The Devil May Care

by Emma V. Leech

  "That is not your job, love," he said with a sigh, tipping her chin up and pressing a kiss to her mouth.

  "No," she admitted as he let her go, smoothing her hand over his chest in a manner that made his blood sing in his veins. "But one of the maids saw something that rather shocked her and fell into hysterics, so I thought it wiser if I did it."

  "Oh?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "But you weren't shocked I take it?" He didn't bother to hide the amusement in his voice as she shrugged, her lovely mouth pursed into a thoughtful little pout.

  "Well I was a little shocked," she said, sounding serious though he could see the tiniest twitch of her lips that gave her away.

  "Goodness, it must be racy," he chuckled, pulling her closer still and nuzzling her neck in a way that never failed to make her sigh.

  "Oh very," she said, tilting her head back. "But it wasn't that. I was only shocked you hadn't shown it to me before."

  "Little minx," he murmured, looking down at her and feeling such a rush of possessiveness it quite stole his breath away. "And now tell me what else you have been up to, and why you felt the need to throw Mr Priestly out of the house?"

  Her cheeks flamed and she looked up at him in alarm.

  "Oh, and I did ask Rexom not to tell you," she said, sounding cross.

  "He didn't say a word, love. You have all of my staff wrapped around your blasted finger and well you know it. I saw him leave."

  She let out a sigh and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Beau, do you trust me?"

  He gave a snort of annoyance. "If I didn't that bastard would currently be lying dead on our driveway. And it may still come to that if I discover he's upset you?"

  He waited while she stood leaning into him, clearly deciding what to tell him. "I'm very disappointed in Mr Priestly," she said after a while. "And I want very much to explain everything to you but ..."

  She paused, looking up at him with those big brown eyes that he always felt could see into his soul. "But?" he repeated.

  "But could you just wait until tomorrow afternoon?" she asked, a pleading note to her voice that was hard to overlook. "There is something I would like to show you and then ... I'll tell you everything."

  He sighed and stared down at her, wanting nothing more than to demand that she tell him everything now, this instant.

  "Tomorrow," he repeated. "And you'll tell me everything?"

  She nodded. "I promise."

  "I'm not going to like it am I?"

  He watched as she bit her lip, the act providing him with his answer.

  "Well," she said, and he found he didn't like the way she seemed unsure of his reaction. "I-I think there are aspects which you will dislike very much, yes. But I hope that ... that once you understand and see everything that has been achieved that ... you won't be so very angry with me."

  Beau felt a bit like his heart dropped in his chest. What the devil had she been up to? The idea that she might have done something that would put her at risk clawed at his chest, but she had asked him to trust her. At least she was with him and he could be certain that nothing much could happen between now and tomorrow afternoon.

  "Very well, you little wretch," he said with a long-suffering sigh of frustration. "Until tomorrow. But if what you show me gives me a damn heart attack you can expect me to wreak a terrible revenge on you." He winked at her before kissing her deeply, just to ensure she knew he was playing with her. The idea that she had been afraid to share something with him sat uncomfortably in his chest. He didn't want her to ever feel that again.

  "Thank you, darling Beau," she said, beaming at him with such happiness in her eyes that he couldn't begrudge her a few more hours of keeping her secret.

  Chapter 32

  "Wherein life is a fragile thing."

  Beau sat at his desk in their London home and wondered at how life had changed. Such a short time ago the idea of having to go back to the great old house at Ware would have filled him with dread. This little town house that he had fought to make his own had always been his refuge.

  It was still a place he was fond of, but Greythorpe Hall had become home and he was eager to return to it. There was so much to do and he found the challenges before him were exciting. The changes that he and Milly had already made had removed the forbidding atmosphere, chasing away ghosts and old memories.

  The portrait of him with his twin aged six now hung in pride of place in the entrance hall. The painting had never seen the light of day since the elderly great aunt who'd commissioned it had died. Of all his family his aunt had been the only who had appreciated Edward's brilliance and had tried to stand up to his father.

