Scoundrel in My Dreams

by Celeste Bradley

  “I—” Think! Not about damp white thighs and the silken fountain of her hair streaming across your body! “I . . . I can’t let you.” She had admitted she had nowhere to go. He couldn’t allow Melody to disappear like that!

  “I will take her, Jack. I shall take her away forever, the first chance I get.” She turned and began to walk slowly around the perimeter of the room, always at a distance from him. He rotated to match her. “If you think that I am too weak, or too stupid, or too spineless to fight you, then you have a serious surprise in store. I am clever, remember? Laurel and her books. Laurel and her serious clothes and her sensible hair, thinking circles around everyone who came to our house.”

  Except for me. I used to be able to keep up with that Laurel.

  She would stomp me now, even in the simplest game.

  Laurel kept walking, even as he kept turning to follow her with his gaze. So slow, so stupid—he didn’t even realize that she was steps away from the unlocked door until she made a dash for it.

  Fortunately, his physical instincts were as battle ready as ever, despite his locked mind. In the merest instant, he had her pinned against the closed door, her bosom pressed to his chest, her hands pinned on either side of her head.

  She went very, very still. Some part of Jack’s mind wondered why she didn’t struggle. The rest was fully occupied with the sensation of soft breasts pressed to his chest, with the scent of her hair in his nostrils, with the sweetness of her breath against his lips. . . .

  When his cock leaped to attention, he released her. He kept one hand pressed to the closed door, of course. However, she only backed away from him, back toward the center of the room. Her face was white with fury.

  One touch, two very different reactions.

  No, he really ought not to bring up his wedding plans just now.

  He gazed at her, one hand covering the lower half of his face, watching the past rearrange itself behind her eyes, even as it did in his own mind.

  “How could you have not known?” She swallowed visibly. “You must have known.”

  He shook his head slowly. “It was dark. We didn’t . . .”

  “Speak.” She blushed hotly and looked away. “No.”

  That scent. He’d detected it a moment before when he’d held her close. That light, lemony-sweet, as tantalizing as the smell of molten candy from a confectioner’s . . .

  Amaryllis wore musk. It was a wicked, sensual scent, meant to drive men wild. “You wear scent—”

  “Verbena,” she murmured. “It isn’t scent. Only soap.”

  Only soap. Why did that simple fact make his blood heat all over again?

  Because now you are imagining her wearing only soap.

  Lust was so strange and new. Yet every sense tingled with something wondrous and familiar.

  “Jack, if you are not going to let me out, will you please go away?”

  “You can leave now. Simply agree to my terms.”

  “To. Hell. With. Your. Terms.”

  “I’ll come back. Please, think on my . . . offer.” He’d almost said proposal. Flying crockery would be the least of his worries then!

  When he left, locking the door behind him, Laurel pressed both hands to her trembling belly. Her arousal, so instant, so complete, even after all this time, was the worst possible thing that could happen.

  How could she want him still? How could she ache for the man who had ruined her life?

  Even as she pondered that unthinkable fact, she knew that if he pinned her against the wall again, she might not again be able to resist grinding her body into his like a wildcat.

  Bloody hell.

  Below in the club, in the card room that had been set aside as a drawing room for the ladies, Lady Lambert paced the room, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides.

  “It is the right thing to do!”

  Lady Madeleine watched her with dark, sad eyes. “I can’t believe this of you, Pru. I know you love Melody as much as I do.”

  Lord Aidan de Quincy, fifth Earl of Blankenship, stood with one hand on the mantel, gazing into the coals. “Leave her be, Maddie. She’s quite right. We must do our duty and find Melody’s true family as soon as possible.”

  Pru shot Maddie a hunted look, but her jaw thrust out stubbornly. “It isn’t merely duty. It is a terrible thing to be alone in the world. Losing our family almost destroyed Evan and me. If there’s the slightest chance that Melody has family—”

  “We’re her family!” Madeleine’s voice was a whisper of agony.

  “True family out there in the world, then we must bring them together at whatever cost to us.” Pru stopped in the middle of the room and gazed unseeing into the middle distance. “Someone out there must love her, must want her, is possibly searching madly even now. Perhaps . . . perhaps they won’t take her away completely.” Her determined face crumpled just a little. “Perhaps they’ll let us see her, now and again.”

