That Despicable Rogue (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

H
annah wandered to the carriage and stood waiting nervously next to it. At some point she was going to have to apologise to Jameson for her outburst. He had not stolen Barchester Hall—of that she was quite sure. Her stupid brother had practically handed it to him on a plate, and if Ross Jameson had not been the lucky beneficiary that night then somebody else certainly would have been. That did not mean she did not want it back, however, it just meant she was less angry with Jameson than she had been.

After a full five minutes of waiting for him to arrive, she decided to grab the bull by the horns and go and find him herself. She turned back into the warehouse and headed towards the door of the back office she had seen him disappear into. She turned a corner and slammed straight into the hard wall of his chest.

‘Hello, Prim,’ he said flatly. ‘Are you having a good nose around?’

Sensing that he was still rightly annoyed at her, she steeled herself for the humiliation of having to apologise. ‘I was looking for you, actually. I feel terrible about what I said in the carriage. I overstepped the mark and I am truly sorry for it. It is not my place to criticise you.’

He assessed her for a moment coldly before he pinned her with his mossy gaze. ‘That is a very pretty apology, Prim, but I am not sure that it cuts to the chase. You say that you are sorry for the words, and that it is not your place to criticise, but you still have not acknowledged whether or not you believe me to be a cheating thief.’

This cold, stiff man was somebody she did not recognise and it made her uncomfortable. ‘I believe that the Earl of Runcorn was an idiot to gamble away his home,’ she finally admitted. ‘It was hardly your fault that he did so. So to answer your question, no—I do not believe you to be a thief. I cannot honestly say what to make of you sometimes, but I am certain that you did not go into that card game with the express intention of cheating a man out of his property.’

After an interminable age he finally nodded curtly. ‘Then I will accept your apology on this occasion, Prim.’

His unspoken message was implicit in his eyes: this was a final warning about her behaviour towards him and he would not tolerate it again.

‘Thank you. I will do my best not to make unfounded judgements in the future. I truly am sorry.’ He appeared unmoved by her apology so she tried to change the subject. ‘I have taken the liberty of having the silk loaded onto the coach,’ she offered quietly. ‘It is ready to leave as soon as you are, sir.’

‘Then I shall inform Captain Carstairs of that fact. He will be accompanying us back to Barchester Hall once we have collected his things from his lodgings.’

This was the first time he had ever spoken to her like a servant and she found herself bobbing slightly in acknowledgement. Then he turned on his heel and went to find him, leaving Hannah alone with her guilt and confusion.

Fortunately the two men discussed business for much of the journey home, so Hannah passed the time by watching the scenery fly past the carriage window. Her wool-gathering was interrupted by Captain Carstairs.

‘What do you think of that, Miss Preston?’

Hannah blinked at him dumbly. ‘I am sorry—I was not listening. Would you mind repeating the question?’

Carstairs shared a brief look with Jameson and then smiled. ‘I asked what you thought about the concept of free trade, Miss Preston. Are you for or against it?’

She considered the odd question for a moment. ‘I have to confess, Captain Carstairs, that to answer your question I would need some clarity on what the term “free trade” actually means.’

Jameson sighed in exasperation. ‘Free trade would mean that goods could be imported and exported around the world without government interference and tariffs. For example, at the moment government-backed companies like the East India Company have a monopoly over certain trade routes. That means they can fix prices and have the backing of Parliament to prevent other companies from trading in the same places.’

‘If they fix prices, does that mean they can charge a higher price for those goods than is fair?’

Both men nodded vigorously at her question. ‘And they are able to significantly line their pockets in the process. Sometimes the price of tea or silk is doubled or tripled by the time it goes on to the English market,’ Captain Carstairs clarified.

‘Well, in that case I am
for
the concept of free trade. I do not see why I should be forced to pay double or triple what something is worth just because I do not have a choice in the matter.’

Her answer seemed to please them, because they shared a knowing smile and then silence fell for a few minutes.

‘How do you like Barchester Hall?’ Captain Carstairs asked her, and she smiled in response. At least this was a topic she was knowledgeable on.

‘I think the house is beautiful. And once all the renovations are finished it will be as lovely on the inside as it is on the outside.’

