That Despicable Rogue

by Virginia Heath

  Ross waved away his thanks. ‘Six o’clock sharp. My housekeeper Miss Prim runs a tight ship and I will expect you to earn your wages.’

  ‘Yes, sir! Thank you, sir.’ Both men nodded and scurried after Reggie.

  ‘I’ll go too,’ offered John, casually hoisting the gun under his arm. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘You should have called the constable and thrown the book at them,’ the gamekeeper squawked as he pulled roughly on Ross’s arm. ‘Proper justice needs to be done!’

  ‘Don’t lecture me about “proper justice”,’ he hissed, directly into the gamekeeper’s face. ‘If there was proper justice in this world then those people would not be starving!’

  The man cowered back as if struck. ‘I cannot work for a man who refuses to listen to me.’

  ‘Then I suggest you pack your bags,’ Ross said in annoyance. ‘Because I do refuse to listen.’ He saw Cook and Prim were watching him warily. ‘And what the hell are you lot staring at?’ he bit out unreasonably. ‘Go back to bed.’

  Ross did not wait to see if they all complied. Instead he stalked towards his study and slammed the door behind him, ashamed of his own roiling temper. He stalked over to the window and looked out onto the black midnight sky in an attempt to calm down.

  After a few minutes he heard a knock on the door.

  ‘I have brought you some tea.’

  Prim did not wait for him to answer. She was already heading across the floor with the tea tray when he looked round. She deposited it on the little table and sat down to pour.

  ‘Please don’t lecture me on the proper order of things,’ he said, when he could stand her silence no longer.

  She stirred a spoonful of sugar into his cup and held it out to him. ‘I have no intention of lecturing you. I came to give you some tea. You appear to be a little out of sorts.’

  ‘I am sorry for shouting,’ he responded, feeling more than a little guilty. ‘I don’t like to lose my temper.’

  ‘We all lose out temper sometimes...’

  He could hear the amusement in her voice.

  ‘After that circus, it was hardly surprising. I cannot say I have ever been confronted by guns and prisoners in the small hours before. It was all quite exciting.’

  Her good humour calmed him better than staring at the sky ever could.

  Ross wandered back towards the window. ‘I suppose I have given every poacher in the county a good reason to come here now,’ he said after a while, and then sighed heavily. ‘But I am not prepared to send two men to their deaths for a few birds and a deer. I know that is what is expected of me, now that I am a landowner and because of some silly gentlemen’s code, but I won’t do it. Did you take a good look at them? They were starving, for God’s sake. I know how awful that feels.’

  As a child he had not been able to sleep sometimes because of the hunger pains in his belly.

  He heard the soft rustle of her voluminous nightgown as she came up alongside him and placed her hand on his bare arm in comfort.

  ‘For what it’s worth, I thought you handled the situation perfectly. Cook says that she recognised Tom Farrow. He used to be a tenant on this estate—although all the old tenants were displaced from here a long time ago, when the Earl of Runcorn raised their rents. She said that the Farrows were a hard-working family. They are clearly desperate. I am glad that you showed them some lenience.’

  ‘Then you don’t think me a soft touch?’ he asked, facing her for the first time. Her golden hair was secured in a single loose plait that fell over one shoulder, and his fingers itched to undo it.

  It slid sideways as she tilted her head and smiled at him. ‘I’m afraid that I do think you are a soft touch. We all do.’ At his pained expression she chuckled. ‘If being a soft touch means that you rescue washed-up boxers, or feed a stray mongrel scraps from your own plate when you think nobody is looking, or show mercy to people who need it the most, then I think being a soft touch is quite admirable. Most of the maids are in love with you because of it. Even Cook goes a little misty-eyed when she talks about you, and she’s old enough to be your grandmother.’

  Ross smiled wickedly. ‘That is because of my dashing good looks and abundant charm. I am amazed that you can keep your hands off me.’ He tossed her a smouldering look, but ruined it by laughing.

  She regarded him with amusement. ‘There you go again—I have never known a person so unwilling to take a compliment as you are. You constantly try to deflect or joke your way around it, but you cannot conceal the truth. Accept it, Ross Jameson. You are a nice man—and all your charm and humour cannot disguise that one simple fact.’

  It secretly pleased him that she had seen that side of him when so many didn’t—but he scowled out of habit. ‘Nice sounds so bland. I deserve a much better adjective than that. What about charming?’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘That’s what you want people to see. How about kind?’ she countered. ‘Or loyal?’

  ‘Now you make me sound like a dog,’ he muttered as he crossed his arms over his chest belligerently.

  He enjoyed flirting with this woman, he realised, and perhaps a little too much—because now that his temper had evaporated he wanted to peel her nightgown off and have his way with her.

  Her eyes briefly flicked downwards and he remembered that he was wearing nothing but his breeches. By the guilty look on her face Prim had only just realised that as well, but she quickly dissembled.

  ‘I shall leave you to your tea and your bad mood,’ she said, turning towards the door.

  Ross caught her hand and spun her back to face him. ‘You’re in your nightgown—I’m practically naked. It would be a terrible shame to waste such an opportunity.’

  ‘You are incorrigible,’ she muttered, with no real conviction.

