Chapter Twelve
Ignoring her better judgement, Hannah had not been able to bring herself to put on her serviceable brown work dress that morning. For a start, the sun was already heating the air and it was barely past seven. She did not want to boil in the close confines of Jameson’s fancy carriage. Secondly, for once she wanted to look nice. She was going to London, albeit briefly, and in London there were certain standards—even for a trip to a warehouse by the docks.
The sprigged blue muslin, although several years old, was a particular favourite of hers. It was light enough to withstand the summer heat and just smart enough that she would not feel like a pauper. She certainly had not put on a pretty dress for him.
Her initial nervousness at his unexpected request had quickly evaporated. This visit was an opportunity to find out more about his business dealings and might well provide her with something useful to use against him. She had just one dubious letter so far, after over a month of diligent searching, and that was hardly going to get her the hall back.
Besides, she had been so pathetically grateful to see him yesterday that it had got her worried. He was obviously manipulating her with his deadly charm—she just had to find the wherewithal to continue to resist. She was now resolved to double her efforts to expose him. The sooner the better.
Reggie called her to say that the carriage was waiting outside. ‘Don’t you look pretty?’ he exclaimed as he looked her up and down. ‘If Ross has half a brain he could do a lot worse than you. I think you make a fine pair.’
Hannah stopped fastening the ribbons on her bonnet and stared at him, flabbergasted. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say, Reggie. Mr Jameson is my employer.’ And a rogue and a scoundrel to boot.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ the big man replied, confused. ‘You’re young, he’s young, you’re both single... You could do a lot worse than Ross, Prim. That’s all I’m saying. You should give it some thought.’
Hannah turned to her friend and rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Tell him, Cook, all the reasons why his suggestion is ridiculous.’
But Cook simply smiled. ‘You certainly would make a handsome pair. It might also be the answer to all your problems.’ The older woman gave her a pointed look and wiggled her grey eyebrows suggestively. ‘I think Reggie is right. You should give it some thought.’
Irritated, Hannah snatched up her reticule and glared at the pair of them. ‘You are both daft,’ she muttered, even though in her dreams she clearly had been subconsciously giving it a great deal of thought. ‘Whatever has got into the pair of you? Mr Jameson is a shameless flirt who is interested in every single female in possession of a pulse. You know that. Look at all the carousing he does in town. When I first met you, Reggie, he was entertaining his mistress, for pity’s sake. The man is a shocking libertine. Lord only knows what scandalous things he gets up to—especially with the hours he keeps. Do you seriously expect me to believe that he shows me any particular regard? Even if he did,’ she added for good measure, ‘I certainly would not be interested in anybody who engages in such drunken debauchery.’
Reggie laughed at her. ‘Drunken debauchery? That is funny. For a start, that morning Francesca had turned up out of the blue and he was trying to get rid of her. I live with him, remember? And I can tell you he ain’t had that much debauchery of late. As for the drunken bit—well, Ross don’t even drink.’
He looked so convinced by his statement that she felt sorry for him. Poor Reggie really did lack brain cells if he believed that, so she patted him kindly. ‘He most certainly does drink. I have experienced his behaviour under the influence of drink at least once.’
Cook eyed her with interest. ‘Oh, yes? And what did he do?’ she asked wickedly, and wiggled her stupid eyebrows again.
Hannah felt a blush stain her cheeks under the woman’s scrutiny, and Cook grinned as soon as she saw it.
Reggie, thankfully, was oblivious to the undertones in the room and was still ready to fight for Jameson’s honour. ‘Ross don’t drink, Prim. He never has. His dad was a drinker, and he put him off the stuff for life. When was the last time you had to refill all them fancy decanters that you pulled out of the attic and put around this house?’
That brought her up short—because the answer was never. She had ensured that each and every one was filled before he had arrived at Barchester Hall and then locked away the rest of the alcohol in her cupboard. Nobody had ever asked her for the key. That did not mean he did not partake of the demon drink when in town, though...
‘I have to go,’ she muttered in exasperation. ‘I do not have time to discuss all this nonsense now.’
Hannah hurried out of the kitchen and found Jameson waiting for her in the hallway. He made a great show of looking her up and down and whistled.
‘You look pretty, Prim. I do wish you would burn that ugly brown dress. Shall we both do it later? I could get Reggie to build a bonfire and we could say a few respectful words before we toss it onto the pyre. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to the shapeless sack that once swamped a beautiful housekeeper...’
She smiled tightly and stalked towards the carriage. She really did not need his flirting after the comments she had just received in the kitchen.
Politely, he helped her up and she sat on the bench, facing forward out of habit. Ladies always faced front. She carefully undid the ribbons of her bonnet and placed it in her lap.
When he hoisted himself in he did not sit opposite her, as a gentleman would have. Instead he dropped heavily on the bench next to her, stretched out his long legs and crossed one booted foot over the other. As an afterthought he leaned forward and shrugged out of his jacket and casually tossed it on the other bench before settling back again.
‘It’s so hot,’ he muttered. ‘Do you mind if we keep the windows open?’
