by Mary Brendan
She forced herself to take two rapid steps towards him. ‘I do need to speak to you about something...but not here!’ She pointed a quivering finger at the letter lying idle on the timber shelf. ‘Did you not read it properly? I made it clear where and when we should rendezvous...’
‘I read it.’
‘Well, in that case, why come here?’ Joan demanded in a despairing voice. ‘Poacher’s Lane at five o’clock, I wrote.’ She would have snatched up the note to check that she’d not sealed the wrong draft, but dark fingers were curled about her wrist, preventing her having it.
‘Poacher’s Lane at five o’clock...’ Drew mimicked softly. ‘Very mysterious...but I’m done with playing games, my lady. You’re the Duke of Thornley’s daughter and if you want to speak to me, you’ll have to do so in a seemly fashion in future.’
Joan felt her hackles rise at his implication that she’d needlessly caused a drama to savour the intrigue of it. ‘I think once you know the nature of the business, sir, you may deem a secluded spot not only appropriate, but essential. I’ve no liking for risking my reputation in such a way, but neither do I relish disclosing the matter in my own home, with my family close by!’ She tried to twist free of his restraint, but he released her in his own time, his dark fingers slipping leisurely from her skin.
Wondering if she’d imagined the caress in his touch, she glanced up, noticing for the first time the emerald core in his eyes, but long black lashes soon shuttered their expression.
And then, close as she was to him, she noticed something else. She’d sent her note to the Squire...the boxer who had rescued her from a baying mob, hoping he would again be her protector. But here in front of her today was Drew Rockleigh, sophisticate. Aside from the faint trail of a scar on his left cheek and some scabbing on his knuckles there was nothing to hint at his alter ego as a prize fighter.
So startled by this sudden discovery did Joan feel that she unwittingly took a step back to better appreciate the sight of him. At one time Rockleigh had been one of the most impressive gentlemen in all of Mayfair. And like a phoenix arisen from the ashes, he was that noble Corinthian once more.
Joan blinked in confusion; he looked elegance personified: his peat brown tailcoat was of finest wool, cut expertly to mould across broad shoulders. An intricately folded cravat was embellished with a tiger’s eye stone and trim hips and muscled thighs were encased in buff breeches.
‘Do I measure up?’ Drew asked ironically, having watched her inspection terminate on his highly polished Hessians.
‘No...I fear you may not, sir,’ Joan said with a bitter laugh. From the first moment she had met the Squire, half-nude and bloodied from fighting, Joan had yearned to see him return to the person he’d once been. Now she wasn’t so sure about that.
The Drew Rockleigh of old, who’d been welcomed at society parties and had been her brother-in-law’s friend and equal, might find it distasteful to get embroiled in a blackmail plot even if he were partly to blame for its creation.
‘You’d sooner have me as your inferior?’
‘I’d sooner have you as a fellow villains are chary of crossing.’
‘I can oblige you on that. So tell me what worries you.’ His voice, though smooth as silk, held an undercurrent of command and interest had sharpened his gaze.
Joan shook her head, her face heating at the idea of alluding, beneath her father’s roof, to the erotic game they’d played. ‘I can’t tell you anything here,’ she breathed.
‘This is private enough; I imagine your father is still in Devon and your stepmother is not yet up.’ Drew strolled to the casement and gazed out at a street slowly coming to life.
Joan realised then that his visit had been purposely made at an extraordinary time to minimise the risk of others asking awkward questions. ‘I guessed somebody ill mannered would want an audience at this hour in the morning.’ It was the only comment Joan had ready.
‘Yet you were not anticipating seeing me, were you,’ Drew stated. ‘I’ll take comfort from it.’
Joan was aware of his subtle amusement; indeed, she had not imagined him to be her visitor, but she recalled being impatient for their meeting when she rose at dawn.
Be careful what you wish for...
The phrase rotated mockingly in her mind. Had she believed he might turn up out of the blue she would have been better prepared for this heartstopping moment. Turning from the window, he plunged his hands into his pockets, his expression darkly quizzical.
