“She did?” Emily asked a bit dazedly.
Mattie’s bun bounced up and down like a ball as she nodded vigorously. “She surely did. She said ye were a pretty thing, and that ye were the duke’s new fancy piece, which I wasn’t to repeat.” The maid’s impish smile revealed a dimple high on her right cheek. “Except you don’t look like a fancy piece to me. At least not the sort the duke usually brings back here. You look like a lady, and you speak like one too. Are ye?”
Emily sank down on the edge of the bed and blinked. “Am I what?”
“A lady.” Whisking about the bedroom, Mattie drew back the divider that surrounded the claw foot tub and dumped in the bucket of water. Looking down, she clucked her tongue and said, “Ten more ought to do. They should be up shortly. I told Bea I would carry the first one, but she’s responsible for the rest. She’s a bit slow, is Bea. And a bit pudgy, which is why I’ve put her in charge of the buckets. Bea is my sister, ye know.”
“I – I did not know.”
“There are three of us in all,” Mattie chirped as she began to drape the towels one by one over the edge of the tub. “I am the eldest. Bea, bless her heart, is the baby. Never says a word, that girl.”
Emily couldn’t possibly imagine why.
“Lyddie is stuck right in the middle, born only twelve months after me. Bea was a bit of an accident, if ye know what I mean” – Mattie’s eyebrows, as bright red as her hair, wiggled up and down – “but Father really wanted a boy. Mum says it’s his lot in life to be cursed with a household filled with beautiful women. Loud, stubborn women more like. Do ye have any sisters?”
“No,” Emily said with a regretful shake of her head. She’d always wanted siblings, but since her father never remarried after her mother’s untimely death it was not meant to be. “Your family sounds lovely, though.”
Mattie straightened up and wiped her palms on the front of the apron she wore over her gray work dress. “When I don’t have it in my mind to murder my sisters I love them more than life itself. I couldn’t imagine growing up without them.”
“Were you raised here, in the country?” Emily asked curiously. She’d only known Mattie for a few short minutes, but she already felt a kinship developing with the talkative maid. Emily had difficulty making friends with women her own age. She always found herself saying the wrong thing or, worse than that, not saying anything at all. It also did not help that they saw her as their stiffest competition, no matter how many times she assured them she was not in the market for a husband.
Mattie scratched her chin. “I grew up in London. Right outside St. Giles in a house no bigger than this room. That’s where Mum met the duke, ye know. She began doing some cleaning for him and he was so impressed with her work that when he won this place he asked the lot of us to move out here. We live in a stone cottage down the road a pinch that way” – she jerked her thumb over her shoulder – “and I have my own bedroom and everything. Well, sometimes Bea climbs in the bed with me on occasion, but that’s only because she’s terribly afraid of the dark.”
“Mr. Green won this estate?” Emily asked, her lips parting in a small ‘o’ of surprise. She’d never heard of such a thing. “How in the world did he do that?”
“A lucky game of cards. Swiped it right out from under the nose of some earl or another.” Mattie waved her hand dismissively. “Poor fellow was addicted to the gambling, he was, and lost everything save the shirt off his back. Although, come to think of it, he might have lost that as well. Ye should have seen this place when the duke first arrived.” She snorted and shook her head. “A fine mess it was. Practically falling down about our very ears. The duke brought it back to life, ‘e did.
“How fascinating,” Emily murmured. There were so many facets to West’s life that she didn’t understand. So many things about him she didn’t know. How cruel of him to take another man’s home in something so silly as a game of cards. And yet how kind he was to provide Mattie and her family with a new life in the country. She rested her chin in her palm and strummed her fingers against her cheek. She was gathering her thoughts to ask Mattie another question about West when a resounding crash followed by a loud wail echoed from somewhere down the hallway. “What on earth…” Emily gasped, jumping to her feet.
“That would be Bea.” Mattie scurried out of the room with Emily right behind her. They both stopped short at the sight that awaited them at the top of the stairs.