  ‘I like that better than nice,’ he said, and he pulled her into his arms.

  As usual, she braced her hands against his chest and regarded him warily. Ross sighed and let go of her.

  ‘It seems ridiculous that we are behaving this way. We both feel this compelling attraction for each other. Why bother fighting it?’

  ‘Because I am not sure that it is sensible.’ She moved behind the chesterfield and out of his reach again.

  ‘You are just running away again. Do you believe that I might turn out to be as worthless as your idiot fiancé?’

  Hannah shook her head and sighed. ‘You are nothing like him, Ross. I know that. That is the problem, I suppose. I certainly feel a great affection for you, and I am sorely tempted, but...’

  Hannah desperately wanted to be brave enough to walk over there and give in to her feelings. It was not as if she seriously now believed him to be the rogue she had once sought to expose. He was a good man. Much better than her treacherous brother, Eldridge, and every other former friend she had thought she’d had in society. She felt it in her heart. Ross Jameson was decent and honest, and she did have affection for him.

  More than merely affection, she realised. It was quite possible that she was already a little bit in love with him.

  ‘But what?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want to rush into anything that I might regret...and you do frighten me.’

  ‘I frighten you?’ His laughing eyes danced as he spoke. ‘I think your reaction to me frightens you more. Be brave, Prim. Don’t let that idiot from the past hold you back. Take a risk.’

  ‘I am not a gambler, Ross. I do not take risks.’

  ‘Life is one big gamble, Prim. If you do not take any risks you do not reap any rewards.’

  ‘But you still might lose.’

  And such a loss was too unbearable to contemplate.

  His lips curved into a wry smile. ‘I never gamble anything that I am not prepared to lose. Even if that is my heart.’

  He circled her slowly, his gaze locked on hers intently, and she realised that he was nowhere as confident as he pretended. There was uncertainty and hope swirling in those tempting green eyes.

  ‘I cannot
predict the future, Prim, and I cannot promise you that this will all work out perfectly, but I do think that these feelings we have for each other are worth exploring. Will you give it a chance?’

  She swallowed nervously, but let him slide his arms around her waist. He was offering more than a brief affair, her heart argued, she should give him a chance.

  He saw her waver and raked her with a hot look. ‘Is it my dastardly reputation that puts you off?’

  Hannah felt her resolve beginning to fade as he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I am starting to believe that your reputation is ill-deserved—I cannot understand why other people do not seem to see it. If only someone from the newspapers had seen you earlier... They would have had to have published something positive about you for once.’

  He nibbled on her neck and she was powerless to prevent herself from arching against him.

  ‘Does it bother you that they say the most terrible things?’ she asked, to stall him and by default to give herself time to consider the ramifications of what was happening almost too quickly.

  He groaned against her skin. ‘I can think of much better things to do than talk about the newspapers.’

  He went to kiss her again but she tilted her head away and looked up at him. ‘Do they bother you?’

  ‘Terrible things make good stories. Good stories make people buy newspapers. There is no point in trying to change that. It is basic commerce.’

  ‘Are they all lies—or is there a grain of truth to some of them?’ Hannah was trying to take her mind off the clever things he was doing with his lips and doing a very poor job of it.

  ‘There is the odd grain of truth,’ he admitted between kisses. ‘But that is about it.’

  ‘So you did not once cavort naked with two opera dancers on the stage at Covent Garden?’ Hannah asked playfully.

  He shook his head solemnly. ‘I wish I had, though. I think I might have enjoyed it.’

  ‘And you deny seducing that vicar’s daughter?’

  He chuckled and shrugged dismissively. ‘Surely they have accused me of worse than that?’

  ‘One story said that you regularly deflower virgins,’ she stated boldly, and that earned her a shocked look.

  ‘To the best of my knowledge,’ he said carefully, ‘I am not aware of ever deflowering even one. I think I would have remembered.’

  If he carried on making her feel quite so wanton and wicked as he was right this minute, that might well change, she mused—and quite soon. She did not have the capacity to resist him tonight. Not any more.

  ‘I also read that you have ravaged a few of the wives of the aristocracy.’

  He struggled to meet her eye. ‘I might have done that,’ he conceded. ‘Once or twice. But I was invited to do so by the wives in question and they were very happy about it.’

  His lips found her neck again and she sighed happily.

  ‘We already know that you win things in card games—this house and that ship you bragged to me about—but the newspapers say that you cheat. How do you plead, sir?’

  ‘I do not cheat. I just have a talent for remembering numbers. I see patterns...track the probability of things. It keeps my mind sharp—although to be honest it is much more of a challenge to lose.’ He was looking quite pleased with himself.

  ‘You expect me to believe that somebody who has such a talent with numbers deliberately goes out of their way to lose? I won’t believe it.’ She snuggled against him.

  ‘That is the fun of it. I know exactly how to win—but to lose takes real skill. You have no idea how hard it is to lose a game when your hand is infinitely better than your opponent’s. It takes a great deal of strategy. You have to throw away all your good cards at just the right moment or it becomes obvious. Also, you have to save enough atrocious cards to lay down when your opponent has nothing better than mediocre. It is the very best feeling in the world to see a man sitting smugly in front of you, gloating at his skill and good fortune, when secretly you know that you created it for him. I promise you I lose as much as I win—not that I ever let on, of course.’

