A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2

by Laura Trentham

  His words pierced her cloud of befuddlement and released a torrent of resentment. “Not seemly? Are women too emotional or are our brains too small? Please tell me you don’t believe the drivel some of these scientists purport?” Her voice was unsteady. “If I had handed things to Simon, we’d be on the streets and penniless.”

  “You’ve coddled and controlled him to the point of uselessness. Do you enjoy having your brother under your thumb?” The corner of his mouth drew back as if he took delight in the provocation.

  Anger twisted her gut. She rose, placed her fists on his desk and leaned forward. He mimicked her stance until they were face-to-face across the desk.

  “I hate constantly worrying about my brother. I’ve done my best to guide him. For you to suggest this debacle is my fault is unmerited. You would rather see me ruined than help. Don’t deny it. You’re heartless and…and…an arse.” The word hung between them. Had she really cursed at him? She was so close she could see his pupils dilate, darkening his eyes.

  “And you are a haughty, conceited shrew.” Irony, not horror, laced his voice.

  She gasped, even though her insult had been more shocking.

  “I have an alternate proposal. Either you pay me all the money today, or you and your brother come to Wintermarsh and pay off his debt by working for me.” His mouth clamped shut in a frown.

  Is this what he’d been planning since luring Simon into the high-stakes game? To what end? It was utterly beyond the pale. Her throat closed to the size of a reed.

  “I assure you, Lord Drummond, I am a lady and not some…some…Covent Garden strumpet. I have an unbesmirched reputation.” Still face-to-face with her over the desk, he dominated her, and her thoughts scattered like dropped marbles.

  “Never fear, I don’t require your services in that manner.” His eyes warmed from ice to molten steel in an instant. He leaned even closer to whisper a few inches from her ear, “I only invite willing women to my bed and have no need to pay them.” His breath skittered across her neck like the brush of gentle fingertips.

  Gentlemen didn’t speak of such things to ladies. It was disrespectful, despicable. She tried to summon the proper horror. Instead, she angled toward him and took a deep breath. Heady warmth and an intoxicating smell assailed her.

  Soap, leather and a scent that belonged entirely to him. It wafted over her, smothering her outrage. An irrational urge to bury her nose in the nape of his neck right where an escaped lock of hair curled over his open shirt had her creeping forward. No collar, no cravat impeded her body’s single-minded goal. She jerked herself upright in the same instant he sprawled back into his chair.

  “What sort of work are you proposing then, my lord?” Smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress, she focused on an ornate dagger acting as a paperweight.

  “Housework for you and outdoor work for your brother. I’ll teach Simon about the day-to-day requirements of running an estate. He’ll be kept busy with no time for trouble.”

  Minerva wandered to a set of shelves that ran along the wall of his study, putting much-needed space between them and buying herself time. Obviously, his aim was her humiliation. She didn’t savor submitting herself to his control.

  But there was the no small matter of her dowry. If she paid him today, it would all be gone. Every quid. She would be left to find an inferior husband or left to rely on her intemperate brother for the rest of her life. In truth, left with nothing.

  If she paid Lord Drummond and released her brother from responsibility, Simon might be back out tonight drinking, gambling, ruining them. This impetuous, ill-advised bargain would force him out of London and fill his days with hard work. Her choices ranged from bad to devastating.

  “Why would you want me here as well if not to humiliate me?”

  “Would you allow your brother to come and put himself under my care with no oversight from you?” he asked in an amused voice. Her dismay must have been apparent, because he didn’t wait for a reply. “Learning some humility wouldn’t be amiss, Lady Minerva. If you want to watch over Simon, you must work as well. That’s my bargain.”

  She propped her hands on her hips, her usually impeccable manners deserting her once again. “Humility? Me? That’s a kettle-and-pot situation if ever I heard one. You’re the most arrogant—”

  “Yes, yes, heartless and a complete arse. You’ve made your opinion clear. But if I were indebted to you, you’d seize your pound of flesh and probably negotiate for more.”

