She finished unpacking her few dresses and stored them in the wardrobe. A sweet scent reached her, bringing a bit of home into the little room. Lavender from the sachets she’d made in Sussex.
Her underclothes didn’t take up much space. She’d brought no stays; she couldn’t manage them on her own despite her efforts over the past fortnight since Trevor had summarily dismissed most of the family’s loyal staff, including her lady’s maid.
In drab shades of brown and gray and dark blue, her dresses were suited to the governess position she’d considered after Trevor moved in. Surely they would suit her work at the pub.
She chose a gown the color of the sky just before the rain, and dressed. She’d have to face Blake this morning and beg for employment. She couldn’t go back to Sussex, not with Trevor living at the manor.
She sighed and withdrew a brush from her valise. Brushing her hair was soothing, and she closed her eyes.
So much had changed already.
So much would be different after today.
She plaited her unruly blond locks in a simple braid and examined her face in the mirror. The bruise Blake had so easily spotted was nearly invisible this morning. A mere shadow beneath her left eye. She recalled the intensity of his gaze last night. She would have to be on her guard in her conversations with him. He was surely as sharp as her brother.
She stood and ran her hands over her skirt. Her plain dress was adequate. A bit of lace trimmed the modestly scooped neck of the bodice and pearl buttons marched down toward her waist. Not so very plain, then. She shook her head. Why should she worry about her appearance when her life was such a mess?
She peered into the mirror again, into eyes so like her brother’s, and caught her breath. “Robert, where are you?”
Chapter 2
Blake studied his ledger, satisfied with the tallies before him. Located near London in Homerton, The Hideaway did a brisk business. He’d taken the public house, more of a tavern than an inn, in payment for a job completed three years earlier. The gentleman in question had been so thankful when Blake tracked down the delusional nursemaid who had stolen his two-year-old daughter, that he happily gave Blake the pub he’d inherited from an uncle.
The place was popular among country gentry and those of lesser birth. No doubt this was due to the novelty of its being owned by the second son of an earl. As to any misgivings brought about by a titled gentleman working in trade, they set those aside easily enough when they needed his particular services.
His ale and his serving girls kept his customers happy, not that he earned any money from what often went on upstairs after hours. In any case, he was in no hurry to leave his current situation. The last thing he wanted to do was to return home to Sussex, knowing what awaited him there. Kowtowing to the local gentry. Acting as lord of the manor when he was merely the second son. Settling for a woman of his father’s choosing. Blake would never forget the image of his father’s face after the Pamela debacle. He was only twenty-six years old, for God’s sake. He’d continue on as he had been for the past four years.
“The hell with you and your demands, Father,” he muttered.
His private investigative work was profitable as well. Losing himself in mystery and danger made him feel alive, at least for a little while. Both he and Robert enjoyed the intrigues, large and small. Now it seemed that Robert was the only one to pay the price for their amusement.
After seeing Robert’s sister safely to her room last night, Blake had puzzled over Taylor’s predicament. What happened in Arundel? What was she running from? Clearly, she was in trouble. But why would a woman of her station flee her family home? Why would she come to Middlesex alone? Had Trevor Shelby struck her?
His senses sharpened at the mystery. No. How could he get involved in her troubles? Hell, how could he not?
It was enough he had Robert’s disappearance to contend with, though. If his memory of the man’s little sister served, she was prone to getting into trouble all on her own. And despite her assertions to the opposite, she was vulnerable to the dangers surrounding Robert’s disappearance. If he could only find his friend, he could send Taylor Shelby home. Where she belonged. Safe and sound. It was something to consider. At least it was better than what had occupied his mind these past weeks.
He’d thought of nothing but Robert since he’d disappeared over a month ago. A masquerade, something Robert and Blake himself had done often enough, had led to an unexpected end. A young man from London, Colin Smathers, had come to them about a ring of thieves taking advantage of foolish gentry with more money than sense. It had taken but a few pointed questions before Colin admitted that he’d been the one taken advantage of and cheated out of his grandfather’s prized watch. They’d had no real hope of retrieving the heirloom, since Colin only made his contact through a series of chums at his club, which led to one dead end after another. Blake and Robert had thought they could ferret out the culprit, though. Posing as a potential customer eager to sell a family heirloom, Robert used Colin’s scant network of contacts and made arrangements for a meeting. And after that meeting? Blake hadn’t seen him since.
Lead after damn lead had given Blake no real information. He’d known the time and place of the meeting. He’d tracked down and questioned the other gents who made use of the service, but no one was willing to say what had happened on that night. Guilt struck him anew, but he forced it aside and turned his thoughts to the delectable little problem that fell on his doorstep last night.
Taylor had changed from the dimpled cherubic bit of fluff that had chased after the ducks and geese on her father’s estate in Sussex; her face had an air of maturity that he hadn’t noticed when he’d first seen her in the doorway last night. ‘Little Taylor,’ he’d called her. Not any longer. She was all grown up. And a curvaceous beauty.
