A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2

by Laura Trentham

  Aries waited at the entrance to the alley and snorted when Drummond laid Simon across the saddle, feet and head dangling over either side. With a hand on the back of Simon’s legs, she followed Rafe to retrieve the horses from the inn’s hostler. He moved Simon from Aries to a bay gelding. Several people looked at them curiously and a few voiced greetings. He returned them politely but curtly, not inviting further conversation.

  Pulling off his greatcoat, he settled it around her shoulders. It was much too long, but that wouldn’t matter while she was riding. He buttoned the front as if she were a child that needed tending. Before she realized his intent, he lifted her into the saddle. He kept a hand on her calf until she steadied herself and found the stirrups.

  The sun had long disappeared over the horizon, leaving the night air chilly and damp, portending the coming of winter. Lord Drummond, in breeches and shirtsleeves, mounted Aries. He led their procession back to Wintermarsh, checking behind him frequently.

  A light touch to Sparrow’s flanks moved her pertly up beside Aries. Minerva spared a glance at Simon, but he was out cold and probably would be until morning. Drummond maintained a stony silence.

  The moon provided enough light for a fast pace back to Wintermarsh. What was their harsh punishment to be? Was he was going to call in the vowels and turn them out? Minerva wanted to ask but was too afraid of the answers.

  Tom Donahue, who had been leaning against a stone pillar at the front of the house, straightened on their approach, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. He avoided her eye. “The boy going to be all right, sir?”

  “He’ll live. I’m going to put him inside tonight. I’ll need to tend to his nose.” Drummond dismounted and clapped Tom on the shoulder.

  With a grim expression but sympathy in his eyes, Tom offered her a hand down, and she accepted. “I’m sorry, miss.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “You didn’t want Master Rafe knowing your brother took off. But I couldn’t in good conscience allow you to go to town by yourself.”

  “Oh, Tom. Honestly, I wish you’d been about five minutes faster in telling on me.” She pulled her smile up short, pain shooting through her lip and jaw.

  Drummond snorted and gestured toward Simon. Without words, Tom helped him carry her brother inside, Drummond scooping under his shoulders and Tom hooking his knees. Simon’s head lolled against Drummond’s chest. Purplish bruising was forming under the rusty dried blood.

  Mrs. Devlin met them at the front door. “My goodness. My goodness. You poor dears.” She scurried straight to Minerva and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her kind, motherly manner was almost Minerva’s undoing.

  “Lady Minerva, wait in the study for me. I’ll see to your brother.” His voice held no hint of anger, but it was clear he would brook no argument. It reminded her a bit too much of their arrival at Wintermarsh.

  Like a recalcitrant child or perhaps a criminal on the way to the gallows, she walked into the study. Beaten or hung? What a choice. She collapsed in the oversized chair at the end of her strength, his coat still around her shoulders. What excuse could she offer for Simon’s behavior?

  There was none. None at all. Lord Drummond would be well within his rights to demand payment immediately. If Simon awoke, he might even banish them into the night as he had Stonewell. If necessary, she would humble herself and beg him to wait until morning.

  Mrs. Devlin bustled to the sideboard and came back with a glass half-full of an amber liquid, clucking sympathetically all the while. She pressed it into Minerva’s hand. “Drink it all, dearie. It will settle your nerves.”

  Trusting Mrs. Devlin, she tipped the glass back. The fiery path of the liquor made her sputter and cough. However, when the brandy hit her empty stomach, warmth bloomed all the way to her fingers. In spite of her worries, tension left her shoulders and her fingers unclenched. She sank deeper into the chair and emptied the glass.

  Waiting for judgment, she buried her nose in the folds of Lord Drummond’s coat. It smelled divine and comforting—his soap, horses, fresh hay, leather. She wanted to wrap herself in it for the night. Not as good as his arms had felt around her, but close.

  Where had that errant, dangerous thought come from?

