Compromising the Marquess

by Wendy Soliman

  He watched the fight with half an eye, all the while keeping the two lads in his sights. Who were they working for? Should he let them go and have Robert get one of his men to keep a watch on them, see where they led, or should he confront them himself?

  The decision was made for him when the fight came to an abrupt end. The challenger had a broken nose and one eye was completely closed. His injuries clearly lulled his opponent into a false sense of security. Taken unawares, he was now laid out cold and there was a stampede for Roker. He’d taken a drubbing tonight, since the champ was supposed to win. The two lads stood where they were, obviously unsure what to do next. Without hesitation, Hal strolled across to join them.

  “Are you lost?” he asked amiably, giving them an unobtrusive once-over.

  “What’s it to you?” asked the scruffier lad belligerently.

  “Merely passing the time of day. Or should I say, night.”

  His gaze rested on the second lad, who had yet to speak. There was something about him. Those slim legs, that pert backside...his gaze took in the boy’s face and he allowed himself to wonder. He’d seen those dancing eyes somewhere before. And quite recently.

  Realization came crashing in on him. He’d never seen a youth quite so perfectly formed, but the same couldn’t be said for the female of the species. This was that mousy creature who’d been part of Mrs. Wilkinson’s deputation earlier today. He hadn’t been able to see that her eyes were such a remarkable silver but if he still doubted her identity, those plump, highly kissable lips and the strand of red hair had that escaped her cap settled the matter.

  Surely the vicar’s wife hadn’t sent her, so what in the name of Hades was she doing here? It wasn’t safe for a young woman. If he could see through her disguise so easily, God alone knows, it wouldn’t take the rest of this mob long to make the connection. If that happened, there would be no saving her without undoing all the work he’d put in here for his own purposes.

  Quite why Hal felt such an overwhelming desire to protect the interfering creature from her own folly, he was unable to say. Whatever her reason for being here, it could only be bad news from his perspective. Even so, he admired her courage. He liked her a lot better like this than he did as a shrinking violet, cowed beneath the force of Mrs. Wilkinson’s indomitable will. It must have taken courage to come here with just a young lad and a scrawny dog to safeguard her...courage driven by a deep desire to learn what, precisely? Only one type of female ever came to this place, and Miss—damn it, he’d forgotten her name—certainly didn’t enter into that category.

  Hal felt a devilish desire to teach her a lesson. “Come inside, lads, and have some ale. It’s cold as the grave out here.”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said. Hal shot the woman—Miss Elliott, was it?—an inquisitive glance. She looked away, apparently realizing that she’d spoken in her own voice. “We need to be getting back.” This time her words were a gravelly slur, partly because she’d pulled a muffler over her mouth, covering half her features with it, but leaving the row of freckles that bedecked her retroussé nose delightfully exposed. Hal hadn’t known that he held freckles in such high regard.

  “Nonsense.” Hal clapped her on the back. She flinched but gamely stood her ground. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Oh, very well then.”

  The dog inserted itself between Hal and the woman as the three of them walked towards the tavern. It alternately growled and wagged, proving itself to be a most inept guardian.

  Hal bent to scratch its ears. “What do you call the mutt?”

  “Pickle,” said the lad. “He’s a stray.”

  “Nice dog.”

  “He’s good at catching rats,” the girl said with the hint of a mischievous smile.

  Ah, so she knew who he was. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever find my home infested.”

  They entered the tavern. It was packed but Hal managed to secure a small table in the corner and ordered tankards of ale for the three of them. They were plonked on the table by a barmaid whose bosom literally spilled out of her bodice as she leaned over Hal’s shoulder. She roared with laughter, adjusted her clothing and directed a cheeky wink at him. Ale slopped over the table, trickling onto the girl’s lap. Hal had to resist the urge to wipe it away.

  Miss Elliott’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she looked round the place. It must have been obvious that there were many gentlemen present, congenially rubbing shoulders with the lower classes, all rank forgotten as they bonded over a sporting event. His brother Robert was leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with a crew member from Hal’s boat.

  The few wenches in the place were rushed, quite literally, off their feet as men paid for their favours. Miss Elliott’s gaze was fixed on Sally, a regular at the Boar’s Head, who was all but giving herself to a bosun at the next table. Hal nodded at the bosun—his own bosun, as it happened. He took the hint, stood up and led Sally outside.

  “Want a piece of Sally, do you, lad?”

  “Er, no, of course not.” The girl shook her head. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Come on now, we’re all men of the world here and I saw you looking.” Hal was hard-pressed to keep his amusement in check. “I can arrange it, if you like, once she’s free. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Er, no thanks.”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Leon. What’s yours?”

  Hmm, clever. Flick had mentioned her name was Leah. “Henry,” he said truthfully. “Haven’t seen you around these parts before. Where do you work?”

  “We’re...er, looking for work. This is my brother, Jonny.”

  “What sort of work are you after?”

  “Anything that pays.”

  “Well, I might be able to help you there. Are you willing to go to sea?”

  “No,” said Jonny.

  “Yes,” said the girl.

  Hal leaned back and flashed an amiable smile. “Well, which is it?”

