Her Wicked Ways

by Darcy Burke

  Likely because of his black mood, Fox couldn’t control his anger. “So this is the heart of our district’s corruption?”

  Stratham turned on his heel. Candles and firelight brightened the room enough for Fox to see the diminutive man’s nostrils flare. “You keep throwing accusations about, but have you any evidence?” When Fox said nothing—what could he say, “Yes, I stole your tribute money?”—Stratham went on. “I didn’t think so. You’d do best to keep your mouth shut, lest someone close it for you.”

  Fox allowed his anger to win out and advanced on his foe. “Don’t threaten me unless you can see it through.”

  Stratham blinked and stumbled backward. He unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrew a wooden box. He thrust it at Fox. “Here. This is the last time I do you any favors.”

  Fox took the box. He wanted to clobber Stratham over the head with it. “You think tonight a favor to me? This was for a group of children who have no family. No money. No prospects. A group of children who, without Stipple’s End, would be in workhouses, or worse. Have you no concern at all?” Fox had always seen people like Stratham as going about their lives without thinking of the world around them. But now he realized Stratham likely did contemplate such matters and that he simply didn’t care.

  Stratham rested a hand on his hip and said nothing. Really, what could he say? Fox opened the box. There appeared to be a lot of money inside, but he had no idea how much there ought to be. “Where is the accounting sheet?”

  “That other woman has it.” Stratham waved a hand. “Tall, sturdy—married to your steward.”

  Fox’s fingers curled around the box, gripping it tightly. “Mrs. Knott is her name. Are the Knotts still here?”

  “No idea. As the host, I can’t be expected to monitor the comings and goings of your employees.” Stratham gestured toward the door. “I think our business is concluded.”

  Fox hefted the box in his hands. “I want to count this. You go ahead.”

  Stratham shifted his weight and fidgeted with a button on his coat. “No, not in here. Take it back to the Gold Room.”

  Fox arched a brow. “What’s this? Afraid I might search your desk and find something incriminating?”

  Stratham inhaled audibly, and his color deepened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  While it was satisfying to bait the man, Fox didn’t have time for it just now. “Fine. I’m going.”

  He made his way back to the Gold Room and looked around for an accounting sheet. It was too much to hope they’d just left it lying around, but without it, counting the money would be somewhat pointless. Nevertheless, Fox sat down and counted the bills and coins. It amounted to an impressive sum, but not quite what he expected. Had Stratham lightened the purse? Fox couldn’t know if they were missing funds without the ledger. He’d been far more drawn to Miranda’s neckline than how much money the auction had been making.

  Since he didn’t want to go looking for Rob and his wife in the ballroom, Fox opted to quit the manor altogether. He’d see Rob in the morning, and then they could figure this out. In the meantime, he’d go home.

  Alone. He always went home alone, but tonight it was lonelier than usual.

  MIRANDA’S trunk waited in her cupboard-sized room when she arrived at Birch House. She’d almost forgotten how small and dingy everything appeared here after spending the last several days in her grand chamber at Wokingham.

  She stood in the center of the room and…did nothing. Her mind could barely sort through everything that had happened. Remembering the book she’d promised Beatrice, she threw open the trunk and shuffled through her belongings until her fingers closed around the spine.

  With quiet feet, she picked her way to Beatrice’s room at the other end of the house, stepping particularly lightly as she passed Mr. and Mrs. Carmody’s door. She rapped softly once she reached her destination.

  “Who’s there?” Beatrice called from the interior.

  “It’s Miranda.”

  Beatrice opened the door, already wearing her nightclothes. Her gaze dropped to the book in Miranda’s hand.

  “I’ve brought you Emma.” Miranda held it out to Beatrice.

  “Come in.” Beatrice tugged her by the wrist into the room. She grabbed the book and ran her palm reverently over the crisp new cover. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she opened the tome and began to read the first page.

  Miranda glanced around the chamber, nearly twice as large as Miranda’s room, but just as sparsely furnished. Even so, Miranda noted, rather enviously, Beatrice’s bed was much bigger and appeared infinitely more comfortable.

