Tender Rebel (23 page)

“It could?” he said in bemusement, only to shake his head. “But it wouldn’t be proper, would it? I mean, you’re a lady—I mean, well, you know what I mean. It just wouldn’t be proper.”

“No?” Roslynn grinned. “Then I’ll have to speak with your father. He’s the one insisting I stay.”

“
He
did?” Jeremy nearly choked. “Hell’s bells, he’s gone and done it now! Uncle Tony’s going to fly through the roof. He had his eye on you himself. Hell’s bells, he’ll probably throw us out now.”

“Jeremy,” she began gently, giving up the game. She hadn’t thought he would be this upset. “There’s no need to keep up the pretense. I know Anthony is your father. And I’m sorry I teased you like that. The reason I’m staying is because I married your father yesterday. He really should have told you.”

His mouth dropped open again, but this time he was quicker to recover. “My father, meaning—Anthony? You married Anthony Malory?”

“You don’t have to sound
that
surprised.”

“But…I don’t believe it. Tony getting married? He wouldn’t.”

“And why not, I’d like to be knowing?”

“He just wouldn’t. He’s a confirmed bachelor. He’s got all the women he could want chasing after him. What would he need a wife—”

“Careful, laddie,” Roslynn warned stiffly. “You’re getting very close to insulting me.”

Color flamed his cheeks. “I—I beg your pardon, Lady Chadwick. Truly, I meant no offense.”

“It’s Lady Malory now, Jeremy,” she said, holding up her hand in front of him and tapping her wedding ring. “It happened last evening at Silverley, with your cousin Regina as witness. So you might as well believe it, laddie. I’ve no reason to lie about it, and you can ask your father as soon as he comes home.”

“My father was there too?”

Roslynn sighed. “How could he not be at his own wedding?”

“No, I meant James. He
is
my father, you know. He really is.”

It was Roslynn’s turn to be surprised, because Jeremy was too earnest to be lying about it now. “But you look so much like Anthony!”

“I know.” He grinned. “But so does Reggie, and so does Amy, Uncle Edward’s daughter. And my aunt Melissa, Reggie’s mother, did too, though I never met her. She died when Reggie was still a baby. All the rest of the Malorys are blonds. It’s just us five who took after my great-grandmother Malory.”

“I can see I’ve a lot to learn about this family, there’s so many of you.”

“Then he really married you? He really did?”

“Yes, Jeremy, he really did.” She grinned, coming down a few steps to lock arms with him. “Come along and I’ll tell you all about it. James—your father—was here last night when Anthony carried me
over the threshold, you know. Now, if you think
you
were surprised, you should have seen him.”

“I’ll bet.” His chuckle was deep for someone so young, but infectious.

Chapter Twenty-four

W
hen Anthony and James walked inside the tavern and paused to look over the crowded room, the same phenomenon occurred that had happened again and again throughout the afternoon. One by one, the occupants of the room noticed them, nudged their companions, and the room began to quiet, until the silence was as thick as the cloud of smoke floating above the scarred tables.

The riffraff of the wharves didn’t take too kindly to the gentry invading their territory, and there was usually always some down-on-his-luck fellow filled with enough resentment of the upper classes to pick a fight with the unsuspecting slummers, as any well-dressed gents were assumed to be. It could be the highlight of an evening, a chance for the lower masses to get a little of their own back from the wealthy who think it their due to exploit them, by wiping the floor with the nabobs’ beaten bodies and casting them out in the street half dead, and sometimes, actually dead.

But the sheer size of these two aristocrats gave even the meanest bruisers pause. They didn’t have the look of the dandies who thought it a lark to frequent establishments they scorned in the sober light of day. No, these two were obviously of a different quality, the menacing aura about them penetrating even the most sodden brain. Anyone who briefly thought of causing trouble quickly changed his mind at a second look and went on with his drinking and revelry, determined to ignore these particular nabobs.

The silence had lasted perhaps twenty seconds. Anthony didn’t even notice it this time. He was tired, frustrated, and just a little bit intoxicated, since they had ordered drinks in each of the nine taverns they had entered while questioning the barkeeps. James did notice, and was berating himself once again for not dressing properly for this excursion. Clothes fitted a man to his elements, and theirs were distinctly out of place in these elements. But how had either of them known this would turn into an all-day excursion?

