by Darcy Burke
Rain streaked along the windows of the library at Stipple’s End and the gray sky required them to work their needles by candlelight. She glanced over at Flora who methodically plunged her needle into the linen, creating a beautiful cross pattern. The girl seemed remarkably calm and comfortable after last night’s near-disaster.
Jasper strolled into the library. Miranda promptly stuck her needle into her finger. Tossing the square of linen into the basket at her feet, she gave up the pretense of embroidery altogether. “Good afternoon, Jasper.” To a one, the girls arrested and stared at her handsome brother. “Jasper, these are my girls. Girls, this is my brother, Lord Saxton.”
He bowed to the room at large and offered a hearty grin. “So this is how my sister spends her days? How fortunate for all of you to have the wealth of her knowledge.” He stepped toward the closest girl—Delia—and peered down at her needlework. “Although, I can already see your embroidery skills have surpassed Miranda’s.”
Miranda stood. “Yes, every single one of them is better than I.”
“Have you taught them how to paint? Or did you decide not to even bother?” He glanced around at his captivated audience. “As bad as she is with a needle, she’s even worse with a paintbrush.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Do you see what I have to put up with in London? Perhaps I’ll just stay here in Wootton Bassett.”
Lisette dropped her needle. “Really?” She turned to Delia. “I told you she’d stay!”
Delia frowned. “Don’t be silly. People like Lady Miranda don’t live in places like Wootton Bassett. Perhaps Lord Saxton has come to fetch her home.”
Jasper arched a brow at his sister. “Actually, I have come to fetch her home—to Birch House, that is. We’ll be leaving as soon as this rain lets up.”
Miranda gave her brother a sharp glare. She hadn’t told the girls when she would be going. Lisette still looked at her with wide, sad eyes. Unable to bear her scrutiny another moment, Miranda turned her back and whispered to Jasper, “What are you really doing here?”
He leaned in and adopted a hushed tone. “Why so suspicious? I wanted to see you at work. I admit I’m a bit shocked. This place is a shambles. How long has the roof been caved in?”
“It just happened last night, but it’s been leaking intermittently all summer.”
“And it hasn’t been repaired before now?” Jasper shook his head.
Miranda bristled. “Fox and everyone else work very hard to keep Stipple’s End in order. It’s been a difficult year with the weather. And the harvest is devastatingly poor. We planned the benefit in order to raise money to fix the roof.”
“Well, I hope you made a lot of money. That looks to be an expensive repair.” He straightened. “Are you ready to leave now or do you need to botch some more of whatever you were working on?” He finished with a light-hearted wink, but his cavalier attitude irritated her.
She glanced at the clock. Their lesson had ended anyway. “Girls, this concludes our time today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She had every intention of remaining in Wootton Bassett for Lord Norris’s party, and if the rain didn’t continue, she’d simply convince Jasper she needed to spend more time with Lord Septon. Surely their parents wouldn’t fault her for that.
Taking Jasper by the arm, she dragged him toward the door. He bowed to the orphans before following her into the corridor. Frigid air greeted them and wrapped its icy tendrils around her bare fingers and neck.
She went to retrieve her bonnet and spencer from the hall, but remembered she’d left them in the dining room in order to keep them out of the cold of the great hall. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Leaving the dining room, she stopped short when Fox intersected her path. He looked completely different today, garbed once more in his work-aged clothing, his brown hair slightly tousled. Nevertheless, Miranda found him as attractive as he’d been the night before. Perhaps more so, which made no sense to her.
He studied her from head to boot, seeming to assess her appearance just as she’d done to him. “You’re still here. I thought your lesson concluded.”
“It is. I’m just leaving.” Neither of them moved. “I’m sorry about the roof. It’s fortunate we had the benefit last night. Will you be able to fix it soon?”
He flinched. Had she said something wrong? She probably shouldn’t have asked about the repair. She knew he did his best to keep things together, but he couldn’t mask his sensitivity about Stipple’s End. Maybe he’d spent an awful night like she had. Had he recalled their interlude at the brothel, their argument afterward?