  Finally, he entered the study holding a pot of salve and strips of linen. After setting the supplies on the table next to the armchair, he moved a sturdy stool from the corner to sit in front of her, his long legs bracketing her knees. His face was serious and unreadable. She swallowed hard, waiting for the ax to fall.

  An increasingly oppressive silence descended. Rafe studied her. Her lip was swollen and bleeding from a cut, and a red welt stained her jaw. She would look infinitely worse on the morrow. Her blue eyes were huge and fearful, but unfocused. He removed the empty glass from her pliant fingers. How much liquor had his housekeeper allowed her to drink?

  Mrs. Devlin brought a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. He caught her eye and swung the empty glass in his fingers, gesturing toward Minerva. Mrs. Devlin only shrugged and backed her way out of the room.

  Minerva followed his every move like a frightened animal. Slowly, so she wouldn’t spook, he dipped the cloth into the water and gently cleaned the cut on her lip.

  “Your face is going to hurt like the devil tomorrow.” He held out some headache powder and a glass of water, but she made no move to take it. Unfurling her fingers, he put the packet in her palm and lifted it to her mouth. Taking over, her movements wooden, she tossed the powder to the back of her throat and washed it down with the water. A grimace flashed. Through all his ministrations, she was silent.

  “Why didn’t you come to me when you discovered your brother was gone?”

  “I was afraid you’d make us pay his debt and leave immediately. I hoped I could get him back without you noticing.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, and her voice was wobbly, uncertain. “Should I go pack my trunk?”

  “Good Lord, I’m not an unfeeling monster.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He slipped a finger under her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Let me help you, Minerva. I want to help you.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  What could he say? Because he empathized with her daily struggle to keep their lives from falling apart? Because he admired the determination she had exhibited since starting this farce? Because he felt a primal urge to protect her? Because he wanted her in his bed in the worst possible way? All true.

  “At the very least, Lily would castrate me if I didn’t help her best friend. And I see myself in Simon. Truth be told, I was wild in my youth. Lionel Masterson was my steadying hand. I can be that for Simon.”

  While he talked, he dipped his finger in the salve and brought it to her lip. She pulled back and caught his wrist. Although her touch was light and he could have easily pulled from her grasp, he understood her vulnerability.

  “Let me take care of you,” he whispered roughly. “You need someone to take care of you for once, dammit.”

  Her chin wobbled and a single teardrop escaped to trickle down her cheek.

  “You don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart. Let me help you.” He feathered the tear away with his thumb, not wanting to hurt her tender face. More tears trailed after the first.

  A hollow ache settled in his chest at her pain. He didn’t stop to think and pulled her into an embrace. She didn’t fight him and burrowed even closer, slipping her hands around his waist to press them against his back. Tears wet his shirt and wrenching sobs vibrated his chest.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rubbed small circles on her back until her sobs quieted. Still she didn’t push him away. Instead, her hands, light as butterfly wings, explored his flanks. His muscles contracted in the wake of her touch.

  Christ, she felt good. Her breasts pressed against his stomach, causing it to lurch and his groi
n to tighten. He allowed his hands to wander her back from her neck to the top of her buttocks, offering comfort, yes, but also feeding his desire.

  Time became irrelevant. He rested his chin on top of her silken hair and closed his eyes, her light floral scent enveloping him. She turned boneless in his embrace, and he pulled her fully onto his lap, groaning when her hip settled against his cock, hardening him further. Tensing, he expected a protest, but she snuggled closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her eyes had closed, a little brandy and a long day exhausting her.

  Rafe shifted her in his arms and rose, scooping her up against his chest. She was so delicate and soft. With complete trust, she looped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled him under his ear, a hand toying with his hair. Pleasurable shivers coursed through him. He stood still, afraid to break the spell. My God, how foxed was she?

  “Can I keep your coat tonight?” Her sleepy, kittenish voice broke his consternation.

  After the odd request, she dropped fully into slumber, her body lax and her breathing deep and even. A small smile tugged at her mouth, incongruous with her damaged lip and tear-splotched face. Hugging her close, he nosed the hair along her temple. Eventually, regretfully, he called softly to Bertie, who opened the door and clucked like a mother hen when he saw Minerva curled up and sleeping in his arms.

