One for the Rogue (Studies in Scandal)

by Manda Collins

  That bit of persuasion had made Gemma laugh aloud since it was perfectly calculated to appeal to the man’s self-regard.

  “But,” she continued, “he may very well decide when he awakens this morning that he simply cannot wait.”

  Too nervous to eat any more of her eggs, she pushed the plate away and took a last gulp of tea just as Cam entered the breakfast room.

  “I thought I’d find you dressed and waiting on the front step for me,” he teased, and Gemma was charmed despite herself.

  Once again, he was dressed for warmth as well as style, and his many caped greatcoat, which he hadn’t bothered to remove given they’d be departing soon, had somehow been scrubbed clean of yesterday’s mud. Gemma felt a pang for his poor valet—her own maid had upbraided her roundly last evening when she came in.

  “I’ll be only a few moments,” she said rising from the table. “I have to get my gloves but I’ll be right down.”

  * * *

  Cam watched as she hurried from the room.

  He’d only been half-joking.

  He really had expected to find her tapping her foot while she waited for him at the door. He supposed he should be relieved that she’d relaxed enough to sit down to breakfast given just how nervous she’d been last evening about leaving her precious skull behind overnight.

  Having been forced to wait for help to retrieve his own discoveries before, he could sympathize. It was one of the reasons he’d volunteered to point Sir Everard in the other direction, and to come back and assist her today.

  And there was something about Sir Everard that he didn’t trust. It would be just like the fellow to agree to wait until later today, then double back before anyone was the wiser.

  Of course, that’s what he and Gemma were doing, but since Gemma was the rightful owner of the skull, theirs was the lesser sin.

  “I appreciate the way you’re helping her,” Lady Serena said as she poured him a cup of tea and gestured for him to have a seat.

  She was really a stunningly beautiful lady, he thought not for the first time.

  It was unfortunate he didn’t feel the same kind of attraction for her as he did for her wholly unsuitable charge.

  “I know Gemma appreciates your assistance as well,” Lady Serena continued, breaking him out of his reverie.

  He turned his attention to the widow. “Given that Sir Everard wouldn’t have known about the little beach here without my having brought it to his notice,” he said aloud, “it’s the least I could do.”

  She nodded, her blue eyes shining with approval. “She will never say it aloud, but your acceptance of her into the scholarly fold, as it were, means the world to her. Gemma is quite proud, but I know she craves what we all want—to be taken seriously.”

  He was silent for a moment, trying to figure out whether he should confess that his attitude toward her work had changed.

  “I’m ready,” the subject of their discussion said from the doorway.

  Cam looked to see if she had overheard any of their conversation but Gemma seemed unaware.

  “You’d best be off, then,” Serena said with a smile. “Gemma, dear, be sure to bring Lord Cameron back when you’re finished. We owe him a hot drink and a seat by the fire at the very least.”

  “Of course,” the heiress said with a roll of her eyes. “Though I’m quite sure he’s endured far more uncomfortable weather than a Sussex seaside winter.”

  After a quick bow to his hostess, Cam offered Gemma his arm and escorted her to where George waited in the entry hall with her coat.

  “William and I will be along shortly, Miss Hastings,” said the butler as he allowed Cam to take her fur-lined pelisse from him.

  He held it for her as she slid her arms in first one sleeve then the other, resisting the temptation to run his hands over the shoulders to smooth out the fabric. At least, that’s what he told himself was the origin of the impulse.

  Her gown today was far less tempting than the blue velvet from the other day—a dark gray wool that had been chosen for warmth and not fashion—but it was becoming and reminded him once again that there was a rather tempting body to go with the sharp mind.

  Unaware of her escort’s thoughts, Gemma pulled away as soon as her coat was on and donned her bonnet, speaking to the butler as she did so.

  “Now, George, do not forget to bring a litter to assist you with carrying the skull through the tunnel. It’s quite large, and though I do not doubt you’d be able to carry it in your arms, I do not wish you to risk dropping it. It is quite precious and we dare not risk it sustaining any blemishes.”