A young girl with red hair and a round face who could only be Mattie’s youngest sister stood frozen in place with her arms out to the side. The front of her apron was drenched. A puddle was already forming at her feet and tears sparkled in her pale blue eyes. When she looked up and saw them she sniffed and wiped at her nose with the hem of her sleeve. “I t-tripped,” she explained in a hiccupping voice, “at the top of the stairs.”
“You certainly did,” Mattie said with a sigh. “Oh Bea, what are we going to do with you?”
Bea sniffed once more, her watery gaze shifting from Emily to Mattie and back again. “Who are you?” she asked with a suspicious frown.
Caught off guard by the young girl’s bluntness, Emily cleared her throat and began to speak, but Mattie cut her off before she could get a word out.
“Now see here,” she exclaimed, “this is the duke’s special guest and you’d best treat her accordingly. We’ve talked about this, Bea.”
“I thought the duke said ‘e wasn’t going to be bringing any more of his lady birds around here,” Bea said sullenly, her eyes filling with a surprising amount of resentment as she continued to stare at Emily.
“Bea…” Mattie’s tone held an unmistakable note of warning. “Do not start with this again. She fancies herself in love with the duke,” she explained, glancing sideways at Emily, “and hates any woman he brings here on sight.”
“I do not!” Bea cried even as her burning cheeks said otherwise.
“Do too,” Mattie shot back.
“Do—”
“Stop!” Emily interceded, holding up one hand before the argument could escalate any further. “I am not Mr. Green’s ‘special guest’ and I am certainly not one of his lady birds!” Heavens, she thought in alarm, if this is how sisters act then perhaps I truly am better off without any!
“But you are a lady,” Mattie said. Despite the dim lighting in the hallway there was no mistaking the sudden gleam of interest in her eye.
“Yes,” Emily conceded with a nod, “I am. My father is a duke. A real duke,” she clarified, less there were any confusion before she hesitated, uncertain how much West wanted her to share. Uncertain how much he’d shared already. She didn’t want to make him angry with her, but she also didn’t want the entire household staff believing she was his mistress.
Bea picked up the bucket she’d dropped and tucked it under her arm. “Then what are ye doing here?” she asked, her faint cockney accent a perfect imitation of her older sister’s.
“I am here by…invitation,” Emily said carefully. “But I will not be staying long, and I most certainly am not interested in Mr. Green in that way, or any way for that matter, I can assure you.” The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but she didn’t dare reveal the truth. That she very much was interested in West. That she found him handsome and charming and infuriating all in the same breath. That he was unlike any man she’d ever met. That she was thinking about him far, far more than she should. “Do you need help with the rest of the water?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
Bea’s shoulders slumped in relief. “That would be—”
“We will be fine,” Mattie said briskly, cutting her sister off. Ignoring Bea’s disgruntled hiss of breath she said, “You must be near to falling asleep on your feet, my lady.”
“Oh, please call me Emily.”
Mattie smiled. “Emily, you just march yourself right back to your room and change out of those dusty traveling clothes. I’ll see what’s taking Cook so long with your food and have it sent up directly. Don’t ye worry n
one about the water. Between me and Bea we’ll have the tub filled in a hop, skip, and a jump. Isn’t that right, Bea?”
Bea nodded reluctantly. “That’s right,” she mumbled.
Emily gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile to the young girl. “Thank you ever so much, Bea. May I ask you a question?”
“I suppose,” she said warily.
“Did you style your own hair? It’s lovely.”
Bea’s hand drifted up to an elegantly shaped curl that dangled down from her temple. An intricate braid twisted from one ear to the other and the remainder of her long, vibrant red hair was coiled in a tidy spiral bun. Her scowl instantly transformed into a smile. “I did. Mattie and Lyddie says it’s a waste of time, but I like to practice so when I go to a ball one day I will have the prettiest hair in the entire room.”
