A Rake's Redemption

by Cynthia Breeding

  A light blush dusted the girl’s cheeks, probably because he’d remembered her name. She was one of the few servants George had left behind. He was pretty sure his brother didn’t know anyone’s names, except maybe for his valet and butler, so Alex had made it a goal to learn names.

  “Aye, my lord.” Then she shook her head. “I didn’t see any bugs. I would have been careful to brush them off.”

  “I am having the laundry room gone over for any sign of spiders right now,” Mrs. Bradley said. “And I was about to assign the chambermaids individual rooms to clean as well.”

  “Very good.” Alex turned to the chambermaids. “Who folded the clothes?”

  Mary, Ivy, and Alice looked at him blankly. Fern shrugged. “I didn’t know it was our duty to fold the laundry.”

  “It is if Mrs. Bradley says it is,” Alex replied. He had no idea who was supposed to do it.

  “We are upstairs maids,” Alice said.

  “We sometimes fold the sheets,” Elsie offered, “but usually the laundry maid does it.”

  “She took ill this morning,” Ina said, “which is why I brought the clothes in.”

  “Did you fold them?” Alex asked.

  She shook her head quickly. “I put everything on the table because we had to start peeling vegetables.”

  Alex looked around at the servants. “So no one saw the laundry being folded?”

  More blank looks and headshakes were his answer. The maid the housekeeper had sent to inspect the laundry room returned just then, and he asked her the same question.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t in the laundry room until just now, and I didn’t find any bugs.” She turned to Mrs. Bradley and held up a small empty vial. “The only thing I found was this on the floor under the table.”

  The housekeeper frowned and took it. “What’s a vial from the herbal pantry doing in the laundry room?”

  Mrs. Olsen looked at her kitchen help. “Ina, you’re in charge of the herbals. Did you take the vial out?”

  “I only took out what you said to,” Ina replied, “and I returned everything to the pantry.”

  Alex gave the glass container a cursory glance. “Well, what is important is that no spiders were found.”

  “I will make sure the house is thoroughly inspected,” Mrs. Bradley said.

  “Thank you.” He saw the cook looking nervously at the various pots and kettles on the stove and realized they needed attending. “Very well then. I will leave you to your duties. Mrs. Bradley, would you see to it that a tray is sent up to Inis?”

  “Of course.”

  He was not pleased, though, when he left. Someone had to have folded the damn clothes. He’d never concerned himself with the running of a household, other than to make sure his housekeeper and butler were competent in their jobs. They might think him stark raving mad for delving into a situation regarding a spider and a woman’s pantaloons, but in this case, the pantaloons belonged to Inis. And what involved Inis, involved him.

  Perhaps he was becoming a candidate for Bedlam.

  …

  “You were not successful.” Miranda could barely keep her tone civil as she sat behind the desk in her solar and stared at the girl standing in front of her. She had summoned Fern here, not wanting to wait for secondhand information through Leah. The news was not what Miranda wanted to hear.

  Fern had the audacity to lift her chin, and Miranda bit back a rebuke. A servant needed to know her place, but Fern was not in her employ and right now, Miranda needed her. “Well?”

  The girl looked her in the eye, another trait Miranda didn’t like, but she managed to ignore it.

  “I did as you asked, my lady. I took the vial you gave me and dumped the spider inside the casing of Inis’s pantaloons. Then I folded them like you instructed to make sure the spider didn’t escape. It didn’t. She was bitten. I would say I was very successful.” Fern glanced at the reticule on the desk. “I should like to be paid.”

  Miranda felt her eyes widen and she quickly composed her face. None of her servants would dare to answer like that…or brazenly asked for payment. Miranda was of half a mind to withhold the money, but that would only be a small win, and what she wanted was a much bigger victory. “Of course.” She reached for the small purse and withdrew several silver coins. “I believe this is what we agreed on.”

  Fern scooped up the coins and put them in her cloth bag without so much as a thank-you. She’d showed no emotion over what had been done. Perhaps they had that in common. Such self-assurance was a trait Miranda could manipulate. She took a gold coin and slid it across the desk. “Would you be interested in another assignment?”