  “Yes, Miss Gemma,” the butler said with a nod. “William has already found the one we used when Miss Ivy was stricken and it will do the trick.”

  With one last glance behind her, as if she were afraid of forgetting something, Gemma finally turned to Cam. “Let’s be off then.”

  And rather than go out the front door—or the passageway he knew led directly to the shore—she led him toward the first floor and the drawing room with French doors leading into the gardens behind the house.

  Chapter 7

  As she led Cam through the gardens, which, with the exception of the evergreens, were as plain as a lady of the previous century without powder and patch, she waited for him to comment on their route. Surely he knew about the cellar passageway and wondered why they were taking the stairs, precarious in the best of weather.

  But he surprised her.

  “I am sorry for the way our first meeting went,” he said, and Gemma had to shake her head a little to see if she’d heard him right.

  “In the autumn,” he clarified as if there were more than one first meeting to choose from. “I should have been more diplomatic about the rejection of your findings. Less dismissive.”

  Aside from the fact that her nose was in danger of falling off from cold, Gemma was also feeling some trepidation about seeing her marine lizard fossil again. What if it were not, in fact, as spectacular as she’d thought it was. What if it were simply the skull of a horse, killed in a shipwreck hundreds of years ago?

  She was not concerned about her companion’s bad behavior from months ago.

  Still …

  “I accept your apology.. I can assure you I’ve not thought of it since.” A lie, but she was hardly going to spill out her heart to him now. It wasn’t the time for it, and besides that, she didn’t wish to show vulnerability at the moment when he finally seemed to take her seriously.

  “Well, I have,” he said, halting in his tracks and putting a hand on her arm. “It was foolish of me. You’ve shown yourself to be a serious scholar and I didn’t take you seriously. It was badly done of me. I simply wish you to know that I have changed my opinion.”

  She chafed to get down to the shore, but sensed that he needed to say his piece.

  Then a troubling thought occurred to her.

  “This has nothing to do with the way I was dressed yesterday, has it? Because I can assure you, I was just as knowledgeable the day before as I was with my hair dressed and my bosom on display.”

  She’d expected perhaps he would respond with stuttering outrage, but she ought to have known better.

  He laughed. “No, Miss Hastings, it has nothing to do with your gown. Or your very agreeable bosom.”

  She felt her cheeks redden with heat. “Agreeable bosom indeed.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up,” he said, then snickered for some reason she didn’t quite understand.

  “What’s so funny?” She didn’t like not being in on the joke.

  “Oh no,” he said, taking her arm in his and beginning their trek again. “I’ve already said ‘bosom’ in a lady’s hearing. I won’t compound the issue by explaining what is a highly inappropriate jest.”

  “You’re the most frustrating man,” she said in a harassed tone. “How am I to know anything if everything is kept from me?”

  But he would not relent no matter how she pressed him.

  “If
we’re to be discussing bosoms and the like,” she said finally, in a grudging tone, “then I suppose we might be excused for using one another’s Christian names.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound?” he asked wryly. “I suppose it makes sense.”

  “Then, Cameron,” she said regally, “let us proceed. I am freezing and I wish to ensure that my fossil has endured no damage in this wind.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Gemma.” His voice sent a frisson of something up her spine. A feeling that intensified when he said her name.

  What had she got herself into?

  Trying to ignore her new awareness of him, she returned her focus to the ground beneath her feet.

  When they reached the sea stairs, the wind was such that further conversation was impossible. And she wasn’t too disappointed in that. Such moments as they’d just shared were dangerous. Especially for a woman who had no intention of ever entangling herself with a man, as she was. Yes, it was possible for lady scholars to marry without sacrificing their studies, but such things were rare. And rather than risk having her goals subsumed by those of her husband, she’d rather not jeopardize them in the first place. Remaining unwed had been the best course for her Aunt Dahlia, after all. And Lady Celeste. Though, to be sure, Lady Celeste’s solitude had not been her choice.

