Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) (42 page)

“Civilized?” a cold voice answered from the door.

Alex refused to let the marquess know how startled he’d been. Turning easily, he offered a bow. “My lord,” he greeted the older man.

This time the marquess had his quizzing glass, which he used to peruse his guests. “This is becoming a habit, Knight,” he said. “As for you, Charles Wilde, your father would not allow any son of his to gain so much weight.”

“Why I waited ’til he popped off,” Chuffy said amiably. “Didn’t want to cause a seizure.”

“If you don’t mind, sir,” Alex said. “We have come to deliver some news. It’s about your grandson. Will his sisters be joining us soon?”

The marquess went rigid. “They will not.”

Walking by the two men, the old man sat down on one of the pale blue chairs, tugging his trousers into place as he settled. Alex sighed. With a speaking glance to Chuffy, he sat as well. Chuffy shoved his glasses up his nose and perched on the settee.

“Good to see you, Marquess,” Chuffy said. “Nice to know you haven’t changed. Be too much of a surprise.”

Alex almost burst out laughing. The marquess went ruddy, glaring at Chuffy as if he’d soiled the floor. Chuffy was completely oblivious. He’d found another vase to play with.

Alex dragged his attention back to the marquess and his mission. “I would rather deliver this news all at once, sir. Should we come back tomorrow to see the young ladies?”

The marquess glared. “Get it done now, sir. I don’t have time. Although why you have returned, I cannot say. I have a new heir. A distant cousin due to arrive within the week. As for that jackanapes with whom you associated, I have struck him from the Bible and forbidden his name in the house. Hawesworth Castle breeds no traitors.”

“Nor does it now, sir,” Alex said, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. “The news we bring is good. For reasons of national security, this information may not be publicized, but the prime minister thought you would want to know. Ian is alive. I have just seen him.”

Anyone else might have been thrilled. Alex imagined that Fiona would shed tears when she heard. The marquess greeted the news with a sneer.

“Alive? What am I to care? I told you. The boy is not welcome here.”

Alex was beginning to lose his temper. “Considering the fact that he was not only innocent of the charges but is helping to bring down a vicious ring of traitors, you might wish to reconsider your position.” Reaching into his pocket, Alex pulled out a folded and sealed note. “The Prince of Wales has written, sharing his joy that your heir will be restored, once this business of traitors is satisfactorily settled.”

He proffered the letter. The marquess stared at it as if it were a snake. Finally, he snatched it and sat back. He did not open the letter or read it.

“Good news,” Chuffy said. “No scandal.”

“Don’t be absurd. There is scandal aplenty.” The marquess paused, eying the sealed letter. “I suppose his highness wishes me to welcome the return of my grandson.”

“I believe so.”

Although Alex couldn’t imagine Ian being delighted by the prospect.

The marquess abruptly stood. “Well then, you will have to notify my granddaughters as well.”

Alex followed to his feet. “I would be happy to, sir. When may I see them?”

The marquess looked more rigid than ever. “When you find them.”

“I beg your pardon?” Alex asked.

Even Chuffy stared. “Where are they?”

“How should I know?” the marquess snapped. “I threw them out right after you were here the last time. I told you. No traitors. No scandal.”

And without another word, the marquess walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Fiona Ferguson feels fortunate to have
a job as a schoolteacher and a townhouse
she can temporarily call home. But when
she’s reunited with Alex Knight, Lord
Whitmore, Fiona begins to dream of
her heart’s true desires . . .

Twice Tempted

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Chapter 1

For the fifth time that day, Fiona Ferguson thanked the education she had received at Last Chance Academy. It had been an awful school, but it had definitely beaten the maidenly arts into its students. Because of it, Fiona could draw a figure, sing a tune, play a reasonably melodic piano, sew a sampler, and set a table. All of which she was teaching the neighborhood girls, along with Latin, Mathematics, Globes, and Science.

As she accompanied the last of her students to the door, she also thanked her friend Margaret Bryan for the chance to do both, at least for now. If Margaret had not offered Fiona and Mairead this temporary haven eight weeks ago, they would have been on the streets again. Instead, at least until the lease ran out in two months, they had a roof, some furniture, and a bit of egg money.

Fiona also had a blistering headache, but that was because of the sleep she was forfeiting trying to keep their heads above water.

“We’ll come tomorrow then, Miss Fee?” eight-year-old Nancy Peters asked as Fiona knelt to button her coat.

“No, my dear. Tomorrow is Saturday. Your mother will need you about the shop. But I expect you to practice your addition and your curtsies.”

Giving a gap-toothed grin, the tiny girl with her white-blond braids dropped almost to the ground. Chuckling, Fiona helped right her. “You will be curtsying to the likes of Mrs. Walsh, Nancy. Not the queen.”

The little girl’s grin was still cheeky. “But Mrs. Walsh thinks she’s queen. Will Miss Mary be here when we come back?”

“Oh, I expect so. She is just busy working today.”

Nancy gave a solemn nod. “Counting the stars.”

“Exactly. Now, off with you before your mother worries.”

She taught children of shopkeepers and chemists, pupils Margaret had groomed and then had to leave because of frail health. Fiona hoped her friend’s health would benefit from her move to Margate. She hoped they would eventually be able to sit together again, comparing notes on Fermat’s Last Theorem.

In the meantime, at least for two months more, the very lucky Ferguson sisters would keep up the townhouse in Blackheath, where Margaret had run her school for children of enlightened parents. Within that time, Fiona prayed they would be able to find another place they could afford in which to move their school. If not…well, she had faced uncertainty before. She was certain it would happen again. And if there was one thing Fiona Ferguson excelled in, it was dealing with uncertainty.

