“One time I walked into his study to clean the grate. I thought he was out riding, but there he sat like a wolf. I nearly jumped out of my skin, I did. That scar and that beard and those cold eyes. I thought for a moment he was going to gobble me up.” Jenny smoothed the counterpane up the bed and fluffed the pillow.
“Did he get angry?” Minerva mirrored Jenny’s motions, and they stood across the bed from each other, finished with the task.
“Not a bit. Actually, he thanked me. Took me twice as long as normal, my hands shook that bad.” Jenny fiddled with the bed curtains. “We all know…well, we heard you’re a proper lady, and he’s forcing you to pay a debt. Is it true?”
“Yes. It’s complicated though. We could have paid him, but it would have been a terrible loss for me. My brother…” Minerva shook her head not sure what to say.
“Does he have a penchant for trouble? I have one of those too. Always getting into scrapes, needing money. Drives the family to the brink, he does. But we love him anyway.”
“This time Simon pushed me over the brink.” Minerva and Jenny stared into each other’s eyes. No matter the difference in social standing, a common understanding bonded them. Minerva’s sense of isolation eased. “I would appreciate if you didn’t gossip about my situation.”
“I would never. Anyway, Mrs. Devlin put the fear of God into everyone. No one would risk their position.” They gathered the dirty sheets and walked side by side into the hallway, their heads close. “Aren’t you frightened of Lord Drummond?”
Minerva considered her answer. “Sometimes. But sometimes he makes me so mad I want to kick him.” She asked something she’d wondered about more than once. “Do you think he’s lonely?”
“We don’t get many visitors, especially now Miss Lily is married. The earl has never spent much time here. When Lord Drummond is in the house, he keeps mostly to his study, but he spends most of the day with the horses or working on the land.”
Considering his muscular arms and hard chest, she imagined he did more than sit on his horse and supervise. Mrs. Devlin met them on the stairs to fetch Jenny. The silver required polishing.
“We still need to clean the master’s room, Mrs. Devlin. Won’t take a tick to finish it off,” Jenny said.
Minerva grabbed the opportunity. “I can do it. Jenny has been an excellent instructor. When I’m finished, I’ll help her with the silver.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Devlin was back to wringing her hands. “You’re welcome to take a rest in your room.”
“Pish. That wouldn’t do, Mrs. Devlin. Lord Drummond wants me to work, so work I shall. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed my morning.” Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t a lie. Minerva smiled at Jenny, who winked at her behind Mrs. Devlin’s back.
“If you’re sure, my lady. Mrs. Potts has a light lunch for the…servants laid out in the kitchen when you’re ready.” The words emerged as if Mrs. Devlin were in pain.
Jenny pointed down the long hall to the right. “The master’s is the last room. I’ll be in the morning room when you’re finished.”
Minerva propped the supply basket on her hip. She cautiously opened the door to reveal a cavernous, empty room. Leaving the door ajar, she shuffled farther inside. Her room upstairs was hardly bigger than the enormous bed that dominated the space. Of course, Rafe Drummond was a large man. He was several inches over six feet and built like an oak tree. The bed in the nursery would probably collapse under him.
Sturdy and made of a dark wood, the bed oozed masculinity, as did the rest of the furnishings. A side table bore several books, one lying open. A large armoire and dresser sat against the far wall, both matching the dark, heavy style of the bed. Two sturdy, padded chairs were arranged in front of the grate. Rich reds and browns swathed the room and, despite the size, lent it a cozy, intimate feel.
Books littered almost every surface. The bed sheets were rumpled and untucked. Trimming and shaving instruments were scattered on the bureau, and a mound of clothing was piled next to the armoire. Did the man not employ a valet?
The complete lack of organization twitched her eye. She attacked the discarded clothes first, opening his armoire. The stirred air enveloped her with his distinctive scent. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clutching one of his frockcoats to her chest in a mock embrace. The man might be an arse, but cripes, he smelled splendid.
