A Roguish Gentleman

by Mary Brendan

  Ross sat abruptly in the armchair. Gently, deftly he manoeuvred her to face him so her knees straddled his thighs. As she attempted to sit more demurely on his lap, he stopped her, took her mouth in a slow loving kiss that drained her of energy or will to move at all. She flopped against him, breast against breast, her pert behind tilting ceilingward.

  Ross abruptly curtailed the kiss, as though his mind had been working throughout. ‘Who is he?’ he asked mildly, but she recognised the suspicion and intelligence in the question.

  Her arms tightened about his neck, as though to restrict his temper. ‘His name is Jack; he’s the son of an old friend of mine…the one who presently…who is unfortunately…’

  Loosening her grip, he firmly held her back from him by her wrists, so he could see her face. His dark countenance was a study of ironic disbelief. ‘You’ve abducted a harlot’s child?’

  ‘No! She begged me to take him. Jane was to come, too, but that monster wouldn’t let her go. Edwina doesn’t know of any of it, or that Jack’s here.’

  He swore beneath his breath. ‘Life isn’t that simple, Elizabeth, is it?’ The sheer fear of what she might next admit to having done coarsened his voice to a gravelly explosion. ‘Have you been back to the docks to barter with a pimp? Alone?’

  ‘No…with Hugh…Reverend Clemence. He’s a good friend of mine and very obliging to me… Don’t be angry!’ She banned his annoyance in a whisper, blazing appeal in her jewel-bright eyes.

  For a moment his expression didn’t alter, he simply held her gaze with its odd mix of meekness and defiance. He studied the perfect contours of her fine-skinned face, the lucidity of her grave amethyst eyes. Despite his best attempts at sang-froid, his blood was boiling, dragging his appreciation lower, to the soft, rounded body tempting his. His half-smile was self-mocking, already defeated as he said thickly, ‘An upstart Viscount wouldn’t be lenient…would he?’ He felt his loins answer before she did.

  ‘I…I don’t know, sir,’ she answered coyly, hiding her blush against his shoulder. Her breasts throbbed, felt heavy and full; the apex of her parted thighs grazing his body seemed hot and dewy and these new sensations were exciting…and terrifying her. ‘My Viscount is a brave and honourable gentleman who would never abuse his position of power, even if sorely tempted.’

  ‘He is sorely tempted, sweetheart…’

  ‘I know…’ Excitement won. She instinctively pressed her hips forward and her lips to his, just as a knock came at the door.

  Josie was in the room before Elizabeth had time or mind to scramble from straddling her fiancé’s lap. The maid stopped short, brought her dropped jaw together with an audible clack of teeth and garbled, ‘Pettifer says as there’s visitors to see you, Miss Elizabeth…’ Her goggling eyes blinked once, then she was gone in two precise backwards steps. With contained hysteria Elizabeth realised that Josie no longer had the capacity to be scandalised.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘You!’

  Elizabeth advanced into the room, her expression tight with wrathful disbelief. She glared accusingly at Hugh, then turned her back on him, causing him to redden and abandon explanation.

  Josie had fled before Elizabeth could discover the identity of the visitors. She had told Ross she suspected it might be Hugh and Sophie come to see how Jack fared. They were both aware of his presence at Connaught Street and timed their visits to coincide with Edwina’s social sorties. She was half-right! It was Hugh…and with him was Nathaniel Leach! She understood how he had got past Pettifer’s rigorous scrutiny. Soberly turned out in smart, dark clothes, clean-shaven and with slicked-down hair, she barely recognised the villain herself. He could have passed muster as the vicar’s apprentice, he looked so meek and mild!

  Ross had quit her chamber first, giving her time to hurriedly pull on a gown. She guessed he was being diplomatically discreet in allowing her time alone with her friends in the drawing room while he kicked his heels in the parlour. She was sure he wouldn’t go without saying goodbye. She found herself hoping fervently that he had not.

  ‘Why on earth have you brought him here?’ she heatedly demanded of Hugh.

  ‘If I’ve mistaken your commitment to Mrs Selby’s welfare, I apologise,’ Hugh said with pained primness. ‘Mr Leach came to the vicarage in a panic, saying he had urgent news concerning Mrs Selby’s health but would only recount details to you personally. I thought you would be overset if I did not immediately act on it. I ensured your grandmother was out before calling.’

