Proper Scoundrel Read online

  His touch, less than a stroke, came so fast, she must have blinked because she didn’t see it happen, but her body knew, and sparked, and arched an unconscious invitation for more, but Marcus was too much the gentleman to accept.

  Instead, he pulled her close, crushed her achy breasts against his coat, giving her a measure of relief. “I should not have,” he whispered, warming her ear, melting her. “You’re bad for me, my Lady Scandal, but I will not take advantage. Neither will I succumb to your allure, until I have been specifically, verbally, invited to do so. You have my word. I will never hurt you, Jade.”

  “You’re bad for me as well,” she said, heat infusing her. “Let me go. I have things to do.”

  He released her, giving her the freedom to escape to ponder the shocking interlude.

  Marcus went to splash cold water on his face, determined to avoid another intimate encounter with the siren, and then he went looking for Ivy and distraction. At Ivy’s invitation, since Jade would be away for dinner, Marcus decided to eschew the society of Jade’s charges for the easy fellowship in the Manor kitchen. Though the ladies may not all be afraid of him, they were downright closemouthed in his presence, and he needed to learn as much as possible about Jade and her grandmother, and their mutual aversion to the railroad.

  Ivy slapped Marcus on the back when he arrived. “Glad you decided to join us. Sometimes the hens can be noisy.”

  Marcus laughed. “Jade ever hear you call them that?”

  Ivy winked. “Never. I’d rather live.”

  Beecher chuckled and poured Marcus a glass of plum wine. Jade’s retainers, for all they were supposed to be men being shown their lowly places, lived well. Marcus knew the Attleboro servants did not drink wine with their dinner.

  Beecher introduced the cook.

  “They call me Winkin,” the jolly old man said. “Because when I come here, I cooked Winkinhurst Cakes and nothin’ more.”

  “You were not hired for your cooking skill, then?”

  “Nah, but I learned.”

  Marcus grinned. “This house is rife with fascinating stories.”

  Beecher gazed at the men around the table. “Between the lot of us, we’ve been smugglers, wreckers, excise men and tired old salts, like me. What else would you be expecting to find on the Sussex coast?”

  Marcus sipped his wine. “I suspect you’ve stories to tell, and I want to hear them, but at the moment, I’m wondering why something I said seemed to upset Lacey.” He regarded Ivy. “She’s different from the rest of Jade’s downtrodden. Is she the one you said you brought here?”

  Ivy nodded. “From Arundel, more or less disowned by her aristocratic family. Good woman, strong, but sad.”

  Marcus accepted a plate of scotch eggs, some form of meat pie, and a ladle of pease pudding. “Lacey turned snow white when I mistook her for Emily’s mother. I wondered if she’d ever had a child of her own.”

  “You’re not interested in Lace, are you, Marc?” Ivy asked. “Because I have to tell you, her heart’s taken.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Don’t worry, my friend. Your original instincts are intact. I simply want to visit Emily and I’d rather not upset Lacey further with my ignorance.”

  Ivy smiled. “You won’t. Your instincts are as good as mine.”

  Ivy as good as admitted to playing matchmaker for him and Jade, and Lacey had surely borne a child. “I guessed as much,” Marcus said, “which brings me to another subject that’s been testing my instincts.” He regarded the others at the table. “How do the villagers feel about the railroad?”

  “Some are for, some against,” Beecher answered, sitting straighter, his expression harder. “Why?”

  “Jade was skittish when I mentioned it. Made me wonder if hers was the general local reaction.”

  “Can’t speak for the whole village,” Beecher said. “Nor my mistress for that matter. She’s been good to me. To all of us.” His subtle warning and candid gaze encompassed the retainers at the table.

  Marcus owned Beecher’s measure. Head man. Ruthlessly loyal.

  Ivy coughed. “You worried about Jade, Marc?”

  “I can’t say, but I can’t help her if I don’t understand the problem.”

  “Jade doesn’t have anything to do with the railroad,” Beecher stated, then he went to get another pork and apple pie for the table.

  Topic closed, his tone said, but Marcus feared Beecher wouldn’t have thought to defend Jade if she didn’t need defending. Bloody hell.

  Ivy raised a warning brow his way. “There’s a supper and ball in Lewes at the Star Inn, the old Southover Priory, in a few days. It’s the last of the season. Go and get in on a card game while you’re there. Sure to get local opinions on everything, including the railroad.”

  Marcus nodded and accepted a bowl of bread and butter pudding.

  A late arrival sat at the table with them. “Jade’ll be at the assembly too,” the newcomer said. “She’s bringing a few of the ladies who’ve been taking deportment lessons from Lacey. To put them in a social situation, don’t you know. About ready to step back into the world, they are.” The speaker gave Marcus a nod. “Name’s Lester. I’m the nanny.” He grinned. “Jade’s grandmother hired me starvin’ off the street twenty odd years ago.”

  “As a maid,” Jock, the stableman put in. “But he never got any cleanin’ done ’cause the little ’uns were always crowded ’round for stories.”