  Still, it was better to nip whatever it was she felt in Cam’s presence in the bud.

  Anything else would risk danger.

  Further thoughts on the matter, however, were impossible, as the climb down the stairs was far more treacherous than it had been the day before. At this hour, a thin sheet of ice had formed along the treads, and she was grateful for the railing and Cameron’s grip on the back of her coat. By unspoken agreement, they made their way slowly, one step at a time.

  They were but halfway, however, when she glanced over at the area where the fossil had been and gasped, stopping.

  Lord Cameron had to pull up short to keep from running her over.

  “What is—” He broke off when he looked over and saw what had alarmed her.

  Cursing the ice that slowed their progress, she and Cam went as fast as they could without endangering their own necks. When they finally reached the beach below, Cam began to run, his caped greatcoat flapping behind him.

  Hurrying as fast as her skirts would allow, Gemma thought at first that the red near the victim’s head was a kerchief of some sort. But as she got closer, she realized it was something far worse.

  “Don’t come too close,” Cam said over his shoulder. “You don’t need to see this.”

  “But perhaps I can—”

  “Gemma,” his voice was sharp, and something about it told her he was feeling some intense emotion. “Please don’t argue with me. I would like to unsee it if I could.”

  She blinked at that. And stopped where she stood, several yards from the fallen man.

  “But who is it?” she pressed, turning to face the other direction.

  “It’s Sir Everard,” Cam said tensely. “He’s quite cold so he’s likely been out here for hours.”

  Unspoken was the realization that the baronet must have doubted Gemma’s word just as much as she’d doubted his.

  And the fool had risked his life by coming to get the fossil on his own.

  “The magistrate is away for the holidays,” she said suddenly, thinking back to how they’d handled things when Daphne and Maitland discovered a dead body in the library.

  The hysterical thought arose that they should write some sort of process guidelines for such occurrences to keep on hand in Beauchamp House. Especially given the number of accidents and mysterious deaths that had happened here in the past year.

  “He may have left someone in charge in his absence,” Cam said, bringing her attention back to the present matter. “Perhaps we can send one of the footmen to check at Northman’s house. I’m sure he has a secretary at the least.”

  A shout from the other side of the beach alerted them to the arrival of George and William.

  “I’ll go back to the house with William and see to it,” she said. “And I know it’s not important since a man has lost his life, but is the fossil there? I didn’t see it when I first looked because of all the—”

  “No,” he responded before she could finish. “It’s not here. The marine lizard skull has been removed. It’s gone. And it’s very likely the reason why Sir Everard was killed.”

  * * *

  As it happened, the Northmans had not yet left for their holiday travel and so it was the squire himself who entered the drawing room some two hours later.

  “I thought it must be a mistake when I got your message, Miss Hastings,” he said without preamble, “for I thought the likelihood of there being another murder at Beauchamp House was nigh impossible. But clearly, I was wrong.”

  “You might have a bit of courtesy, Northman,” Cam said with a scowl from where he sat beside Gemma on the settee. “A man lost his life.”

  Given that Sir Everard was dead, he’d decided to leave the guarding of the body to William and had gone indoors not long after Gemma left him. He’d found her in the drawing room with Serena, her eyes suspiciously red as if she’d been weeping. Without waiting to be asked, he’d told George to send for Ben and Sophia. He might not know Gemma all that well, but at a time like this, she’d want to have her family around her.

  Now, with Northman barreling in like a bull in a china shop, he was doubly glad he’d called them. Ben’s diplomacy would clearly be needed if they were to get through this interview without Cam throttling the squire with his own neckcloth.