“There ye go again, talking about balls.” Mattie rolled her eyes. “The likes of us don’t go to balls, ye fool. And waking up an hour before you need to just to fashion your hair is a waste of time. He doesn’t notice, ye know.”
Once again Bea’s cheeks turned cherry red and Emily couldn’t help but feel empathy for the poor girl, especially since West had the same effect on her as well. “I don’t do it for him!” she cried. “And I will go to a ball someday, you’ll see. You’re wretched, Mattie. Wretched!” With that she spun and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the bottom and ducked out of sight.
Mattie offered an apologetic smile and clapped a hand to her forehead. “She’s a romantic, is our Bea. Fancies herself half in love with the duke, she does. Not that anything would ever come of it as ‘e never takes a second glance at any of his servants, not even me, and lord knows I’ve worn more than my fair share of a tight dress or two.” She shrugged. “A boy in the village will turn her head soon enough. Until then it’s best to keep a deaf ear when she starts singing the duke’s praises. He’s a criminal, you know.”
They’d begun walking down the hall, but Emily stopped short at Mattie’s matter-of-fact declaration. “I did know that.”
“I thought ye might. After all, ye didn’t seem surprised when I told ye where my mum met him. St. Giles…” Mattie shook her head. “That’s the worst of the worst, that is. Ye grow up hard there. And ye grow up mean. We were lucky to get out when we did.”
“But Mr. Green still conducts his business there.”
“He does. Although to be honest with ye I don’t think his heart is in it anymore. It never truly was, if I had to guess. The duke is as hard as they come and he can be a mean one when he wants to, but he’s not like the rest. Never has been, at least for as long as I’ve known him.”
Emily pressed her fingers against her throat, toying with the lace edged collar of her dress. “How do you mean?”
“The duke is the best at what ‘e does and for that the people of St. Giles respect him, as well they should. He’s also smart as a whip, which is why he’s never been caught. But he’s not cruel for the sake of it, never has been, and being around all that ugliness and darkness for so long can be draining on the soul.”
Emily absorbed the weight of Mattie’s words, comparing them to the conclusions she’d already drawn. “But if that is true, why hasn’t he left St. Giles all together?”
Mattie squinted at her, a faint smile curving her lips as though she knew something Emily did not. “I suppose he’s just been waiting for the right reason.”
The dimly lit pub smelled of strong ale and cheap perfume. Moving between the crowded tables West settled into a vacant one at the back and nodded at a passing barmaid when she raised an inquiring brow. He took a quick survey of the room and its occupants while he waited for his drink, noting more than a few familiar faces.
A small, tidily run establishment The Dog and Pony sat on the outskirts of Blooming Glen, one of the only villages within a timely riding distance of his estate. It was a quaint place, filled with tiny shops and cozy homes with brightly painted shutters. The people were friendly and welcoming, as different from the scoundrels and vagabonds who slithered through the alleys of St. Giles as the day was from the night. No one had secrets here. No one had anything to hide.
Except for him.
He hunched over his mug of ale when it arrived, his dark, brooding expression keeping men who would have ordinarily stumbled over to say hello at bay.
When West left his estate he’d had no intention of traveling all the way into the village, but the thought of being forced to listen to Emily splash around in a bath and knowing nothing except for water was touching her pale, creamy skin had been too much for him to stand. He didn’t trust himself not to break down the door, charge across the bedroom, take her slender arms in hand and…
Bloody hell. If he was this aroused by an innocent maid it could only mean one thing: he was desperately in need of a good tumble. Except for once none of the women who frequented The Dog and Pony looked appealing to him. A few tried to get his attention, but he ignored their long, lingering looks and eventually they moved on to easier, more willing prey.
“You look like you could use something stronger than ale, my friend.”
West looked up with annoyance that shifted quickly to surprise as a stocky man with blond hair and a ready grin slid into the seat opposite his own. “Sullivan. What the hell are you doing in Blooming Glen?”