  Elizabeth hoped to God Edwina didn’t return early. She would have a purple fit on finding this rat infesting her drawing room. And how credulous Hugh was! Or perhaps a few unhappy dealings with this trickster had made her a cynic! A glacial glare accompanied her snapped, ‘I’ve nothing more to give you, if that’s your intention in coming here, Mr Leach.’

  He gestured unctuous apology with the hat in his hand. ‘Fergive me, m’lady, fer the introoshun. Beein’ as yer’ve suffered some too, an’ come from sim’lar stock as Jane, I ’opes yer’ll be kindly disposed ta listen. She’s frettin’ so over the little lad, she’s dosed ’erself nigh to deaf wiv laudanum. I’m at me wits’ end. She’s fadin’ afore me eyes,’ he intoned with theatrical gravity. ‘She’ll only rally, I reckons, if ’er ’n’ the nipper can be togevver.’

  ‘Have you brought her with you, then, so mother and son can be reunited?’ His Haymarket histrionics seemed to vindicate her scepticism; she was sure all that ailed Jane was this vile man’s rapacious greed.

  ‘No, ’cos I’m sure yer’d agree that a man deserves compensatin’ fer losin’ ’is wife,’ he crooned.

  ‘She’s no more properly married to you than I am!’ Elizabeth furiously remonstrated.

  ‘That’s a relief…’ was drawled from the doorway.

  Ross walked into the room, a half-filled brandy balloon cradled in his hand. He set it down on a side-table before assessing the men with calm, feral eyes.

  Both Hugh and Nathaniel Leach were statue-still, gawping warily at this imposing gentleman who had quietly, confidently joined them. Hugh shot Elizabeth a stern look: the roguish Viscount seemed quite at home, while Edwina was away. Nathaniel Leach was also eyeing her, but with approval. She knew exactly what he was thinking, too: she’d found herself a Quality gent without any help from him.

  ‘Are you not going to introduce us, my dear?’ Ross gently prompted as her guests began shifting uneasily beneath his appraisal.

  ‘This is Viscount Stratton,’ Elizabeth announced, feeling very pleased as Leach’s hooded lids unshuttered. Obviously Ross Trelawney’s reputation preceded him even to the further reaches of the East End. ‘Reverend Clemence is a good friend of mine and is vicar at St George-in-the-East. Mr Leach is no friend of mine and is responsible for cruelly separating Mrs Selby from her son.’

  ‘’S’why I’m ’ere, m’lady,’ Leachie whined. A vigilant eye stayed on the Viscount. He was unsettled by Trelawney’s unnatural stillness, his profound, impassive attention. ‘You’ve got me all wrong: I ain’t an ’ard-’earted cove.’

  ‘You’ll be keen to immediately return the lad to his mother then.’

  ‘No!’ Elizabeth cried, rushing to her fiancé, her stricken face turned up appealingly to his. ‘If Jack goes back to Wapping, he’ll be forced to pickpocket again, or be sold to a sweep…’

  Leach looked equally disconcerted at the idea of being foisted with the brat he’d just offloaded at a tidy profit. Jane was still of some commercial use, but nothing like as valuable as that rock-like diamond he’d seen flashing on this classy strumpet’s finger. He’d duped the vicar into bringing him here with the intention of relieving her of it. But now he was nervously cogitating that this infamous rakehell might have given it to her…and that necklace…and he was cursing himself for a dolt coming here at all. He’d thought the mooning-eyed vicar was her beau. He’d plucked out of Jane that m’lady had been ravished and was no longer marriageable merchandise in high society, although many a nob
wanted her for a liaison. Had he known she’d secured Ross Trelawney’s protection… He chewed the inside of his cheek, surreptitiously sidling towards the door. Home ground called.

  ‘How much?’ Ross asked quietly, lifting the brandy balloon to his lips.

  ‘I’ve paid him already!’ Elizabeth thoughtlessly cried.

  After a long swig, Ross replaced his drink. ‘The necklace?’

  She nodded, colouring miserably. She’d never felt more of an incompetent idiot. Leach had intended this all along: he had no real wish to keep Jane or her son, but desired extracting as much as possible for their release. Having easily parted her from one gem, he’d felt encouraged to return for more.

  ‘I want the necklace back,’ Ross stated.

