The Scandalously Bad Mr. Milroy

by Alexandra Hawkins

  A guarded expression replaced his anxious plea. “I might.”

  Keanan pinched the bridge of his nose. Laughing, he shook his head. “Very clever, indeed. Approach and strike your enemy before he strikes at you. I almost believed you, except for one fact.”

  “You think I jest?”

  The muscles in his face tightened until they felt like carved stone. Still, he forced the cavalier smile he did not feel. “You have a son, an heir. What you are suggesting would humiliate him. He would be tossed into an unsavory world, while it elevated a man who, up until this morning, you would not have deemed worthy to scrape the dung off your boots. Believe you, Your Grace? Such callous measures would undoubtedly christen you the truest bastard of us all.”

  * * *

  “If you are answering the door, Speck, I assume my family has not summoned a runner to search for me?” Wynne said, rushing past Tipton’s butler.

  “Not yet, Miss Bedegrayne,” the servant replied. His sharp gaze noted her high color and harried appearance. “Living for adventure these days?”

  Untying her bonnet, her gaze locked with his. Speck, like his cunning employer, did not reveal much outwardly. She could not tell if he was teasing her or slyly hinting that he knew where she had been this afternoon. “Oh, I doubt you would find my adventures entertaining.”

  He accepted her bonnet and pelisse. “Ma’ap we will swap tales someday soon.”

  Startled by his parting comment, she glanced back, but the manservant was walking away.

  “Wynne!” Madeleina rushed to embrace her. Her Maltese, Flora, chased after her skirts, yapping a greeting. “An hour more, and your papa would have bellowed for a runner.” She fluttered her lashes prettily, rolling her eyes upward. Although she was quite a bit younger, Wynne’s tardiness had balanced the scales, making them equals. Her sister-in-law was always prepared to commiserate about the elders.

  “Papa tends to dramatize.”

  “He is not the only one.”

  Clasping her hand, they strolled in the direction of the distant voices. “Why the frown, Maddy? Tipton becoming overbearing?”

  Sir Thomas was not the only family member who had talent for the stage. Madeleina had perfected her sulking skills, much to her brother’s annoyance. The skirmishes between the Wyman siblings had become legendary within the family. Wynne assumed they were catching up for all the years they were apart.

  “I want to tour and study in Italy,” the young girl said defiantly, her frown deteriorating into a pout. “You would think I asked for lessons to become a courtesan!”

  “Oh, pet,” she sympathized, understanding her desire to seek ambitions beyond wedding a respectable gentleman.

  “Rallying an opposition will not likely change my position, Maddy,” Tipton said in a brotherly, smug fashion that instinctively made Wynne want to give him a sisterly kick in the instep. He must have deduced her intent, because he added, “Wayward sisters need supervision. I have no desire to chase this hoyden all over Italy.”

  “Do not be a bore, Tipton. Living with my sister should have relieved you of all that starch.” Ignoring Madeleina’s smirk, Wynne kissed him on the cheek, taking the sting out of the observation.

  “Maddy is not the only one who concerns me,” he countered softly.

  * * *

  Dinner was a splendid, intimate affair. Tipton, denied his own family for so many years, often indulged his new family. There must have been at least sixteen dishes presented throughout the two main and dessert courses. Wynne touched her stomach and groaned, regretting the Shrewsbury cake smothered with hot raspberry jam and ice cream she had just eaten. It was tempting to have one of the maids loosen her stays.

  Devona had chosen the music room to wait for the men while they drank their port and discussed business. Maddy sat at the pianoforte. Her brow wrinkled as she struggled her way through a simple musical composition. It took effort not to wince visibly when she muddled a chord.

  “I think Maddy is improving,” Devona said, trying to be encouraging. “Do you not agree, Wynne?”

  “Her perseverance is commendable. Does Tipton listen to her play?”

  Maddy snorted, increasing her tempo in an attempt to end her ordeal. “Ah, the sole pleasure in this wretched hour is when dear brother is bullied into hearing me play.”

  Wynne’s sister shrugged, not contesting the comment. “Why do you think he and Papa are tarrying over their port?”

