The Devil May Care

by Emma V. Leech

  “Good Lord,” he muttered and made his excuses to the guide before rushing over to rescue her. He gave Mrs Dashton a furious glare, perhaps unfairly, and found a look of amused apology in that lady's eyes.

  Mrs Dashton gave an elegant curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said, her expression bright with merriment. “I've been having the most fascinating conversation with your lovely wife.”

  “Really?” he said, unmistakably disapproving as he took a firm hold of his wife's hand.

  Milly, obviously quite as alive to his disapproval glanced up at him with mischief glittering in her dark eyes. “Mrs Dashton gave me the name of her modiste, Beau. Wasn't that kind of her?”

  Beau narrowed his eyes at his wife. “Wasn't it,” he repeated, his tone dry. “If you will excuse us, Mrs Dashton.”

  Moving his hand possessively to the small of his wife's back he propelled her out of the museum and into the warmth of the afternoon.

  “Beau!” she exclaimed, once they were outside. “That was terribly rude!”

  “What the devil was I supposed to do?” he demanded, furious with her. “Lord, you gave me a turn. Standing in the middle of the foyer, bold as brass and talking to a ... an Abbess! Good God!”

  Milly wrinkled her nose, a rather endearing expression that made his anger disappear. “An Abbess?” she repeated, clearly intrigued. “Is that what they call a woman who keeps a house ...”

  “Milly!” he said, exasperated. She stopped, biting her lip and clearly trying not to laugh. “Damn it. Just ... just forget I said that and ... don't repeat it!”

  “But I know what an Abbess is now so I can't just forget it can I?” she said, sounding perfectly reasonable. “How do you know her, Beau?”

  He groaned and rubbed his face with his hand. “If I tell you, will you promise me you will never speak to her, or anyone similar, in public again?”

  To his frustration she actually pursed her lips as if she was considering this ultimatum.

  “Very well, I promise.”

  He gave a sigh of relief. “Very well then. Nowadays Mrs Dashton owns a ... a house on King Street in Pall Mall where parties are given, by invitation only you understand. You'll find a variety of people there, from those like Mrs Dashton who are perfectly scandalous, but also artists and poets and people from all walks of life. There are, er ... entertainments, gambling of course and usually a good supper.”

  She looked up at him, a considering expression in her eyes. “But that's not the only kind of entertainment I imagine.”

  Beau cleared his throat. “No.”

  “How fascinating,” she murmured. “I wish I could go with you.”

  Staring at her with growing alarm, Beau uttered a curse and escorted her back to the hotel.

  Chapter 16

  “Wherein our hero gains more than he bargained for.”

  They enjoyed a spectacular lunch with The Clarendon's famous chef outdoing himself. The first course of Italian soup with a remove of loin of veal was dealt with swiftly by Milly who pronounced herself famished.

  “I hardly doubt it,” Beau observed with an indulgent smile. “You barely ate a thing yesterday.”

  “Culture gives one an appetite,” she replied with dignity, though there was laughter sparking in her eyes.

  “Giving me a heart attack does you mean,” he muttered, sitting back in his chair.

  She was obliged to stay silent as the staff removed the dishes and brought in the next course, poulard a la duchesse avec pointes d'asperges, but was unsurprised when she picked the subject up again.

  “Why, Beau, and I was only doing it to please you. You did want me to wear something rather more dashing I collect?” This was said with such an air of innocence he couldn't help but give a bark of laughter.

  “You little wretch!” he said, with more affection that heat. She laughed at him and applied herself to her meal. Watching he wondered what she'd thought of his demand last night and realised he'd probably hurt her feelings.

  “Milly?”

  She looked up at him in enquiry and he put out his hand across the table, inviting her to take it.

  “Last night I ... I didn't mean to imply ...” He paused, as she put down her knife and fork but didn't take his hand. “I only want that you should be happy, love. I think you look very elegant and if that is what you like, I don't mind I assure you, only ...”

  “Only?” she repeated, looking away from him.

  “Only I don't want you to feel you have to dress that way. I would never ... I would never, ever hurt you, Milly. You must know that?”

  Her cheeks burned but she nodded. “I know it.”

  “Well then,” he said, feeling foolish with his hand stretched across the table for no good reason. He went to withdraw it but suddenly her small hand clasped his, just for a moment.

  “I do know it, Beau. You must never think that I consider you like ... like my cousin, but ... I am used to being this way and ... it's hard.”

  He squeezed her fingers and smiled at her.

  “I like your hair that way, it's very becoming.”

  She looked up at him and her smile was tentative but they continued their meal together with what Beau hoped was a new air of understanding.

  ***

  Milly looked up at Beau with curiosity as they walked around to the stables, to where he'd said a rather odd surprise awaited her.

  “A Tiger?”

  Beau grinned at her. “Yes, well the little blighter lifted my watch but he's mad about horses and ...” He shrugged, wondering exactly what manner of madness had compelled him to pick a filthy child off of the streets of London and offer him employment. “I don't know. I get this rash urge to do things on occasions. I suppose this is one of them,” he said, giving her a rueful grin.

  “Like marrying damsels in distress,” she said, smiling up at him.