  “Have Mrs. Devlin come and tend to her, would you, Bertie?” Rafe whispered.

  “Certainly, sir.” Bertie glided off.

  Rafe climbed the stairs to the nursery and stopped in the doorway to her room. Perhaps larger than a typical servant’s room, it was nothing befitting a lady of her stature. Everything was neatly stored, her bed was made, and a vase of fresh picked flowers sat on the bedside table. She’d made the best of her situation.

  His bargain with Minerva ended now. Retracing his steps, he took her to the blue bedroom and lay her on the counterpane. She was swallowed from neck to toe in his greatcoat. He didn’t trust himself to remove it. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, sleep softening her face. His lips ached to mimic his hands ministrations. Before he could give in to the temptation, Mrs. Devlin bustled in, shooed him out and closed the door in his face.

  Chapter Eight

  Minerva stretched languorously, sunlight streaming in through the windows on either side of her bed. She bolted upright, looking around in confusion. Finally, she placed herself in the blue bedroom she had cleaned several times.

  The last thing she remembered…falling asleep in Rafe Drummond’s arms, warm and safe. Prickling heat crept up her neck. He must have carried her to bed. His greatcoat still enveloped her, and she lifted the folds to her nose to take one last deep breath, savoring his scent. Perhaps that’s what had attributed to the best night’s sleep she had experienced in months…maybe even years.

  She yawned and pain shot through her cheek and jaw. The skin of her bottom lip was stretched taut. No doubt, she looked a fright. There was no need to confirm such in the looking glass.

  She swung her feet to the floor, removed the greatcoat and fingered the jagged edges of the tear in her grey dress. It was ready for the rag bin. She padded on the thick rug to the wardrobe and cracked it open. Her dresses hung in a neat row.

  Was this to be her new accommodations? But Lord Drummond had said they would be punished. She wouldn’t discover his intentions hiding here, and she needed to check on Simon, the blighter. Perhaps she could slip downstairs and retrieve a rug beater. A few whacks on Simon’s behind would make her feel better.

  She flipped through the dresses in the wardrobe, finally pulling out a scoop-necked blue sprigged muslin. Although it was lovely, it was not appropriate for morning much less housework. However, it was the only one she could button herself, and she refused to ask one of the maids to help her. They were busy enough, as well she knew.

  After seeing to her ablutions, dressing and braiding her hair, she folded Rafe’s greatcoat over her arm. Poking her head out the door, she looked up and down the hall. No one was about. Tom and Lord Drummond had carried Simon inside, so he must be in one of the other bedrooms. He had been in terrible shape and was surely still abed. Although he wouldn’t be for long after her tongue lashing.

  Checking the rooms down the long hallway, she found a rumpled bed and discarded clothes in the cheery yellow bedroom, but no Simon. Had Drummond already tossed him out? Was he waiting on the doorstep for her to awaken so they could depart? Then why were her dresses in the wardrobe?

  The distinctive jangling of keys drew closer. She scurried into the hallway. “Mrs. Devlin, where is my brother?”

  “I was coming to check on you, Lady Minerva. Master Rafe gave me strict instructions to reapply the salve this morning as soon as you awoke.” Crackling with energy, the housekeeper pushed Minerva back into the yellow bedroom to sit on the bed. With a furrowed brow and pursed lips, she examined Minerva’s cut lip and dabbed on salve. “It hurts, I suppose, but no permanent damage, thank the Lord.”

  “Mrs. Devlin, where is my brother?” She emphasized each word.

  “I’m surprised the commotion didn’t wake you. Goodness, it reminded me of when Masters Rafe and Gray were young.”

  “What happened?” Her arms tightened around the greatcoat.

  “Master Rafe pulled your brother out of bed at dawn and took him to the south field to remove some fallen trees. I must say your brother looked rather green, and his face was a bit worse for wear.” Mrs. Devlin didn’t sound the least bit worried, her tone jolly even.