  Beecher chuckled. “Before long, they wanted Lester tucking them in and taking them for walks and such, so Constance—” Beecher cleared his throat. “Jade’s grandmother—made him the nanny.”

  “And you?” Marcus asked Beecher. “How long have you been here?”

  Beecher scratched his white beard. “Almost fifty years now. I was another gutter rescue. Not much call for a ship’s surgeon with no ship. No, nor for a drunk doctor, either. Jade’s grandmother sobered me up. I tended her more often than anybody, because the bastard she married beat her bloody once a week, at least.

  “When she started taking women in, she hired me on. I get a town case now and again, but mostly, I doctor this crew. Some of Jade’s women are in bad shape when they arrive. Sometimes I bring one back after a call. With all the children around here, there are always scraped knees and sniffles to tend.”

  “Interesting,” Marcus said. A cook who’d needed to learn to cook, a man who’d been starving and a drunken doctor. Constance Smithfield had saved more than downtrodden women. He wondered if Jade realized it.

  He could hardly wait to find out.

  After dinner, he set out for a walk and saw Lacey chasing Emily, both of them laughing. Emmy held Tweenie on a lead, but when the pup saw him, she yipped, pulled free, and charged, Emily right behind.

  Before Marcus knew it Tweenie stood with her paws on his legs, whining ecstatically, her tail beating a wild tattoo. When Marcus reached down to pet the pup, Emily’s squeal of fear, stopped him. “Emily, what’s the matter?”

  “She piddled on you!”

  Marcus regarded his wet shoe and grinned. “She does it all the time. She gets so excited to see me that she ... piddles on my shoes.”

  Emily shook her head, her little lips wobbling. “Don’t hurt doggy.”

  Marcus knelt on his haunches before her, Tweenie jumping between them. “Listen to me, Sweetheart.” He scratched the pup’s ear to quiet her while he tried to calm Emmy. “I would never hurt Tweenie, or any doggy, or any little boy or little girl. Do you understand?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Hurt Mummy?”

  Lacey’s horror mirrored his sorrow over Emily’s wounded spirit. He swallowed the lump in his throat, kissed Emily’s brow and brought her close. “I don’t hurt Mummies either.”

  Emily sighed with relief and leaned into him.

  Glad for the invitation, he picked her up.

  She pledged her trust by wrapping her arms around his neck.

  Marcus didn’t think
he’d ever felt so tall.

  A woman rounded the corner calling for Lacey, only to stop short when she saw him. Abigail Pargeter, a new member of the household, had fled from their initial introduction. Jade said she still bore bruises from the man her father tried to force her to marry.

  Emily might trust him, but he still scared the devil out of Abigail. If he left with nothing else, Marcus thought, he’d own a large measure of humility.

  “I’m coming Abby,” Lacey said, and made to take Emily, but the imp only clasped him tighter.

  Lacey realized tugging was useless. “Come along, Dear. We need to go inside now. Abby needs our help.”

  Emmy shook her head. “Want Mucks.”

  “I’ll take her. You go along,” Marcus said, pride swelling his chest.

  “You sure, Marcus?”

  He chuckled. “I can use the company. We won’t be long. Emily will give me a tour of Jade’s gardens.”

  “Jade,” Emily said pointing.

  Lacey handed Marcus Tweenie’s lead and tweaked Emily’s nose. You be good for Mucks now.” She laughed and followed Abigail.

  “Is Jade back?” Marcus asked Emily. “I’ve missed her. Can you show me where she went?”

  Emily nodded and scrambled to the ground, taking his free hand to tug him in one direction while Tweenie tugged him in the other.

  “Come,” Emily said and together they coaxed Tweenie to follow.

  Emily led them along a twisted path through gardens coming to life. The Peacehaven Estate—as lush and beautiful as its owner, with giant beeches, blooming cherry trees, and Scotch pines bent by the wind—all marching toward a sea-gazing cliff. In the distance, peewits called their high-pitched “ see, see, sees,” while specks that were gulls soared and swooped on the horizon.

  Marcus’s motley troupe passed a holly maze, which Tweenie must stop and sniff and mark at regular intervals, and which Marcus thought would be a splendid place to walk with Jade and perhaps go missing for a while.

  “Emily,” Marcus said after several unexpected turns. “If this is the way you and Lacey just came, you have quite the sense of direction. Are you sure this is right?”

  Emily nodded. “Swans.”

  Ah, a route she took to see the swans. That made sense.

  Before too much longer, they arrived at a delightful ornamental lake complete with graceful waterfowl. Emily wanted back in his arms then, and he was pleased to oblige. “Was Jade here earlier?” he asked. “Lord, I’m sorry I missed her.”

  “Jade.” Em pointed again, and Marcus looked in that direction. In the vale, beyond a small copse, lay a fallow field, its spring-carpet of violets giving it a lavender hue. A woman astride a fine chestnut hack crossed the field at a good pace, her yellow gown flowing behind her. “Are you sure that’s Jade?”

  “Jade,” Emily said with a nod, certain she was right.