  It was such a sweet smile, so generous and warm. He didn't even think about it, just ducked his head and kissed her. It was barely more than a brush of his lips against hers, but when he raised his head again he saw her eyes were dark and wide, her lovely skin flushed and she pushed away from him with a little startled exclamation.

  He didn't have time to think any more about her reaction as he felt a tug on his sleeve.

  “Mister Grace?”

  Beau sighed and looked down to find his young friend looking up at him with grave eyes. His eyes were in fact reddened and puffy and he'd obviously been crying.

  “Jimmy? Is anything the matter?”

  “I can't come wiv yer,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Just came t' tell yer, is all. Didn't want yer t' think I weren't grateful, see.”

  Beau frowned at him and crouched down. “But what's this? Don't you want to work with my horses? You'll have a roof over your head, three meals a day and a proper wage.”

  The poor boy's eyes filled with misery and he heard Milly make a compassionate noise and hand him a handkerchief.

  “I want to!” he cried, wrapping his skinny arms around his frail chest. “I do but ...”

  “But?” Beau coaxed him.

  “I can't leave me bruvver can I?” he exclaimed, torn between rage and disappointment. “E's only eight an e' won't last wivout me t' look out fer 'im.”

  Beau's eyes drifted to the outer wall of the stables where a smaller version of Jimmy was stood looking equally miserable.

  “Well of course you can't leave your brother!” he exclaimed, taking Jimmy's hand. “What a ridiculous notion.”

  “I know,” Jimmy replied, looking utterly miserable. “I shouldn't 'ave never accepted ye, like, but ... well I would 'ave like it above anythin'.”

  Beau gave a sigh and shook his head. “I suppose there's only one thing for it,” he said, with a rueful grin. “You'd better go and fetch him. I think we can fit him in too if Lady Ware doesn't mind a bit of a squeeze?”

  He turned to Milly to see her eyes glittering and over bright.

  “I don't mind,” she said, her voice ba
rely more than a whisper.

  Jimmy, however, was looking at him with patent disbelief. “You'd never take Ed an all, mister Grace?”

  Beau paused, feeling his throat grow tight. “What's your brother's name, Jimmy?”

  “E's Edward and I'm James, but we've always been Jimmy an' Ed, see?”

  He felt Milly's hand slide into his and squeeze his tightly.

  “Go and fetch Edward, Jimmy,” Milly said in her soft voice. “We'll take you both to Ware with us and you'll be his Grace's Tiger. When Edward is old enough we'll find employment for him too, but he will stay with you until then and you'll keep an eye on him. You needn't worry.”

  Looking dazed and uncomprehending Jimmy ran to grab his brother's hand.

  Beau looked down at Milly standing beside him and could do nothing but cling to her hand and wait for Jimmy to return with his brother.

  ***

  Milly looked down at the filthy little face of the child asleep in her lap and wondered at fate. Was it toying with them both? That Beau's sudden impulse to rescue an unappealing and larcenous child who had swiped his watch was incredible enough - at least it was if you didn't know him. That the child had a brother called Edward ... Milly couldn't decide if that was fate being callous or kind. The look on Beau's face had very nearly made her crumble. She'd known he could neither have allowed Jimmy to walk away nor leave his brother behind. As outrageous as it seemed she never believed for a moment that he wouldn't take them both.

  It was strange that she had never been horrified by his terrible reputation before they'd met. He'd undoubtedly treated many of his lovers with a callous disregard which was at odds with everything she knew about him. She'd of course read all of the scurrilous gossip about Lady Worth and her desperate plunge into the river Cam, and Beau's retreat to Scotland until the scandal had died down.

  At the time she had cynically wondered if the lady could have been unaware of the fact that the Cam was a very shallow river. But she could well see how it would only be too easy to love him with desperation. Yet if he could really turn on his lovers with such appalling insensitivity as he'd shown in the past ... was he capable of treating her the same way? She didn't want to believe it possible.

  Edward shifted slightly, one dirty hand fisted in her pale blue carriage dress. She stroked his hair for a moment until the boy settled again and looked up to find Beau watching her.

  “Careful, love, he's probably crawling.”

  “Oh stop it!” she scolded him. “You'll have me scratching all the way home.

  He chuckled unrepentantly and glanced over at Jimmy who was asleep against the side of the curricle. He'd been eager to take up his position at the back of the curricle but Beau wouldn't hear of it. The boy was too weak for him to be sure he'd make the journey without falling off.

  “Do you think me very foolish?” he asked her, keeping his eyes on the road.

  Despite her promises not to be drawn into too intimate a relationship with him she was too in charity with him for his actions to be churlish. So instead she hooked her arm around his and leaned into him.

  “I think you are perfectly wonderful. Quite the kindest man I've ever known.”

  He snorted and looked down at her. “You know that's not true. I just have sudden ... bursts of eccentricity,” he said, laughing.

  “Well whatever it is,” she said, looking up at him. “I think you'd better start working on those caressing ways that Bustle is always scolding you for, because you're going to get the scold of your life once you present her with these two young men.”

