That Despicable Rogue (10 page)

Chapter Ten

R
oss ran his fingertip over the seal again thoughtfully. It was definitely not right. The embossed pattern bore a small crack through its centre, and had been repaired with wax that was an ever so slightly different shade of red. If the letter had not been from his friend John Carstairs, a man totally convinced that they were being spied upon by the East India Company, he probably would not have noticed. But it
was
from John—so he had.

His friend believed that the East India Company were put out by the fact that the pair of them were undercutting them considerably and would try and put a stop to it by using fair means or foul. Ross had always laughed it off. Their growing trade in silk, porcelain and spices from the Orient had never been a secret and was completely above-board. All the duties were paid and the cargos were sold on legitimately to the growing list of merchants who clamoured for them. Although they made a very healthy profit from it, the amounts were a drop in the ocean compared to the mighty Crown-licensed corporation.

Ross had always severely doubted that the East India Company were bothered. Now, looking at the correspondence that had clearly been tampered with, he was not so sure. Their imports from Siam had quadrupled this year. That amount would triple again soon, when his new ships came into service. Perhaps the East India Company
was
a little upset at the prospect of growing competition... But were they upset enough to send a spy to delve into his business affairs?

It was a trifle far-fetched, but not out of the realms of possibility.

One thing was for certain: if there was a spy in his household the main suspect had to be his disingenuous and changeable housekeeper Prim. Nobody else had the wherewithal to do such a task. Prim was very intelligent, and had already been caught out in one lie. He supposed that it might explain her latent hostility towards him. She might well be an emissary from the East India Company. It did make sense in a peculiar sort of way.

Then he chuckled to himself. He was being paranoid—probably because his sister was determined to revisit London and would not be talked out of it. It had him on edge. Talk of Sarah and London in the same sentence always got his heart racing and his mind whirring. As if Prim was actually a
spy
! The prospect was really quite funny. Prim had already proved herself to be lacking in the talent necessary for true espionage. He had seen through her stupid disguise quite quickly.

But, then again, it
would
explain why she was being standoffish. She had avoided him like the plague for over a week now, and despite the initial thawing of relations after their kiss they only collided when she wanted to consult him on the rapidly proceeding restorations. Each time she blushed furiously and struggled to meet his eye. She had even stopped delivering his tea tray herself. It still arrived with pleasing regularity, at just the right moment, but she had delegated the responsibility now and he missed her.

When he did see her, Ross went of his way to remind her of their transgression, though. He might well have instigated it, but she had kissed him back. Quite enthusiastically too. Just thinking about it made him feel amorous... Occasionally, because it amused him, he would shoot her a saucy wink and a knowing smile and then enjoy the sight of her turning bright pink and totally flustered. He especially enjoyed watching her retreating bottom sway temptingly as she scurried away. The woman
did
have a lovely arse.

She was also very good at being a housekeeper. She was a spectacularly good organiser, with a keen eye for exactly what the house needed. She had the servants and the tradesmen working like a well-oiled machine. At this rate the house would be like a palace well before the summer finished.

Surely Prim was not a spy?

On a whim, he went to find her.

‘I think somebody has been opening my letters,’ he said without preamble when he found her in her little office.

Two red spots instantly bloomed on her cheeks and she briefly looked as guilty as sin.

‘Surely not, sir!’ she replied quickly. ‘What makes you say that?’

He handed her the letter and pointed to the seal. ‘It looks wrong. As if it has already been broken and then hastily repaired. See there—the wax in that crack is a slightly different shade of red.’

She peered at it and then looked back at him, fully composed once again. ‘Is there a chance that the postmaster might have noticed it was open and resealed it before it was delivered?’

It was certainly a reasonable explanation, and he might have believed it except that she was blinking just a little too rapidly.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye on any future letters, Prim. Just in case.’

She nodded serenely. ‘Of course, sir.’