  “We have a few possibilities on land,” Miss Elliott said, appearing to recall that she had the welfare of an ailing sister to consider. “Besides, now that I think about it, I get seasick.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” Hal lifted his tankard and hid a smile behind it. He was enjoying himself enormously, pitting his wits against the girl. She was quick on the uptake but no match for him. “You haven’t touched your ale, Leon. Something wrong with it?”

  She picked up the tankard, took too long a draught and choked on it. Hal reached across and slapped her across her narrow shoulders.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry, did I hurt you?” Hal smiled at the chit. “A strong lad like you. Didn’t think you’d hurt so easily.”

  “It’s nothing.” She hid her face behind her tankard, much as Hal had done earlier, presumably in the vain hope of disguising a fiery blush.

  “We’d better be getting along, mi...I mean, Leon,” Jonny said, draining his tankard and standing up.

  “Oh?” Hal raised one brow. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

  “Well, er...there might be some work for us tomorrow and so we have to be up early to stand a chance of being taken on.”

  Hal stood also, focusing his attention on Miss Elliott, who remained seated. He could vaguely detect the swell of her breasts, even though he suspected that she’d bound them before covering them with several layers of clothing. “Well, if you change your mind about the work at sea, you can always find me here.”

  “What sort of work would it be?” she asked, ignoring Jonny when he tugged at her sleeve. Presumably he’d noticed more than one person glancing at her with speculative interest as soon as she stood up and displayed her appealing posterior. Hal should have anticipated that but he’d been having too much fun teasing her and, for once, had relaxed his guard.

  “Oh, just general deckhand duties. You wouldn’t mind that so much, would you, Leon? Bunking down with a lot of other lads can be quite jolly.”

  Miss Elliott s
wallowed, her blush deepening. “Well, I—”

  “Not shy, are you? We’re all made the same way.” The extent of Hal’s desire to discover exactly how Miss Elliott was put together surprised him. That tempting derriere, those deliciously slender thighs, caused no end of inappropriate thoughts to tumble through his head. He didn’t need the distraction of inquisitive virgins to deflect him from his purpose.

  “No, but like I said, I get seasick.”

  “Oh, you’d soon get over that. A tot or two of rum settles a queasy stomach quickly enough.”

  “Yes, well, thank you. We’ll think about it.”

  Hal held out his hand, forcing her to offer him her own. It disappeared into his and he held it there for a fraction too long, sparks of awareness jolting him as he did so.

  “Off you go,” he said gruffly, releasing her. “And take care out there.”

  Rob joined him as he watched the two of them force their way through the crowd.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Miss Elliott.”

  Rob’s eyebrows shot upwards. “The girl Flick’s decided to take up?” Hal nodded. “What the devil’s she doing here, disguised?”

  “Good question.” Hal frowned. “But I don’t like it.”

  Rob laughed. “I could see how much you didn’t like it.” His expression darkened. “Should we be concerned about her?”

  “We can’t afford not to be. As you say, why else would she be here, unless she’s in the pay of our foes?”

  “It’s a bold move, sending a lass to do a man’s work.” Rob frowned. “But deuced clever. It never would have occurred to me.”

  “Quite.” Hal set his jaw. “Send someone after them to see if they contact anyone else.”

  “Will do.”

  “Tell your man to keep them in his sights and see if they talk to anyone. Tell him to make sure they get home unmolested, as well. I wasn’t the only man in here to notice her...er, attributes.”

  As Rob sauntered off to do his bidding, Hal tried to decide how best to get Flick to call on Miss Elliott sooner rather than later. He would need to make it seem as though he actually didn’t wish her to. If she guessed the truth, it would be a sure way to make her do just the opposite.

  Chapter Four

  Leah tossed and turned, searching for the sleep that eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, the events of that evening flashed through her mind in a chaotic jumble. The sheer brutality of the fight was still an unsettling open sore but her unexpected encounter with the marquess was even harder to analyse.

  She hadn’t known what to expect when instinct led her to the Boar’s Head, but the possibility of actually meeting him hadn’t once crossed her mind. Whatever was going on there—and she was more convinced than ever that something was—it had to do with him. The man had such presence that, annoyingly, she fell under his thrall in spite of herself, her own willpower leaking away beneath the sheer force of his personality. Blond hair several shades darker than his sister’s fell across his face. Well, the bits too short to be added to his queue did. His features were beautifully chiselled, his brown eyes full of unsettling intelligence, as though he’d seen through her disguise and was entertaining himself by toying with her.

  His handshake, the upward curve of his lips as he trained amused eyes on her, had made her head spin and her whole person feel unaccountably warm. Leah knew her reaction hadn’t been occasioned by fear. The breadth of his shoulders, the lithe grace that underscored his movements, the tensile restlessness she’d sensed about him, combined to unsettle her. She’d never met anyone quite like him before. Could his robust physicality be the result of time spent working on his boat himself? Leah laughed aloud at her foolishness. The marquess was reputed to be exceedingly wealthy. Why would he do his own manual work?

  But then, why would he frequent such a lowly establishment as the Boar’s Head, unless he was simply there for the fight, much as other gentlemen appeared to have been? Somehow she doubted that. His boat was moored in that secluded cove for a particular reason, and she was more determined than ever to discover what that reason was.

