“I didn’t say I believed the gossip, only that I wanted to hear your defense. One of my suitors claims you tried to kill one of your friends.”
Well, there it was. He sighed, then navigated Ezra around a patch of late-blooming flowers. This was progress of a sort. A month ago, she’d have unilaterally believed the claims. However, with his dirtiest laundry hung before her, he wasn’t sure if the heavy emotion settling in his gut resulted from the accusation or her casual reference to a suitor. “Your, uh, suitor is catching you up on all the news you missed these past few years.”
“You don’t deny it? He’s accusing you of attempted murder.” Lady Charlotte gaped at him as if outraged on his behalf. That weight in his belly lifted a tad.
“Nay. A charge of attempted murder implies forethought and planning. There wasn’ forethought given tae anything back then. Not much thinking, period, if we’re being honest. I ran wild through London.” So much he could say. Explain. Excuse. Best to stick to the facts. A quick glance showed he had her attention as their horses plodded sedately down the path. “Connor planned tae join the army, you see. We grew up together. No’ best friends, but we ran with the same lads in the village. Anyway, before Connor got his uniform, he wanted tae see London. Everyone back home thought it a great lark when I inherited. I was showing off my fancy life, because I tended tae be an insufferable twit. I’m sure you remember.”
“And Connor never made it to the army,” Lady Charlotte said.
Ethan shook his head. “Nay, he didn’. We were drinking, gambling, actin’ the fool. Someone proposed a race. It was an asinine bet, but we were drunk. Rather, I was drunk and the one at fault. The carriage crashed. Connor lost his leg—nearly died on the side of the road beside my horses.”
Lady Charlotte pulled her mount to a stop. “That’s why you cared so much about my coachman’s leg.”
He reined his horse to circle back. “Aye. I’m grateful you had a good doctor.” It was tempting to reach over and brush the curl from her forehead where it covered the red scar at her hairline.
Her brows scrunched together when she was deep in thought, and it was adorable. He hoped she’d considered what he’d said, and heard the truth. “Where is Connor now?”
“Yelling at masons today. The construction isn’ going tae plan on the brewery.”
She cocked her head. “He works for you?”
Ethan shrugged. “He refused money, so I gave him a job. Connor pretty much runs Woodrest.”
Her smile rivaled the sun melting the last of the surrounding fog. “Woodrest is your estate, right? Everything turned out all right, then.”
Ethan went cold. No, it wasn’t all right. He’d robbed a friend of his career in the army, in addition to a limb, for God’s sake. Having free run of a rambling manor house was hardly a worthwhile trade-off. Yet things could have been so much worse. He cleared his throat, tamping down the emotions. It would ruin the morning if he went down that conversational path. “At least people can only accuse me of attempted murder. I’m curious—who is your chatty suitor?”
“Mr. James Montague, son of the Earl of Danby. Our fathers are friends.”
He’d heard of the man—none of it flattering. Ethan tried to keep his expression benign but probably just looked bilious.
If her father had a connection to the Earl of Danby, one could assume that he’d look upon their match with favor. The stab of jealousy wasn’t unexpected. Ethan wasn’t good enough for his daughter, but somehow Montague—with a reputation that was nothing short of infamous—passed muster for the earl.
On top of that injustice, most women found the man appealing. Montague might be a scoundrel, but he was a handsome scoundrel. They would make a beautiful pair, with Lady Charlotte’s dark beauty acting as the perfect foil for her golden partner. Even Cal looked—well, normal—in comparison to Montague. When had the other man earned the title of suitor? Without thinking, Ethan blurted, “You can’t add Montague tae your husband list.”
That he’d mishandled the situation became clear when she stiffened and shot him a glare. “Of all the presumptuous, rude…” She gaped as if struggling for words.
Damn. Trying to lighten the mood, he said, “Is ‘rude’ the best you can come up with? You disappoint me, Lady Charlotte.”