Anthony was deciding he had had enough for one day when his eyes lit on a thatch of bright red hair. He looked at his brother and rolled his eyes toward the bar. James followed the indicated direction and saw the fellow too. Red hair did not make him Geordie Cameron, but it did raise the odds that he was likely a Scotsman. James sighed, hoping this was the end of their search. Wild-goose chases were not how he preferred to while away his time.

“Why don’t we take that table near the bar and see what we can overhear?” James suggested.

“Why don’t I just go ask him?” Anthony countered.

“Men of this ilk don’t like to be questioned, dear boy. They’ve usually, every one of them, got something or other to hide. Haven’t you surmised that yet?”

Anthony scowled but nodded. James was right. They had had deuced little cooperation from everyone they’d questioned today, but blister it all, he wanted this done with so he could go home. He had a wife waiting for him, and this was not how he had imagined spending the second day of his marriage.

What was supposed to have taken only a few hours’ time at the most this morning had turned into a com
edy of exasperation. Anthony had been in the process of explaining to James about Geordie Cameron, the reason that he had married in such haste, when his man John had interrupted their breakfast with the fellow’s address, having successfully followed Cameron’s hirelings yesterday to his lair.

It must have been the look of predatory delight on Anthony’s face that prompted James to offer to come along. Not that Anthony was going to really harm the scoundrel. No, just impress him with a sound thrashing, give him the good news that Roslynn was out of his reach, since he wasn’t taking any chances that Cameron might miss the notice of her marriage in the papers, and send him off with a warning to trouble her no more. Very simple. He didn’t need James’ help, but he was glad of his company as the day wore on.

The first in a long list of frustrations was to find Cameron vacated from the flat he had rented. That he hadn’t left until last night, when Roslynn had escaped him the day before, was interesting. He was either confident that she wouldn’t alert the authorities of her kidnapping or just plain stupid. Whichever, he had smartened up by last night and had changed locations. And since it was too soon for him to have found out about Roslynn’s marrying, Anthony doubted the chap had given up to return to Scotland, which was why he had spent the rest of the day making inquiries at every lodging and tavern in the vicinity, albeit fruitlessly.

All he had was Geordie Cameron’s description from his landlady, but this fitted the fellow at the bar. Tall, carrot-red hair, light blue eyes, presentable, and oh, yes, very good-looking, according to Mrs. Pym. Anthony couldn’t see the eyes yet, and whether the chap
was good-looking or not was a matter of opinion, but the rest agreed with him, even to the halfway decent togs he was sporting. The man had a companion, perhaps one of his hirelings, standing there with him, a short chap with a woolen cap pulled so far down over his head, his features were obscured even from a side angle.

They were talking together, at any rate, and James’ suggestion to listen in on the conversation was reasonable, despite the fact that Anthony’s patience was worn thin. After all the trouble he had been through today, he was no longer just looking forward to thrashing the fellow, but pleasantly contemplating an alternative of a more permanent nature. Missed his lunch, missed his dinner, missed making love to his wife all day. He bloody well hoped she would appreciate his efforts on her behalf.

He followed his brother across the room to a table already occupied by two rough-looking men and felt a small bit of his humor returning as he watched James stop there and stare the fellows into hastily vacating their seats. “Amazing how you do that, old man.”

James grinned innocently. “Do what?”

“Put murder and mayhem in those two little green orbs of yours.”

“Can I help it if the chaps thought I meant them bodily harm? I didn’t, you know. I am the most peaceable fellow this side of—”

“Hell?” Anthony suggested with a wry smile. “It’s a good thing Connie’s not here, or he’d choke on that fairy tale.”

“Put a lid on it, puppy. We need a drink if we’re not to look any more inconspicuous than we already do.”

Anthony turned around to locate a barmaid and got more than he bargained for. The wench was curvaceous without being plump, amazingly pretty for such a rough establishment, and had set herself down on his lap, wrapping soft arms about his neck in blatant invitation. It was done too quickly for him to discourage her, and he was so surprised by her action that he drew a blank for a moment on how to get rid of her.