  “Tipton,” Sir Thomas said, alerting them to their presence. “Did your wife just call us cowards?” He joined Wynne on the sofa.

  Tipton chose a seat close to his wife. “Merely pointing out the inescapable fact our Maddy will never entice an admirer with her musical abilities.”

  “Who says I want a husband?” Maddy sneered, the ensuing musical notes confirming her discord. “I already have a harrying brother.”

  “Nonsense, my gel,” Sir Thomas said, shooting a notable look at his unmarried daughter. “You will have a multitude of suitors. Wynne, speak to the child.”

  “I will, Papa, as soon as I think of something to recommend about gentlemen.”

  Wynne met her sister’s gaze. Her brow lifted as she thought of all the inappropriate proposals she had received over the years. Devona silently acknowledged the dilemma with the tilt of her chin. Both laughed, recalling shared tales. Countless years of confidences had allowed them to converse without words.

  Sir Thomas scowled at his youngest daughter, wounded by her disrespect. “Tipton, I trust you to rein in your wife. I am an old man, and one impertinent daughter is all I can bear.”

  Wynne sighed. “Oh, Papa. Pray let us not bring up old arguments. It will only distress you.” And me. She had hoped her father would be too distracted this evening to corner her.

  “Old arguments? You are three and twenty and unmarried, my gel. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Sadly, Tipton does not have a brother or handsome cousin.”

  Sir Thomas pounded the armrest of the sofa. “You were once such a biddable, intelligent gel. Why are you being so picky?” he demanded.

  Tipton idly coiled one of his wife’s curls around his finger. “I’d understood there have been a generous number of suitors courting her affection.”

  “Bounders, most of them.”

  Devona leaned into her husband’s caress. “What of Lord Nevin?” she asked, earning a piercing glare from Wynne.

  Her father dismissingly waved off the suggestion. “The man could be shaped into a respectable husband. Decent to look at, titled, moneyed as far as I can tell. ’Tis Reckester who sours the deal. He came visiting, you know?”

  Startled by the revelation, Wynne asked, “Lord Nevin has spoken to you, and you did not think to mention this? What did he want?”

  “Sit back down and calm yourself. You look too pale for my liking,” Sir Thomas commanded. “It wasn’t Nevin. Reckester came to see me, prepared to sit down and settle the matter you and Nevin keep dancing around.”

  The room felt too stifling for Wynne. Her annoyance soared with each mistake Maddy made at the pianoforte. “There is no understanding between Lord Nevin and myself,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  “But—”

  Something in her expression quelled Devona from voicing her protest. The meal she had eaten churned in her stomach, making her nauseous. If she did not do something, her family intended to wed her to Lord Nevin. He was a decent man; however, he was not for her.

  “What of this Milroy?” Tipton interjected. “There are rumors abounding that he is pursuing Wynne?”

  He stared at her when he asked the question. There was no doubt in her mind that he was indeed aware of Keanan’s interest.

  Devona grew pensive. “Rayne, was not this Mr. Milroy the gentleman Aunt Moll introduced us to at the masquerade?”

  The mention of his name mottled her father’s face into a distressing purple hue. “Keanan Milroy,” he raged. “Odd, neither you nor your aunt spoke of the encoun
ter. He did not dare approach you?”

  He had done more than approach her that evening. If accidentally meeting Keanan at a public ball enraged him, then he would certainly murder him for taking her innocence. Wynne considered lying. She might have even been convincing if her aunt had resisted introducing Keanan to her sister and brother-in-law.

  Bracing for the worst, she argued, “Aunt Moll considers Mr. Milroy a respectable acquaintance. There is nothing reproachful about his behavior toward me.”

  “Deplorable, arrogant blackguard! I warned him to keep his distance. By God, I shall have the jackanapes pressed into service. Come, Tipton, you should be able to name a man or two who could cudgel him on the pate and haul him to the docks?”

  Horrified by the turn of the conversation, Wynne rose to her feet. “No one is handing Mr. Milroy over to a press-gang. Tipton, I will never speak to you again if you assist him in this lunacy.” Tears threatened, blurring her vision. She was prepared to dash off and warn Keanan this moment if she could not gain her father’s promise to leave him alone.