Teasing banter wouldn’t soothe her ire. “What makes you think you have a voice in my ‘husband list,’ as you call it? For all you know, Mr. Montague already made an offer and has been accepted by my father.”
“Has he?” Please, no.
“You miss the point, my lord. That’s none of your business.”
That wasn’t a no. “You’re right, it’s not. I only say something because Montague is not a man you want tae saddle yourself with for life. I don’ want tae dirty your ears with details—” This ride had been going so well, and now the morning was shot to hell.
Her short laugh couldn’t be mistaken for amusement. “This from the likes of you? Might I remind you of our conversation not three minutes ago? If his character is so vile, I deserve to know the charges against him.”
“In plain terms, the man lives on credit. He rarely greets a morning sober or with the same female companion. In fact, I’d bet he wasn’t entirely sober when you met him.”
“You know this to be fact?” she challenged.
“His reputation speaks for itself, Lady Charlotte—”
“So does yours, my lord,” she snapped.
He winced. There was no defending that. “You deserve better.”
With a deliberate look, she perused him from the top of his head to his dirty boots, then back up to his eyes. “Yes, I do.”
Without waiting for him, she spurred her mount to a canter in the opposite direction, and moments later a groom passed Ethan, giving him a quizzical glance.
“Damn it.”
* * *
“You have a letter,” Agatha said.
Lottie looked up from her book. “I wonder if Father finally found a moment to write.” Yes, that busy schedule of drinking port and reading in his library.
Fine, that wasn’t fair. He’d been coming out of his decline these last few months, trying to do more with the estate—which was why she’d been ousted to London for a husband hunt.
Mr. Montague might be sending more poetry, but that was unlikely, since he was due any minute for a drive in the park. He’d visited every day since the picnic, but she’d managed to delay another outing until today. Perhaps he’d written to cancel their plans? Hope sprung eternal.
During yesterday’s call he’d mentioned being lucky to marry for love, and she’d nearly gagged. That made her decision easier. Lottie would tell him the engagement was off—not that it had ever been on—during their time today. Father wouldn’t be happy, but if Father liked the man so much, he could marry him.
Lord Amesbury had disappeared after their disastrous ride a week ago. Not that she’d looked for a light in his window every night since. It was merely an observation.
“It does not resemble the earl’s hand.” Agatha handed over the letter.
The precise handwriting was familiar. “This is from Rogers, the steward. I wonder if today’s post has a letter for Darling. That would make her happy.”
“Who would be writing your maid? One would think she would be a social outcast after her time as the town’s feather mattress.”
The term made Lottie grit her teeth. “That’s an awful turn of phrase, Godmother. To answer your question, she and Patrick have exchanged letters during his recovery. I think there may be a budding romance in our midst.”
“Do you encourage relationships between servants? It could make the workplace awkward. Considering that workplace is your home, I would discourage such a thing.”
“I think they’d be a good match,” Lottie mused. “After all, it’s been several years since Darling’s husband died.”
“Some might consider them an odd pairing. The former drunk with the former prostitute,” Agatha commented.
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br /> “‘Former’ being the most important word.” How lovely it would be to have her own household, where she could handle servant affairs the way she wanted to, without answering to anyone. Of course, Agatha would still have opinions, because she was Agatha. “Perhaps their history is common ground. Their pasts aren’t a secret.” It would be hard to hide Darling’s history, and everyone back home knew about the schoolteacher who used to teach while three sheets to the wind. “Despite their colorful pasts, they are wonderful people, with much to offer the right person.”
Agatha seemed content to let it go at that, so Lottie opened the letter. Rogers’s elegant script felt familiar, like a friend, although Rogers himself had never earned that designation. She read it through once, then again. “Father may have found a house for me. There’s a view of the sea and an established rose garden. Can you imagine a more lovely property?” It sounded perfect. Fertile land, a house with modern amenities, and a thriving nearby town—what could be better?
“This would be the property with which your father intends to entice you to marriage?” Agatha sipped her tea with a raised brow, staring over the teacup’s rim.