  She rubbed her temple and cast about for any other option. None presented itself. “How long would the arrangement last? There are certain functions I’m obliged to attend, and Drake needs to be made aware of everything that must be handled in my absence.”

  “The beau monde will head out of town in a few weeks. Let’s say the two of you plan to arrive at Wintermarsh the second week of September and work for me at least…three months. Your debt would be paid by Christmastime.” He twirled the dagger in his hands, his gaze on the ceiling.

  Three months. A pittance compared to a lifetime indentured in a loveless marriage. “If I agree to this, I would need everything in writing. In three months, you’ll tear up the voucher and sign a paper absolving the debt. There can be no physical mistreatment of either of us. You wouldn’t be able to extend our time without due cause, and you can’t discuss our arrangement. Is that understood?”

  “Do you want me to involve my solicitor or is a gentleman’s agreement written and signed by the two of us sufficient?” He sounded amused by her demands.

  “No third parties. I can’t allow word to get around London. I would be ruined. What about your servants? Will they gossip?”

  “If they did, who would believe them? It’s rather far-fetched to think a duke and his sister would be working at a country estate. You’re Lily’s friend. It’s not implausible I would invite you to stay at Wintermarsh.” With a flick of his wrist, the knife’s tip embedded in the wooden top of the desk.

  Minerva’s couldn’t look away from the vibrating handle. His ease and familiarity with the weapon planted another seed of worry and doubt. What kind of man was Lord Drummond?

  “I’ll send a contract for your perusal. You can revise and amend to your heart’s content. We both need to think the situation over at some length, don’t you agree?” he asked.

  “I do finally agree with you on something, my lord.” Relief and fear warred internally while she walked to the door.

  Finally playing the gentleman, he rose to see her out.

  “I shall wait for your proposal, Lord Drummond. I…I mean your terms.” Yet another blush bloomed across her face. Proposal indeed.

  Quirking an eyebrow, he hummed in amusement, his lips curling. The smile, if it even qualified as such, held her immobile. The flash of humor in his blue-grey eyes was a wash of refreshing water, cooling the tension and anxiety of the interview.

  The study door closed gently in her face. The dignified white-haired butler saw her out, and she glanced back at the imposing, black front door. Had she made a bargain with the devil?

  Chapter Three

  A week later, Lily appeared at an unfashionably early hour in the Bellingham morning room, seething like a volcano ready to erupt. “First, I am in utter disbelief my brother came up with such a foul, underhanded plan. Secondly, I can hardly countenance the fact that you agreed. Why, Minerva, why?”

  “This bargain is preferable to signing away my dowry to pay for Simon’s foolishness. To be frank, with Simon at Wintermarsh for the autumn, he can’t find more trouble in London or at a house party somewhere. The fact that your brother wants me to work as well—” Minerva held up her hands and shrugged. “It’s no secret how he feels about me. I’ll bear up fine. It’s only for three months, after all.”

  Lily threw herself down on the settee and drummed her fingers on crossed arms. “I think it’s ghastly and told Rafe such. He�
�s usually not such an ogre. If only you could have known him before the war. He’s always been a bit quiet, but he’s a good brother. This intense dislike he harbors for you is unnatural.”

  “I did nearly bankrupt him on your wardrobe and then procured an indecent dress and sent you off to a Cyprian’s ball,” Minerva said with a small smile.

  Lily ignored her attempt at levity. “My brother had the funds to foot a wardrobe, don’t let him fool you. Plus, you didn’t know it was a Cyprian’s ball. I tried to defend you.”

  “I’m sure that went over like weevils in the flour. I get the impression he believes I should be above such foolishness. And perhaps I should be.”

  “I attempted to talk him out of this insanity. He stonewalled me. Gray even tried when they were in the study taking a brandy together. He said Rafe set his jaw and refused to discuss it.” Lily patted Minerva’s hand. “I did extract a promise he wouldn’t hurt you in any way. Told him I’d cut off his… Needless to say, he took heed. Acted as if I had impugned his honor by even asking for reassurances. Can you imagine the blasted gall? You only need to send a note, and I’ll be there in a thrice to beat my brother senseless.”

