Never Trust a Pirate (25 page)

“Just Curtis, Miss Greaves. I did, but the gentleman said he preferred brandy, so I served him some of the captain’s best, seeing as he’s already been a guest in this house.”

How odd of Matthew to drink in the middle of the day. He’d seemed like such a straight-laced sort of fellow,
Maddy thought, moving through
the hallways. The door to the salon was closed, but there was no other room Curtis would have taken him.

She pushed open the door without knocking. “What in God’s name are you doing here, Matthew…?” The words trailed off into horrified silence as she realized the man in the room was a complete stranger. The midday light illuminated him perfectly as he sat in one of the comfortable, slightly shabby chairs that the captain favored and Miss Haviland would doubtless get rid of, and he made no effort to rise upon her entrance. She was about to give him an affronted look when she remembered she was a maid, not a lady, and gentlemen certainly didn’t rise when maids entered the room, they ignored them.

She pulled herself together with an effort. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she said, not having to make any effort to appear flustered. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Mr. Fulton, I presume? I don’t think Captain Morgan realizes you’re on first name terms with him.”

A very slight shiver ran down Maddy’s spine. Just what she needed—an observant stranger to cause her trouble. “Oh, no, sir, I’m not,” she said blithely, not giving an inch. “I was thinking it might be a lad I’ve been seeing recently.”

“And Curtis would show him in the front door and offer him brandy?”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “Curtis is very fond of me.” It was a calculated risk, but she was tired of scrambling. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

“I imagine he is, and rightly so.” He smiled at her, a singularly charming smile. He was a very handsome man, with longish, coal black hair that fell in a single curl in the midst of his high forehead. He had a close-trimmed beard and mustache, pale skin suggesting a recent illness, a supposition borne out by the cane by his outstretched leg. Another handsome man who left her cold. Perhaps she wasn’t
a harlot after all. Or merely a harlot for Luca. For some reason that was even more disturbing.

“Please sit down, Miss Greaves,” he continued, surveying her. “It hurts my neck to look up at you.”

She didn’t move. She didn’t trust charming men—in truth, she didn’t trust men at all. Some instinct told her to leave, but curiosity, always her besetting sin, overruled her seldom-utilized sense of caution. “How may I help you, sir?”

“Sit.”

Why hadn’t she realized just how difficult obeying orders would turn out to be, she thought, sinking gingerly onto a chair opposite him. A maid’s life was to take orders, bob and curtsey, and swallow back any retort. Clearly this was a far greater challenge than she ever imagined.

The elegant young man nodded approvingly. “That’s right. We haven’t met yet, but I’m a close friend of your employer and his fiancée. My name is Rufus Brown.” He paused, watching her.

Was the name supposed to mean something? Because she’d never heard it, never seen the man in her life. “Good afternoon, Mr. Brown,” she said with automatic courtesy, then realized it was more the response of a lady than a maid. “What may I do for you?”

“Oh, a great deal, my dear Miss Greaves. I have a small, rather charming house in the countryside near Avebury, and we’re dreadfully short staffed. I promised my housekeeper I’d rectify the problem while I was in town, and I’ve been told you’re a prodigiously hard worker, not to mention the fact that you’re very ornamental. I’d like you to come back with me, and I promise I won’t be ungenerous.”

She didn’t blink, despite her surprise. “And exactly what position were you thinking of, Mr. Brown?” she said finally, unable to keep a slightly caustic note out of her voice.

He laughed, a light sound that should have put her suspicions to rest. “Oh, my dear, acquit me of designs upon your person! I must
confess I tend to share Mr. Quarrells’s preferences, though doubtless I would be at your feet if I were differently inclined. I promise, there’s nothing untoward. We need a new parlor maid, one who could assist my housekeeper, and I promise she’s the salt of the earth, by the way, not an old bitch like Mrs. Crozier.”

She blinked at the language, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“And there’s always room for advancement. My sister lives with me, and while she’s only just leaving the schoolroom she’ll be needing a personal maid, and she’s a sweet, undemanding child.” He sighed affectionately. “My only sibling, and we’re quite close. Or if you prefer to have control of minions, my housekeeper is elderly and will be wanting to retire before long. I expect she’d be delighted to train you to take her place. There’s no question how high you might rise.”