  Sadly she was too frail and elderly to help them in any real way and had died not long after the painting was completed. But at least she'd tried. She had bothered to do something to remember Edward, as if she'd known he wouldn't be with them long. Beau would always feel gratitude to her for that. But then Milly had begun to make him see that there were others in his past that he'd overlooked. She'd set out to show him that he didn't have bad blood, but that his father had only ever shown him the wickedness of their history.

  She'd unearthed stories about a great, great uncle who died rescuing a local boy from a frozen lake after he had fallen through the ice. Another told the story of the lady in grey who was said to walk the west wing. She had died during the great plague after tirelessly nursing the sick, no matter whether they were of her kin or the lowliest among the villagers.

  Milly had shown him that he was neither cursed nor destined to be like his father. She had shown him that the unhappy days of his childhood that still haunted the walls of his home could be overlaid with newer, happier memories. The rooms could be filled with love and laughter and the promise of a wonderful future. She had changed everything.

  He looked at the clock and hoped that Turnbull, his estate manager, had met up with his contact. They should be here any moment and this meeting was the only reason he could bear to tear himself away from home. Milly had been right about the watercress. Not that Beau had doubted her. There was a ready market in every large town and Ware perfectly placed to supply many of them. They had already looked into the buying of more cress to plant up all three of the five acre stream fed lakes that surrounded the Hall. Everything pointed to it being a huge success.

  All that concerned him now was Milly's secret. What exactly had she been hiding from him? Trepidation made his heart lurch in his chest, icy fingers trailing down his spine. Just a few more hours. She didn't have a lover. There had only ever been him. He'd enough evidence of that, and not only physical. He saw it in her eyes.

  Hearing the front door close he went to the window and saw Milly leaving with Mrs Goodly. He was supposed to meet her at an address only his driver would know, she’d insisted on it. The little devil had looked positively gleeful about all the cloak and dagger, knowing full well it was driving him insane. Knocking on the glass he made her turn around and blew a kiss to her, grinning as she laughed and returned the childish gesture.

  He watched her carriage pull away and a bare moment later John Turnbull's arrived to take its place, and he went to begin his meeting.

  ***

  "Well I can't say I'm sorry he's gone," Dollie said, once they had inspected the well-run production line for My Lady's Secret. "Though you must give the man his due, this place is functioning wonderfully well."

  Milly frowned. On speaking to her female staff before Dollie arrived she was becoming less convinced about just how efficient Mr Priestly had truly been. He'd certainly not been pleasant to work with from what her other employees had told her.

  "Honestly, Dollie, I think that is a great deal to do with Miss Lawson," she said, nodding towards the tall young woman who was overseeing the packaging of the next batch. "She's a marvel, so organised and thorough. I knew I did right in choosing her even though she's so young. I'm actually wondering if she could take over as manager."

  Dollie paused, pursing her lips. "That would
be a wonderful thing, but we need to be taken seriously. Like it or not, you can't deny that the day to day running of our business could be tricky with a young woman at the helm."

  Milly sighed in frustration. She was certain Miss Lawson could do the job with a little training, but there was no doubt she would encounter a lot of difficulties. Business was very much a male domain, there was no escaping that fact.

  "Well I want to consider her. I think she'd be perfect," Milly replied, determined that the young woman should at least be given a chance to prove herself.

  "I have been thinking that you need a face for My Lady's Secret," Dollie said as they walked around the cramped rooms. Everywhere was stacked up with boxes ready to be carried out to a waiting carriage for delivery. Larger premises would be needed very soon. The packing room was full of pretty ribbons, pink sheets of wrapping papers and dried rose petals, making sure even the parcel was a delight for the senses. They made their way up the narrow bare wood stairs to the tiny room which had served as Mr Priestly's office. It was rather stuffy and dull even on a sunny day with only one tiny window high up in the wall, and completely dominated by a large and rather tatty desk.