She said nothing further. But her lovely blue eyes were still blinking furiously. Something was off.

Ross turned and headed back to his study and sat down. With a sigh, he cracked open the letter and scanned the contents. John was in Portsmouth with their latest cargo of Siamese silk and would remain there for a few days to oversee some repairs to the ship. He was keen for him to join him there.

Ross had not seen his friend and business partner for several months and was looking forward to catching up with him, and to showing him Barchester Hall. John would find the sight of him as a respectable land-owner hilarious.

Laying the letter on his desk, he could not dispel a feeling of uneasiness. It would be good to discuss his new suspicions with his friend. It might also be prudent to do a little investigating into his suspicious housekeeper’s background. It would be fascinating to see if Miss Preston was exactly who she claimed to be and if he was indeed being paranoid.

He sincerely hoped it was the latter. But if she
was
working for the East India Company then it would be prudent to keep her at Barchester Hall for the time being. At least here he could keep a watchful eye on her. To do otherwise would merely tip off the East India Company—that might well open him up to further scrutiny, and their next spy might not be quite so clumsy or as obvious as Prim.

By early evening all the preparations for his trip were made and he was ready to set off in the morning. Ross closed a ledger decisively and stood. He stretched and wandered to the open window of his study, in search of some air, but was disappointed. Even now, at well past six in the evening, the heat was ridiculous. He could not remember a time when the beginning of June had been quite so hot.

Dog yawned and rose from his usual spot under Ross’s desk, and toddled over to keep him company at the window. Idly he gave his ears a scratch, at which the dog sighed and promptly rolled over onto his back, so that Ross could tickle his mangy belly.

‘What do you think of your new home, boy?’ he asked. ‘It’s a bit grand for the likes of you and me, isn’t it? Us low-born mongrels are not used to all this luxury, are we? But we shall bear it.’

Dog’s eyes rolled back into his head in ecstasy and Ross allowed himself a moment of indulgent satisfaction. Then he spotted a sudden movement in his peripheral vision that made him turn his head.

Skirting the edge of the lawn, clutching a large basket, was Prim. He slunk back to the side of the window so that she would not see him and watched her for several seconds. She was certainly in a hurry, and kept glancing furtively over her shoulder as if she was up to no good—which, he now realised, she probably was. When she darted on to the little path that he now knew led towards the cemetery he decided on a whim to follow her, certain that he was a better spy that she was.

He hoisted himself onto the window frame and the blasted stray danced excitedly at his feet. ‘Not you, Dog,’ he said firmly. ‘You are not coming. You will give the game away, for sure.’

He secured the window, to prevent the animal from following, and dashed across the lawns. As he had before, he kept to the trees, but she did not stop at the cemetery. Instead she plunged further still into the parkland, crossing the overgrown meadow and disappearing into another copse of trees further ahead.

Ross had to wait until he’d lost sight of her before he jogged across the meadow, and for several minutes he struggled to locate her. Just as he was about to give up and head back to the house the trees thinned and he saw her again. He had never been to this part of the grounds, and was surprised to find a large natural pond surrounded by colourful bulrushes and weeping willows. How had she discovered this secret little place?

Prim sat underneath one of the willows, rifling through her basket.

Ross edged around the water as best he could without exposing himself and hovered behind a dense bush, feeling a bit of an idiot. The woman had clearly come to enjoy the early evening weather—not to have an illicit assignation, as he had allowed his wild imagination to suggest.

She was leaning back, her pretty face bathed in sunlight, with her weight braced upon her hands. Her boots sat next to her and he watched her wiggle her bare pink toes and sigh. She had well-turned ankles, he thought admiringly, and probably had a lovely pair of legs under the shapeless brown skirts that covered them.

Slowly she sat upright again, and her hands went to the ties at the back of her dress. In no time at all she had undone it, and had shimmied out of the sleeves before standing up. Frozen on the spot, and feeling a trifle guilty for watching such a private moment, Ross stared mesmerised as she stood in only her shift. The thin material was almost translucent in the hazy sunshine, so he could clearly see the gentle curves and contours of her body beneath as she stood in profile.