James took pity on him, however, vastly amused at Anthony’s dilemma. “You’ve chosen the wrong lap, dear girl.” His dry tone brought the barmaid’s head around to him, and at her bemused look, James grinned. “You see before you one of the world’s most pitiable creatures—a married man—also one very preoccupied this evening. Now, if you’d care to bounce your pretty little backside over to this side of the table, you might get a rise for your trouble.”

The maid giggled at James’ crudity, words she was used to but not expecting from such an elegant-looking nabob. Yet she gave a last wistful look at Anthony, the one who had first boggled her eyes when the men walked in. He was worth at least another try, though the other one was just as appealing, now she’d had a better look at him.

She ignored Anthony’s frown of displeasure, caused by James’ words, and wrapped her long blond hair around his neck to pull him closer to her, while below the table, her buttocks wiggled in his lap provocatively. “Sure ye don’t want some, luv. I’d be ’appy—”

His wits returning
too
quickly, Anthony lifted her up and set her on her feet, giving her a little shove in James’ direction. “Another time, luv,” he said not
unkindly, but his eyes were narrowed when he met James’ amused gaze.

James wasn’t in the least perturbed. He caught the girl around the waist, caressed her backside with promise, whispered a few words in her ear, and sent her off with their order for two ales.

“Caught your fancy?” Anthony sneered.

“Whether this is your man or not, dear boy, I’m done for the day. I might as well have some compensation for my trouble, and she’ll do nicely.”

Anthony finally smiled. “Yes, I suppose she will. But you’ll recall whose lap she preferred.”

“Your recent victory has apparently gone to your head, lad. I hate to bring you back to earth, but you obviously need to be reminded that all you can do is look from now on—while I on the other hand can still sample to my heart’s content.”

“You don’t see me bemoaning my state, do you?”

“Remember those words when you do. Women are to be savored for the moment. Anything longer is a threat to a man’s sanity.”

Anthony smiled serenely, even though those used to be his own sentiments as well. James didn’t notice. His eyes had drifted to the two at the bar in such intimate conversation, particularly to the shorter fellow, and he frowned, looking at the cutest little backside to ever grace a supposedly male anatomy.

Anthony was distracted as well a moment later when the redhead, no more than six feet away, raised his voice a little. The thick Scottish brogue was unmistakable, reminding him forcefully of why they were here.

“I’ve heard enough,” Anthony said tersely, swiftly rising to his feet.

James grabbed his arm, hissing, “You’ve heard
nothing. Be sensible, Tony. There’s no telling how many of these chaps in here might be in his pay. We can bloody well wait a little more to see if he might leave the premises.”

“
You
can wait a little more. I have a new wife at home I’ve kept waiting long enough.”

Before he took another step, however, James sensibly called out, “Cameron?” hoping for no response since Anthony was no longer in a reasonable state of mind. Unfortunately, he got ample response, both characters swinging around at once and searching the room, one fearful, the other assuming an aggressive stance. Both pairs of eyes lit on Anthony as he shook off James’ hand and closed the distance in two steps, but he had eyes only for the tall Scot.

“Cameron?” he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

“The name’s MacDonell, mon, Ian MacDonell.”

“You’re lying,” Anthony growled, catching the man’s lapels in his fists and jerking him forward and up, until their eyes were at a level only inches apart.

Too late, Anthony saw his mistake. The narrowed eyes now blazing at him were light gray, not blue. But at the same moment Anthony realized it, the little man next to them slipped a knife out of his sleeve.

James intervened at this point, since Anthony was too involved with the redhead to take notice of his companion. He neatly knocked the knife aside, only to be attacked for his trouble, fists and feet both flying his way. Hardly any damage ensued. The little bugger had no more strength than a child. But James was not about to just stand there and take this barrage. With no effort at all, he flipped his opponent about and hefted him off his feet. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to find a full, soft breast cupped in his hand.

Anthony had glanced their way at the start of the
commotion, but now his eyes widened as he took in the delicate chin, smooth lips, and pert little nose. The cap had come down further to completely cover the eyes, but the perfectly molded cheekbones were unmistakably feminine too.