Shaking herself out of a daze, she hung the salvageable clothes and then made quick work of his dresser, dusting and neatly stacking the multitude of books. They covered a dizzying range of subjects from astronomy to current novels and everything in between. One of Austen’s works lay opened at his bedside with a well-worn book of poems under it.
As one hand swept the duster over the side table, the other fell to the handle of the top drawer. Her heart picked up speed. Dare she? Violating his privacy was overstepping by leaps and bounds. The angel and devil warred, but the devil won. Its tart voice reminded her she was only in this position because Lord Drummond was the most unreasonable man in England.
She rummaged through the drawer. The top piece of parchment was covered in a jumbled chaos of figures. None of it made sense. Under that was a sheet with a listing of investments, some underlined, some with question marks. They ranged from England locales to India and the Caribbean. The variety surprised her, and she wished she could sit and discuss each one with him. Keeping her ears attuned to noise, she riffled through the remaining papers, nothing catching her eye.
The second drawer was empty save for a small book with no identifying title. She thumbed it open. Bold handwriting. A journal. She really shouldn’t. Ready to close it, the spring date caught her eye.
March 12th
The nightmares come less frequently, but I’ll never be free of them. Perhaps when you’ve killed as many as I have, my penance will be to see them in my sleep—forever. I deserve worse. Gray doesn’t seem to suffer with his memories as I do, but at least he understands some of what I have been through. Lily tries, but she is too innocent, and I am glad for it. I would never burden her with the truth of what I became—
Footsteps invaded her consciousness. She shoved the journal back into the drawer and pulled at the sheets. The hope it was Mrs. Devlin died a quick death. A tingle zinged down her spine in warning.
Rafe opened his door to the unnerving sight of Minerva Bellingham changing his sheets. Her usually scrupulously composed appearance was rumpled. Cobwebs adorned her simply braided hair. Moreover, the braid itself had come loose in places and tendrils of hair lay against her nape. Dirty smudges covered her unflattering grey gown.
Surveying the room, he noted everything was organized and his clothes picked up. The intimacy of her handling his personal effects made his stomach squirm. If he didn’t think Mrs. Devlin would give him another earful, he’d ask her to keep Lady Minerva out of his room. At the moment though, he was doing his best to avoid stoking his housekeeper’s wrath.
“Enjoying yourself, my lady?” he asked too jovially to cover the awkwardness.
The look she shot him over her shoulder left no doubts that if she’d had a knife, it would be buried in his black heart. “Immensely, my lord. Cleaning manor houses may become my new hobby.”
She fully faced him and looked him up and down, arms crossed under her bosom. “You’re filthy, and you smell like horses. That shirt will be good for nothing but rags.”
She was right. He hadn’t realized how damp and stained his shirt had become during his work. His waistcoat had been discarded over a stable door. Her gaze trailed from his chest all the way down his legs, and her mouth parted, most likely in disgust. He shifted on stocking-covered feet. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to find her in his room. His dung-covered boots sat outside the kitchens.
“Where are your boots, sir?” She sounded as if something painful was stuck in her throat.
Her maidenly outrage stirred a hint of
resentment. They were in his bloody room, after all. He sat in an armchair and peeled off his stockings. “They were filthy, so I left them outside. I would hate for someone to have to clean up my path of destruction through the halls. Aren’t I thoughtful?”
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Undressing.”
“You can’t do that here.” She turned to the side, grabbed a pillow and yanked off the covering. Her mouth tight, she huffed and blew tendrils of hair off her forehead. She looked lovely and infinitely more approachable in her disheveled state.
“That’s odd, because I’ve been undressing here for nigh on fifteen years.”
Instead of running away or looking to the ceiling to avoid his grotesque physique, she stared at his now bare legs and feet and punched the pillow with enough force that a feather popped out and drifted to the floor. Her voice creaked. “That’s hardly what I meant, and you know it. You can’t disrobe in front of me.”
Rousing any sort of response from her, even if it was discomfiture, brought him a grim satisfaction. “Can’t I?” His hands went to the buttons on his shirt.