  He was so handsome when he was grinning—it made her feel quite dizzy.

  ‘Where would be the fun in that?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Remind me never to play cards with you.’

  She knew he was no cheat. She would not have given her heart to a scoundrel.

  ‘One newspaper even said that you surrendered your own father to the authorities for a reward!’ She giggled against his chest but he had stiffened instantly.

  ‘There was no reward,’ he said bluntly, and allowed her to push him away.

  ‘I’m sorry...?’ Hannah was both outraged and horrified at his admission. Deep down, she had believed that those rumours were as ridiculous as all the others. She had to have misheard. ‘You are not denying the validity of the story, then?’

  When he shook his head, she stalked across the room with her arms wrapped around her, suddenly chilled to the very bone.

  ‘What difference does the lack of reward make?’

  He regarded her calmly, his eyes for once inscrutable and cold. ‘I think it makes the world of difference. To suggest that I did it for financial gain makes me appear mercenary.’

  It was as if the ground had been cruelly ripped from under her. ‘But you did do it? You surrendered your own father to the authorities?’

  What was that if it was not mercenary?

  He nodded.

  ‘And he died as a result?’

  He nodded curtly again.

  ‘Do you feel no guilt whatsoever?’ Hannah spat, not caring how disgusted she sounded at this revelation.

  Just when she had finally started to see him as a decent person—had harboured some faint hope that they might have a future together—he had decided to show her his true colours. It was a crushing blow. He was no better than her treacherous brother after all. Everything had been a sham.

  ‘How do you sleep at night?’

  Ross regarded her coldly, then shrugged his shoulders. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head with disappointment at her reaction, and then regarded her levelly.

  ‘I sleep surprisingly well. True blackguards always do.’

  His green eyes had frozen to ice and his lips had thinned into a flat line of disdain. It shocked her that he had the audacity to be angry at her when he had been the one to bring his own father’s life to an abrupt end.

  ‘What sort of person does that to their own flesh and blood? Why did you do such a terrible thing?’ she cried, desperately wanting him to make it all right. There had to be a good reason.

  ‘That is none of your business, Prim,’ he answered flatly.

  Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ross had little appetite and toyed with his breakfast. He had often heard people claim that words had cut them to the quick, but had not fully realised exactly what that phrase meant. Until today. Hannah’s complete disgust, and her harsh judgement without first asking him for the facts or his side of the story, had almost literally cut him to the quick. There was now a tiny ache somewhere close to his heart that simply would not go away, no matter how much he willed it to.

  One minute she had been all giggly and compliant, exactly as he imagined a siren who swam naked would be, and the next she had recoiled from him as if he were something nasty that had attached itself to her shoe. Even after he had told her he was prepared to risk his heart she had still chosen to believe all the rot written about him.

  What hurt most of all—although he realised that he was more devastated than hurt—was the fact that she had been so quick to judge him. After everything. She had not given him the benefit of the doubt.

  There was no way in hell he was going to beg and plead with her to trust him now. He deserved better than that.

  John snapped his fingers directly in front of his nose and it shocked him. ‘Sorry. I did not get enough sleep last night.’ That was al
most the truth anyway. ‘You were saying...?’

  Ross turned his full attention back to his friend, determined not to think about his naked siren and his bruised, aching heart. He was a fool for ever letting his guard down.

  ‘I was saying,’ John said wearily, ‘that I am beginning to think that your Miss Prim is not a spy after all. I have left all manner of interesting documents lying around to tempt her, and despite my best efforts she does not pay any of them a blind bit of notice. What sort of a spy does that?’

  Ross idly glanced at the morning’s post on the table in front of him. He had not noticed anything funny about the seals on his letters recently either. ‘She’s not a spy,’ he agreed. She was judgemental, changeable and callous, but he was certain that she was not working for the East India Company.

  Ross had obviously said the wrong thing, because his friend scowled at him. ‘Then how do you explain the fact that all her references are false and nobody has ever heard of her?’

  Ross sighed. ‘Perhaps she did it to get this job? We have certainly told a few white lies in order to get contracts that might otherwise have gone elsewhere. You used to claim to be commodore of a fleet of merchant ships, when in actual fact you only had the one—and we would not have had that if I had not won it in a card game.’

  ‘Yes,’ John spluttered, ‘but we managed to do the job well enough.’

  ‘And Prim has proved herself to be an excellent housekeeper despite her lies.’

  How pathetic was he that even now he could not help giving her the benefit of the doubt?

  John grunted and attacked his eggs. ‘Are you saying that we should give up?’

  Ross nodded. He could hardly condemn the woman for being enterprising when he was guilty of the same. If only she had been so benevolent last night...

  * * *

  Hannah found herself spending the entire morning alone with Captain Carstairs, sorting through the study. Ross was nowhere to be seen and Captain Carstairs was not really much help in telling her where he had gone. The man had been waffling on about ‘the thieving East India Company’ for the better part of an hour now, and her ears were ringing.