The pub was no place for a gently-bred girl. He’d make her see that this morning. Now that ale no longer clouded his senses. Even after seeing the mark high on her cheek he’d been unable to think of little more than kissing her. Her lips had been so red, so moist. So inviting. And her eyes, round, with long black lashes framing their unusual color. Silver flecks had shown in them, captivating and lovely. He wagered she could see straight into his blighted soul with those eyes.
Over the past weeks he’d learned nothing about his missing friend, and the shame of his failure was a raw wound. He wouldn’t want anyone to see that, especially Taylor. She clearly had more to worry about than the guilt eating away at him.
Robert was still missing. His sister was now here.
What was he going to do with her?
“Why’s she here?” Polly demanded, striding through the open door.
He raised his head to face her. “Who?”
“That little dove.” Polly’s generous mouth curled in a sneer. “Who’s she to ya’?”
Ah. Taylor. Blake had taken his pleasure with Polly a few times over the past months, but she’d never shown jealousy before.
He closed the ledger and arched a brow at her. “Who are you to me?”
Polly didn’t flinch at his simply spoken question. “None of my concern. I’m just a maid here.”
Damn right. He offered her a tight smile and she nodded.
“Annie and me straightened the rooms abovestairs,” she said in a sour tone. “The little miss’s room, we left to her own delicate hands.”
He had to defuse this situation before the girl made such comments to Taylor. “Now, Polly—”
Movement behind her caught his eye and he stilled. Taylor stood in the doorway, hesitant and lovely. A plain gray gown showed a figure he could appreciate in the daylight. The simple dress hugged her curves, the lace brushed the swell of her breasts.
A true smile curved his lips. “Taylor.”
Polly spun toward Taylor. Taylor’s gaze met the maid’s and her chin lifted a notch. He eyed her slender neck, the way she held that lush body with defiance. Attraction flared in him, unbidden and unwelcome.
Polly glared at Taylor before leaving with a pout.
Blake came to his feet. “Please come in, Taylor.”
Taylor glanced into the hallway, then entered the office. She perched on the chair in front of his desk, her hands clasped in her lap. He stared at her bowed head, at the silky blond curls escaping her braid.
He walked around the desk, crossed to the door and closed it. “I trust you slept well?”
She nodded, her eyes downcast. She rubbed her palms over her wrinkled skirt. What the hell happened to bring her here?
At last, she raised her head. That bruise was smaller than he’d first supposed, to his relief.
“I need a place to stay, Blake.”
He stood in front of her and leaned against the desk. “Why did you leave Sussex? You were exceedingly vague about that last night.”
She swallowed, and he watched the motion. Again, he studied her slender neck, her flawless skin. Shaking his head, he brought his eyes to her face once more.
“I can’t say precisely.” She lowered her eyes and trembled.
“Why the devil—?” He recovered himself. “Why not?”
She remained closed-mouthed.
“I’ll have my answers,” he said.
Her lips parted, then she sighed. “You and my brother make quite the pair,” he thought he heard her mutter.
“All right, then,” she said in a clear voice. “Robert is still missing after this long month and upon Father’s death there was no one. My cousin Trevor swiftly took over the house.” She fisted her hands in her lap. “Well, I won’t be a party to whatever he’s planning.”
“What are your cousin’s plans?”
Her brows drew together and she raised her head to face him. “I woke up to find him in my bed, Blake. I didn’t ask him about his plans precisely.”
“I . . . um.” Blake straightened. “He didn’t . . . ?”
“No.” She touched her cheek, the motion telling, then waved her hand. “But I can’t go back to Sussex. It doesn’t even feel like my home anymore. There are men coming and going at odd hours.”
His senses sharpened again. “What sort of men?”
She shrugged. “Strange men, Blake. I don’t know how else to describe them. There’s something . . . slithery about what Trevor’s doing at my family home. May I stay here at The Hideaway? I can clean rooms, or help in the kitchen.”
“You’re not meant for such work.”
Her eyes narrowed then, showing that same spirit her brother possessed. “I’m meant for honest work. There is no shame in it.”
He flinched. Shame. His constant companion these past weeks.
He turned from her and stared at the bustling street outside, shrugging one shoulder. “No shame in it,” he agreed. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need.”
He turned and saw tears in her eyes. He started to reach out one hand toward her then froze, dropping his hand to fist it at his side. “All right. You may help with my ledgers for the time being,” he said, tilting his head toward the books on the desk. “Not my favorite task.”
Taylor let out a breath. “Thank you.” Her eyes focused on his face. “Now, have you learned anything more about Robert?”
His friend’s name hit him like a punch to the gut. “Not as of yet.”
Her disappointment was clear as her mouth turned down. “But it’s been over a month! Your letter told us nothing.”
“You read my letter?” He snorted. “Of course you read my letter. I didn’t think it prudent to tell your father more about Robert’s disappearance than necessary.”
“What of me?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
Her eyes went wide. “How can you say that? Robert is my brother, Blake. Our poor father felt powerless to help find him and then he fell and took ill and I had to care for him . . . it was a terrible time.”
