stationed, and the entire party quickly entered the prestigious address, illuminated with oil lamps. The decor was decidedly masculine in flavor, with dark wood furnishings and accent colors of deep brown and red with hints of gold. There was some scandalous artwork on the walls, appropriate for a bachelor residence. Amy wasn’t put off by the familiar nude figures, which had adorned the Pleasure Palace, too.
Once inside the dwelling, James said, “I’ll visit with you tomorrow, to make sure you’ve recovered.”
Edmund nodded. He didn’t say a word to his older brother, which didn’t seem to disturb the captain, for he next turned to William and murmured a few discreet words, perhaps advising the man to keep a close eye on her, for she might murder them all in their sleep and purloin their riches.
Amy pinched her lips and looked at Edmund for clarification. Wasn’t the captain staying at the house, too? The scoundrel remained quiet, though.
She looked at Quincy for illumination instead. “I thought you said you lived with your brothers?” she hissed.
He smiled at her in a charming fashion. “James lives in Mayfair with his newlywed wife, Sophia.”
Someone married the barbarian? Amy thought, stunned.
“We’re all still reeling over it, too,” the scamp whispered into her ear, having clearly guessed her inappropriate thoughts.
Amy blu
shed.
Edmund frowned, his dark glare fixed on Quincy, who shrugged and quietly stepped away from her.
Their coterie disbanded, James wondered aloud, “How’s Sophia?”
“She’s fine,” William returned dryly. “I do so appreciate you leaving her in my charge.”
Amy furrowed her brow. Wasn’t James’s wife named Sophia? She looked at Quincy again.
“The snake,” he mouthed silently.
Snake?!
Quincy made a curt hand gesture, a cutting movement, telling her to end the conversation, that he would inform her about the unusual details at a later, more appropriate time.
How fitting that the intimidating brood should keep a snake as a pet, she mused wryly. Was the serpent caged? If not, it would find its head crushed under her heel. Amy wasn’t going to share her accommodations with a pest. She’d lived with enough vermin over the years.
James bid his brothers farewell before he stepped across from Amy. He was silent, yet his penetrating stare was abysmally clear: Behave yourself at the house or you will have to deal with me.
She shivered.
James seemed satisfied with the physical indicator of her compliance. “Good evening, Miss Amy.”
He offered her a brisk nod before he swaggered out the door and headed for the waiting hackney coach.
Amy was especially pleased to see him leave.
“Why don’t you show our guest to James’s old room?” suggested William in an even tone.
Edmund nodded in accord and placed his sturdy hand at her backside, making her muscles jump, and nudged her toward the steps at the end of the great hall.
“Good night, Amy,” from Quincy. The scamp even winked at her. “Sweet dreams.”
Amy muttered under her breath in discord as she mounted the regal staircase. At the top of the second level, she paused, awaiting Edmund’s guidance.
“This way, Amy.”
He steered her through the darkened passageway. As she traversed the imposing structure, she thought about being secured within its great walls with Edmund—the professed gentleman. She had met “the gentleman” once before at the club. Now she was going to reside with him.
She waited for him to say something more, to assure her she was safe at the house, perhaps even inquire if she needed anything. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, she presumed.
But he remained silent.
Her heart throbbed at the stretching quiet, and she sighed—loudly—in a bid to attract the man’s attention, but he remained dedicated to the task at hand: escorting her to her temporary lodgings.
At the end of the long tunnel was a set of double doors, the wood engraved in a lovely jungle motif. She thrummed her fingers in appreciation across the well-crafted relief as Edmund removed a candle from the wall sconce.
“Where’s your room?” she wondered.
He lifted a brow, eyes smoldering in the misty candlelight.
“In case I need your assistance,” she was quick to explain.
He nodded toward the third door at the end of the tunnel. “I should warn you, though, I like to sleep in the nude.” He looked at her pointedly. “Knock first.”
He ushered her inside the darkened bedchamber as she twisted her lips and frowned…and yet her heart thumped with energy at the thought of him naked in his bed.
Amy dismissed the titillating reflection from her mind and examined her sensuous surroundings. It was a large bedchamber. The bed itself was enormous, with a six-foot-high headboard that dwarfed the rest of the elegant furnishings. The simple bed linens, pristine white, complemented the lavish woodwork in a subdued manner. She’d anticipated an embellished coverlet stitched with sparkling gold thread, but the plain and minimal design of the bedding was strangely comforting—unlike its former occupant.
She suddenly glowered at the bed, dropped onto her knees, and peered under the looming structure.
The low light flickered across the glossed flooring as boots treaded toward her, pausing at her head.
“What are you doing, Amy?”
She peered into the dark nooks. “Looking for Sophia.”
He said with a measure of amusement, “We keep her caged in William’s room.”
“Good.”
She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirts, her hair—and stilled as soon as she sensed the man’s knuckles skim her cheek.
He murmured, “You don’t need to fear snakes or mad queens or attackers here.”