  Sir Colin Lambert had been silent until now, standing with his back to the window and watching his wife try very hard not to crumble. “I agree with you, Pru, and so does Maddie, in essence. Only . . . what’s the urgency? Tomorrow, next week—”

  Pru turned on her husband. “Next year? The year after? It is our duty to do our best for Melody. Do you call that doing our best?”

  Colin sighed. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that Jack—”

  Aidan grunted. “Yes. Jack.”

  Madeleine looked up at her husband with worried eyes. “He seems much better now. He actually replied when I bid him good evening last night. And I heard him telling Melody quite a long story when he put her to bed.”

  “He is better,” Aidan replied, “because of Melody. I can’t help but worry that he’ll withdraw again if he loses her.”

  “I don’t think there’s any doubt.” Colin let out a long breath. “And this time I’m not so sure he’ll ever come out. With his uncle gone and Melody—”

  Pru chewed her lip. “I know. Although sometimes I wonder if he is good for Melody, there is no doubt that she is good for him. Yet we must at least make a start.”

  Aidan lifted his head. “We could try to find Nanny Pruitt.”

  Pru’s eyes widened. “The woman who left her here with nothing but a vague note? She thought one of you was the father. I hardly think her information will be dependable.”

  Madeleine straightened. “What if . . . what if we never find them? What if we do as Pru says, if we do our best, and it still doesn’t work? Can we keep her then?”

  Aidan smiled. “Of course we can.”

  Back to her normal efficiency, Madeleine stood and shook out her skirts with a snap. “Then I vote we begin at once.”

  Pru frowned at her. “You don’t think we’ll find anything, do you?”

  Madeleine lifted her chin. “No, I don’t. If Nanny Pruitt didn’t know any better than to leave Melody here at Brown’s, then I say the sooner we find out for sure the better. Things will be back to normal in no time and we’ll all be satisfied that we did our best.”

  Pru’s frown slowly cleared. “I suppose . . . yes, I think I can live with that.” She turned to Colin. “You and Aidan must begin immediately!”

  Colin bowed his head. “Yes, my queen.” He glanced at Aidan. “We ought to bring Jack along. It might help him to be involved.”

  Aidan regarded Colin sourly. “Anything rather than be stuck with you all day.”

  “Inbred blue blood.”

  “Social-climbing upstart.”

  Pru and Maddie exchanged a knowing look. “If you two have finished measuring your . . . noses,” Pru said dryly, “then we ought to get started.”

  Maddie jumped to her feet. “I’ll get the satchel that Melody came with. I kept everything.”

  Aidan frowned. “Colin and I have examined those things over and over again.”

  Maddie stopped to give her husband a pert look. “Then you’ll examine them one more time, won’t you?”

  Aidan smiled, a
wry twist of his handsome mouth. “Yes, my queen.”

  Pru dusted her hands as she left the drawing room with Maddie. “My heavens, but training men is a full-time occupation!”

  “Ah, but the rewards are worth it,” Maddie replied airily.

  When the women were gone, Aidan and Colin lost their smiles. Colin rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve never actually looked for Nanny Pruitt before.”

  Aidan nodded, his gaze still on the door where Maddie had just passed. “I know. Because we were afraid we might actually find her.”

  Eight

  As Maddie and Pru hurried down the hall, they passed Bailiwick showing admirable hustle as he escorted the new chambermaid to Wilberforce’s office.

  “Now, be quiet and respectful,” Bailiwick reminded Fiona in hushed tones. “And don’t you be thinkin’ you can flash one of your smiles at Mr. Wilberforce and he’ll go soft on you—”

  “Soft ain’t usually the problem.” Fiona smirked at Bailiwick.

  Bailiwick stopped short and gazed down at the dark-eyed, dark-haired buxom beauty who unknowingly held his shy heart in her hands. “D’you want the job or not?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “I’ll be a proper miss, right enough. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She reached up and poked Bailiwick in one massive arm. “You’re different than you were on the road. Back then you liked my smiles.” She pursed her lips teasingly. “Almost as much as you liked my mouth.”