  To her relief, Milly found everything neatly arranged and filed, a gnawing sense of unease having made her wonder if Mr Priestly was angry enough to be vindictive.

  "What do you mean, a face?" she said, turning round to close the door behind them. The air was scented with the lovely aroma of roses and orange blossom as the workers in the room directly opposite the office developed a new perfume. It was based on a recipe that Mrs Goodly's grandmother had made but Milly felt it was too unsophisticated for the clientèle. It was highly skilled work and Milly thought it likely they would need to employ a specialist as the results she had been presented so far had been pretty enough but uninspiring.

  Dollie eased her voluptuous form past the desk, holding her delicate muslin skirts away from the chipped edges. "Well I am well placed to whisper in certain people's ears, love, but you can't have me publicly linked to the product. It would ruin everything," she said, sitting herself down on the other side of the desk and then laughing as she took in Milly's expression. "Now then, Milly dear, do be sensible. I am more interested in making a success of this venture than changing the world." She held out her hand to stop Milly before she could speak again.

  "Listen to me. I know you would stand by me and face down the ton no matter what it meant for you, and believe me, that thought ..." She paused as her voice grew a little unsteady and rifled through a heavily beaded reticule in search of her handkerchief. "That means the world to me," she said, sniffing and applying the lacy hankie to the corners of her eyes. With a final sniff she took a deep breath.

  "I know you can do great things, Milly. From what you've told me of your plans, you and that husband of yours could change things for those who don't have such a chance in life. But to ruin it by involving someone who is past saving makes no sense. No one in the ton will ever accept me and I am truly past caring. My life is a perfectly happy one, more so now you are a part of it. But my interest in this venture must remain a secret."

  "That makes me terribly sad and furious all at the same time, Dollie," Milly replied with a huff of frustration.

  "I know, love, and it does you credit," Dollie said, clearly determined to move the conversation on. "So I was thinking about asking Harriet Smithson."

  "The actress?" Milly said in surprise.

  "Yes, I think she'd be perfect. She's young and beautiful and I believe she's on her way to great things. Most importantly for us, though, she has lovely skin. People know her, they see her and want a little part of her allure, no matter how scandalous her lifestyle as an actress." She gave Milly a look of amusement and winked. "Just a little scandal is a good thing, dear. Sadly I have far too much to be of use to you," she said her deep, rich laughter filling the tiny space. "And I'm too old," she said with a sigh, her eyes twinkling as Milly snorted in disgust.

  "Oh what fustian!" Milly exclaimed, laughing at her and knowing full well she was fishing for compliments. "You're gorgeous, Dollie, and you know it too!"

  Dollie shrugged and got to her feet. "Perhaps," she agreed winking at Milly. "Well now, my darling, I must leave you. I have a perfectly edible young man waiting for me. He's a poet, you know," she added, pursing her lips. "He's written me a sonnet," she added with a heavy sigh.

  "Oh," Milly said, amused by her despondency. "Is it good?"

  "No," Dollie replied, shaking her head with a despairing expression. "No, it's bloody awful," she said, her rather refined accent slipping for a moment. "But he's wonderful in bed," she whispered, giving Milly a kiss on the cheek and leaving the room. Milly smiled, listening to Dollie's rumbling laughter as she closed the door and sat back down at the desk.

  Milly spent the next couple of hours going through the order forms and looking at all the stock sheets. A new manager was going to have to be found soon to deal with the day to day running of the business or they were going to fall behind. Even if Beau wasn't furious about what she'd done, he wouldn't want her here all day every day.

  In truth she didn't want to be. Ware itself had so many challenges and Beau needed her support there too. She didn't want to spend her days tucked away in a stuffy office. She decided that Miss Lawson should be given the chance to fulfil the role for the time being and they would see if she could prove herself capable. Then she could be interviewed for the job along with the other candidates.