  Her sister stood and placed a comforting arm around her. “No one is going to truss up your Mr. Milroy and send him out to sea. Papa, assure Wynne that you were merely teasing.”

  “Tears?” Sir Thomas gaped while Wynne struggled not to cry. “No man sprouted from Reckester’s careless seed is worthy of your compassion. Milroy is rough-edged, violent, a man who covets his brother’s position.”

  She flinched at the truth of his words, even though her heart denied them. “You pass judgment on a man you do not know.”

  “He has a taste for pretty toys, my gel. That does not mean they are safe in his care, or that he will treasure them. Heed your papa, and strike him from your heart.”

  “You have already warned him off, I assume?” Tipton asked, attracting her father’s attention away from her.

  “Aye, I have. Walked boldly into my house and told me he intended to have Wynne. I told him he’d never gain my blessing on such a match.”

  Oh, wonderful, she thought. Where her father had failed, Tipton in ruthless thoroughness might find a more permanent way of discouraging Keanan. “You speak as if he is the enemy, Papa. Do I need remind you that he rescued me when I was pushed in front of those lions? He approached you to explain the incident because he feared I would not. If he said anything offensive, then you must have provoked him.”

  “Where have I failed, when my own child defends a scoundrel to her father?”

  Devona’s hand tightened on her arm. “What lions? You were hurt and did not tell us?”

  Wynne immediately regretted her inadequate defense, realizing she had distressed her sister. “A small accident at a fair,” she assured her, regretting the pain she saw in her sister’s eyes. Both of them were recalling a time when they shared all their confidences. “There was no reason to worry you. Mr. Milroy protected me. I was unharmed.”

  Sir Thomas clung to his prejudice. “If he had not lured you to the fair, your life would not have been risked. This Milroy has mistaken my clemency for weakness. I shall meet him at dawn if he seeks you out again.”

  Maddy’s playing sounded as if she was paying more attention to their argument than to her sheet music. The mangled chords created a slicing pain in Wynne’s temples that she swore cut right through her skull. She dug her fingers into her right temple, yelling, “Maddy, is it your intention to drive us all mad with your cursed playing. I cannot bear another minute of that awful clatter.”

  Stunned by the waspish tone directed at her, Maddy curled her fingers into fists and jammed them into her lap. Everyone was staring at Wynne in varying degrees of amazement. She had never spoken a harsh word to the girl. Guilt easily turned to anger toward the man she held responsible for her wretched conduct.

  “I will not tolerate any dawn appointments on my behalf. If either of you take any steps toward hurting Keanan, I will simply tell everyone that I am his mistress. Imagine the scandal, Papa. I doubt even you can bluster your way through it.”

  “Now see here!” Sir Thomas’s roar escalated over the pandemonium that her threat caused. To her, the overheated room filled with the irritating buzz of indistinguishable voices, and the blur of colors heightened her nausea.

  Wynne escaped the room. Moving blindly, her flight took her down the hall to the stairs. Ascending to the next landing, she pushed open the first bedroom door and collapsed at the open commode.

  She was retching into the chamber pot when her sister came up behind her. Moments later a wet cloth was pressed against her forehead. The spasms in her stomach slowly relented. Boneless and weak, she turned away from the commode and slid to the floor. Her hand captured the falling cloth and pressed it to her mouth. Devona sat down next to her.

  “I made a real hash of things,” she said, folding the cloth and pressing it to her eyes. “Papa is probably summoning his carriage so he can put a ball through Keanan’s heart.”

  “Tipton is managing Papa,” Devona reassured her, pushing the stray tendrils of hair away from her damp face. “You are not in love with Lord Nevin?”

  She sniffed. “No. Once I thought—no.”

  “Why did you not tell me you were in love with Mr. Milroy?”

  As she calmed, her body trembled, the outcome from her earlier distress. “I did not set out to love him. At first, I did not even like the man. Later, it just seemed prudent not to speak of him, especially after Papa ordered me to avoid his company.”

  “Does he return your feelings?”