  What Fiona called the road, Bailiwick called the single most adventurous period of his life. For a brief span of days, he’d been spy, warrior, and hero combined. Mounted upon the mighty Balthazar—although one might debate who held the reins in that partnership!—Bailiwick had raced across the English countryside, facing hardship, hunger, and bandits in search of Sir Colin and Melody.

  Well, it had really been Balthazar who had driven away the bandits from Fiona and her traveling cohorts, but Bailiwick would never admit that in the face of Fiona’s flattering admiration and delectable gratitude. It had taken all of Bailiwick’s gentlemanly honor not to accept more than a few—oh, very well, several breathless kisses in reward for his bravery.

  The memory of those lips had driven him mad in the weeks since, yet even more he had longed to hear her voice and see her smile at him saucily.

  With those very lips.

  Bailiwick looked away. “That were the road. This be Brown’s.”

  “Where I’m the only girl on staff.” Fiona smiled slyly. “You’d best be nice to me, Bailiwick-with-the-fine-horse, or I’ll step out with some other fellow here at Brown’s.” She sashayed ahead of him and tossed him an arch smile over her shoulder. “Perhaps even this Mr. Wilberforce of yours—”

  Fiona faced forward again, just in time to stumble to a halt before the tall, imposing figure of Brown’s head of staff himself.

  “You must be Fiona.” Wilberforce never raised his voice or altered his tone, yet somehow even Fiona heard the disapproval dripping from every syllable.

  She dropped a quick but correct curtsy, eyes downcast and blush rising. “Yes, sir. I be Fiona. Thank you for the job, sir.”

  “Hmm.” Wilberforce regarded her for a long moment, then turned to Bailiwick. “Young man, I allowed this hiring because you have shown yourself to be exceptionally devoted to our members and because you pointed out to me that our ladies could use a bit of feminine assistance.”

  Bailiwick nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Wilberforce blinked slowly at him. “Therefore, it follows that you would never recommend someone who did not have our members’ best interests at heart. You would never bring someone into Brown’s who would cause disruption to the staff or disturb our ladies with impertinence.”

  Fiona’s eyes were very large and her countenance had faded to absolutely ashen.

  Bailiwick sent her a glance of pure panic. “Yes sir. I mean, no sir, Mr. Wilberforce.”

  “No, I thought not.” Wilberforce turned his glacial gaze back to Fiona. “Welcome to Brown’s Club for Distinguished Gentlemen, Fiona. I am sure you will become a valued member of our little family.”

  He gave a tiny nod, to which Bailiwick bowed and Fiona curtsied deeply. As Wilberforce strode past them down the corridor and into the kitchens, they distinctly heard him murmur something.

  “A veritable weapon of mass distraction!”

  Bailiwick’s knees weakened just a bit. He leaned a hand on the wall to support himself. “Oy,” he breathed.

  Fiona took a deep breath. “Well, I can see where flirtin’ with Himself would come to no good.”

  Bailiwick glared at her blasphemy, but until his heart slowed its panicked beat he didn’t risk a retort. He adored Fiona. He been able to think of nothing but her since his return to London weeks ago. It had been young Evan’s idea to persuade Wilberforce to hire her, “so Billy-wick can stop his moonin’.” Evan’s sister, Pru, had admitted to Wilberforce that yes, she’d thought Fiona was a hard worker and would be popular among the staff. Pru also stated wistfully that it would be lovely to have another female in the house, for Brown’s footmen hadn’t truly mastered the art of ironing a lady’s personal items.

  Such imperfection in his staff had been the single necessary prod to Wilberforce’s towering pride. A letter of hire had been sent to Fiona at once, forwarded by Mrs. Olive Rugg at Rugg’s Inn just off the Great Northern Road. It had found Fiona willing to make a change from her life as actress in Pomme’s Troupe of Traveling Players.

  Now, however, Bailiwick found himself unaccountably tongue-tied and anxious in Fiona’s presence.

  How was he to fix her attention now, with other, more smooth-tongued suitors about? How was he to keep her focused on him with all of London at her feet, calling her to stroll the seductive streets?