He was watching her too closely beneath those half-closed lids, trying to gauge her reaction to his odd proposition. She had no intention of giving him one. “You’re very kind to think of me, Mr. Brown,” she said, “but as you know I already have employment, and I find I like being here. I have a great fondness for the sea.” She was surprised to realize it was the truth. The captain aside, she loved looking out the front windows of the house to the harbor, the boats and ships bobbing up and down on the swell, the noise and confusion of the docks. The idea of actually stepping onto the deck of a ship might terrify her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love watching the world of shipping, a world she knew so well. She realized with a shock that she’d missed it. Sorting through the captain’s rain-soaked papers, she’d felt more at home than she had since her father had died.

“Ah, but Miss Greaves… may I call you Mary?” he said, leaning forward, holding his elegant malacca cane with its gold head in both hands. “Well, Mary, the truth of it is, in a very short time you’ll be out of a job and we both know it. Miss Haviland is a close friend, but she’s plagued by the green-eyed devil.”

Maddy blinked, momentarily confused. “She drinks absinthe?”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “No, my dear. That’s the green fairy. She’s jealous, whether she’d admit it or not. She doesn’t like the idea of a beautiful woman swanning around her fiancé’s house, and who can blame her? She’s a lovely young woman, but she looks just a bit faded next to you. She’ll boot you out the first chance she gets, and if she doesn’t have a reason I have no doubt she’ll manufacture one. Why don’t you save her the trouble and accept my generous offer?”

Odd, how it didn’t sound the slightest bit flattering. “I’ve told you, sir. I have a job, and I signed papers promising to stay for at least six months.” That was a complete lie. She’d heard of people insisting on such contracts, to offset the expense of training a new employee and ordering uniforms, but the Russells had never insisted on such a thing and neither had the captain. Luca. “And besides, I like it here.”

Mr. Brown was not looking as benevolent as he had, though the smile was unwavering. “Ah, Mary, I was so hoping you’d want to come with me on a permanent basis. But the truth of the matter is that Captain Morgan offered me your services for the next few months, just to help me out; a great kindness on his part. I was hoping you might be interested in a permanent change, and once you’re at Highfields you may find you like it very much indeed, but if, once I find the right person for the job, you wish to return then I would hardly detain you. It was very thoughtful of Morgan to lend you to me, and I think you’ll find you enjoy the change of scene.”

Maddy blinked. “But I don’t wish to go.”

The benevolence was slipping a bit. “My dear, you’re a servant. You go where your employer sends you, do what he tells you to do, if you wish to retain your job. Indeed, if you have no wish to continue on here you may refuse Captain Morgan’s orders, but I think that would be a mistake, since I believe it’s your fondness for your employer’s… house that makes you reluctant to come to my aid.”

Maddy lowered her eyes to her lap, glad she’d hidden her hands, which were now clenched in impotent fury. How much did the man know? What had she given away in this short conversation? How could he know what she wouldn’t admit to herself?

Gwendolyn Haviland! The woman was so possessive she would think everyone wanted her fiancé. It was no great perception on Mr. Brown’s side, though she had hardly been as circumspect as she ought to be. But why was she worrying about giving away emotions that she was doing an excellent job of resisting? Wasn’t she?

Now what was she going to do? Was a servant really at her employer’s beck and call to this extent that she had to go wherever she was sent? It seemed grossly unfair, but then, life in service was hardly a world of equality. She suspected Mr. Brown was right—she either had to go with him or lose her position entirely.

Going with him would ruin her plans anyway, but perhaps she could put him off for a bit. After all, her time was rapidly running out here anyway, and if she couldn’t find anything incriminating she had no choice but to return to Nanny Gruen’s, a failure.

The one good thing was that she’d never have to see him, Luca, again. Never feel his dark, flashing eyes running over her, never risk the touch of his hands, the taste of his mouth. Her future was set—Lord Eastham would do what Tarkington had done, she would have a baby, and the old man would eventually die, leaving her a complacent widow with no need for a man like the unsettling captain.

She lifted her eyes, perfecting shy deference. “Very good, sir,” she said meekly. “And when would we be leaving?”