  Fern picked up the gold coin and smiled coldly. “Of course, my lady.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you think you are doing out here?”

  Inis laid her bandaged hand on Goldie’s neck and turned at the sound of Alex’s voice, not surprised he sounded irritated. She hadn’t seen Alex since Wednesday afternoon when he’d given her that odd little kiss and then practically run from the room, but she had a sense that he’d kept an eye on her. She’d half expected not to be able to get out of the house. “Brushing Goldie.”

  “I can see that,” Alex replied, still sounding irritated. “I meant what are you doing in the stables?”

  “’Tis where the horses are,” Inis said, trying not to sound as though she were speaking to a simpleton. “I could lead her outside and hitch her to a post if ye prefer.”

  Alex arched a brow and stepped inside the stall. “Do not try to sidetrack me. You know what I am talking about. There could be hundreds of spiders in the straw.”

  “As ye can see, I am fully clothed,” Inis answered and then felt her face warm as his gaze traveled slowly from her head to her toes and back. “I mean, I am wearing protection.”

  He moved closer to pick up her bandaged hand. “This is not.”

  She tried to ignore the warmth from his touch that coursed up her arm and the feeling of being enveloped by his entire body since he was standing so close to her. “I am nae raking my hands through the straw.”

  “Your wound is not healed. It has only been three days.”

  “’Tis nae festering.” Inis tried to pull her hand from his and winced slightly against his grip. She smiled quickly to cover the pain, but it was too late. Alex slid one hand to her arm and his other to her waist to firmly propel her from the stall.

  “I am nae finished with Goldie.”

  Alex looked grim. “You are for today. Back to the house you go.”

  She dug her heels into the ground. “I need to finish…” The rest of the sentence left in a whoosh of air as Alex picked her up and began carrying her toward the house. She squirmed. “Put me down.”

  “No.” He tightened his hold, bringing her closer. “If you keep wiggling, I will toss you over my shoulder instead.”

  “Ye wouldna dare.”

  Both brows rose. “You should know that I seldom refuse a dare.”

  She tried to glare at him, but as close as their faces were, it turned into something more like a fascinated stare. His hair fell silkily over the arm she had somehow put around his neck. She didn’t recall doing that, but then, how else was she going to hold on? Her gaze dropped to his mouth, which was a big mistake. She looked up quickly, but not before the memory of those softly firm, warm lips pressing against her forehead seared through her brain. She noticed now that there were flecks of golden-brown in the green depths of his eyes.

  “Perhaps I had better put you down after all.” He set her on her feet, his voice sounding oddly husky. “We will walk together the rest of the way.”

  Inis looked down, embarrassment sweeping through her. Had he read her thoughts? Did he think she wanted to be kissed? She’d probably been looking at him like a moonstruck calf. By putting her back on the ground, he was letting her know he didn’t welcome any such ideas.

  At least he wasn’t running away from her. But he no doubt thought she’d
return to the barn. Which she would and maybe should.

  But they were almost at the kitchen door, so unless she wanted to bolt and run, she’d have to go in. Alex held it open for her and she stepped through. Then he pulled a chair from the table. “Sit.”

  She didn’t have much choice, but she was glad only Mrs. Olsen was there at this time of day. Inis certainly didn’t want the serving girls or scullery lads gawking at them.

  “Is something wrong, my lord?” the cook asked.

  “I hope not,” Alex said as he pulled out another chair and sat down. “Could I have some hot water, a clean cloth, and the salve the doctor left?”

  “Right away.” She poured water into a bowl from a kettle kept warm on the stove and placed it and a clean towel on the table before hustling off to retrieve the salve.

  “What are ye doing?” Inis asked as Alex took her hand and started unraveling the bandage.

  “I want to check your wound.”

  “’Tis nae more than a puncture mark,” Inis protested and then turned silent as he removed the bandage. They both stared at the reddish circle around a small weeping wound.