  Misery pumped through her heart, leaving her exhausted. “He cares.” To think otherwise would leave her with unrecoverable wounds. She replied to her sister’s unspoken protest. “You do not understand. Keanan comes from bleak circumstances. He is not like us. Revealing too much of the heart is considered a sign of weakness in his mind. I do not know if he will ever be able to confess his feelings.” Instead, he allowed his body to speak for him. In his arms, she felt cherished and protected. It was enough, she thought. It had to be enough.

  She glanced away from the disbelief and sympathy she noted in her sister’s expression, despising the notion that she deserved both.

  “Will he offer marriage, Wynne? Will he add respectability and protection to his undeclared love by giving you his name, a home, a family of your own?”

  “I have no answer for you,” she replied starkly. “Not one either one of us will believe.”

  Fifteen

  Keanan did not know whether it was the sound of the brimstone match striking steel, or the pungent odor of sulfur that first awoke him. Keeping up the pretense of sleep, he studied the intruder through narrowed slits. He was garbed in black and did not seem to be in any hurry while he lit the lamp on the table.

  “Good, you are awake,” the stranger said, though Keanan had not shifted from his curled position. “If I had put my hands on you, I feared in my present mood, I would not have been gentle.”

  Hating his vulnerable predicament, he sat up, and pulled the top blanket from the bed.

  “Your modesty is quite charming, Mr. Milroy, and completely unnecessary. Considering my profession, I doubt your physique is any different from others I have observed.”

  Keanan gritted his teeth, bracing himself against that mocking, amused tone. His face more shadow than flesh, the man sat down in a chair, resting his cane across his lap. Furious, Keanan kept his distance, wondering if the cane concealed a more worrisome weapon, such as a long, deadly edged sword. Still, it did not keep him from growling, “Toss over my trousers.”

  The man chuckled. “I prefer holding the advantage.”

  “Aw, fuck,” he swore, his manner of speech disintegrating into its rough origins. “You aren’t one of those bleeding sodomites. I was fourteen when one of your sort tried to put his soft hands on me. I still managed to break his fat nose and several bones in his hand on our parting.” The memory had him hoping his unwanted guest would come for him. He relished the chance at mussing up his face.

  �
��Allow me, belatedly, to congratulate you on your triumph.” The stranger scooped the discarded trousers on the floor with his wicked-looking cane and flicked them into waiting hands. “I took a few pokes, but my interest in you is not predatory.” He laughed, unmoved by Keanan’s succinct, mouthy opinion on what he thought his visitor was. “Damn, I like you. I can see why Bedegrayne despised you on sight.”

  His bowed head bobbed up. Pulling his trousers over his hips, Keanan fastened the top button. “What do you have to do with the Bedegraynes?”

  “I’m family.”

  “No more games. I want to see your face.”

  The man obliged by leaning to the side and sliding the lamp closer. His gaze never faltered from Keanan’s.

  The bold streak of blond sprouting near his right temple was better than any calling card. “Lord Tipton. A bit late for a respectable visit, is it not?” His sarcasm made the viscount smile, but it was far from engaging. The tiny hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He eased into the chair on the other side of the small table.

  “No one has ever accused me of being respectable. The same could be said about you.”

  “Ah, the crux of our problem.” Keanan nodded, grudgingly respecting the man’s forthrightness. “The old man sent you here to warn me off?”

  “No, this visit was my idea. Actually, Sir Thomas was all for setting a press-gang after you.”

  If Tipton anticipated shocking him with the revelation, he would be disappointed. Keanan refused to give him a satisfying reaction. “He could try,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level.

  “Oh, Sir Thomas would dare anything when his family is at risk,” he said, warming to the topic. “Not to worry, though. Wynne quite effectively neutralized his plans. If you have to look over your shoulder, it will not be on her papa’s account.”

  He did not like the notion of Wynne stepping between him and her father. “I don’t need a woman fighting in my stead.”

  “Well, you might as well get used to it. The Bedegrayne women can never be mistaken for fragile, timid creatures.” Tipton paused, giving him a chance to ask the question that probably was burning in his gut. “Not even curious how she charmed her way around him?” When Keanan did not reply, the viscount shrugged, saying, “She threatened to reveal to all and sundry that she is your mistress.”