For a moment he looked slightly taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree, but he rallied immediately. “Excellent. Why not now?”

Oh, hell no
, she thought, looking demure. “I’m so sorry, sir, but if it’s immediate help you’ll be needing then Lucy might suit you better.”

He frowned. “But why can’t you come now?” He brushed aside the notion of taking Lucy, one of the new maids, as inconsequential.

“Well, sir,” she said in a low, confidential voice, “I’m afraid I have certain… er… difficulties with my health, which can make things a bit… complicated.”

Most of the affability had vanished from Mr. Brown’s handsome face, which was just fine with Maddy. She’d never believed it in the first place. “Enlighten me,” he said with a bit of a snap.

You asked for it
, she thought. “Well, it’s me women’s parts,” she said in a confiding tone. “When I get me monthlies, which have just started, I expect, because I saw some blood on my pantalets, I find I have to take to me bed for three days at least, and nothing gives me ease.”

He had been pale already, but now it was faintly tinged with green. But he wasn’t ready to give up, no matter how graphic she was being. “That’s no problem. A bit of morphine should take the edge off your pain, and you may ride in the good carriage with a warm brick to your stomach.”

“Ah, sir, it sounds lovely, it does, but I’m afraid that won’t do. You see…” she leaned forward, “I bleed too much, and then something happens and it stops for a while, and then bursts through and the blood runs down my legs and makes a fair mess. I’d be ready to go in less than a week’s time, but I’m really not fit to be around when I have my monthlies. I tend to cast up my accounts as well, plus there’s the problem of needing a water closet without any warning, and…”

“I understand,” he said swiftly, shutting down her graphic details just as she was about to get even more colorful. She’d seen someone with the flux, and a full description of the symptoms would be enough to disgust a man as fainthearted as Mr. Brown. She was astonished he’d held out as long as he did. “We will leave Monday week. You should be more than recovered by then. I am not well acquainted with women’s maladies, but I gather your courses last no more than
a week.” His voice was icy with disdain, as if the way a woman’s body functioned was a personal affront to him.

A week would do it. She’d be gone before he came to collect her, back to Nanny Gruen with some kind of truth about Luca. No, she shouldn’t think of him that way. It was too intimate. He needed to remain the captain. The captain, who had kissed her, touched her, intimately, his mouth on her breasts, his hand between her legs.

Nanny Gruen would have had a heart attack if she heard about Maddy’s discussion of the forbidden. It had been such an effective weapon she almost wanted to laugh. Poor, squeamish Mr. Brown. Served him right for trying to force her.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.” She couldn’t control her color, but she could certainly simulate a frail constitution. “Would you mind if I got back to me rooms, sir? I find one of me little fits coming on.”

“Little fits?” he echoed, sounding horrified. “No, don’t tell me. I trust the other servants will be able to assist you. They’ll be near enough in the servants’ quarters to hear you if you call?”

Now that was a peculiar question, one that deserved an outright lie
. “Oh, yes sir. I’ll be sharing a room with Polly up in the attics, and Caitlin and Lucy will be next door, not to mention the footmen down the hall.” She couldn’t imagine how they’d all fit into the crowded attic, but fortunately that wasn’t her problem. And the anxious Mr. Brown didn’t need to know she was going to be sleeping three flights below in the basement apartments once allotted to the Croziers. He was up to something.

She rose, and he automatically started to rise as well, then covered up the movement by reaching for his cane. He’d already deliberately refused to rise for a maid—why was he about to make the mistake of doing so? Either she was failing in her impersonation of a servant or he knew far more than he was letting on.

She could think of no reason for him to be so determined to get her away from the captain, unless he was doing it for his jealous
friend. That was a reasonable enough explanation, given that he said he was very close with Gwendolyn Haviland. Reasonable, but her instincts told her it was much more than that.

“I’ll return in a week, Miss… Mary,” he said, stumbling over the words, another troubling thing. She thought she’d done a good job of the accent, but then why was he reacting to her with the automatic courtesy of a gentleman confronted by a lady of quality? “You may, of course, let me know if you find you recover sooner. And I would think it might be wise to leave Captain Morgan’s household as soon as possible.”