She smiled even though her mind and body threatened to split in two. “I’m sure you’ll have everything back to normal very quickly. They’re lucky to have you.” She searched his half-turned face for any hint of emotion.
“You should go.” His voice sounded deep, dark, as if he’d swallowed gravel.
Her heart clenched and she grabbed his hand though her brain screamed for her not to. “Fox, I’m so sorry about last night. If I could change things—”
He clasped her fingers in a fierce grip and pierced her with a furious glare. “You can’t. Thanks to you and your recklessness, we didn’t collect Norris’s payment and now we’re short.”
Miranda gasped. “What happened?”
His lip curled, showing her a Fox she’d never seen before. “I wasn’t there to oversee the accounting and now Norris claims he paid, though Mrs. Knott assures me he did not. It’s his word against hers.”
Her knees felt weak as dread curled through her body. “It’s all my fault—”
At the sound of Jasper’s throat clearing, Miranda dropped Fox’s hand as if it had sprouted thorns. Fox pivoted toward Jasper and offered a slight nod.
Jasper came further into the hallway. “Good afternoon, Mr. Foxcroft. Looks like you’ve got your hands full here. Damned noble of you to look after these poor souls.”
Fox’s hand fisted against his thigh. “Yes, well, they’re my responsibility, and I take it very seriously. Now, if you’ll excuse me. As you said, I have my hands full.” He walked away without looking at Miranda, without saying goodbye.
Jasper helped Miranda into her spencer. “Glad I’m not in his place. Can you imagine having to see to all of this? Plus he has his own estate—and it’s no small thing from what I hear.”
With shaky hands, Miranda tied her bonnet beneath her chin and took her brother’s arm. She focused on speaking calmly instead of giving in to the chaos of her thoughts. “I’ve never been to Bassett Manor. I’ve no idea of its size.”
Jasper led her outside and handed her into the carriage. “Well, let’s pray it’s an improvement over this. Better him than me to worry about such things as faulty buildings and dirty orphans.” He gave a pitying glance at Stipple’s End before climbing into the carriage. He settled back against the plush, royal blue velvet squab while the footman closed the door.
“Jasper, they’re not dirty! They’re well cared for! Indeed, I should hope other orphanages are run so well, but I’m confident they are not.” No, even if they had far more resources than Stipple’s End, Miranda felt certain no one ran an institution as successfully as Fox. The children were safe, learned, and happy. She frowned at her brother. “You should hear yourself.”
Jasper pinned her with an icy stare, reminding her far too much of their father. “You should hear yourself. You are quite changed. Defending orphans, exhibiting great concern, planning a benefit.” He laid his palms on the cushion on either side of him as the coach pulled forward. “I’d suggest you don’t need to continue working there while we’re stuck, but I daresay you wouldn’t hear of it. And if I hadn’t seen evidence of your obvious care for the girls, I might think you desired to stay here for Foxcroft.”
Miranda’s pulse quickened. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve no interest in Mr. Foxcroft.”
He cocked his head. “Indeed? It seemed you two were sharing some sort of intimacy when I walked into the hallway.”
Intimacy? Surely nothing so personal. Nothing like they’d shared at the brothel. Her flesh began to heat and she took a deep breath. “Aren’t you a Meddlesome Mary? I was merely demonstrating my concern about the roof. What would I see in a country bumpkin like him?”
His arresting eyes and the way they twinkled when he smiled. His work-roughened hands and the way they held her so gently when they danced and so erotically when—
“He cares about the same orphans you do.” Jasper spoke and she tried to focus on his words. “Seems like you have a commonality.”
“Perhaps. But that is all.” She pressed her lips together. Couldn’t he talk about something else?
His lips pressed into a firm line. “It’s just as well. Can you imagine if you actually had a tendre for Foxcroft? You’d never be allowed to marry him.”