  She was up early the following morning, her account of the mill already written and on its way to Mr. Morris before Beth joined her.

  “How did it go last night?” Beth asked, kissing her sister and taking her usual place at the table.

  “Rather interesting, actually.” Leah supplied a heavily edited version, making no mention of the marquess.

  Beth grimaced. “I can’t imagine anything more disagreeable than seeing two grown men trying to kill one another with their bare hands.”

  “It’s not a spectacle that I’m in any hurry to witness again.”

  “Hopefully then, you won’t feel tempted to go near the Boar’s Head.”

  Before Leah could reply, Meg appeared.

  “Lady Felicity to see you,” she said, sounding rather flustered.

  “Oh, so soon?” Beth looked up from her embroidery, her face alight with interest. “What ought we to make of that, Leah?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Show her in, Meg.”

  Lady Felicity, looking as fresh as sunshine in pale lilac muslin, tripped lightly into the room. “Miss Elliott.” She held out both hands to Leah. “Call me impetuous, my brothers frequently do, but I couldn’t wait a moment longer to further our acquaintance.” She turned to Beth. “And you must be Miss Bethany Elliott. How do you do.”

  Beth stood and curtsied. “I do very well, Lady Felicity. It’s kind of you to call on us.”

  “Please sit down, Lady Felicity.” Leah studied their visitor whilst she was engaged with Beth, unsettled by the similarities between the features of brother and sister. “Meg, some tea for our visitor, if you would be so kind.”

  “Don’t let me put you to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble to boil a kettle,” Meg said.

  Lady Felicity took the seat beside Beth and shook out her skirts. “What are you sewing?” Beth showed off her work. “It’s a runner for the dining table.”

  “How exquisite. I do envy you your talent. Personally, I can scarce set a stitch.”

  “Surely that can’t be true.” Beth looked astonished. “A lady in your position. I should have thought—”

  “It most certainly is. I simply don’t have the patience.”

  Beth laughed. “You and Leah have something in common then. She doesn’t care to sew, which is something I’ve never understood. How could any woman not wish to create beautiful things?”

  “We all have different talents, which is just as well or the world would be a very boring place,” Leah said. “Besides, you do well enough for us both, darling.”

  “Don’t try and pretend that you have no talents, Leah,” Beth said severely. “Not only are you very clever but you also sing like an angel.”

  “Oh,” Lady Felicity said, smiling. “How lovely. I so wish I could sing.”

  “Leah inherited some of our mother’s talent.”

  “You two are so lucky,” Lady Felicity said with a wistful sigh. “It’s already apparent to me that you’re very close. How I wish I had a sister.”

  “But you do have three brothers.”

  “Yes, I certainly do.” She wrinkled her nose. “But it’s hardly the same. I can’t discuss my heart’s desires or share secrets with them in the way I’ve always thought I might with a sister. And I most definitely can’t tell them about my paramours. They would either scare them off or call them out if I did.”

  “I suppose that’s to be expected,” Leah said, “but I always thought that I should like a brother.”

  “Well then, you can share mine, since I come with an invitation for you both to dine with us tomorrow evening, if you are free.”

  “Oh.” Leah hadn’t seriously expected the promised invitation to materialise. She exchanged a quick glance with Beth. There was more animation in her lovely eyes than Leah had seen there for many a long month, causing the refusal she’d been f
ormulating to stall on her lips. Besides, if she met the marquess in a social situation, she might glean more information for her investigation. “Thank you, Lady Felicity. We would be delighted.”

  “I shall have to invite your uncle and aunt, of course.” She pulled a face. “But at least they’ll be able to bring you in their carriage. Unless you would prefer me to send one of ours for you? Say so at once if you would prefer it. It can easily be arranged.”

  “No, we wouldn’t put you to such trouble.”

  “I’m so glad you can come. It will be such fun and, of course, you will sing for us, Leah?”

  “Well, I’m not sure that I—”

  “Nonsense, I insist.” Lady Felicity stood to take her leave. “But now, if you will excuse me, I have other calls to make.”

  “Thank you again, Lady Felicity,” Leah said.

  “Oh, call me Flick, please.”

  “Flick?”

  “Everyone who knows me well calls me that,” she said, giggling. “If any of my brothers address me as Felicity, I know I’ve done something to earn their displeasure. If it’s Hal, I also know to make myself scarce until he has time to calm down.”

  Leah smiled. “The marquess has a temper, then?”

  “Only with me,” she said, screwing up her nose.

  “Well,” Leah said, “we shall certainly think of you as Flick, if that’s what you want.”

  “Absolutely. We’re now firm friends and I see no occasion to stand on ceremony. But now, you really must excuse me.”

  Leah escorted her to the door herself and waved her off in a curricle driven by a liveried groom.

  “Well,” she said, returning to the sitting room. “What do you make of that?”

  “I think she’s charming and that we shall enjoy her society.”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “Of course you do!”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I? I know you think I’m too trusting, but what possible motive could a lady in Felicity’s position have to befriend us, unless she was doing so by choice?”