  Beatrice looked to be already engrossed in the novel, but Miranda didn’t want to be alone just yet.

  She sat on the bed next to Beatrice. “How long have you been sneaking novels?”

  Beatrice glanced up from the page. “Since I started working at the orphanage. I read all of the ones in Stipple’s End’s library before I began ordering them with my pin money.”

  “The day we went to town with Fox, you were picking up a novel?”

  She blushed. “Yes.”

  Miranda chuckled. “And here I fancied you were as proper as they came.”

  Beatrice arched a brow. “I wouldn’t say I’m as scandalous as you. Sneaking novels under my father’s nose is hardly gadding about with inappropriate people or kissing highwaymen.”

  Miranda exhaled loudly. “True.” She rested her hands palm-down on the lacy coverlet. She almost told Beatrice about the situation with Flora. The words formed in her brain, but she couldn’t bring herself to share her foolishness.

  “I have to say something.” Beatrice turned her head. Her brow scrunched up and her lips twisted as if speaking took great effort. “Thank you for organizing the benefit. You’ve done a wonderful thing for the orphanage. Everything you’ve done has been…well, you’ve made a good impression with the children.”

  No one ever thanked Miranda. She wasn’t comfortable with the praise, not now when she’d almost led poor Flora to unequivocal disaster. Emotion bubbled up and Miranda only hoped Beatrice couldn’t see or hear her exaggerated swallow. “You’ve done a lot too, Beatrice. And the benefit wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  Beatrice’s face sparked with life as her lips curved into a smile. “I’ve never felt so needed. People never paid attention to me before. Did you know Mr. Stratham danced with me tonight? Twice.”

  Miranda rocked back on the bed and gave a delighted cry. Beatrice raised her finger to her lips, and Miranda straightened. “How wonderful, Beatrice. It means he’s interested. At least it does in London. I daresay he’ll be taking you for a drive soon.”

  “Do you think so?” Her dark eyes glistened with excitement.

  “Indeed. But, Beatrice, are you sure? Is Stratham someone you want?” Miranda recalled what Fox had said about him, that he’d been a willing party to corruption.

  “I believe so.” She nodded. “Yes, he is. Do you know, my parents will be shocked if he courts me.”

  “Well, then for that reason alone, I hope he proposes!” Miranda laughed, but stopped when she saw Beatrice gaped at her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I speak before realizing I’ve said something very likely inappropriate.”

  Beatrice sighed. “I wish I could do that.”

  Miranda sobered. “No, you don’t.” It can be hurtful—both to others and yourself, she added silently. “You’re better off as you are.”

  Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Why, you sound regretful. Has something happened?”

  Again the words explaining the disaster with Flora came together in her brain but got lost on the way to her mouth. “No, I imagine I’m just a little sad to be leaving soon.”

  “And I believe I’ll actually miss you. I’m sorry I was so awful about the benefit. It’s just I’ve never received such attention before. I…liked it.”

  Maybe it was all the hugging from earlier, but Miranda wanted to embrace Beatrice. Tentatively, she put her arm on Beatrice
’s shoulder, but when Beatrice gave her a quizzical look, she settled for a gentle pat.

  Miranda stood. “Well, good night, then.”

  “Good night, Miranda. You truly did do a good thing. Everyone is going to miss you.”

  With a nod, Miranda left and made her way back to her room. Her good deed had been canceled out by the mistake she’d made with Flora, but maybe she could fix that too. She could help Flora be something other than a courtesan. Before Miranda left Wootton Bassett, she’d ensure Flora’s talents were put to the best possible use.

  As she climbed into bed a short time later, Miranda’s stomach tossed with uneasiness. Was she still upset about Flora? No, she had a plan. Was it because she would be leaving soon? No, because she’d been trying to leave for months. But even as she thought it, her skin crawled. What did she have to look forward to, besides a husband her father would choose for her?

  She pulled the bedclothes tight around her body, burrowing into their softness. Sleep, she needed sleep. But when she closed her eyes, the memory of Fox’s hands on her body assailed her.

  A long, long time later, slumber finally soothed her aching spirit.