‘I suppose so,’ she replied, wishing she had not spent such a long time dressing her hair. With the windows open it would be a disaster in less than ten minutes.
Reggie came huffing out of the front door and stuck his head into the carriage, beaming. ‘I was right. You do make a pretty pair. Give it some thought, Prim.’
He tapped the side of his flattened nose as if he had just imparted some great secret. To make matters worse he then winked at her before he slammed the door shut and told the driver to get going. Hannah felt her face redden, but stared straight ahead regardless.
They set off, and had not even left the drive when he turned to her. ‘Am I missing something?’ he asked with a half-smile as his green eyes burned into hers with interest.
‘Reggie thinks we should get married,’ she announced, with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances. ‘He has quite set his mind on it.’ From his expression he thought the idea was as ridiculous as she did, so she smiled back. ‘I have told him that it is a ridiculous notion—but you know Reggie.’
‘Ah, yes, I do. When he gets an idea into that thick skull of his it is difficult to get him to drop it. I suppose that we should be grateful that his ideas are few and far between.’
‘He means well, though. And he thinks the world of you.’
‘You cannot blame him,’ he said in mock seriousness. ‘I am easy to love.’
A giggle escaped her lips. She had missed sparring with the rogue. ‘And so modest. But poor Reggie has put you on such a high pedestal that he refuses to see any faults.’
‘I have faults?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Do enlighten me?’
In for a penny, Hannah thought as she faced him. ‘For one thing, he is convinced that you do not drink.’
She smiled a we both know he’s wrong smile and he shrugged.
‘He’s right. I don’t.’
Hannah raised her eyebrows at this obvious lie and fixed him with a disbelieving glare. ‘We both know that is patently not true—’ Then she coloured, unable to finish her sentence as thoughts of their kiss swirled in her mind again and reminded her that he was sitting
just a few scant inches away in a confined and private carriage.
‘If you are referring to the night that you kissed me, then I have to confess I was as sober as a judge. As always.’
He was staring straight ahead but his lips had curved into a satisfied smile. He was clearly enjoying teasing her.
‘Excuse me, but as I recall you kissed me—and I could smell the brandy on you.’
Still facing ahead he peeked at her from the corners of his eyes. ‘You accused me of being drunk. And, if I recall correctly, of whoring as well. In actual fact I had a headache. I get them when I spend too long reading. I thought that if I was going to be accused of a crime and be the recipient of such hurtful censure then I might as well do it. So I dabbed a little brandy on my neck, made myself look disreputable, and then I kissed you.’
He looked very pleased with himself indeed.
‘If you were not drunk then why did you kiss me?’ Her tone was a little high-pitched—but, really, he was being outrageous.
‘Oh, Prim—that’s easy. I kissed you because I wanted to.’
His green eyes darkened as he gazed back at her boldly. It was hypnotic, and she could not tear her own eyes away. At times she was certain he could see into her very soul, and knew that she would likely surrender without much of a fight if she allowed his lips to touch hers again.
His face was edging closer to hers. There was no mistaking his intent. He wanted to kiss her again. All at once she felt tempted and terrified at the same time. Tempted to let him, and to hell with the consequences, and terrified that if he did kiss her she would be lost. He had scrambled her wits. Again.
‘Stop!’ The word came out hoarsely and without much conviction.
‘I don’t want to stop,’ he whispered, and grazed his fingers gently over her arm, making all her nerve-ending stand to attention in anticipation. ‘I don’t think you want me to stop either.’
His eyes dropped to her lips and she licked them involuntarily. A lazy smile curved his mouth as his eyes locked with hers again. He knew she was tempted.
Hannah scrambled upright. ‘Mr Jameson, I have told you repeatedly not to flirt with me.’
‘I can’t help it.’ He slowly raked his gaze over the length of her body before his eyes settled hotly on hers. ‘You are a very attractive woman, after all, and I find that I cannot stop thinking about you. You have consumed my thoughts and my dreams for the last week, Prim. I keep wondering what it would feel like to kiss you again.’
Hannah’s jaw hung slack for a moment. She was both scandalised at his words and thrilled by the fact that his thoughts had mirrored hers, but he did not appear to be the slightest bit sorry.
‘We have an hour to kill...if you want me to.’
If she had been anywhere but in a moving carriage she would have turned on her heel and marched away. Or, more likely, run away as fast as she could from the insistent yearnings he created within her heart and her body. That meant that the only recourse available to her was to stand up as best as she could and throw herself unceremoniously onto the opposite seat with a huff.
‘Shall I take that as a no?’ he asked in wide-eyed innocence, and she glared at him.
The man was incorrigible. She certainly did not have a response to his shocking suggestion yet—but when she did she was definitely going to give him a piece of her mind. Unfortunately her mind was still reeling with unrequited passion, need and confusion, so Hannah stared resolutely out of the window and watched the world fly by instead.
Typically, he decided to ignore the fact that she was ignoring him. ‘You do realise,’ he said conversationally, ‘that the more prim and proper and outraged you become, the worse I behave? I cannot seem to help myself. It has always been the same. It is my one and only character flaw.’
