Tamed By The Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  Lady Jersey heard enough of the debate, however, to figure out the gist of it. When she heard the outer door of the library slam, she slipped from the drawing room into the library.

  The Duke of Gresham was alone in the room, pacing back and forth in agitation.

  “Duke, whatever is the matter? Are you unwell? Here, let me pour you a little port from the sideboard to steady you.”

  “Whisky.”

  “Of course. Soda water?”

  “No. Just give it to me straight.”

  My, he is upset. Lord Clydekill seems to have gotten himself into bad trouble this time. Unseen by the Duke, Lady Jersey licked her lips in satisfaction. This might well be her moment.

  Gently, then. Like catching a fish on a hook. If I pull too sharply, he’ll change the topic and swim away.

  “Some small worries troubling you, Your Grace? Can I help in any way?”

  “That blasted boy.”

  “Who, young Lord Clydekill?” Gently, now. I’ve almost gained his confidence.

  “Yes. He and Mr. Coleman’s daughter. There’s been a wedding in the offing for months now. The boy just told me he won’t marry her. He despises her. I shouldn’t be speaking of this with anyone. A matter of Miss Coleman’s honor, and all that rot.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. You can count on my utmost discretion. But really—he ‘despises’ her? Why, the children barely know each other. That’s the answer, Duke, we must find ways to throw them together as much as possible. Let them get to know each other. Liking will grow from that—and surely liking is enough to found a marriage upon.”

  “But that’s just it, Lady Jersey. I can’t throw them together. The boy’s avoiding her at all costs. He’s gone every day, no one knows where—”

  Now, then. This is the moment. This will be my revenge.

  “Well, as to that….” Lady Jersey bit her lip fetchingly. “I suppose I shouldn’t reveal a young couple’s secrets, but you’re the father—you have a right to know, if anyone does—”

  “What are you saying? Speak, woman, tell me what you know.”

  “I think your son may have already picked another girl to wed. It’s known that he goes every day to a place called Mrs. Maywood’s, in St. John’s Wood. It’s some sort of hotel for ladies only. Impoverished but respectable spinsters, that sort of people. All very proper and above board.”

  “Who? Tell me who she is.”

  Again, Lady Jersey hesitated, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to get them in trouble….”

  “They’re in a bloody mess of trouble already. Who is she?”

  “A Miss Bagley. Miss Joanna Bagley. Apparently, they’ve known each other since they were children. He plans to marry her—hence the respectable quarters he’s lodged her in.”

  “Bagley? Wait a moment. There was a vagabond fellow named Bagley staying on my land with a pack of other gypsies. I damn near had him hanged for poaching my game last year. But then Christopher intervened—of course he intervened! I see it all now. This Bagley must have been the little trollop’s father.”

  “Does that pack of gypsies camp on your land every year?”

  “Yes. Every summer, now that I think of it. Since back before my grandfather’s time.”

  “They must have been seeing each other every summer, then, as children. They certainly saw a lot of each other when we were visiting Bath.”

  “Bath?”

  “Yes, there is a gypsy rendezvous at Stonehenge in the fall. He must have sought her out. I’m so sorry, Your Grace, I thought it was just a harmless diversion for the young lord.’’

  “Who would think that a future Duke would even consider marrying a homeless, penniless gypsy wench? Had I known it was this serious between them, I would have put a stop to it, I assure you!”

  “You needn’t worry, Lady Jersey. I plan on putting a stop to it myself. Immediately. Oh, and Lady Jersey? I am greatly in your debt.”

  “Not at all, Your Grace. Don’t mention it.”

  It’s I who am in your debt, Gresham! Through you, I will have the revenge I so sorely need.

  * * *

  Next morning, bright and early, the Duke called his London butler to the study to have a word with him.

  “Haddam, I need your assistance on a rather delicate matter. Of course, I must be able to count on your absolute discretion.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Anything at all I can do for you.”

  “In a few minutes, I will need you to assemble the strongest of the male staff—footmen, grooms, what have you. Eight men should be enough. I will shortly be having a discussion with the Marquess which I expect to become quite heated. I will be exerting my rights as a father to discipline the young man—why should not concern you.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Quite right, I’m sure.”

  “When I give you the word, you will have four of the manservants escort the Marquess to his chambers. I will proceed to lock him in. I will want at least two men posted outside the Marquess’s door. You may rotate the men as you see fit. I want two more of the men posted at the front door, and two at the servants’ entrance. Another two should patrol beneath his windows, to ensure he doesn’t escape that way. Do you understand?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  “Very good. Get to work, then. And you can inform the men involved that there will be additional wages—combat pay, shall we call it?—for them and for you in appreciation of your efforts.”

  I will be master in my own house. Does that stripling boy think he can defy me? Grown a new backbone, has he? I will teach him who rules in this household.

  * * *

  Christopher came whistling down the front stairs. It was a beautiful morning outside—quite warm for late November. Perhaps Mrs. Maywood could be prevailed upon to let him take Joanna for a stroll, if he promised to keep it short. There was an adorable hat he had seen in a milliner’s window—he would buy it for her. It would suit her lovely coloring. He wanted his Joanna to be well dressed.