The man’s grin deepened. “Is that any way to greet your best chap?”
Eric Sullivan owned Darkhall, the largest gambling house in all of London second only to the infamous White’s. He’d built it from the ground up and as a result was now one of the richest men in England. He was also handsome, charismatic, wildly popular with both the gentry and the working class, and would slit your throat as soon as look at you. After conducting business together countless times over the years he and West had become friends… of a sort.
“Where are my manners,” West drawled as he slouched comfortably in his chair and draped an arm across the back of the one next to it. “Had I known you were coming I would have had the barkeep lock the door.”
“I see the country air has done little to improve your disposition,” Sullivan sneered.
“And I see it’s done nothing to improve your fashion sense. Is that a pink cravat?”
“It’s all the rage in France.”
West grunted. “Good. Go wear it there, then.”
The two men exchanged hard, searching glances before they simultaneously reached across the table and clasped their right hands firmly together.
“Good to see you again,” Sullivan said.
“And you.” West raised his hand, summoning over a barmaid. She arrived out of breath, her round cheeks flushed and her hair suspiciously mussed on one side.
“How can I help ye?” she asked, perching one hand high on her hip.
“You can start by sitting on my lap,” Sullivan invited, patting one muscular thigh.
The barmaid happily obliged him, perching her rather voluptuous derriere on his leg and curling her arm around his neck, her fingers sinking into his thick hair. “Oh,” she squealed when Sullivan feigned reaching across the table and ‘accidentally’ cupped her breast instead. “Your friend’s a wicked one, he is.”
“He’s something,” West muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
Whether it was a simple barmaid or an elegant lady, Sullivan managed to charm them all without fail. He was the very definition of a rake and for reasons that continued to mystify, women clambered over each other to get his attention. What they always failed to realize, however, was that the wealthy gambler had no intention of ever taking a mistress, let alone a wife. His devil-may-care attitude extended to all facets of his life, including the bedroom. And yet for all his loving and leaving women still lined up in droves. In part, West suspected, because of the challenge. It also didn’t hurt that Sullivan was a handsome bastard who could talk the knickers off a nun.
“What is a beauty like you doing in a place like this?” Sullivan pu
rred into the barmaid’s ear. She giggled and struck his arm, her open palm bouncing harmlessly off his bicep.
“Waiting for someone like you to take me away,” she said, batting her lashes.
Sullivan sighed and gave a regretful shake of his head. “If only I could, love. If only I could. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The pout that had settled on the barmaid’s lips blossomed into a smile. “Alice.”
“Alice, could you be a love and get my friend and I two glasses of your best port? Make it a double for him, if you would. He looks as though he needs it, doesn’t he?”
Alice tilted her head to the side and peered at West beneath a fringe of dark, bluntly cut bangs. “I know you. You’re that bloke from London. Are ye from London too?” she asked Sullivan hopefully. “I always wanted to go to the city.”
“Now why would you want to do that? London is loud and crowded and smells to the high heavens. Your much better off here with me.” Eric gave her rump an affectionate pinch. “About those drinks, love…”
“I’ll have them brought out in a wink,” Alice promised before she slid off Sullivan’s lap and hurried back to the bar.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”
“You say that about all of them,” West pointed out.
“And I mean it.” His expression abruptly growing serious, Sullivan leaned across the table. “But I did not come here for the barmaids, delightful as they are.”
“No.” West rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t imagine you did.”
Only two people knew he was at his country residence, which meant Sullivan must have gone to great lengths to track him down. Given that a herd of horses couldn’t drag the gambler away from his beloved Darkhall, there could only be one reason he’d come to see West personally. He either had very good news... or very bad. Judging by the flat line of his mouth and the deep groove between his pale brows, it was the latter.
In a voice too low for anyone but West to hear he said, “Do you remember that preening dandy you won your estate from three years ago? Lord Collinsworth?”
The Duke of St. Giles Page 9