His intimate touch warmed her blood, locked her breath in her lungs. At length, he stepped away from her, ensconced the tallow candlestick into a glass orb before he made his way over to the fireplace, preparing a flame with the kindling and candlelight.
Slowly she released her breath. “What about scoundrels?”
Guardedly she sat down on the edge of the bed, as if it would swallow her the way James’s dark eyes had swallowed her, and watched Edmund’s hunched figure.
“Now scoundrels you should fear…fortunately, there are no scoundrels within these walls.”
She humphed.
As the stillness stretched between them, she wrung her fingers in her lap. She waited for him to look at her again, but he seemed engrossed by the fire, blowing into the fragile flames, so she tapped her foot in rapid strokes, releasing the tension that had welled inside her. At length, he turned his head to look at her, lifting a single dark brow.
“Is something the matter?” he inquired in a drawl.
“I was meaning to ask you the same question.”
He lifted off his haunches and approached the bed in laggardly strides. She admired his fit figure, his long legs and wide shoulders. She quickly shifted from the bed, gaining height, so he didn’t loom above her like a towering ogre…he brooded like a towering ogre, though.
“Nothing’s the matter,” he returned gruffly.
She was even more convinced something was dreadfully amiss after that curt remark. Had he reconsidered his offer of assistance? Did he now think it was too great an effort to see her settled as a lady’s maid or companion? Did he resent her for putting the burden on him?
“Are you angry with me?” she snapped.
He frowned. “No.” He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you think that?”
Amy was strapped for words as she delved deep into his haunting eyes. The soulful expression bewitched her. She listened to the gentle crackle of the burning wood, and sensed the heat crackling in her belly as well, for the warm, strong feel of his touch on her skin chased away all her uneasiness, stirring other, more pleasant feelings.
“You’ve been so reserved,” she said in a near whisper. “I thought something was wrong.”
He stared at her intently, as he was wont to do, brushing his thumb across her chin in feathery strokes, making her bones quiver in the slowly warming room.
“I’m not angry with you, Amy.” He pressed his thumb against her lips and she started at the intimate contact. “Not with you.”
Then with whom? she wondered. His brothers? It was obvious that the brood cared for one another. After all, they had searched for Edmund during his absence. And the eldest brute was keen to keep them all safe, even from the likes of her. Yet she was too engrossed by the scoundrel’s close proximity, his sensuous touch, and soon the questions flittered from her mind, and she concentrated on just him.
Edmund.
As his thumb smoothed her jawline, she struggled to keep her breathing steady, but each heartbeat was erratic and her lungs shuddered at the scoundrel’s gentle caresses.
Amy suspected a seduction. She suspected the man was lulling her senses for some nefarious purpose, yet she still remained rooted to the spot, unaccustomed to the ginger taps of his fingertips…and yearning for them even more. She wondered what it would feel like if he kissed her right then, pressed his hot mouth over her lips…
“Good night, Amy.”
He dropped his hand away from her face in an abrupt manner, leaving her dazz
led. She stared at him, confused, as he lazily moved through the room and departed, shutting the doors softly behind him.
Amy folded her arms across her bust and scowled.
Chapter 8
“Here it is!”
Quincy entered the sitting room with a thick book in his hands. He seated himself in a brown leather chair next to Amy, and smiled.
Edmund frowned. It was his responsibility to look after Amy’s needs, to see her well established, and yet he had been usurped of the duty by his cheeky younger sibling.
“What is it?” said Amy, leaning closer to Quincy as she peered at the tome with curiosity, arousing Edmund’s hackles.
Quincy lifted the green leather binding and blew away the layer of dust, the particles swirling in the air. “The Book of Etiquette. My sister, Belle, gifted it to me about five years ago when I first entered society.”
“It appears new.”
“It is. Look.” He turned the spine. “Not a crack in the binding. I’ve never even opened it.”
Edmund snorted.
Quincy glanced at his brother with a mischievous expression. “I don’t need a book to teach me about proper manners and charm. You, on the other hand…”
Amy disarmed the darkening temperaments when she gathered the heavy tome into her hands and set it in her lap, leafing through the pages in an idle fashion.
Edmund followed her artful movements with keen interest, dismissing his brother from his thoughts. He watched her as she caressed each corner page, genuinely engrossed by the words on the sheets of paper…that she couldn’t read. It must be so unsatisfying for her, he mused, to have the knowledge literally at her fingertips, and yet be unable to access the information.
Amy carefully closed the book and returned it to a puzzled Quincy.
“You’ll need to read it,” he said, “if you intend to be a lady’s maid or companion.”
Edmund gauged the direction of the conversation, and curtailed it with a sharp “Amy is fine. There’s nothing the matter with her manners or charm.”
In truth, she already acted with too many airs.
Quincy looked horrified. “I didn’t mean to suggest there was anything wrong with her, but there are so many finicky rules she needs to remember.”
The Notorious Scoundrel Page 8