She was right, of course. He’d been an idiot to ignore her stake in this.
“I’m truly sorry if I caused you or your father undue pain, Taylor,” he managed to say. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“We couldn’t do a thing to help find Robert and then it was too late for our father. I won’t let it be too late for my brother.”
“Neither will I.” He managed a soft smile. “I promise you I won’t give up until I find out what happened to him.”
She came to her feet suddenly, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest for one heart-stopping moment. In the next instant she stiffened and pulled away. “F-forgive me,” she said, stumbling back.
He could still feel her curves heating his flesh and took a cautious glance at her face. Her smooth cheeks were pink and she looked as flustered as he felt.
“Forgive me,” she said again. “Thank you, Blake.”
She held out her hand. He took it and brought it to his lips, feeling on firmer ground. Her fingers were delicate in his, her skin smooth and warm as he pressed a kiss on her knuckles.
He released her. “It’s the least I can do.”
She tilted her head to one side, her eyes shining up at him. Why was she looking at him with such gratitude? She smiled then, an expression that lit the room. She still had that dimple in one cheek and the effect was stunning now that she possessed the face of a woman. As she turned and walked toward the door he admired the figure that had scorched him.
“You’ll keep out of the dining room, then,” he said, “except to take your own meals.”
She glanced over her shoulder and nodded before she left the room.
He took a breath and sat down at his desk, catching the soft flowery scent she’d left behind. He could imagine her lithe body perched in his chair, right where he sat at the moment. He closed his eyes and breathed in, taking her deep into himself. His eyes snapped open.
He’d better keep out of his office when she was in it.
* * *
At midday, Blake watched Taylor walk through the dining room, though he knew the name was far too fancy for the dreary place. The light peering through the windows clearly showed the dull plank floor and scratched tables. Soot stained the stone hearth, and the oil lamps and beamed ceilings were dark. He’d never given much notice to the room’s condition but with the pretty girl set in the middle of it? She looked quite out of place from his vantage point near the doorway.
Filled mostly with men, as usual, the room was loud and lively. Polly and Annie moved among the tables. They served a plain and hearty nooning meal of cold roast beef and sharp cheese. The cook’s bread accompanied the dish, and the noise of men grunting and chewing didn’t keep Blake’s stomach from growling.
He watched as Taylor rose and walked around the tables to take her leave.
“Ooh!” she gasped.
One look at the grinning gentleman nearest her told him what had happened. The pinch to her bottom had been no accident. He forced himself to relax his clenched fists.
To his surprise, Taylor glared at the fleet-fingered diner. “Sir! How dare you—”
“Taylor,” Blake called.
Taking a breath, she turned to him. She cast another withering look at the man at the table, then turned and crossed to Blake.
“Yes?” she asked.
He felt his lips twitch to suppress a smile.
She clicked her tongue. “What amuses you so?”
He glanced at the offensive diner and placed his hand on Taylor’s bare arm. Her skin was so smooth, so warm beneath his fingers. He slid his hand slowly down her arm to clasp her hand. A compelling expression crossed her face as she stared down at their clasped hands.
“What amuses me so?” he countered. “What angers you so?”
She blinked, then looked up at him. “That gentleman . . . Well, I dare not call him such after what he did.”
Blake laughed then. He couldn’t help it. Taylor’s eyes w
ere wide with shock, her body trembling with outrage. She was a sight to behold.
“Little Taylor.” Her lips thinned and he thought better than to use that nickname. “Taylor, such things aren’t unusual at The Hideaway.”
“Truly?” she asked. “Why is that so?”
He was struck by her innocence then. “This isn’t the parlor at Shelby Manor, love.” The endearment surprised him but she didn’t seem to notice. “These men like their meals filling and their ale plentiful. And their women . . . well, they find an attractive young woman a pleasure to look at.”
Taylor arched a golden brow at him. “He did more than look, Blake.”
Blake had seen the man place his hand on Taylor’s round little bottom, and his irritation had been mixed with a touch of envy. Her ripe body begged to be touched. He shook his head and dropped her hand before taking a step back from her.
“You’re under my protection at the moment, Taylor. But I’m afraid you’ll have to take care at dinner time. This evening will prove a test of your mettle.”
“A test of my bottom, you mean,” she muttered.
He thought then of her tender flesh, thought of smoothing his hands over her bottom as he soothed her tiny injuries. That image brought the next logical step to mind, and lust licked through him.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should take an early dinner.”
She looked about the dining room, her mouth turned down in a frown. That full lower lip peeked out, and he feared she’d cry. But to his amazement she squared her slight shoulders.
“I suppose,” she said with a nod. “Surely I can withstand a few leers at least.”
Whether she attempted to convince him or herself, he didn’t know.
“I’ll meet you in my office in ten minutes,” he said. “We’ll review my accounts.”
He gave her shoulder an awkward pat and watched as she left the dining room with her back held ramrod stiff. More than one diner eyed her figure with interest as she walked past their table. Little wonder, that. Even the plain gray gown couldn’t hide her appeal.
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 2