Lottie sagged in her chair. The house by the sea came with strings. Best not forget that, no matter how appealing it sounded.
“Not a subtle push, is it?” Agatha said.
No, her father’s lack of subtlety didn’t surprise her. Rogers would have written at her father’s direction. At least it meant Father was preparing to keep his side of their bargain. Now she had to keep hers—not an encouraging prospect when she lacked suitors other than Montague, whom she hoped to never see again after today, and possibly the absent Scotsman. Lottie neatly folded the letter back into its rectangular shape, creasing the edges with precise movements.
Dawson entered the room. “Mr. Montague is here to collect Lady Charlotte, madam. He’s awaiting her in his phaeton.”
“In my day, gentlemen came inside when they called. They did not wait on the street or expect a lady to come to them,” Agatha said in a what is the world coming to tone.
“Times change, Auntie.” She bent to kiss Agatha’s cheek. “I shan’t be long. When I return, I’ll take extra time dressing for this evening. I have to look my best if I’m to catch a husband.”
Hopping down from the high seat of the carriage, Mr. Montague swept a grand bow and kissed the inside of her wrist. “A vision, as always, Lady Charlotte.”
“You’re in a good mood today, Mr. Montague.” When he flashed that grin, Lottie couldn’t help softening toward him. After all, she had depressingly few friends in Town. The list of annoyances and doubts regarding him were bound to surface again when they parted ways, but the man could weave a charming spell when he wanted to. It was too bad their friendship would end after today.
“I had brilliant luck at the tables last night. Now I have the prettiest creature in London for company.” He helped her up into the seat, where she gripped the edge and tried not to look down. Goodness, these seats felt unstable.
Forcing a laugh through a suddenly parched throat, she said, “Mr. Montague, you are too kind.”
He swung up beside her, making their perch sway to a terrifying degree. Gathering the reins, he paused to tip his hat at a rakish angle with one finger. “Oh, I’m quite serious, as you know. But that’s fine. I’ll wait. Eventually, you’ll realize there’s no one better for you than me.”
“Sir, I must insist you cease with the flattery.” She’d wanted to ease into this conversation, but they might as well do it now, while they sat outside her house. “You see, I’ve given this some thought and—”
“You’ll come around.” Montague sent her a heated look. “Until then, I shall make do with stealing you away for times such as this.” He clicked his tongue, setting the horses in motion.
Obnoxious man. On paper, Montague checked every box on her list. But his apparent desire for her made her own plans for marriage entirely incompatible. No matter how handsome he was or how beautiful their children would be, she didn’t want that life. She didn’t want his adoration. Or his babies, come to think of it.
She tried again as the carriage sped toward the park. “As you know, our fathers desire a match between us. However, after some reflection—”
“The earl was ecstatic when I wrote him. I sent an express messenger the day I saw you on Bond Street. He’s given his blessing.”
“Excuse me?” She gaped at his presumption. Surely her father would never give consent without first consulting her. Not after she’d already declined this exact match. The disquiet in her heart stirred when Montague ignored her question in favor of navigating the phaeton through the streets of Mayfair. The verdant expanse of Hyde Park sprawled before them. Without a pause, Montague guided the horses past the park gates as they approached Oxford Street.
“Wait, I thought we were going to the park.” Over her shoulder, the bustling acres of Hyde Park shrank behind them.
“I have a different drive in mind for today. Trust me.” Montague signaled the team to a higher speed, away from Mayfair.
Trust him? Not bloody likely. Amesbury’s warning about Montague rang in her head. “Mr. Montague, I insist you take me home. If you don’t plan to drive in the park as planned, then this outing is finished.” City blocks of businesses passed, then houses. Hedgerows dotted the distance, and still they continued.
“You worry too much. We’re almost there,” Montague insisted.
“Sir, turn these horses around at once.” Who cared if her voice was shrill when the blasted man continued down the road in the opposite direction of where they should be going.