  “I’ll miss you.” Minerva couldn’t help but smile at the picture she drew. As she departed, Lily hugged her with solemn, worried eyes she tried to hide behind a smile.

  Minerva decided to get their indenture underway, praying the anticipation would prove more painful than fulfillment of the actual terms. She’d slept poorly since sending back the finalized agreement.

  In most of her dreams, a red-eyed scarred devil with a whip made her clean floors, grates or rugs on her hands and knees until her fingers bled. Even more disturbing, some of her dreams had her bartering her body to the heavenly smelling brute, and she woke ill at ease and flustered.

  With the sun barely chasing the stars from the sky, she and Simon set off in their carriage, a week before they were expected. Her brother left his horse in the city. Neither of them would be enjoying pleasurable jaunts across the countryside. With his legs braced apart, he sat across from her and stared out the open window.

  “The countryside is lovely, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “I s’pose.” He crossed his arms and kept his face averted.

  “Three months is a pittance. We can endure anything for a measly three months.”

  “I s’pose.”

  “The country air will be good for us. Lily says Lord Drummond keeps an extensive stable. You’d enjoy working with the horses, wouldn’t you?” Her voice sounded overly bright and brittle, even to her own ears.

  “I s’pose.”

  “For pity’s sake, Simon. We’re doing this and might as well make the best of it.” Her fake exuberance dissolved.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Easy…you clodpoll. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you.” She held a fist to her mouth to stop another tirade. They’d been around and above and below this issue for the past three weeks. Silence reigned for the next hour.

  The coachman stopped at an inn for fresh horses, and she and Simon shared a bench, a pot of weak tea and hard, tasteless biscuits. Perhaps feeling contrite, he commented on the weather, the road conditions and even the latest vote in Parliament.

  “I didn’t know you held an interest in government policy.” She feared her mouth had fallen wide open.

  He turned the teacup in his hands, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid. “Contrary to your earlier stated opinion that I’m a clodpoll, I plan on taking my seat as soon as I come into my majority. I feel strongly about certain issues.”

  “That’s admirable. What issues, pray tell?”

  His animated gaze met hers, and he skipped over his words. “Issues of poverty. You can’t imagine the way some Londoners live right under our noses. Young boys forced into servitude as sweeps, girls forced into prostitution in order to eat. In Seven Dials, women are—”

  “Seven Dials? Simon, that place is dangerous. What in the world were you doing in such an area? Don’t tell me you were gambling.”

  “Never mind.” He retreated into his shell and stared back at his cup, his mouth pulled in a tight line. He picked up a biscuit, apparently thought better of it and tossed it back down.

  Their brief genial mood dissipated like morning fog, and a black cloud settled over the rest of the long, torturous trip. The carriage rocked back and forth in troughs gouged by recent rains. Dizzy and queasy, Minerva clutched the window frame with one hand while the other covered her eyes. Her concentration centered on keeping her stomach contents where they belonged.

  A shout from the coachman and lurch of the carriage as they turned down the drive signaled their approach to Wintermarsh. Huge oak trees filtered the remaining meager sunlight. Eerily lit looming branches reached for the carriage, and the wind whistled through long shadows. The hollow pit in her stomach had nothing to do with the arduous carriage ride.

  No light broke the dark stone façade of Wintermarsh, only adding to the ominous undercurrents urging her to flee. As soon as they pulled to a stop, Simon pushed the carriage door ajar and jumped to solid ground. She inhaled damp, cooled air to call Simon over to assist her down.

  The front door hurled open with a boom. She startled and her lungs stilled, words lost. Lord Drummond stood framed in the doorway like the portrait of an ancient warrior. Dim candlelight glowed behind him and kept his expression a mystery. Clad only in boots, breeches and a white shirt rolled up his forearms, he stalked down the steps. The grim set of his mouth promised a confrontation. A warm welcome it was not.