Watching the little girl hop down the steps of the tidy brick rowhouse, Fiona closed the door and returned to the little south parlor to clean up the slates and books Margaret Bryan had loaned her.

Anyone from Hawesworth Castle would have been appalled at her living conditions. She and Mairead had one female helper and one male, a man-of-all-work they shared with two other families, and they were more often than not paid in foodstuffs and services. With most of the furniture sent on to Margate, they taught on an old table Fiona had scrounged from the rag and bone man, and practiced their music on Margaret’s old spinet. The formal salon held one three-legged faded brown settee and two spindle-back chairs, and Fiona and Mairead shared a room. They sat at the school table if they were working together, and in the kitchen with Mrs. Quick if they weren’t. The only rug resided in the schoolroom, and the only artwork had been done by her students. Other than that and the roof over their heads, they had nothing.

They had everything. They were off the streets. They had food and heavy boots and heavier cloaks and a bit of coal for the fires. They had their correspondence from their friends around Europe, which was their only frivolous expense, and the Royal Observatory up the hill. And they had each other. For that Fiona was most grateful. Now that Ian was gone, Mairead was all she had left in the world.

Considering how little Fiona had seen her brother Ian while growing up, she was surprised how sharp her grief still sat on her shoulders. It was as if a foundation stone were missing from her house that threatened all stability.

No, she thought, neatly stacking the primers on a shelf. It was as if she were left alone to provide stability, having to balance a heavy, unwieldy load on only one leg. She had done it before, of course. This time, though, there was no hope of regaining that balance. Ian was gone, and the only person left who loved her was Mairead. And Mairead couldn’t help her. It was Fiona’s task to help Mairead.

Over on the mantel, the little bracket clock struck four. Mairead should be home soon. Fiona’s precious silence was almost over. Between the relentless enthusiasm of the children who came every day and Mairead’s obsessive recounting of her own hours, Fiona got precious little time with her own thoughts. And what time she did have she usually spent going over accounts, lesson plans, or mathematical equations.

Just now, however, there was a very pleasant gap in her schedule. A book, maybe. She had been working her way through Goldsmith’s
History of Britain
in an attempt to plug the holes in her knowledge of her own country, and had just reached James I. But James was not her favorite king. Perhaps a bit of needlework, or work on the computations Mr. Pond had asked her to do.

For a long moment, she stood frozen, overcome with the possibility of being completely selfish for an entire half hour. It was inevitable, then, that she heard the front door knocker.

She should go out and answer it. She spent a moment making sure her lace collar was flat against her ubiquitous black kerseymere dress, knowing quite well that she was delaying as long as she could in the hopes she would hear Mrs. Quick’s footsteps crossing the hall.

“Don’t you worry yourself,” she heard the strident notes of sarcasm out in the hall. “I was just dyin’ to open the door.”

Fiona couldn’t help it. She smiled.

And then she heard a man’s voice. “Excuse me. Is Mrs. Margaret Bryan at home?”

Fiona swore she stopped breathing. It couldn’t be.

Before she could think better of it, she threw the door to the library open to see Mrs. Quick poised before the open door, hand on hip, face pursed in displeasure at the sight of two rather large men on the stoop.

“Mrs. Bryan don’t live here anymore,” the housekeeper snapped, ready to close the door again.

“Wait!” Fiona cried, frozen on the spot. “It’s all right, Mrs. Quick. Let them in.”

“Don’t think I should,” the woman retorted with a squint at the two town bucks. “Don’t need their kind nosin’ around the school.”

Fiona almost laughed out loud. “I sincerely doubt they’re here to ravage our children,” she said.

She hadn’t imagined it. Alex Knight—no, Lord Whitmore, now—stood in her doorway, staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

She couldn’t believe it. She had been thinking of him for so long. He was the only good memory she had carried away from Hawesworth. His compassion. His strength. The unshakable memory of comfort as he’d taken her hand.

She seemed to have forgotten his beauty. Wind-chapped and tousled, he exuded life, with his broad shoulders and warm hazel eyes and strong, angular features. Just the sight of them sent her heart skidding around in her chest.

She’d never thought to see him again.

“Don’t look helpless to me, old lad,” his companion suddenly said.

Her feet finally unfroze, and she stepped forward. “She isn’t,” she greeted him. “Please. Would you care to come in? I can at least give you Mrs. Bryan’s current address.”

Mrs. Quick only conceded ground grudgingly, finally shutting the door behind the men with an impatient briskness that conveyed judgment. The men stepped into the bare little foyer and removed their hats.

“Actually,” Alex said, still staring at Fiona. “We came to see you.”

THE DISH

Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop

From the desk of Roxanne St. Claire

Dear Reader,

Years ago, I picked up a romance novel about a contemporary “marriage of convenience” and I recall being quite skeptical that the idea could work in anything but a historical novel. How wrong I was! I not only enjoyed the book, but
Separate Beds
by LaVyrle Spencer became one of my top ten favorite books of all time. (Do yourself a favor and dig up this classic if you haven’t read it!) Since then, I’ve always wanted to put my own spin on a story about two people who are in a situation where they need to marry for reasons other than love, knowing that their faux marriage is doomed.

I finally found the perfect characters and setup for a marriage of convenience story when I returned to Barefoot Bay to write BAREFOOT BY THE SEA, my most recent release in the series set on an idyllic Gulf Coast island in Florida. I knew that sparks would fly and tears might flow when I paired Tessa Galloway, earth mother longing for a baby, with Ian Browning, a grieving widower in the witness protection program. I suspected that it would be a terrific conflict to give the woman who despises secrets a man who has to keep one in order to stay alive, with the added complication of a situation that can only be resolved with a fake, arranged marriage. However, I never dreamed just how much I would love writing that marriage of convenience! I should have known, since I adored the first one I’d ever read.