“Not to worry, pet. I’m sure you’re concerned about your reputation. But as an engaged couple, we can enjoy a nice drive in an open carriage.” He snapped the lines, pushing the horses to go faster.
“Not out into the countryside! And we aren’t engaged. We will never be engaged, which is what I was trying to say, but you kept interrupting!” There. Her chest deflated as she sighed with relief at finally getting the words out. She could have been more diplomatic, but the man was obstinate to the extreme. There was no way to misinterpret her wishes now.
“That’s not what your father says. Sit back and enjoy the drive. You said you prefer the country, so I planned this just for you.” Montague turned off the main byway, onto a rutted path.
“My father is not the one who’d have to marry you, and I’ve just said that I won’t. We aren’t getting married. Not now, not ever.” She bit the words out while her brain scrambled for a plan. At least they were off the main road, thus not going farther from London.
The phaeton didn’t handle this terrain well. But then, a rocky trail with nubby clumps of grass and soil couldn’t be what the engineers had had in mind when designing it. Lottie gripped the seat edge until her knuckles were white, and counted her breaths. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. What was she going to do?
At what point did a situation become kidnapping? There had to be a way to get him to take her home. She could guess at how far they’d gone, but she didn’t know for sure. If she jumped down and made a run for it, there was only the road back—which left her open to him following her. If she played along long enough to get out of here, she need never see this man again.
The horses slowed, coming to rest in a grassy clearing surrounded by trees. A serene pond reflected the vibrant colors of autumn. Montague nimbly jumped down, then turned to lift her out of the carriage, but she tightened her grip on the seat and stayed put. “Mr. Montague—”
“James. My name is James. I ache to hear you say it.” He gripped her hips, dragging her to the edge of the seat, sending the whole contraption rocking again.
“James.” She gritted her teeth and held on tighter to the wood. “You brought me out here even though I asked to go home. We’re here. And yes, it’s lovely. Now I’d like to return to London immediately.”
“This isn’t how you were supposed to be,” Montague grumbled.
> “Terribly sorry to disappoint,” she snapped. Staring him down, she waited for him to climb back into the phaeton. Instead, he glared, then walked toward the trees and stood with his back to her. When he widened his stance, she grimaced, then looked away.
While Montague took a piss a few feet to her left, Lottie stared at the bucolic view and wrestled her irritation under control. This place was beautiful, even though she didn’t want to be here. It reminded her of home, which brought to mind the letter from the steward. Her new house might have a view accompanied by the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks below her window.
If Lottie could make herself say yes to this man, then write to her father this evening, that house would be hers. She shook her head and stored away the serene scene in a corner of her mind to relish later.
Someday she’d have that house. But she wouldn’t marry Montague to get it.
The horses shifted, sending the phaeton swaying again. The reins slid off the seat, where he’d left them. Before she lost them entirely, she looped the leather around a brass anchor by her feet.
Eyeing the horses, then the man buttoning the placket on his breeches, she weighed her options. She’d driven the gig back home. But that was one horse. A phaeton was double the horseflesh, plus an unstable carriage design, and she was off the beaten path.
Montague clambered up to join her on the narrow seat, and the opportunity was lost. “Mr. Montague, I would like to leave. Now.”
“We agreed you would call me James.”
“You insisted, then I relented. That is not coming to an agreement. But fine. Yes. James.” She rolled her eyes. It was like negotiating with a surly child. A cool breeze whistled through the trees, making her shiver despite her heavy spencer. Changing tactics slightly, she sweetened her voice. “This pond is lovely. Thank you for sharing it with me. But I am rather chilled. Could you take me home, please?”
He loosened the reins and held them in his hand. “Before we go, there is one thing I need to do,” Montague said, then sealed her mouth with his.
Her first kiss. Kind of shocking, really. To be twenty-six and have never experienced this. It was, well, wet. Warm. Different from how she’d imagined it would be. But then, she’d always imagined her first kiss would be given, not taken. Wrenching her head away, she wiped her mouth with a gloved finger.
Any Rogue Will Do Page 10