  Drawing out a little gold pocket watch that Beau had given her she saw how late the day had grown. Mrs Goodly had taken a hackney to visit her aunt who lived not far away and the women should have left for their lunch now. Hopefully Beau should be here in the next half an hour, but she still had things to look at before she felt confident to give him a full tour of the property.

  She moved past the big desk to replace the files she had been reading on the shelves and frowned as a gust of smoke billowed in through the open window. The window itself was set very high in the wall and Milly could see nothing but sky through it, and a curling plume of black smoke. More billowed through the glass and she felt a stab of concern as she realised that the room used to cook the product was below them.

  Perhaps one of the girls had been careless and left the copper burning too hot to be left unattended. Pushing the file back onto the shelf she turned to hurry to the door and felt her breath catch at the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

  "Who's there?" she demanded, running to the door and finding that it was indeed locked. "Unlock this door immediately! Answer me!"

  Milly felt a freezing chill of real fear settle in her stomach as she realised who might be on the other side of the door.

  "Mr Priestly ... is that you?" she asked, hearing her voice tremble. She rattled the door as terror clawed at her chest, the smoke getting thicker. "Please, if you're there, don't do this. Please don't do this!"

  "Burn, you damned whore," he shouted, in a frenzy. "I only wish I'd managed to get the other slut too. You're not fit to be among decent, Christian people. You may as well get used to the flames in any case, you'll be seeing a lot more of them."

  The voice was cold and only too familiar.

  "Mr Priestly! Let me out of here," Milly pleaded, banging on the door and wondering how on earth she could persuade him to change his mind. He was clearly insane. "Let me out and I won't mention it to anyone. I'll say the fire was an accident. But if you don't and my husband discovers you did this, you're as good as dead!"

  There was a chilling laugh followed by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. "Go to hell, your Grace."

  "Mr Priestly!" Milly screamed, pulling at the door and trying to force it open. "Mr Priestly!"

  There was no further reply, and Milly knew there was unlikely to be. Mr Priestly would get out and there was no one else in the building. They had been making a test batch of soap today in one of the back rooms and the alcohol fumes were unpleasant. As it was a nice da
y Milly had suggested that the women go and take a walk in the park at lunchtime to get some fresh air.

  Milly kicked the door with all her might and threw herself against it but it wouldn't budge. Staring up at the window, she knew it was her only chance.

  Grabbing the chair Dollie had sat in such a short time ago she put it to one side and began to haul the massive desk over to the window. The fire must have taken hold on the lower floors now as the heat was intense and the room beginning to fill with smoke. Milly coughed and choked as the acrid fumes filled her lungs, searing her throat and making her eyes water.

  Somehow, after what seemed an eternity, she pushed the heavy desk under the window. Taking the chair again she placed it on top of the desk and climbed up to the window.

  Once it had been pushed wide she could see that this was no easy escape route. Black smoke billowed all around the building now but at least it had raised a crowd and people were running back and forth with buckets. She heard a scream as one of the women who worked for her saw she was trapped, and she prayed that someone would help as she could see no clear way down. There was a small outhouse that met the building but it was too far down for her to jump; the fall would probably kill her.

  Hampered by her skirts she managed to climb through the tiny opening, thankful for once for her less generous proportions as she only just managed to squeeze through. Crouching unsteadily on the sill she felt a wave of dizziness as she looked down and saw the sheer drop beneath her and the dilapidated out house to the side. Just below the window was a narrow ledge that ran the width of the building. It was her only hope.

  With terror making her legs tremble and smoke blurring her vision she lowered herself onto it, one hand still clutching the sill. She could hear voices from below her, instructions being shouted but the noise of the fire devouring the building was too loud.

  She edged a little way along but if she let go of the sill there was nothing to hold onto. Her foot slipped on the ledge and she screamed, clutching at the sill with one hand to steady herself again. Panic clawed at her chest as her lungs fought for air in the thick smoke. She tried to move, to ease her way along the ledge, but that dreadful sense of disconnect had begun to steal over her, her vision becoming distorted and blurred ... and she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold on.