‘Indeed, I was not expecting you to come here, sir,’ Joan blurted. ‘And I am still at a loss to know why you have done so...all things considered.’
‘I considered all things before taking the liberty of coming here, just as I considered your reason for summoning me.’
‘And to what conclusion did you come?’ Joan asked hoarsely.
‘My conceit brought me one answer that, alas, I now doubt is correct.’ Drew’s sardonic smile matched his tone. ‘Are you still meddling in my affairs despite me asking you not to?’
‘No, I am not!’ Joan retorted. ‘And I do not think my attempt to warn you about loathsome Mr Stokes was meddling.’
‘I know you meant well, Joan,’ Drew said gently. ‘But you must stop this. Don’t bother with me. You don’t know who I really am. Stay away...don’t contact me again.’ His eyes flowed over her, returned hungrily to her face, then he turned, bracing two tanned fists against the window frame. ‘Somewhere in Mayfair there’s a nice young blue blood waiting for you; don’t ruin your chance of having him by risking an unwise association with me.’ The lightness in his tone was at odds with a tension she could see whitening his knuckles and hollowing his cheek.
‘Don’t patronise me, or think I’ve fallen under your spell just because we...’ Joan couldn’t finish what she’d been about to say, but she did march closer to him. ‘If I want a suitor of blue blood...or red blood or any sort of blood...I’ll make up my own mind on it. I’m not a child.’
‘Oh...you’re not a child...I know that,’ Drew said with sour self-mockery. ‘But you lack maturity.’ His slanting, sideways gaze devoured her sweet curves beneath the modest dress. A loose curl of chestnut hair had fallen across her shoulder, forming a glossy orbit about a small nub beneath silk. Drew felt the burn in his blood; the desire for her never went away no matter how hard Constance tried to woo him. A frustrated curse broke in his throat and he threw back his head to frown at the ceiling.
Joan realised it was gentlemanly of him to try to make her see sense and avoid him, yet it felt horribly like rejection. She also knew she annoyed him, yet her indignation was tempered by need. She could ring for a footman to show him out and preserve some pride, but the thought of losing his company now she had it was unbearable. A latent strength and dynamism seemed to emanate from him, reassuring Joan that he could easily beat Stokes.
She’d been waiting...hoping for him to make a better guess at the purpose of her letter, allowing her a reprieve. It was excruciating to contemplate hinting at the occasion when she’d lain on the seat of a Hackney cab with her bodice unbuttoned and her skirts in disarray while this man had drawn moans of pleasure from her.
Joan paced to and fro to avoid meeting his gaze. ‘So you expected me to be up at this time in the morning, or you would not have come, I suppose,’ she rattled off.
‘I imagine you’ve had as little sleep as have I since we last met.’ Drew retrieved her letter from the mantelshelf and put it in his pocket.
So he’d been restless and thinking of her, had he? Joan wondered if he did so while lying abed with his Cockney Blonde mistress! ‘Benny Cook found you in the tavern...he said he would.’
‘You were at the vicarage yesterday evening.’ It was a toneless statement. ‘I believed the school had closed.’
‘It has; I’d gone there in the hope of asking the Reverend Walte
rs to deliver that note to you. Before the matter could be discussed Benny turned up with sad news.’
‘The blacksmith passed away peacefully in the early hours, so I heard,’ Drew informed.
‘I’m glad the old fellow had the vicar’s comfort and blessing.’
‘Benny told you that he knew me?’
‘He did. He also said that his sister aspires to better herself since becoming friendly with you.’ A frosty note had crept into Joan’s voice, but mentioning his paramour’s ambition did no more than tilt a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. ‘As the lad knew where to find you it seemed fate was on my side and my message would get to you.’
‘Why involve the vicar, or Benny, when Thadeus Pryke knows where I am?’
Joan visibly flinched at the mention of her blackmailer’s accomplice. But she had been abruptly presented with her opening and must use it.
Drew had noticed her reaction and approached her, tilting her face to his with firm fingers. ‘Has Thadeus Pryke done something?’ he demanded.