  Fiona, ever resilient, tossed her head as if her long, dark locks were not pinned up beneath her servant’s cap and flashed him a wicked smile.

  “Bein’ that the interview is over . . .” She swayed close enough to walk her fingertips up the front buttons of his livery. “Why don’t we find ourselves a bit o’ privacy? Seems I recall we never did get to finish what we started that night you rescued me from them bandits.” She inhaled deeply, and although her uniform was as demure as a nun’s, Bailiwick imagined he heard the threads of her bodice protest against being expected to contain such a prodigious bosom with mere stitches alone.

  Dry-mouthed and brain-fuzzed as she made him, Bailiwick still managed to catch that playful hand before it walked itself down to the point of no return.

  “I’ll not be takin’ you up on that offer, Fiona.” His body groaned a protest, but his mind was made up.

  She arched a dark brow at him. “No? You weren’t too good to get hay in my hair last time we met.”

  “I be too good; I mean—” Oh, why couldn’t he be the sort of bloke full of pretty words and handy blarney? “I’m due to go ridin’ with Evan. Sir Colin bought Balthazar for me so I could—”

  She spread her open palms over his chest. “Big man on a big horse. You could practically lie down on top of a horse that size. Think there’s room for me up there on that big horse?”

  His own much-flogged imagination made Bailiwick’s eyes nearly cross with lust. He gulped. “No!” He stepped back, away from her tempting touch. “I don’t want you that way—”

  Her expression turned to chill alabaster as her hands dropped to her sides. “Well, no fear there, Mr. Bailiwick!” Her dark eyes flashed daggers. “There’s plenty left who do!”

  She stalked off, round hips swinging her skirts bewitchingly. Bailiwick could only watch her leave him and his stumbling tongue behind her.

  “Don’t want you that way,” he muttered to no one. “Want you always.”

  In the chambers of Lady Madeleine and Lord Aidan, Evan scowled doubtfully at the cupboard set into the wall. “What d’you want to climb into that for?”

  Melody tugged at his hand, pulling him closer. “Wanna ride in the box.”
r />   Evan sighed and opened the cupboard. Inside it looked like a large empty box, hung from cords and pulleys inside the wall.

  Always intrigued by machinery, Evan felt his interest rise. “I get it! It goes up and down when you pull those. That’s clever, that is.”

  “Wanna ride,” Melody insisted. “Wanna ride up and see the lady.”

  Evan didn’t pay much heed to the bit about the lady. He knew perfectly well that there was nothing above them but a sparsely filled attic, for he’d ventured up there many times when he’d first arrived at the club. In the end, however, it was only an attic and didn’t compare with having his own horse!

  “I don’t have time to give you a ride,” he told Melody impatiently. “I’m taking Ramses through the park with Bailiwick and Balthazar.”

  Melody frowned. “Rammees is a bad horse.”

  “Ramses is an excellent mount,” Evan said, mimicking Lord Aidan’s arch tones. Then Evan lapsed into his old street-rat speech: “He’s right sparky at the jumps!”

  Melody stuck out her lip mutinously. “Wanna ride.” Her little round chin was set and her minute brows drew down in a scowl.

  Oh, blast. Mellie was going to go and throw a fit and then he’d never get away for his ride. He slid a glance at the box in the wall. It looked sturdy enough to hold her feather weight and she certainly wasn’t going to come to harm in the boring old attic. He’d tell Pru where she was, too. This time he’d remember to tell his sister, straightaway, not like last time.

  He plunked his fists on his scrawny hips. “I’ll ride you up, but then you have to come down by the stairs. That’s the deal.”

  Melody brightened, her sunny smile dimpling her round little cheeks. Evan couldn’t help but smile back. When she looked at him like that he felt like a hero.

  She held up her arms to be lifted into the box. “Up!”

  Laurel’s fury had dredged up words she hadn’t even realized she knew.

  Her throat was raw with shouting and her body ached from the tightness of her rage. Leaning her back against the implacable oak door, she wrapped her arms about herself, tucked her throbbing fists into her sides, and dropped her head in exhaustion.