  “I would say it is a bit more than that,” Alex said, his voice grim. “Why did you not tell me it was infected?”

  “The doctor said to watch for bluish color,” Inis replied. “’Tis nae that.”

  “Red is not good, either, and the bite is open.”

  “’Tis red because I was using the pitchfork earlier,” Inis said. “I must have rubbed it open.”

  Alex ran his forefinger over the red area. “It feels hot.”

  She felt hot all over from his touch, but she could hardly say that. He had barely grazed her skin, his finger light as a butterfly landing, but it might as well have been a match to dry tinder. When he slid his hand up the length of her arm and then along her collarbone to her neck, her blood flamed. “What…what are ye doing?”

  “Checking for further infection,” he answered and turned the back of his hand to her cheek. “You feel quite warm.”

  Because of what he was doing. She just hoped she wouldn’t spontaneously combust on the spot. Luckily, she was spared an answer as Mrs. Olsen returned with the salve and Mrs. Bradley in her wake.

  The housekeeper walked over quickly and peered down, then frowned. “Do you want me to send for the physician?”

  Inis shook her head. “Nae.”

  “Yes,” Alex said.

  Mrs. Bradley gave a curt nod and left the kitchen before Inis could protest further.

  “Whiskey,” Alex said to the cook, who hurried out as well.

  “’Tis mid-morning,” Inis said, “a wee bit early for spirits, nae?”

  “Maybe not,” Alex replied, taking hold of her hand as he dipped the cloth into the warm water and dribbled it over her palm. “You not taking care of yourself is enough to drive a man to drink.”

  “Doona blame me if ye want a dram of whiskey so early in the day.” Inis raised her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

  Alex glanced up at her before squeezing more water over the puncture. “You managed to get dirt under the bandage.”

  “I dinna.”

  “You did. Look.”

  Inis frowned and looked down. The water had washed a few specks of something off her hand. “That could have come from outside the bandage.”

  “Maybe,” Alex said, not sounding at all like he agreed with her. The cook returned, holding a bottle out to him. He pulled the stopper and offered the whiskey to Inis. “You might want to take a big swallow.”

  “I like to keep a clear head.”

  “Suit yourself.” Alex turned her hand palm up over the water bowl. “This may sting a little.”

  He’d hardly finished the sentence before he poured the whiskey over her wound. Inis clenched her jaw, although a sound like a hissing snake escaped. Alex flinched but continued to pour.

  “Whiskey is the best thing to cleanse a wound,” he said and finally held the bottle upright. “There. That should do it.”

  Inis ground her teeth against the sting of the pain, her eyes tearing. She reached for the bottle silently.

  Alex handed it to her. “Take a big swallow.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice.

  …

  “I think you are losing your touch,” Caroline said to Alex in the crowded salon at Vanessa Caldwell’s soiree. “You have not flirted with a single woman tonight.”

  “I do not flirt,” Alex said, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  “My mistake,” Caroline said drily. “You have not flirted with even one married woman tonight.”

  “I do not flirt with them, either.”

  Caroline raised an eyebrow, her mouth twitching. “Pardon my use of such a mundane verb. Perhaps beguile, enthrall, or enchant would be better words?”

  Alex shook his head. “You make me sound like a magician.”

  “Ummm,” Caroline took a sip of her wine. “Perhaps I should start calling you Merlin, then.”

  “Please do not.”

  Caroline smiled mischievously. “Imagine the bragging the Ravaged Revelers of the Rake would do if they thought they had been seduced by King Arthur’s right-hand man? Or perhaps I should call you Lancelot—”

  “Will you stop?” Alex said with a little more exasperation than he’d intended. “You know as well as I do that a man does not have to be that well versed in the art of seduction to break the boredom of the prestigious ladies of the ton.”

  “True, but I do not know any other man whose paramours form a club for the sole purpose of admiring and discussing his…ah, skills.” Her grin widened as Alex’s face heated. “Are you blushing?”

  “I do not blush. It is quite warm in here with the crush of people.”