  “So…Lord Drummond isn’t throwing us out?”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Devlin eyed her curiously. “What gave you that impression? Was Master Rafe not kind to you last night? Do I need to have a chat with him?” The housekeeper’s voice grew more strident, and she set her hands on her hips.

  “No, please. He was—” her stomach fluttered recalling his strong arms and tender care, “—very kind, but Simon…”

  “May I give you a piece of advice?”

  At Minerva’s nod, Mrs. Devlin continued, “You mustn’t coddle him. He needs to learn there are repercussions for his actions. One time, home from Eton, Master Rafe spent the night carousing and dragged himself home in the wee hours of the morning. At dawn, Lionel Masterson hauled him out of bed to supervise the spreading of manure over a field of crops.” Mrs. Devlin laughed. “Master Rafe came back that afternoon looking as grey as a dead man. I never saw him drink like that again, until…” A heavy frown replaced the laughter.

  “Until what?”

  Mrs. Devlin adjusted her mobcap and tugged the greatcoat out of Minerva’s arms. “Oh, never you mind.”

  “Until what, Mrs. Devlin?” Minerva grabbed her arm before she could turn away.

  “His injuries from the war were severe. The pain, the nightmares. He drank too much, still does on occasion.” Her gaze cut to the rug. “Listen to me. I’d have Jenny’s ear if she were gossiping like this.”

  It was hardly gossip. She had firsthand experience with a foxed Rafe Drummond—more than once. However, the knowledge his suffering drove him to the bottle made her feel sympathetic. She’d noticed the shadows that dogged him. He was a haunted man.

  Mrs. Devlin walked away, and Minerva lifted her skirts to keep up.

  “And how do you like your new room?” Mrs. Devlin asked.

  “It’s lovely, of course. Why was I moved?” They started down the staircase side-by-side.

  “Master Rafe finally came to his senses, I’d say. It was disgraceful he insisted you have servant’s quarters to begin with. We argued fiercely about it.”

  They were still in his debt, yet he’d rescued them at great risk to himself. His hand on her cheek had been so gentle, and his eyes hadn’t been cruel at all, but understanding and comforting. He’d cradled her against his strong, warm chest until a sense of security had seeped into her marrow. It had felt quite foreign and utterly
wonderful.

  Resentment and dislike were easy and straightforward. If she couldn’t hate Rafe Drummond, she was left with a complicated tangle of emotions that terrified her. Not the least of which was her inappropriate attraction to the man.

  “What does Lord Drummond have in store for me today?” Better if he wanted her to clean floors on her hands and knees, something that would fire her anger.

  Mrs. Devlin pinned her with a look she’d probably used frequently as a nanny. “Absolutely nothing. Master Rafe said your hands were in deplorable condition and you need to rest after last night. I couldn’t agree with him more.”

  Minerva harrumphed. Blast the man, that was nice of him. “I feel perfectly rested. My face is sore, but sitting around isn’t going to make it heal any faster. Surely there’s something I can help with?”

  “Nothing,” Mrs. Devlin said with finality. “Go find a good book and retire to the drawing room.” She twirled, her dress fanning out, and disappeared down the servant’s corridor.

  Minerva didn’t have a natural inclination toward idleness. She drummed fingers on crossed arms and paced. The barren entryway gave her an idea. After gathering fall flowers and greenery, she located several vases and filled the space with color and a sweet smell.

  She dragged over a statue of a rearing horse that moldered in the corner of the morning room and positioned it on one side of the entry. She removed a landscape painting from the drawing room and propped it on the table and surrounded it with figurines of hunting dogs. A stack of books, perhaps?

  In the study, she reached to one of the highest shelves and pulled down two heavy, ornate tomes no one ever actually read. The dust that accompanied them had her coughing. All the books seemed overly dusty and disorganized. After finishing the entry hall table, she bustled off to see Mrs. Devlin.

  “Can’t you relax in the drawing room? Daydream on the settee?” Mrs. Devlin asked with a slight eye-roll.