When her hands went to the ribbons that closed the bodice of her shift a gentleman would have looked away. Fortunately, having been born and raised in the London slum of Whitechapel, Ross reasoned that he was as far away from being a gentleman as it was possible to be, so such expectations excluded him.

His throat went dry and his eyes devoured her as she worked the ribbons loose and then turned her back to him. She eased the cotton straps from her shoulders and let the garment slither to the ground, giving him the wonderful sight of her gracefully arched back and a peach-shaped bare bottom. Two delightful dimples graced the top of each cheek, and she really did have lovely legs.

Ross grinned. He really could not believe his luck. Miss Prim was not half as proper as she made out. Because currently she stood as naked as the day she was born in broad daylight.

He willed her to turn around, so that he could get a proper look, but she did not. Instead she began to walk into the inviting water, and did not stop until she was immersed right up to her armpits. Then she swam out of sight for a few minutes, leaving Ross sweating in anticipation of her return and feeling as eager as a schoolboy.

It did not occur to him
not
to wait. At some point she would have to retrace her steps and retrieve her clothes, and his patience would be rewarded with the sight of her elusive bare breasts upon her return. That was certainly something worth hanging around in the heat for.

Ross made himself comfortable on a sturdy-looking tree root that lay conveniently close by and kept watch through the branches. For a moment or two he considered the idea of joining her in the water and then hastily discarded it. If she saw him he would
have
to be gentlemanly—although he was sure he could convince her that he had innocently come for a swim and accidentally stumbled across her. Good manners dictated that he would have to avert his gaze and allow her to cover herself.

By staying hidden he could gawp openly and she would be none the wiser. That would be much better all round—especially as she had reprimanded him for treating her like a ‘dalliance’. If he could not dally he could at least look, he reasoned selfishly. He was only human, after all.

Prim came back into view a few minutes later and then dived under the water. When she emerged a heavy lock of her wet hair fell from its pins and trailed over one shoulder as she started to walk slowly up the low bank. Ross inhaled and held his breath, keen not to make a single sound that might alert her to his presence. Unfortunately at the crucial moment the blasted woman doffed her hat to propriety and wrapped her arms around her interesting bits, denying him the opportunity of finally seeing them. The air escaped in a whoosh, nonetheless, as she turned and gave him another glorious view of her bottom.

She had certainly kept a lush figure hidden under all that brown serge—Ross was as hard as iron and in a state of aroused discomfort. For a brief moment he felt guilty at this intrusion into her privacy. Then he remembered the fact that she was blatantly intruding into his with her spying—if indeed she
was
a spy—and the guilt lifted slightly.

Prim scurried to the spot where she had left her clothes and pulled a towel out of her basket. She sat with her back to him once again. As if to torture him further, she subjected him to several painful minutes when he had to endure the sight of her thoroughly drying every single inch of her soft, creamy skin, before unpinning her wet hair.

Like a siren, she wrung out the long, curling ponytail, then spread the towel on the ground and sat gloriously naked upon it. Unaware of her audience, she obviously wanted the remnants of the sunshine to dry her body, so made absolutely no effort to cover herself. He caught a glimpse of the side of one of her breasts. It jiggled a little as she pulled a hairbrush out of her basket, which she then proceeded to draw slowly through her hair.

He stifled a groan. Who could have known that Prim was, in actuality, a temptress? Ross could not remember ever being so aroused in his entire life—and by the mere sight of a bare back and bottom and all that perfect alabaster skin.

When she finally dropped the brush and pulled on her shift ten minutes later he felt bereft. Then she twisted her lush hair into a savage knot and pinned it ruthlessly at the nape of her neck. She rolled on her stockings, laced her boots, and stepped into her ugly brown dress last of all.