  Marcus believed the track for the railroad spur would cut diagonally across the northern quarter of the land on the opposite side of the beech wood edging that field. He wanted to follow and identify the rider, but dusk already bruised the horizon and it would be full dark before they crossed the field. “We can’t catch up with her now, I’m sorry to say.” He kissed Emmy’s nose. “Let’s go home before Tweenie actually catches one of those birds.”

  About four hours later, around midnight, Marcus retraced their walk and beyond, as he made his way to the railroad’s current construction site. But all seemed quiet. Nothing in disorder. The sheds filled with tools were locked. Drays and railroad cars of supplies waited to be unloaded. A flatbed car, soon to be reclaimed by the train, stood empty at the termination of the track. The only item that seemed to be missing was the train itself, but perhaps it was due to arrive at first light.

  As Marcus returned, both happy and frustrated to have seen nothing or no one remarkable, he caught sight of a retainer entering the house by the servants entrance, and he wondered what an old man would be doing out at this hour.

  In the stable, Marcus lit a lantern and found a chestnut hack with no sign of recent exertion.

  He checked his pocket-watch. Nearly one in the morning.

  If the rider had come right back, the horse should have had time to cool down. Then again, surely there must be more than one chestnut hack in the Newhaven stables.

  Around one the next day, annoyed that Jade hadn’t yet made an appearance in the study, and no closer to unravelling her finances, Marcus walked into the dining room to hear talk of a railroad accident. His ears perked up and he schooled his features as he dug into a plate of gammon, cheddar and rye, but he learned nothing more beyond the fact that the accident happened the night before.

  He wished Emily hadn’t been so certain the rider was Jade. While he might have predicted that Jade rode astride, he certainly would have expected her to wear trousers to do so. Lord, he wished he knew for sure.

  As expected, Marcus received a message later that afternoon detailing the accident. First and foremost, no one had been hurt. The main construction line had derailed two villages away when they braked for a body on the tracks, which turned out to be a dress stuffed to look like a body. The engineer thought he saw a stocky man scrambling into the woods just before he spotted the body, but other than that, he saw nothing.

  While the “prank” had been somewhat innocuous, and undertaken when few workers rode the rail, it would take days to repair the damage and get construction back on track—weeks, if parts had to be rebuilt or repaired.

  Double bloody hell. If they didn’t begin laying track across Jade’s property soon, they were going to miss the deadline for laying it in Tidemills, and lose the charter for good. Parliament had already confirmed that they would not renew the charter again. If the South Downs Railroad failed, the hundred or so residents of Tidemills would lose their jobs when their struggling mills failed for lack of an efficient shipping method. The Attleboro Estate, itself, stood to lose as well, if the railroad failed, which would wreak havoc on a more personal level.

  Marcus cursed again and told the messenger to wait while he composed a return message.

  Dear Garrett, get your bags packed and come for a visit. I need a rooster to infiltrate the hen house. Dig out those rusty scoundrel skills of yours and polish them up; this is an assignment from heaven. I plan to introduce you as my brother, Garrett Fitzalan, nothing more. I’ll send Ivy to get you. Yours, M.

  p.s. Have Brinkley make a copy of the Smithfield land option deal and bring it with you, but wait until we’re alone to give it to me.

  Jade had succeeded in avoiding him all day, Marcus mused after completing his day’s work, and he had no intention of letting her get away with it.

  The female members of the household were in final fittings, a maid said. Third floor, west wing. No men allowed.

  By God, if seeing Jade meant invading an all-female sanctum, then invade he would.

  Halfway up the stairs, Marcus heard the soft tread of little feet behind him and recognized the sound of his shadow.

  To make Emily giggle, he turned and scooped her into his arms, but she screamed in fright.

  He sat on a stair and held the trembling little form close. “Oh, Emmy-bug, Sweetheart. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you all right?”

  “Mucks scare Emmy,” she said with a scold.

  “Mucks loves Emmy,” he answered. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Treacle toffee?”

  “You need to be bribed with sweetmeats, do you?” Gazing at him from beneath her long lashes, finger in her mouth, Emily nodded.

  Marcus chuckled, kissing her nose, and stood to carry her back down. “Let’s go see what kind of treats you can charm out of Winkin, and then we’ll go find Lacey, shall we?”

  A half hour later, Marcus boldly stepped into a world of silk and lace, curvaceous forms on pedestals and dangerous women with straight pins between their lips.

  When he greeted them, they scattered those pins in shrieked surprise, flying out the door he’d
entered. And there he stood in an empty room. “Well, damn.”

  “Sofia,” came a wonderfully familiar voice. “I’m ready.”

  Marcus grinned. Ready like him these days, but he suspected that Jade had no idea what sexual readiness entailed. She’d been too amazed by her own reaction to his touch yesterday.

  When he saw her, he stopped outside the door to give his heart and his breathing a minute to calm, for she stood in her underpinnings, on a dais before a row of mirrors, so industriously plucking wayward threads from a piece of fabric that she didn’t notice him.