  “Or perhaps you are feeling the heat from the seductive looks all those hopeful ladies are sending your way?”

  “You exaggerate, my dear.”

  “Hardly. Jeanette has been watching you like a cat waiting to pounce on prey. Melanie, Miranda, and Vanessa have not taken their eyes off you, either, and I dare say Beatrice probably has a bedchamber ready if you only wink at her.” Caroline took another sip of wine. “And that is not even mentioning the ladies present who have not yet had the privilege of being your next conquest.”

  “You make it sound like I am some kind of marauding invader fresh off a pirate ship come to pillage.”

  “Quite aptly put,” Caroline said.

  “What I meant was…” Alex’s voice trailed off as a momentary hush fell over the crowded room.

  “Well, well,” Caroline said. “Speaking of pirates. Look who arrived. The Marquis of Kendrick. He has not attended anything in so long I thought maybe he really was off raiding ships.”

  Alex glanced toward the door and then back to Caroline. “You should know better than to believe those rumors.”

  Caroline shrugged. “He does looks like a pirate with those eyes nearly as black as that long hair. I can almost see him in black breeches wearing a sash and bandana.”

  Alex gave her an amused look. “I had no idea you harbored such romantic illusions about Kendrick.”

  “I do not,” Caroline said.

  “Is he wearing a shirt?” Alex asked.

  Caroline blinked. “Of course he is wearing a shirt. A waistcoat and top coat as well, along with a cravat. Is something wrong with your eyesight?”

  “I meant in your fantasy,” Alex said blandly.

  Caroline turned pink. “I do not fantasize.”

  “I believe I saw a shirtless pirate on the cover of one of those Gothic stories not long ago,” Alex said as though she hadn’t spoken. “If I recall, he had black hair, too. Perhaps you associated Kendrick with that?”

  “I do not read them. I am surprised you do.”

  “I do not. My chambermaids seem rather fond of them, although I have not heard any comparisons to Kendrick.” Alex smiled, enjoying teasing her. “I doubt he would mind if you wanted to picture him shi
rtless.”

  “I do not.” Caroline replied stiffly. “But the marquis does own a dark-hulled sailboat with tanbark sails, which means the vessel would not be seen at night.”

  Alex raised one brow. “How did you come by that piece of information?”

  “My father,” Caroline said. “The marquis entered the boat in a race on the Thames last year. My father said it was quite fast.”

  “Just like a pirate’s ship should be,” Alex said.

  Caroline glanced at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Perhaps,” Alex answered. “Rumors about Kendrick have been flying since his older brother drowned in a boating accident and he received the title, even though he was bastard born. It is bad enough he has been ostracized for that and labeled a black sheep among our oh-so-chaste-and-uncorrupted ton. It does not make the man a pirate.” Alex grinned. “Unless, of course, you wish him to be one in your fantasy.”

  Caroline gave him an exasperated look. “Will you stop? I only mentioned the whole thing because I was surprised to see him here.”

  “Even the most discerning hostess hesitates to cut a marquis,” Alex said. “One simply cannot risk offending the holder of such a title.”

  “Hypocrites,” Caroline said. “Although they seek his presence, none of the ton will allow him to pay court to their daughters because of the rumors.”

  Alex glanced over at the marquis and then smiled. “If I know Kendrick, he probably thanks the gods daily for that. It allows him a bit more room to dally without fearing the parson’s noose.”

  Caroline shook her head. “You rakes are all alike.”

  “I am not sure I agree. I do not recall you ever comparing me to a pirate.” Alex widened his grin. “With a shirt or without one.”

  “You are shameless, Alexander Ashley.”

  He shrugged. “So they say. But what is wrong with self-indulgence? If you harbor a pirate fantasy—”

  “I do not.”

  “—perhaps you should share it with Kendrick.”

  Caroline stared at Alex, practically speechless, which for her was a rarity “I will not do any such thing.”

  Alex gave her another infuriating grin. “Why not give it a try? You might enjoy it.”