  Leachie licked his lips nervously. ‘Well now…m’lady give it to me in exchange fer the nipper an’ ’er friend’s tally…’

  ‘It isn’t my fiancée’s property. It’s mine. I’m willing to negotiate a price for its return. I take it you’ve still got it?’ he enquired silkily. A smile touched his lips at Leach’s startled expression on learning Elizabeth was properly under his protection.

  Leachie nodded slowly. His interest was quickening, so was his caution. Fiancée? ’Struth! Yet he’d rather not have the bother of prising stones from gold to sell for a fraction of their worth. It was too much of an exquisite, noteworthy piece to fence whole.

  Exactly reading his thoughts, Ross interrogated, ‘Is it undamaged?’

  ‘It is, m’lord.’

  ‘Good. I’ll do business with you tonight. Do you know Cinnamon Wharf?’

  ‘I should think I do,’ Leach smirked. ‘It’s my manor…’

  ‘Good,’ Ross repeated in a satisfied drawl. ‘I’ll meet you there at ten o’clock. I’ll show you out.’

  Elizabeth recognised the deceitful smoothness in her fiancé’s voice and smile from her own early dealings with him. A chill assailed her. There was to be dangerous trouble and Ross was already injured…

  Leach kept a respectful distance behind the tall, athletic figure striding easily along the hall. By the door, Ross curbed the instinct to accelerate the slimy toad down the steps with the toe of a boot. Instead he said, ‘Ten o’clock, then. Don’t be late or make me come looking for you…’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Leach vowed. ‘Might I be so bold as to ask…what sorta price, yer lordship?’

  ‘No,’ Ross said and shut the door.

  ‘Do I need to show you out, Reverend, or do you know the way?’ Ross asked quietly, on re-entering the drawing room.

  The fading heat in Hugh’s cheeks re-ignited and, mumbling farewell to Elizabeth, he curtly nodded at the Viscount before hastily removing himself.

  Elizabeth started after him, hissing, ‘Did you have to be quite so rude?’

  ‘Yes, I did. What’s the man thinking of, bringing a thieving pimp into the house? If I hadn’t been here, Leach might have felt inclined to help himself to a few valuables before he left. A few virtues, too. The vicar would have gone down with one punch.’ He blocked her way, preventing her pacifying Hugh.

  Elizabeth stiffened in shock. It had not occurred to her that Leach might cause such havoc. There were several attractive female servants in residence, and personally she was very vulnerable to his savage spite…

  Ross swore beneath his breath and enfolded her close, rocking her soothingly in his arms. ‘I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No, you’re right! He is a fiend! I don’t want you to meet him later. He’s going to try and trick you. He might bring accomplices and beat you and rob you and you’re already hurt…’

  ‘Hush…it’s a simple enough exchange.’

  ‘What of Jane?’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. The boy needs his mother. I’ve no intention of starting married life with a ready-made family. I’d rather make my own…’ He kissed her blushing cheek and with a rueful sigh put her away from him. ‘I had every hope of a quiet, romantic evening…’ was his wry farewell.

  Cecily Booth emerged from the shadows and watched the curricle pull away at speed. Her rouged lips pursed as she stared malevolently across Connaught Street at the neat façade of Number Seven. Her recent aspiration to win Ross back and become a Viscountess, or failing that, retain her status as paramour to an Earl, lay in tatters.

  She’d tracked Ross here before and believed he was simply visiting the old woman he classed as a good friend. Now, she knew differently. Along with the rest of the literate populace, she’d read of his betrothal to the late Marquess of Thorneycroft’s daughter: that virago’s granddaughter! To add insult to injury that day, she’d also learned Linus Savage had been socially crippled after a duel with Ross over the same woman.

  Cadmore was repulsive but powerful; he’d provided an adequate meal ticket and, as his mistress, she’d gained entry to the fringes of the ton. Now, without even a farewell, he’d fled, with his tail between his legs, back to his wife in the sticks. There had not even been a chance, before he’d absconded, to importune for help with unpaid bills and the rent due on her villa in Chelsea. The idea of resorting to fully satisfying the stump-toothed oaf of a landlord she’d recently mollified made her stomach heave.