Her throat worked and she held the pillow over her chest like a shield. He should desist. If she swooned and hit her head, Mrs. Devlin might chase him down with a dueling pistol. “I’m sorry, my lady. Pray, please continue, I’ll wait.” He gestured toward the bed and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and lacing his hands behind his head.
“You’re by far the messiest man I’ve ever encountered.”
“Have you been in many men’s chambers to compare?” He was unable to stop his lips from twitching.
She opened and closed her mouth before responding in a stronger tone. “Of course not, and it isn’t gentlemanly of you to imply that I have.”
“I wasn’t the one implying it, you were.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to tamp down his amusement.
“You’re also the most infuriating.” She dropped the pillow to the rug, turned her back on him and proceeded to make up his bed. Her body bent fluidly as she tucked and smoothed the sheet.
“If your idiot brother ends up gambling away your estates, you can come back here and apply for a position. You’ve turned positively domestic. Obviously a quick study.”
She tugged the counterpane into place, her dress rising to expose a pair of nicely turned ankles. Her bottom wiggled. A single toss would have her on her back in the middle of his bed. Heat pooled in his groin, and he shifted his hands to his lap to hide his growing appreciation.
“In fact, I’d guess you’re a quick study at all sorts of things.” His voice rumbled the unintentionally suggestive words.
She whipped around and he snapped his head up, but by the deep pink wave flowing from her neck to her high cheekbones, the original direction of his gaze had been obvious. She took a step forward, hands on hips, her eyes sparking with a challenge.
A slow, admiring smile turned his lips. Most men’s gazes skittered away from his during a confrontation. Not Minerva Bellingham’s. In fact, her pert, stubborn little chin jutted out another inch.
The smile transformed his face. Laugh lines crinkled his eyes, and the white of his teeth against his dark beard was blinding. Her insides rearranged themselves most uncomfortably.
Lud, did he have to be so disgustingly masculine? He was probably trying to annoy her on purpose with his bulging muscles and hair-covered chest peeking out from the clinging, flithy shirt. He was uncouth, arrogant and ungentlemanly.
Surely to God, she didn’t find the man attractive? It wouldn’t do. She would put a stop to this ill-advised, distressing feeling immediately—as soon as she figured out how.
Anger. Anger would banish this curling, fluttering warmth in her belly. “What is my idiot brother doing at the moment? May I see him at teatime?”
“His Grace will eat outside with the rest of my men. Leave him to me. The last thing he needs is a simpering, overly sympathetic demonstration of sisterly devotion. That’s what got him into this mess to begin with. You coddle the man like he is a ten-year-old.”
She welcomed the hot lick of fury. “I love my brother, sir. He came into the title and the responsibility too young. He needed a little coddling.”
“No longer. It’s time he learns to be a man. I’m sure you’re more than adept at many things, but that isn’t one of them, my dear.”
“I am not your dear, you insufferable brute. What do you have Simon doing?”
“He’s mucking out the stables.”
“But-but…that’s disgusting.” She scooped up the dropped pillow and twisted it in her hands.
“Disgusting, but necessary. He’ll learn about hard work, which isn’t always pleasant or enjoyable, is it? I’ve mucked stables from the time I could hold a shovel on until today. I don’t ask anything of my men that I wouldn’t do myself.” He paused, and then continued on conversationally, “Are you planning on murdering my pillow then?”
Minerva looked down at the twisted misshapen mass of down in her hands. “I’m pretending it’s your neck, my lord.” She launched the pillow at his head, but he snatched it out of the air before it made contact.
“Damn you to perdition.” Clamping her mouth shut, she whirled and stuffed her basket with the dirty sheets. Had she cursed at him? Perhaps she had only said it in her head—very loudly.
“Lady Minerva, my innocent ears are burning,” he said in mock outrage.
Keeping her eyes to the floor, she tried for a dignified stalk out the door. It felt closer to an undignified scamper. Her slam of the door as she exited lent her a small measure of satisfaction.