‘Indeed he has, sir,’ Joan admitted huskily. She slipped free of him and went to gaze into the unlit fire; she couldn’t countenance referring to their intimacy while he touched her.
‘On that stormy night in Wapping the cab driver heard more of our...’ Joan stumbled over the next word ‘...conversation...than I, or I hope you, would have wanted, and recounted everything to Mr Pryke. Unfortunately, Mr Pryke then told his cousin who happens to be Mr Stokes.’ She noticed an immediate stillness in Drew. ‘Perhaps you can now guess at what compelled me to send you that letter.’ Instead of feeling hot and bothered, as she’d expected she would when referring to their shared passion Joan felt cold and her complexion lost colour rather than gained it. When the silence continued she snapped her eyes to his and ice trailed her spine. She’d seen him wear that expression once before. It had been years ago when he had prevented her father’s hand from reaching her cheek in chastisement.
‘Stokes sent you a blackmail letter?’ Wrathful disbelief had stolen volume from Drew’s voice, making his question clipped and husky.
‘No...I’ve nothing in writing from him. He’s been shrewd enough to give me no evidence to use against him. He came here...threatened to tell my father of what we did...’ Joan pivoted away from a pair of ruthlessly steady eyes. ‘When my maid said I’d a visitor this morning I thought it was him, come back again to torment me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Drew said softly. ‘I’d not have given you that extra hurt, had I known. I withheld my name because I thought you might refuse to see me, preferring to wait for our Poacher’s Lane meeting.’
‘I would have preferred it!’ Joan cried in a muted tone. ‘And now you can see why, can’t you?’
Drew gave a single slow nod as he closed the space between them. His palm moved as though to cup her face, but it made no more than chest height before being clenched into a fist that was plunged into his pocket.
Joan’s lashes fell over her misty eyes; she felt forlorn. Heaven only knew she would have liked the comfort of his strong embrace now the deed was done and she’d unburdened herself. The weight had gone from her shoulders, yet she’d been left feeling oddly weaker.
‘I take it your father is still in the West Country and, knowing of his absence, Stokes has taken advantage of it.’ Drew’s long pace ate up the distance between casement and fender. He ceased prowling and moved towards her to hurry her answer.
Joan had been about to correct his assumption of her father’s whereabouts when the door of the small library opened and her stepmother burst in.
‘Oh...there you are, Joan. Your papa is feeling better and wants to see you.’
Joan had been startled by Maude’s arrival, but managed a smile for the woman, quickly regaining composure.
‘I don’t know if you remember Mr—’ Joan had been on the point of blurting out an introduction, but Maude interrupted her.
‘Indeed I do know you, sir. Well, how odd a coincidence!’ The Duchess approached the handsome gentleman who appeared to be standing rather too close to her stepdaughter, but she allowed it to pass. ‘My husband was speaking of you, sir, just last night.’
Maude omitted to add that Alfred had been delirious at the time. Not much of the Duke’s rambling had made sense, but Maude had caught the words Rockleigh and capital fellow being uttered by her husband in almost the same breath. So taking her lead from that, she felt she should make welcome her son-in-law’s old friend even if she had heard some scandalous tales about him recently.
Maude had turned up in the sickroom not long after her stepdaughter quit it. Anna had informed her that Joan had a visitor and the news, though softly spoken, seemed to bring the Duke awake. He’d agitatedly demanded to see his daughter and to know who she was with, insisting his wife fetch her immediately.
‘I expect you have come to see how the Duke does, have you not, Mr Rockleigh?’ Maude said. ‘It is good of you, sir, and I’m pleased to tell you that he is improving. The news of his malady has travelled and I have many notes from his friends praying for his speedy recovery.’ Maude drew from a pocket a folded parchment, flapping it. ‘The post has been. Luke and Fiona are naturally concerned. But now Alfred seems to be on the mend I would sooner my daughter rest at home rather than make the journey to London. It would be a trial for her in her condition...’ Maude’s monologue tailed off and she smiled expectantly.