  She’d lost everything! And it was all due to a trollop who was no better than she ought to be. She’d been eavesdropping when Mrs Penney thus maligned Mrs Sampson’s high-born granddaughter to that woman’s face. A few evenings ago, at Maria Farrow’s musicale, the two widows had constantly spat venom at one another behind a potted palm, believing themselves unobserved. Edwina Sampson had bested every insult. Gloatingly, she’d described in fine detail the magnificent betrothal ring her besotted grandson-in-law had lavished on his beloved until, boiling-faced, her enemy bounded away in defeat.

  On overhearing it, Cecily had been cut to the quick, too, yet still she had harboured hopes of being reinstated as his mistress. She was very adept at pleasuring jaded men. Lady Elizabeth, on the other hand, was rumoured to be a virtual recluse, more used to pandering to scum in the slums. But earlier today even the consoling hope of enticing him into a discreet liaison after his nuptials foundered. Stratton had noticed her loitering about his house this afternoon, as he had on many other occasions. Before he would acknowledge her with a bored tolerance. Today there was nought but disgust and irritation in his hard face. She finally saw she was nothing to him. Yet just relinquishing him to the woman who had wrecked her life was impossible. She wanted something in return: revenge, and, ambitiously, a valuable diamond and amethyst ring. That would certainly cosy her way north to Yorkshire and her doting old godfather.

  Ross had only been gone a few minutes when Elizabeth had dashed off a letter to Luke concerning her fears that his brother would be ambushed at Cinnamon Wharf by an East End rabble. She was sure that Luke could dissuade Ross from such a hazardous rendezvous when he was wounded. Harry Pettifer had been despatched post haste to deliver the missive to Luke’s mansion on Burlington Parade and she was now impatiently awaiting his return.

  When the rap came at the door and no footman responded, she dithered over the wisdom of doing so herself. It was dusk; it was possible Leach might have returned for some reason. Opening the door just a crack, she found herself peering at a dark-haired woman who looked familiar.

  ‘May I speak to Lady Elizabeth Rowe?’

  ‘You are doing so.’

  Cecily Booth lowered her eyes, shielding her annoyance at her rival’s loveliness. Even with so little of her perfect features and lustrous pale hair visible through the aperture, she recalled having spied this beauty with Cadmore in the fabric warehouse. The Viscount had been there too that day. She’d unearthed the identity of the blonde woman he’d been escorting and recalled a smug relief on discovering it was his brother’s wife. Now that small comfort was ripped away. Even then Ross had been more interested in this blonde…so had Cadmore. The bitch had her pick of the two men lost to her. ‘May I come in and speak to you, my lady?’ she asked meekly.

&
nbsp; ‘May I know who you are?’ Elizabeth responded coolly. Something in this young woman’s flamboyantly stylish garb seemed at odds with her diffidence.

  ‘My name is Cecily Booth…’

  Behind the door, Elizabeth flinched as though she’d taken a blow to the stomach. Her tongue darted to moisten her arid mouth; still her voice sounded hoarse. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’

  Cecily modestly hung her head. ‘I find myself in a…very delicate situation, my lady, as a result of a…friendship with your fiancé.’

  Some silent minutes later, Elizabeth was conscious enough of seeming an imbecile to abruptly jerk wide the door and invite her in. An unsteady hand gestured at a hall chair for she’d scraped together sufficient composure to deny her any better hospitality. Cecily seated herself, then threw back her fancy bonnet so her long dark ringlets bounced about her shoulders.

  ‘Thank you for allowing me a little of your time, my lady. I shall be brief and to the point. I read of your betrothal to my erstwhile fiancé. I congratulate you and wish you better luck than I enjoyed with the Viscount. I managed just a few secret weeks as his intended before he demanded I return my betrothal ring, then ruthlessly cut me out of his life. I was devastated…knowing as I do that we will ever be linked by blood.’

  Elizabeth felt her world begin splintering apart, yet with admirable, cool civility, she asked, ‘What is this leading up to, Miss Booth?’

  A sad smile played on Cecily’s mouth. ‘Unfortunately for us all, it is leading up to the Viscount’s first born…in about six months’ time. Yet I am nothing to him now, just a discarded plaything, although once he professed to adore me. He refuses me even the token of the love we once had. At the very least, returning my betrothal ring would provide some security for his unborn child until such time as I find employment. I have been left destitute.’

  ‘Betrothal ring?’ Elizabeth echoed faintly.