The ebbing of tension left her feeling…starved. She stopped off to deposit the dirty sheets and cleaning supplies and continued on to the kitchen where Mrs. Potts, the cook, directed several girls who were preparing platters of meat, cheese and bread.
“Do you need any help?” If she took the food, maybe she could have a word with Simon.
“Not a bit. Are you hungry, dearie?” Not waiting for an answer, the rotund cook sat a large portion of bread, cheese and cured meat on the table. Minerva’s stomach growled with unladylike fervor. She gave in and finished every bite. Fresh milk quenched her thirst, and she sat back utterly satisfied by the simple meal.
The girls carried the platters outside and a lull descended. Mrs. Potts poured herself a cup of tea and sat across the table with a biscuit and a sigh.
“How long have you worked here, Mrs. Potts?”
“Goodness me, thirty years at the end of the year. I got taken on right before Christmas. The earl had announced his betrothal to Lady Windor, God rest her soul. They had planned a huge celebration. It was a happy, gay time. I started as a kitchen drudge, but after ten years of climbing the ranks, I got made head cook. It’s been a fine life. Mr. Potts and I weren’t blessed with children, but I consider Master Rafe and Miss Lily my little lambs. We all helped raise them after…after everything that happened.” Mrs. Potts’s dreamy, unfocused eyes looked toward the plastered wall.
“I know Lily felt lucky to have all of you. Both my parents died when I was quite young.” Minerva wasn’t given to confidences, surprised the words had come out of her mouth.
Mrs. Potts nodded, her gaze dropping to her teacup. “It’s good to have Master Rafe home for good. He nearly died last fall. He came back in terrible shape. Skin and bones. A bullet to his shoulder and the wound on his face. I barely recognized him. We all worked day and night to nurse him back to health. Then came the nightmares. Lord above, he could shake the rafters. And the drinking.”
“Drinking?”
As if recognizing Minerva as near stranger, Mrs. Potts brushed nonexistent crumbs from her apron and heaved herself up. “Never you mind, dearie. He’s better now.” She turned her back to wash a bin of vegetables. Minerva took that as her dismissal.
She spent the rest of the after
noon polishing silver and sweeping floors with Jenny. She was tired, sore and had acquired a few painful blisters. Yet she had laughed more than she thought possible given her situation.
Just when she thought the day was done, Jenny stretched her arms above her head. “Time to light the fire.”
“But it’s dinnertime, are we not done yet?” Minerva’s shock was tinged with desperation.
Jenny shook her head with a little laugh. “Dinner time for the gentry, not for us. There’s only the study for tonight. It’s worse in the winter with the constant ash.” Jenny’s gaze darted to the mantle clock for the umpteenth time.
“Is there something else you need to do?”
A rosy blush tinged the girl’s cheeks, but her smile was bold. “Mr. Donahue makes his rounds in the stables about now. If I’m free, sometimes I join him. To check on Henry.”
“I can light the fire, so you can check on your brother.” Minerva winked, and Jenny’s smile morphed into a worried earnestness.
“Are you sure you can manage it?”
She’d seen it done countless times. It took less than a minute at home. “Certainly, I can. You run along.”
“The supplies are by the grate.” Jenny took off her apron and checked her wavy reflection in the window. She stopped with a hand on the doorjamb. “Are you sure, ma’am?”
“Positive. Now go before you miss your chance.”
Jenny was out of sight before Minerva made it across the parquet floor to the study. With Jenny’s infectious energy gone, exhaustion threatened to swamp her. The study extended the same welcome she’d felt last night, and the armchair looked indescribably comfortable.
What if she sat for a few moments to gather her strength? No, the sooner she got the fire started, the sooner she could eat and sleep. Tomorrow was likely to be an exhausting repeat of the day.
As promised, flint, peat, several logs and tinder lay next to the grate. Now what? Kneeling, she placed two logs side by side and stuck some of the smaller pieces of tinder out at various angles. For good measure, she placed a chunk of peat on top. If she could get one of the pieces of tinder to light, surely the logs would catch.
A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2 Page 5