  FOX tapped his fingers against the top of the desk in the office at Stipple’s End. Rob was late, but then the rain affected everything—even a short jaunt from Rob’s house to the orphanage. It had continued to fall in earnest all night and into the morning. The great hall was wet and cold. Despite keeping the rest of the manor closed off, the damp chill permeated everywhere he went in the building.

  He paused and looked at Mrs. Gates, seated in a wooden chair near the window. They’d already decided to delay moving to Bassett Manor until a relatively dry day. Hell, he’d settle for something less than a torrential downpour. “Perhaps we should hang my old tapestries at the top of the stairs to better guard the second floor from the elements.”

  The water sluicing against the window above Mrs. Gates’s head threw mottled shadows onto her white bonnet as she nodded. “An excellent notion, Fox. The upstairs hallway is quite cold.”

  “But you passed an acceptable night?” Fox had tossed and turned in his own bed, concerned about the inhabitants of Stipple’s End.

  Mrs. Gates twisted her hands in her lap. “Yes, though I’m worried about the money from last night. We hadn’t completed the accounting when I left, but there ought to be more money. Lord Norris should have paid half what you have in that box for the tapestries alone.”

  Fox leaned back in his chair. Precisely as he’d suspected. Either Norris hadn’t paid—the louse—or Stratham had taken some for himself. Of all the things Fox regretted about last night, not being there to oversee the accounting was at the top of his list.

  Rob came in and handed a book to Fox. His brows gathered over his eyes, creating a rather dire expression. “Here’s the accounting. You’re not going to like it.”

  Fox flipped open the ledger and found the page he sought. He perused the entries and frowned. “Everything here is checked off except the tapestries. Does that mean everyone paid except Norris?” He handed the book to Mrs. Gates.

  She studied the numbers and nodded. “He hadn’t paid when I left, and it looks as if Mrs. Knott continued my technique of noting the payments.”

  Rob stood next to the desk. “Mrs. Knott said Norris didn’t pay. She considered asking him to do so, but didn’t know how to approach him.” He shot Fox an anxious glance. “We thought you were going to be there.”

  Fox clenched his hands together and swallowed his frustration. Damn Miranda and her recklessness. “I meant to be there, but there was a…problem. I apologize for leaving Mrs. Knott in a terrible position.” Of course someone like her couldn’t address a pompous, self-absorbed criminal like the Earl of Norris. Fox ran a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Mrs. Gates. We’ll handle it from here.”

  Mrs. Gates replaced the open ledger on the desk in front of Fox. “I’m so sorry, Fox. I shouldn’t have left with Lisette.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have been able to get the money out of Norris, either.” Fox was the one who shouldn’t have left.

  Mrs. Gates exited, closing the door behind her. Rob leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean to do?”

  Fox rested his forehead on his palm and stared down at the accounting book. Why did everything have to be so goddamned difficult? “Go to Cosgrove and get the money.”

  “You think he’ll give it freely? After he didn’t pay you last year?”

  Fox dropped his hand and looked up at Rob. “I’m hoping, perhaps foolishly, since he actually took possession of these tapestries, he’ll pay for them.”

  Rob arched a brow. “And if he doesn’t?”

  “You’ve seen the damage to the hall, Rob. You and I can’t fix this. We need to hire a carpenter. Plus, we need to repair the interior now as well.” He slammed the ledger shut and shoved it to the edge of the desk. “We never seem to get anywhere!”

  Rob stood straight. “I’ll take care of contacting some folks about the repairs. You’ve got enough blunt to move forward on that at least, right?”

  Fox glowered at the far wall, his hands fisted on the arms of his chair. “Move forward, yes. Complete it? Not bloody likely.” Never mind the other thousand things he needed to do with the money Norris hadn’t paid them.

  “You’re in a right dither over this, Fox. Something else eating at you?”

  Fox stared up at his steward. “The potential ruin of this orphanage, not to mention my tenants, my servants—hell, me—that’s not enough?”

  Color rose up Rob’s neck. “Aye, it’s plenty. I’ve just never seen you quite so worked up.”