  The truth of that particular statement was proven a few hours later once they were home as Milly found him walking up the stairs sopping wet.

  “What on earth have you been doing?” she demanded, wide eyed and astonished at seeing his exquisite self in such disarray.

  “Bustle wouldn't touch the little devils until they were clean,” he said looking down at his sodden boots with a frown. “Have you seen Purefoy?” he asked, looking anxious. “I want to get these off before he sees me.”

  Milly covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Beau! You're not frightened of your valet?”

  He scowled back at her, making a faint squelching sound as he came up the last of the steps. “Not frightened,” he said with dignity. “Only he's such an old woman. Oh, Milly come and help me get the blasted things off will you?”

  Quite unable to stop sniggering but defenceless against such pleading in his blue eyes, Milly followed him to his room.

  “So how exactly did you get so wet?” she asked, kneeling down in front of him as he sat on the bed.

  “Well I had to get them clean and they fought me tooth and nail. No one else would do it!” he replied with frustration. “The kitchen maids all squealed. Rexom looked so affronted I didn't dare ask and anyone else seemed to disappear off the face of the earth,” he said with a huff.

  “Are they clean now?” she asked, taking hold of his boot and pulling.

  “Yes they are!” he muttered and then sighed with relief as she managed to ease one boot off. Moving to the other she began to tug and then squealed as the boot came off easier than she had expected and she fell back on the floor.

  “Milly! Are you alright?”

  She blinked up and was disconcerted to see Beau's face over hers, his blue eyes far too close to her and full of amusement. A drop of cold water fell from his hair and onto her neck, sliding underneath the high neck of her gown.

  “Ugh, you're dripping on me!” she said, shivering and pushing at his damp chest. With a start of alarm she realised what a compromising position she was in, with him braced on his forearms over her. Her heart began a little frantic tattoo in her chest and she was only too aware of the heat of his skin beneath the cold, wet linen of his shirt.

  He grinned down at her and shook his head like a dog, sending cold water flying over her.

  “Oh! Stop it!” she squealed, torn between laughter and fear and something far more tangible that was making her want to squirm and pull him down on top of her.

  “But I don't want to stop,” he replied, challenge in his eyes as he stared down at her. Her breathing caught and she remembered that all too brief touch of his lips against hers. Her skin heated, warmth pooling low in her stomach as desire licked at her veins.

  “Your Grace!”

  Beau looked up in annoyance. “The Devil take you, Purefoy!” he barked all too clearly furious at the interruption. “Can't you knock?”

  Milly took the opportunity to wriggle out from under him and faced Purefoy's look of surprise with burning cheeks.

  “Purefoy couldn't have known you'd come up yet,” she said, and then turned to the valet. “I'm afraid his Grace has had a bit of an incident with his Hessians.” She paused as the valet looked at the items in question with dawning horror. “It really wasn't his fault,” she added, quite taken aback by the shock in the man's eyes, he looked really rather distraught. “I-I tried to take them off for him b-but ...”

  She ground to a halt as Purefoy picked up the boots and held them to his chest.

  “Please think nothing of it,” he said, sounding very much as if they had murdered his first born. “I will take them and see what can be done.” He cast a despairing eye over Beau's sodden clothes. “Once I have seen to his Grace's clothes.”

  “No, no!” Beau exclaimed, ushering him out the door with haste. “Go save the boots, man. I can manage.”

  He shut the door on him with a sigh. “Well that's torn it,” he said, looking dejected. “The blighter will sulk for a fortnight now, you see if he doesn't.”

  “Oh dear,” Milly replied, suddenly too aware she was in Beau's room with him alone. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go and get ready for dinner.”

  To her alarm he took a step closer to her, his eyes intent. “You could help me get these wet things off,” he said, a devilish look of pure invitation in his eyes.

  “Excuse me, Beau,” she said as panic gripped her and she d
ashed past him, practically slamming the door in his face.

  Chapter 17

  “Wherein the devil makes mischief.”

  Beau smiled. Far from being disappointed by Milly's sudden departure from his room he felt a sudden surge of hope. He hadn't been sure of her reaction after he'd kissed her earlier, not completely. It had been too brief, the moment too quickly gone. But this time there had been no mistaking the way her eyes had darkened, the flush on her skin, or the way her breathing had become faster and erratic.

  He wondered what to do now. He was too aware that she would likely run away from him if he tried to seduce her to risk taking such a direct approach. He considered the problem as he stripped off his wet things. He needed to make her more aware of her own desires. Something that would make her want to seek him out. With a smile he realised he might have the very thing.

  Later that evening he looked up across the dining table at her. Somehow she'd found time to go into the garden before dinner and cut some roses. Their sultry scent perfumed the warm evening air, the night so still that the candle flames barely flickered though all of the windows had been thrown open.

  “We'll have to close them soon,” Milly said with regret. “Or we'll have every moth and biting insect in Hertfordshire in for a second sitting.”

  He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, his drink in hand. “I know. But not yet, it's been too lovely an evening.”

  He kept his eyes on her, hoping he had made himself plain that it wasn't just the weather that had made it so very pleasant.

  She didn't react but changed the subject. “How are the boys, have you seen them?”