‘I’m very glad to know that your husband is better, your Grace.’ There was a purposeful spark in the gold of Drew’s eyes as they briefly met Joan’s. She understood very well that signal: it would be best for people to think he’d turned up unexpectedly to condole about the Duke’s health than let them probe for an alternative explanation.
‘You had best hurry to your papa, Joan, he will fret else.’ Maude stepped towards the bell pull. ‘You will take some tea before leaving, Mr Rockleigh?’
‘Thank you, but I cannot tarry, ma’am. I’ve got the news I wanted. I have an appointment later that I must not miss...’
As their eyes collided Joan read his message: he would be at Poacher’s Lane at five o’clock so they could discuss what to do about Stokes. She’d seen, too, that he was sorry for trivialising her need for a private talk; and there had been something else in the depths of his intensely thoughtful gaze that excited and disturbed her.
He would sooner they didn’t sneak about, and heaven only knew so would she...yet... Joan was certain that Drew was also tempted by the prospect of the two of them being alone at a secluded spot. The yearning to feel his strong arms about her and his mouth caressing hers never went away and Joan had just seen the fire in his eyes, convincing her that he, too, was being tormented by that burning mutual attraction between them.
‘Thank you for calling, sir,’ Joan said breathily. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go and see how my father is.’ In a few light steps she was gone from the room.
Despite knowing her father was impatient to see her, Joan hesitated at the turn in the stairs, hoping to see Drew enter the hallway. Within seconds he did so and as though he knew she might be watching twin tigerish eyes swung upwards, tangling with her soulful grey stare. A moment later Joan had disappeared in a whisper of silk.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Oh, I have missed you!’
As usual, Cecilia had risen late and had been on her way to have breakfast when she’d spotted their maid opening the door to her Uncle Drew. Food forgotten, she had hurtled down the few remaining stairs with a delighted whoop and launched herself at him.
Drew disentangled himself from his niece’s clutch, fondly ruffling her fair hair. ‘You’re still acting like a dreadful hoyden, I see.’
Cecilia nodded, unabashed. ‘Where have you been all this while? They wouldn’t tell me anything other than you had got into a bad mess and gone away.’ Cecilia hugged Drew abou
t the waist again.
‘Well, now I am back to keep an eye on you, so you’d best behave yourself.’
‘I must start to act like a lady.’ Cecilia sighed. ‘I want somebody special to think well of me because...’ Cecilia glanced about to ensure the maid had gone. ‘I have fallen in love properly this time, Uncle Drew,’ she hissed in a whisper. ‘But Mama can’t know or she’ll tell him and they’ll spoil it for me.’
Inwardly Drew cursed; he could have done without Cecilia presenting him with further complications. ‘You’ve received a proposal from Henry Laurenson?’ he asked.
Cecilia pouted. ‘Not yet...but I’m expecting one... Henry says I’m the most beguiling—how did you know about Henry?’ she suddenly interrupted herself to blurt out her question.
‘I’ve not been so far away that I’ve missed the rumours flying about,’ Drew admitted wryly.
‘Is it as bad as that?’ Cecilia chewed her lip. ‘I hoped I hadn’t set my cap at Henry quite so obviously. My friend Joan Morland told me the cats might get their claws out if I wasn’t careful.’
‘Did she?’ Drew said softly. ‘Well, listen to her; she’s a fine young woman.’
‘You know Lady Joan?’ Cecilia blinked in surprise.
‘So the bad penny has turned up.’ Bertha had quietly approached, having risen from the dining table to investigate the hum of conversation in the hallway. Raising the napkin scrunched in her hand, she dabbed toast crumbs from her mouth. ‘Well, dear Brother,’ she continued in the same acid tone, ‘you may take yourself off again. Saul won’t be long; he has an early appointment at his lawyer’s office, but will return soon.’
‘I know where he’s gone; my attorney set up the meeting to get him from the house and give you and me a chance to talk privately. I am about to offer you some leniency, my dear, so best be nice and take advantage of it.’