  “We’re obviously quite disturbed, Squire,” Ben said, rising from his seat beside Sophia. “It’s a dreadful business and we’d like to get it settled as quickly as possible.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Gemma interjected with a frown. “I realize it’s another odd occurrence at Beauchamp House, Squire Northman,” she said, “but as none of the other deaths could be blamed on the inhabitants of this house, I don’t see the point of your criticism. It’s hardly our fault that we’ve been targets for such goings-on. And I can assure you I had nothing to do with Sir Everard’s death. Which you will learn as soon as you look into the matter. I could hardly know that Sir Everard planned to return to the shore in the night.”

  The magistrate made a begrudging noise. Then, he frowned.

  “You said ‘return’, Miss Hastings,” he pointed out. “Was he here before? What was your relationship to this Sir Everard. Your footman told me only that he’d been staying at Pearson Close.”

  Serena who had been sitting at the tea tray, brought him a steaming cup and he took it from her. At her insistence, he lowered himself into a chair near the fire. But the hospitality didn’t dim his curiosity.

  “Well, Miss Hastings?” he prompted. “You’d best tell me what you know or I’ll find out some other way.”

  Cam stiffened at the man’s tone. He had all but accused her of intending to lie.

  He opened his mouth to object, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. He glanced up and saw that Gemma was frowning. She shook her head in a silent plea for him to stand down. Reluctantly he gave her a small nod and waited for her to speak.

  “Sir Everard was one of three gentlemen from the party at Pearson Close,” she began with an admirable degree of calm, “to pay a visit to view Lady Celeste’s collection of fossils and bones two days ago. Lord Cameron, Lord Paley and Sir Everard.”

  She was perched on the edge of the settee and the vibrations from a tapping foot beat a tattoo beneath them.

  At the mention of Cam, the man’s brows drew together. The magistrate’s gaze settled on him speculatively.

  “What’s the nature of this party at Pearson’s place, then?” he asked, addressing Cam. “I’d heard he had a group of gentlemen there but not much more. I wouldn’t have thought a visit to see a bunch of old stones would prove a temptation away from card games and cigars.”

  Clearly, Northman couldn’
t imagine a reason for men to gather that didn’t bear some resemblance to White’s or Brooks’.

  “It is a symposium of sorts,” he explained. “Where collectors and scholars of geology might discuss important developments in the discipline, recent finds, that sort of thing.”

  “So, you sit around and talk about bones and soil and whatnot?” Northman didn’t bother hiding his skepticism. “Seems a dull way to spend a house party, if you ask me. But then, I didn’t much care for that sort of thing at university either.”

  Ignoring the man’s dismissal of geology, Cam continued, “When I learned of Miss Hastings’ interest in fossils, I offered to bring some of the other gentlemen to see Lady Celeste’s collection. I thought it would give her an opportunity to share in some of the same sorts of conversation on offer at Pearson Close.”

  As soon as he finished he realized his mistake.

  If Gemma’s slight intake of breath wasn’t enough to alert him, of course.

  “Why would a lady wish to attend a party like that at Pearson Close?” Northman clearly had a guess. And it wasn’t one that reflected well on Gemma. “I shouldn’t think that sort of gathering would interest a lady no matter how much of a bluestocking she might be. Though all those gentlemen gathered together in one place without any other ladies to offer competition might be just the thing for a spinster who had already seen her three closest allies wed before her.”

  “Now see here,” Gemma said with a scowl. “I had no interest in—”

  Cam cut her off before she could finish that thought. It was one thing for Northman to speculate, but quite another for her to put his thoughts into words.

  “It is precisely because she was not able to attend the symposium that I brought these gentlemen to visit her,” Cam said. “To talk,” he emphasized. “About fossils.”

  The words hung in the air.

  “It was all perfectly proper,” Serena assured the magistrate after a minute. “Sophia and I were here to chaperone and Gemma was able to show the gentlemen all of Lady Celeste’s collection and discuss fossils and collecting without fear for her reputation. And if you think she welcomed them here with an eye toward securing one of them for a betrothal, well, you don’t know Gemma very well. That was the farthest thing from her mind.”