  Unable to tear her gaze away, she stepped out of the carriage, but her foot found no perch. Simon hadn’t bothered to lower the steps. She closed her eyes and braced for a painful impact.

  Arms snatched her against a hard chest. The rush of blood and her quickened breathing blocked out any noise, but the blast of fear heightened her other senses. Rafe Drummond’s heart thumped against her breast, coaxing hers into the same rhythm. Heat permeated the thinness of his shirt and seeped into her body. She clutched at his brawny biceps like lifelines.

  Cracking her eyes open, they met his corded neck and jumping pulse. She tipped her head back. Her gaze found his scar, red and angry. Her fingertips itched to discover how far into his beard it descended, simply curious.

  Their gazes met. He seemed unsure, but perhaps his expression was a trick of the shadows. He plopped her away from him, and she skimmed her hands down his arms to the hairy, sinewy muscles of his bare forearms. Her legs still quivered. Instead of shaking her off as she expected, he tested the span of her waist with his huge hands and slid them down a few inches to the curve of her hips.

  Her stomach turned, perhaps still upset from their journey or fear, but it seemed a different sort of nervousness this time. She tensed and pushed him away with an odd reluctance. Pressing her hands over her stomach, she attempted to stem her trembles and nerves.

  “What the devil are the two of you doing here?” With his arms akimbo, he loomed over her, a sneer in his voice.

  She stepped from a sinking bog back onto solid, familiar ground. “I sent a message informing you of our early arrival, my lord. I thought it best to get our agreement started as soon as possible.”

  “I received no such message. The servants have the evening off.”

  Surely he wouldn’t make them travel back to the last inn they’d passed. Weakness or not, she might collapse in a fit of tears if she had to climb back into the rocking torture box. “Lord Drummond, we’ve been travelling all day. Frankly, I’m exhausted. Couldn’t you show us to our rooms? We won’t be any trouble.” Aiming for genial, she sounded closer to desperate.

  He sighed and swept his gaze over her, ignoring Simon altogether. “I suppose it’s not worth making you turn around. I’ll show you to your accommodations.” He turned on his heel and trudged back inside, obviously
expecting them to follow. She was certain her eyes mirrored Simon’s wide and anxious ones.

  Lord Drummond stopped in the entry hall and pointed to a room on their left. “Wait in my study while I take your brother to the stables.”

  “You’re going to examine the horses? At this time of night?” she asked.

  At odds with a brow still furrowed with displeasure, his smile chilled her. “The duke will be residing in a small room there. He’ll be quite comfortable, I assure you.” After a small, ironic bow, he beckoned Simon to follow.

  Her brother’s eyes implored for intervention, but frozen, her mouth agape, she was only able to watch Simon follow him out the door. Lud, in all her imaginings, she’d never considered them not sleeping in a set of guest rooms. Where would he tuck her away? On a pallet in the kitchens?

  Her hysterical giggle reverberated in the cold entry, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She approached his study on tiptoes, not sure what to expect. A medieval dungeon? Evidence of his hunting prowess littering every surface?

  She toed the door open. The room enveloped her in warm, masculine-scented air. An open book and a glass with two fingers of brandy sat next to a large, comfortable-looking armchair. In any other circumstances, she might admire the dark ornately carved mantle framing a crackling fire. She might even peruse the books bursting from the shelves giving the room a comfortable, lived-in feel. Instead, circumstances demanded that she pace and bite her fingernails to the point of pain.

  An eternity passed before the entry door opened. She scurried out of the study to find Lord Drummond alone.

  “How is Simon?” Her shrill voice echoed unnaturally in the empty house.

  “Really, Lady Minerva, he’s fine. Do you think I’ve strung him up? Locked him in a cell with a multitude of rats? Applied a little thumbscrew torture? Spending the next months with the horses won’t kill him.” He chuckled and headed back into the study, where he stopped to empty the contents of his glass in one swallow. She followed close on his heels. “Most likely, only a handful of rats will be sharing his room,” he added with a careless shrug.