There. He’d said what she’d been telling herself since last night. What she’d told Fox. A future with him was impossible. A tiny voice in the back of her mind chanted it wasn’t, that she’d done as she’d pleased thus far. “And look where it’s gotten me,” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that?” Jasper moved his attention from the sodden countryside to her.
“Nothing.” Miranda folded her hands in her lap as Jasper turned his head toward the window again.
Things were so much easier for him. Living at Saxton House, he was able to do what he pleased, when he pleased. He was able to avoid their parents almost entirely, though he usually put in an appearance at Mother’s bi-weekly tea. Miranda recalled one such tea last spring. Jasper had been romancing an opera singer and Father had clapped him on the back, congratulating him on such an excellent conquest. The closest the duke ever came to looking at her like that was when she entered a ballroom and her dance card was immediately filled or notable people sought her acquaintance. At those moments, his chest puffed up, and he gave her a stiff nod.
What she wouldn’t give for the duke to be truly proud of her. Not of her beauty or her attributes, but of her. If her parents came to Stipple’s End as Jasper had, would they nod with approval and lavish her with praise? Not if she dawdled with the likes of Montgomery Foxcroft.
Experience told her she’d be better served if she could realize happiness without her parents’ approbation. But her heart feared it wasn’t possible.
Chapter Sixteen
FOX slammed the door of the office at Stipple’s End. Rob, seated behind the desk entering numbers in the estate book, startled, dropping his quill. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Fox. “Things didn’t go well at Cosgrove?”
Fox threw himself into the small, wooden chair by the window. “Son of a bitch says he paid Mrs. Gates and warned me against making an issue of it. After all, why would anyone believe her over him?” Fox saw no point in telling Rob the earl had cast aspersions upon Mrs. Knott’s credibility.
“Jackass.” Rob expelled the word on a pent-up breath, baring his teeth. They sat in silence a moment before he asked, “What do you plan to do?”
Fox stretched his legs out in front of him. “We need that money. We’ll never have enough to fix this place otherwise.” He gestured toward the book on the desk. “The ledger tells the truth of it.”
Rob set his quill down. “Aye, it’s worse than we expected. I reckon you’re thinking what I am.”
“I’m not certain what you’re thinking, but I’m going to steal the money. What else can I do?” He threw his hands up. “Hell, it’s not even stealing since it should be ours anyway.”
Rob rested his hands on the arm of the chair. “You have a plan for this?”
Fox nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it since I left. As luck would have it, I walked around inside Cosgrove a bit. I found Norris’s office. It has three windows. I can’t be certain the money’s in there, but I’m guessing I’ll find something.”
They needed the money, but he also wanted to find proof of the earl’s corruption. Perhaps a list of people who paid tributes and the amount they paid. Anything he could provide to the House of Lords who would in turn mete out some form of punishment. Would transportation be too severe? No, it sounded just right.
Rob drew him from his thoughts. “You may recall Freddie works as a groom at Cosgrove.”
Freddie had been an orphan at Stipple’s End. He’d been hired on at Cosgrove a few years back. “What do you have in mind? I’ve no wish to endanger the lad’s position.”
Rob lifted a shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, see if he knows anything about what’s in the office or if he can at least make sure one of those windows remains unlocked.”
“That would be most helpful. But I won’t get the boy in trouble.”
“Understood. What’s your plan?”
Fox pondered for a moment. “I’ve never gone into a house wearing the mask, but I don’t see another way.”
Rob picked up the quill from the desk and rolled it between his fingers. “Isn’t he having a party in a couple of days?”
“I wasn’t invited.” Fox wouldn’t let that stop him. “No matter. If I’m caught, I’ll pretend I’m a guest. Most of the people attending are his antiquity friends from London and won’t know me.”
Rob rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Seems risky. On the road, it’s easier to get away. Furthermore, if you’re caught inside Cosgrove with the mask, people will think you’re the highwayman.”