  His father met him at the foot of the staircase. “Going somewhere, Christopher?”

  “Just a stroll around London, Father. Such a lovely day—”

  “I think not,” said the Duke. “Haddam!”

  At a gesture from his father, the butler came forward. Two of the footmen grabbed Christopher by the arms and hustled him up the stairs, with the other manservants following. His father and Haddam brought up the rear.

  “Come quietly, My Lord,” the burliest of the men said in a low voice. “We have naught against you, and we’d not like to have to hurt you. But Duke’s orders is Duke’s orders, and we’ll use our fists if we must.”

  Christopher reflected that he didn’t even know the men’s names. If we were back in Gresham, the servants would help me, even if it meant defying my father. But I’ve spent very little time in this house, and I’m nothing to these fellows.

  They reached his bedroom suite. The manservants shoved him in the door, none too lightly. The door closed, and Christopher heard the key turned in the lock. He heard his father say, “The men have their orders, Haddam?” and Haddam’s low murmur in response.

  Christopher panicked. He ran to each of the windows, pulling back the heavy draperies. Surely he could escape down a drainpipe and run. But there were manservants walking back and forth purposely beneath each window he checked.

  He ran back to the door and hurled his shoulder against it. These doors were old—perhaps he could break them down. But the heavy oak held, and all he did was bruise his own shoulder.

  Outside the door, he heard the footmen chuckling. “A little less of that, My Lord, if you please. And remember that if you make it out the door, you have us waiting for you right here.”

  Christopher went and sat on a chaise in his study. He felt dazed. He had no idea what his father planned to do to him, and even less of an idea of what he could do to save himself.

  Chapter 18

  A Man’s Still A Man

  His son safely
locked away, the Duke went back to his own chambers. He called for his valet to help him dress.

  The Duke had been a handsome man in his youth—indeed, he was still handsome. He was rather vain about this. He fancied that his good looks and lofty title made him irresistible, particularly to lower-class women.

  He dressed today with special care. He intended to enjoy this morning very much.

  The valet assisted him in choosing a light blue waistcoat, paired with the softest fawn breeches. His jacket was of a deeper royal blue. With that…a neck pin of sapphires, perhaps? The valet approved the choice.

  His dark hair braided back and powdered, his ebony cane in hand, he looked every inch a nobleman of the first water. Wait—one thing more, he indicated to the valet. He would wear the Royal Order awarded him years ago by King George III, when His Majesty’s mind had been in better condition.

  The Royal Order was of heavy, embossed gold. Hanging from a bright scarlet sash, it draped elegantly across his chest.

  “My carriage, if you will. The one emblazoned with the ducal arms.”

  Armed with all the pomp and finery appurtenant to his lofty position, the Duke of Gresham set off for St. John’s Wood to bully the little gypsy wench into submission.

  * * *

  Clearly, the lass is waiting for Christopher, for she jumped from her seat at the sound of the hotel door’s opening. She must be puzzled to see such a splendidly dressed older gentleman enter instead. Perhaps she thinks it’s King George himself! The Duke chuckled at that thought.

  Ignoring Miss Bagley for the common wench she was, the Duke enquired of the manservant standing at the door whether he might have a word with the lady of the house. Some coins discreetly changed hands, and Mrs. Maywood appeared.

  Aware she was in the company of her better, Mrs. Maywood awkwardly curtseyed. It was almost a genuflection.

  “This is a delicate matter, Mrs. Maywood, as I’m sure you must understand.” The proprietress gestured at a parlormaid in a starched cap to bring tea into her sitting room. The parlormaid had been standing there gaping, with her half-witted mouth hanging open.

  “Please, join me in my sitting room, where we will have privacy, Lord—”

  “I am the Duke of Gresham, madam.”

  Mrs. Maywood’s worthy mouth fell open. Her expression seemed to say, “Ah, Your Grace, here in my little sitting room!”

  “How may I assist you?”

  As she carefully poured tea into little china cups, the Duke told her of his wayward son, who was on the verge of trifling with the honor of that little lass out in the main hall. “I believe no harm has yet been done, Mrs. Maywood, thanks to your vigilant care of the ladies living under your protection here. But it is only a matter of time. My son looks meek and mild, but I assure you, he is the very devil with the ladies. ”

  Here the Duke lowered his voice dramatically, “I can tell you in confidence that many a virtuous girl has already gotten herself into the worst possible trouble by him. I apologize speaking of such matters in the presence of a lady, Madam.”

  “My goodness,” said the shocked matron.

  “I attach no blame to the young lady out there, you understand. She comes from decent people, if very humble—hardworking tenant farmers on my lands. I would not have those good people shamed by their daughter.”

  “Whatever shall we do?”

  “First, if you will, please let me speak to the girl in private. You need have no concern—I’m a family man myself, with two unmarried daughters. Then, please be ready on the morrow. I will send a reliable female servant to fetch the girl by carriage, and a coachman and groom to ensure that all happens quietly. We will have the poor, wayward child back with her parents before the night is out.”

  The Duke pulled out several banknotes and handed them to the woman. She stared at them. It was a vast amount of money, more than this establishment would make in six months.