  Fox pushed out of his chair, crashing it into the wall behind him. “I’m for Cosgrove to bleed that prick of what he owes us.”

  Rob stepped aside as Fox strode to the door. “I’d wish you luck, but I don’t think it’ll matter.”

  Frustratingly, Rob was probably right.

  A half hour later, Fox stood in a large sitting room at Cosgrove decorated in the Chinese style. Colorful vases from the Far East adorned every available tabletop. Two swords marked with Chinese characters crossed each other over the fireplace. Rich tapestries embroidered with black-haired, almond-eyed people decorated two walls.

  Before he could further catalogue the richness of the antiquities, Norris ambled into the room. His lavender waistcoat nearly screamed with the effort to encase the man’s massive gut. He seemed more corpulent every time Fox saw him.

  “Good afternoon, Fox. Twice in two days. I haven’t seen you this much in the past half-year.” Norris dropped himself into a gold chair, eliciting a creak from the aggrieved piece of furniture.

  Fox sat on a sky blue settee opposite Norris. He’d do best not to put the bounder on the defensive from the beginning. “I wanted to thank you for your support at the benefit. You’ve no idea what your generosity means to the orphans. Or to me personally.” The last words were uttered at great cost. Fox would rather have choked on them.

  Norris waved at the maid who entered with a tea tray. She placed it on a low table in front of the earl. He gave her a brief glance. “You’ll need to pour.”

  Fox didn’t think the instruction necessary. Norris likely couldn’t lean forward to put on his own shoes.

  The maid poured out and handed Norris a cup. He winked up at her, and Fox felt a moment’s revulsion on the poor woman’s behalf.

  Norris sipped his tea. “Very kind of you to pay a personal visit.”

  Fox took a drink of his own tea, mostly to school his emotions. He needed to tread carefully. “I also came to collect the payment for the tapestries you purchased. They’re lovely specimens, and I’m certain you’ve already decided where to display them.”

  Norris tipped his head to the side. “Indeed I have. But I assure you I already paid for them. Cost me a pretty penny too.”

  Fox clenched the saucer in his hand and then put the delicate piece on the table lest he shatter it. “Pe
rhaps there has been a mistake. Did you pay for it yourself? Neither Mrs. Gates nor Mrs. Knott recalls you paying for them. Yet you took them with you last night, did you not?”

  “I certainly did. Couldn’t wait to get them home. But do not forget yourself, Fox. They’ve been paid for.” Norris’s fish-shaped eyes hardened into coal. He chuckled then. “Surely you wouldn’t rely on the word of a headmistress at an orphanage and the wife of a common steward over my own?”

  He found the man’s arrogance infuriating. But what could Fox do? If he said Norris hadn’t paid for them, the earl would say he did. And unfortunately he was right: an earl trumped any woman, especially those as low-born as Mrs. Gates and Mrs. Knott.

  Fox willed himself to smile. “Where do you plan to hang the tapestries?”

  “They’re being hung right now. I’ll show you, if you like.” He beamed as he lumbered to his feet, the jowls of his cheeks shimmying with his movement.

  “Lead the way.” Fox trailed the earl from the room, mentally noting everything he saw. Unlike Stratham Hall, Cosgrove was well organized and Fox easily committed its layout to memory.

  Norris slowed, his breathing labored. “I get a bit winded now and again. They’re just up here, past my office.”

  Fox nodded, a small smile playing about his lips. He didn’t give a fig where he stuck the damned tapestries, only where the son-of-a-bitch kept his money and his records.

  TODAY’S luncheon of mutton and boiled potatoes sat like lead in Miranda’s belly. Her anxiety was less about the food and more the horror of finding the roof had fallen in. And seeing Fox after last night’s argument—not to mention their tryst in the closet. She tried to focus on her embroidery, but even in the best of circumstances, her skills were lacking. Laughable, really, that she meant to “teach” the girls something at which she enjoyed so little facility.

  The dreary weather only compounded her glum mood, but at least it had provided a reason for her to stay. With the heavy rain, she’d easily convinced Jasper they should postpone their return journey to Wokingham.