She said nothing.
‘I can tell by your silence that you agree with me, or you would be listing all my other flaws by now.’
‘There are not enough hours in the day to list your flaws, sir,’ she muttered, and watched him smirk triumphantly.
‘And there she is! Prim and Proper is back with a vengeance. I was starting to miss her. For a moment or two there we were almost having a civil conversation.’
‘It is impossible to have a civil conversation with you because you never take anything seriously and you take every opportunity to say or do outrageous things to me,’ she muttered quietly, fully expecting him to spear her with another silly retort, or pin her with his smouldering gaze.
But he sighed, and then groaned. ‘That is fair. If I promise not to flirt outrageously today, do you promise to make an effort to be less prickly? After all, we shall be stuck in each other’s company for hours.’
He had a valid point, so she conceded with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I think I can manage that.’
‘What shall we talk about, then? And please don’t say the weather.’
He sat forward on his seat with his wrists loosely resting on his knees. Hannah tried to think of safe and inert topics but came up blank. ‘Perhaps you should tell me about your business interests,’ she offered after a few moments. ‘I still do not fully understand what you do. For example, what are you most involved in now?’
She had asked it so innocently he had to give her credit for her acting. Ross wondered how much to tell her, and decided he had nothing to hide just yet.
‘My shipping company takes up most of my time at the moment. I have three ships already, and a business partner. His name is Captain John Carstairs—you will probably meet him today—and he oversees all the shipping and purchasing parts of the venture. I sell the cargo here, for the best price possible—mostly silk, but also spices, tea, and porcelain from Asia. It has been so profitable that we have just commissioned three new ships to be built from scratch.’
Her next question surprised him.
‘Isn’t it terribly expensive to build ships? Why did you not buy older ships? Surely second-hand ships would be cheaper and mean that you’d achieve greater profit?’
‘In the short term you are right,’ he agreed slowly. ‘But competition is now fierce, and modern ships are much faster and hold more cargo, which means that they can do more journeys. More journeys means significantly more profit. These new ships will have paid for themselves in three years. By then I hope to have doubled the fleet again.’
Ross watched her carefully as she considered this, knowing that what he had just told her would be of great interest to the East India Company. If they were concerned about how he would undercut them with three ships then they would be scandalised to think about how much he would erode their monopoly with more. However, there was nothing in her reaction that hinted at this.
‘Goodness! I had not thought about it like that. For investment purposes it does make sense to purchase an entirely new and modern fleet. It will give you an advantage over other companies in the future. It is no wonder so many gentlemen entrust you to invest their money for them. You obviously have a talent for it.’
She had clearly not realised that she had just let slip the fact that she had been going through his papers—because he had certainly never told her that he speculated on behalf of others. She really was the most useless spy.
Ross schooled his features into a nonchalant mask and ruthlessly buried his wounded feelings. ‘They would not give me their money unless I made a healthy return,’ he stated calmly, ‘and I have purposely built up a good reputation for improving people’s fortunes.’
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she doubted his word, and then she was all politeness again. ‘Why have you purposely built a good reputation? How does that benefit you?’
Ross shrugged his shoulders, amused at her lack of business acumen. ‘I believe I told you once that I make money? This is how I have been able to do it so quickly. I take a commission from the profits that my clients make. The more people who entrust me with money to invest, the greater the investment I am able to make. If I know that I can double my money some
where, I will get a much bigger return from a thousand pounds than I will get from a hundred. It is simple mathematics. The profit is multiplied.’
She was concentrating on his words so intently that a tiny furrow had appeared between her wheat-coloured eyebrows. ‘But surely there are times when there is no profit? What happens then? Do your investors get angry?’
Ross leaned a little closer and lowered his voice a little so that she could not move away. ‘They go into it on the understanding that nothing is guaranteed—but I am very good at what I do. I rarely lose money from a speculation.’
She snorted derisively at that, and sat back on her seat. ‘I doubt you are that infallible. Call it what you will, but “investment” and “speculation” are just fancy words for gambling. What you really mean is that you rely a great deal on luck, and so far you have been very lucky indeed.’ There was a malicious gleam in her cornflower eyes that suggested she felt she had just summed him up perfectly.
‘Luck has a minor role in it, that is true,’ he conceded. ‘But to be very successful with investments, speculations and gambling you need to have a great talent with numbers.’
‘And you have such a talent?’
Ross wondered how much he should admit, and then plumped for the truth again. It was hardly a secret. ‘I do, as a matter of fact. In the same way that being a great artist or a great musician requires you to have been born with a gift, I believe I was born with the ability to think in numbers and to remember them. It is quite logical, really. I see the patterns and can make fairly accurate predictions as a result. Of course I also have to keep a close eye on new ideas, prices and demand—but in reality it is all just mathematics.’
His words appeared to anger her, although he had no idea why.
After a few moments she tilted her pretty head to one side and speared him with a cold look. ‘If what you say is true then that means you would have a distinct advantage in...let’s say a card game, for instance.’
‘There are only fifty-two cards—it is easy to keep track of them.’
That Despicable Rogue Page 12