“Maybe, but that was a long time ago. No one knows about the other robbery with Stratham. I’ll have to risk the connection to Carmody’s highwayman.” Fox stood, eager to move forward with this plan. He wanted to storm Norris’s stronghold and take what the man owed right now.
Rob fixed him with a piercing, cautionary look. “I don’t see how it signifies. You’re committing this robbery, and that’s enough to see you hang.”
Fox opened the door to go. “Well then, I’d best not get caught.”
WITH the nearly full moon obscured by a thick covering of clouds, it was beyond dark on the night of Norris’s party. Thankfully the rain remained at bay. Fox left Icarus tied a good distance from the drive at Cosgrove and crept toward the house as stealthily as his voluminous black cloak would allow.
There were coaches in the drive, which meant footmen and grooms loitering about. Careful to keep to the shadows, Fox prowled to the corner of the building in which Norris’s office sat. Once he reached the building, he pressed himself up against the gray stone, the rough surface catching at the wool of his cloak.
He eased along the façade until he reached the first window of the office. Here is where he’d learn if Freddie had been successful. The groom hadn’t been able to learn anything about what Norris kept inside, but he’d been fairly certain he could unlock a window. Freddie had been more than happy to help Fox, to whom he apparently held more loyalty than his employer. The boy had also left a crate under a nearby shrub to better access the window, for it was rather high off the ground. As soon as Fox could afford it—assuming he ever could—he’d hire Freddie away from the earl.
Standing on the crate, he reached up and pushed at the first window but it didn’t budge. He moved the makeshift stool and tried the next one with the same result. At the third window, he met victory. He slid the window open, thankful for his superior height.
The muted symphony of music and laughter drifted through the open window. It sounded as if the office door was open. Climbing into the room would be difficult wearing the cloak. He wrapped the thick fabric into a ball and dropped it to the ground. He pulled himself up to the casement and swung his feet over, easing himself onto the floor as silently as possible.
Near-darkness shrouded the interior of the office. As anticipated, the door stood ajar, allowing faint light to slither inside. Once he closed it, the room would be black as coal. He scanned the room, moving about quietly until he spied a branch of candles on the desk. Taking a spill from the fireplace, he lit one of the wicks and hurried to close the door.
He turned back toward the desk, contemplating where to begin his
search. The desktop contained small curiosities, probably expensive antiquities purchased with other people’s money. He hadn’t expected an open ledger filled with names and dollar amounts under a heading of “Tributes,” but it would’ve made for an easy task.
He gently slid the first drawer out when the door suddenly creaked open. In one fluid motion, Fox pinched out the flame and crouched behind the desk.
The door latched shut. The rustle of skirts filled the room as the person—woman—moved toward the desk. His senses jolted to high alert and he immediately caught a spicy waft of clove and orange.
Miranda.
The devil’s own luck. He held his breath, wondering what in the hell she was doing there. She came closer—too close. She stepped behind the desk, and he couldn’t move fast enough before her foot connected with his.
She gasped.
He shot to his feet and pressed his hand over her mouth. “Shhh.” When she nodded, he released her.
“Is that you?” she asked breathlessly.
Fox didn’t dare ask for clarification. Besides, he already knew who she meant. Christ, this was a mess. Dropping his voice, he said, “You have to go.”
“What are you doing here? Are you stealing from Lord Norris?”
Though she spoke softly, he feared their conversation would draw attention. He wrapped his hand around her arm and whispered, “You have to go. Now.”
She shook her head, and her scent of citrus and spice overwhelmed him. It took every effort not to bury his face in her hair.
“I can help you.”
“What?” He worried he’d given himself away when she stilled. He hastily added in what he hoped was a throaty, unrecognizable tone, “You can’t help me.”
“Yes, I can. I won’t raise the hue and cry, if that’s what you’re worried about. I didn’t when you came to Birch House, did I?”
No, she hadn’t. Being with her here in the dark, smelling her essence, wearing the mask he’d worn when he’d kissed her…all of it played merry hell with his resolve. His goal of searching Norris’s office faded beneath a driving need to enfold her in his arms.