  “For your trouble, Madam. And have the girl ready to go in the morning, please. Now send little Miss Bagley in to see me.”

  Mrs. Maywood almost tripped over her own feet, so eagerly did she curtsey and back out of the Duke’s presence, as if he were indeed the King.

  * * *

  “The Duke of Gresham to see you, Miss. In there, please.”

  Joanna’s legs were shaking as she entered the room. But she kept her head high.

  A breathtakingly beautiful jewel, this one, if as yet unpolished. Look at that face, that form. No wonder my son is besotted. And there’s something wild and untamed about her—something that begs for a man to hold it down and tame it.

  Frankly, she’s wasted on a milksop like my son. What this hot little wench must be like between the sheets! I’d pay a fortune for her favors, if she were at the Empire.

  Pulling himself together, he gestured toward a chair.

  He sat there in silence for a while. Let her sweat. She did not break the silence.

  “So,” he began. “You know my son, Christopher.”

  “Yes.” Her voice dripped derision.

  “Say, ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Speak correctly in the presence of your betters.”

  “If I should find myself in my betters’ presence, I’ll certainly do so,” Joanna said with spirit. She did not drop her eyes from his.

  Clearly, his approach with her was not working very well. “My dear,” he said, changing his tactics. “I have been very angry with you. You came near to wrecking my son’s future, his entire life. I couldn’t let that happen, now, could I?”

  He walked across the room and lifted her chin with his finger. Gad, those eyes! There is fire burning in their depths. “But I don’t wish to be angry now. I don’t want to be cruel to you, or cause you pain. Because you will have enough pain to cope with, once I explain a few things to you about Christopher.”

  He sat down again. “Would you like some of Mrs. Maywood’s good tea? No? Your choice, my dear. I assume you expected to see Christopher this morning, didn’t you? Well, you won’t ever see him again. He’s to be married in a few weeks’ time, to the woman he really loves. A woman of beauty and rank and wealth. A woman who can give him all he wants in this world, and more.”

  “No.” That was all she said.

  “Do you call me a liar, my dear? Come—” He took her by the hand and pulled her from the chair, over to a little gilded mirror on the wall.

  “Look at yourself. Wild and unkempt, like something from the streets. You think Christopher would want you in his home, in his bed, bearing his children? You’re disgusting—I don’t think you’re even clean. I suspect Christopher bathes himself for half an hour every time he’s had you.”

  He saw a flicker of pain cross her face. Ah, so now I’m getting somewhere. She’ll break soon. I’ll enjoy that.

  “He has had you, I expect? Yes? I’m not surprised. A silly little baggage like you wouldn’t be smart enough to keep her legs closed. I suppose he made a big song and dance about your being his first? He does that with girls, you know. It’s a very good strategy. He’s lifted the skirts of so many little kitchen maids and farm girls, and each one of them thought she was the first girl he’d ever had. He likes them low-class, you see. Low and dirty. Like you. And preferably virgins, till he makes use of them. Is that what he did to you, too?”

  Her temper broke then, and she threw herself against him, beating her fists against his chest. “It’s not true, none of it. You’re lying! That’s not what Christopher is like!”

  He caught her flailing hands by the wrists, pushing her back against the wall.

  She pulled her hands free of him and strode to the door. He called after her, “Christopher is done with you, my girl. And if he wasn’t before, he will be now, when I tell him how you tried to seduce me as soon as that door closed. Mrs. Maywood will back me up. Foolish little baggage.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Maywood looked askance at Joanna. She took in her heightened color and her tousled black hair.

  “I can’t have such g
oings-on here. This is a respectable establishment. You’ll leave in the morning.”

  “But, Mrs. Mayfield—” Where will I go? I don’t even know where Christopher lives. And if I found out, his father would be there, too. What am I going to do?

  “His Grace will have a coach here in the morning. It will take you back to your people, wherever that may be. He’s sending along a female servant to accompany you, so nothing will happen to you on the way. And if you ask me, it’s far better than you deserve. The Duke’s a good man, to look out for your welfare like this. Now go back to your room and get packing.”

  In her room, with the crisis past, Joanna allowed herself to cry. She could not believe the ugly things the Duke had said. Her Christy was not like that.

  But was it possible? She thought of her father’s words: “Even a good man is still a man.” Could it be true that Christopher had had other women? Many people would say it would be odd if he hadn’t. Saving himself all this time for a Traveller woman? The thought was ludicrous.

  Did he love this heiress his family wanted him to marry? No, he had said he hated her. But was that a lie, too?

  Joanna cried for a long while. Then she sprang into action. Whatever happened, she must leave tonight. She could not be here tomorrow morning when the Duke’s carriage arrived. She would sneak away from here once it was dark.

  * * *

  Joanna still had some of the money Christy had given her. She hailed a hansom carriage and asked to be taken to the Empire. The driver looked oddly at her when she named the notorious establishment, but he took her there without comment.

  When she saw Rosie, she began to sob. Rosie folded her in her arms and hugged her like a mother. “What happened? Come in, we’ll get you some tea with a drop of brandy in it to revive you. Now then, what’s all this about?”