‘It was sadly neglected,’ Jameson chimed in. ‘I do not think it had seen a bit of paint in decades.’

‘I cannot say I am surprised,’ Carstairs added. ‘Runcorn threw away his entire fortune at the gaming tables. I never liked that man.’

Hannah’s nerves prickled at this casual talk of her brother but she remained resolutely silent.

‘I cannot say I got to know him,’ Jameson replied. ‘Why didn’t you like him?’

Captain Carstairs leant forward a little in his seat and a pained expression crossed his handsome face. ‘He was reckless and quite pompous, as I recall—too full of his own inflated importance than he should have been. Nobody was fooled. We all knew that he was in debt up to his eyeballs.’

It was obvious that Captain Carstairs had moved amongst the ton, but Hannah could not place him at all. ‘Did you move in the same social circles as the Earl of Runcorn? I thought that you were a sea captain, sir.’ She tried to make her enquiry sound casual.

It was Jameson who laughed at her question.

‘Once upon a time John, here, was one of them—then his father disinherited him and he had to get an honest job. Oh, look—we are coming up to Barchester Hall now.’

As they turned into the long driveway Jameson pointed out how dilapidated some of the grounds were and their shoddy state embarrassed her.

‘I don’t think the Earl of Runcorn did a single bit of maintenance to the old place for well over a decade. It’s criminal, the way he left it to rack and ruin,’ he said disparagingly.

Hannah refused to be annoyed at his words. He spoke nothing but the truth.

‘By all accounts the whole family were a bad lot,’ Captain Carstairs interjected, and Hannah experienced an ominous sense of foreboding.

‘Were they?’ The comment had piqued Jameson’s interest and he was watching his friend intently. ‘How so?’

‘The sister had to leave society after an enormous scandal. It was all over the newspapers and all anyone could talk about for months.’

Jameson snorted. ‘Really? All over the newspapers? They are not exactly famous for printing the truth, John.’

‘In this case I am afraid they
were
telling the truth, old boy. I know because I was there the very night it all happened.’

The bile began to rise in Hannah’s throat while her heartbeat leapt into a gallop. There was no escaping it, she realised. The whole sordid tale was about to be told again for entertainment.

Captain Carstairs sat forward with barely contained excitement. ‘The lady in question—I forget her name now—was engaged to be married to Viscount Eldridge and was attending a ball with her betrothed. She had done rather well for herself—Eldridge is good ton, and well respected at parliament. We all assumed it was a love match, because it was widely believed that Eldridge had to marry an heiress and we all know Runcorn never had a pot to piss in.’

Carstairs stopped and chewed his bottom lip.

‘I am sorry for my language, Miss Preston.’

Hannah managed to nod and wave the expletive away, but tears threatened to fall. Eldridge had never loved her. At the time she had believed he did—but he had only been after the impressive sum that her father had left her in trust. She had realised that long ago.

‘Anyway,’ Carstairs continued, ‘they were only a week or so away from taking their vows when Eldridge discovered something terrible about the girl. I have no idea who told him, but it all came to a head at the ball. He was so angry he marched straight up to her, right in the middle of the ballroom, and called her a whore!’

‘That was not a very gentlemanly thing to do.’

Jameson’s brows were furrowed and Hannah stifled the urge to thank him. Nobody else had even considered that on that dreadful night.

‘Agreed.’ Carstairs nodded. ‘But Eldridge was furious. He accused the girl of deceiving him—of claiming she was virtuous and pure when in actual fact she had had a string of lovers. He said that he had proof she was carrying her lover’s child and was hoping to fob it off as his.’

Hannah’s stomach roiled at the lie and she feared that her breakfast was about to make a sudden reappearance.

‘Still, he could have had it out with her in private.’

Jameson appeared to be outraged at her fiancé’s deplorable behaviour.

Again Carstairs nodded. ‘I do agree, Ross. I felt for the poor girl. She looked to be genuinely mortified at Eldridge’s words. She pleaded with him—told him that it was all a pack of lies—but he would have none of it. He called off the engagement in front of everyone. It must have been true, though,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Because her brother simply stood by and watched the whole spectacle without once going to his sister’s aid.’

Hannah had not realised that George had been close by. He had certainly never mentioned that. Fresh hurt tore through her and she stared out of the window to cover the fact that her eyes were swimming with angry tears.

‘What sort of a man does not defend his own sister? Regardless of what she had done, Runcorn should have stepped in to help her. I dislike the man myself now.’ Jameson folded his arms in annoyance. ‘What happened afterwards?’

Carstairs shrugged. ‘She disappeared from society completely. I once overheard Runcorn telling one of his cronies that she had run away with her lover to the continent. I presume she is still there.’

That betrayal cut like a knife. Hannah had been banished to Yorkshire by her brother until, as he had put it, ‘the dust settled’. She had never been allowed back and had not seen hide nor hair of her loving brother from that day forward either. George had completely washed his hands of her.

Fortunately he had left her the five thousand pounds inheritance, which she assumed came from her dowry. It had always rankled George that their father had entrusted it to the family solicitor rather than to him. It was a good job he had, because otherwise George would have spent that as well before his death.

The carriage began to slow down and eventually came to stop. Captain Carstairs jumped out and proffered his hand to help her down. Hannah bolted to her feet to escape but Jameson stopped her.

‘Are you all right, Prim? You look a little ill.’

His kindness was almost her undoing, but she managed to hold her composure briefly. ‘I am not a good traveller, sir,’ she muttered without looking at him. If she saw his concern she knew she would cry.

His large hand came up and rested gently on her cheek. ‘Are you sure?’

Why did the blackguard have to be so thoughtful and considerate?

Hannah nodded numbly. ‘I just need to lie down for a bit,’ she managed to say, and then promptly climbed down the steps.

She did not wait around. Instead, she fled to her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her. Only when she was completely alone did she allow the bitter tears of humiliation to fall.

Chapter Fifteen

H
annah licked her wounds in private for the rest of the afternoon, but by six the heat was oppressive, and she feared she would go mad if she kept on staring at the same four walls, so she washed her face and headed out for a walk to clear her mind.

Even after all these years the horrible events of that evening still felt raw. She had not realised that it still had the power to wound her quite so deeply. In Yorkshire, it had never been discussed, and she had been in such seclusion from anybody from society that to all intents and purposes the whole affair might not have happened at all. Hannah had been able to squirrel it away in a part of her brain that her thoughts seldom strayed into.

Today she had been broadsided by the past and had been left with no other option than to think about it again. She had been so besotted with Viscount Eldridge, and so deliriously happy to be getting married, that she had overlooked many of the man’s faults. He had kissed her once or twice, and the experience had been pleasant enough, but she now knew that those kisses had lacked the passion and desire that Jameson had introduced her to. That had been both intoxicating and dangerous.

Hannah crossed the gardens quickly and plunged into the meadow beyond, ignoring the beauty of her surroundings because she was too caught up in memories. To this day she had no idea where Eldridge had heard about her supposed lovers. When they had arrived at the ball they’d been happy and smiling. Two hours later he had hated the very sight of her. He’d claimed that he had irrefutable proof of her many affairs, that his information came from the most unquestionable of sources, but Hannah could still not fathom who had despised her so much as to have spewed such a pack of obscene lies into her fiancé’s ears.

Aside from Eldridge, no man had ever even so much as kissed her—let alone planted a baby in her belly. To hear him, though, she had lain with so many men that she was little better than a lightskirt. The accusations had been so ludicrous they would have been laughable had she not been standing in a ballroom surrounded by two hundred people.

She had tried to reason with him, but he had turned his back on her and walked away. She remembered the deafening silence in the ballroom. The musicians had stopped playing and the great and the good had gathered around, listening intently to the scandal she had created.

When it was over, she’d had to suffer the indignity of her so-called friends turning their backs on her as she’d stumbled out of the ballroom in a state of shocked hysteria. In the strange and sudden absence of her brother, her only companion on that long walk to complete ruination had been the loud, thumping sound of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears and the silent condemnation of her peers.

Bitter tears came afresh, which surprised her. She had not realised she had more to spill, but clearly she had. With resignation she sank down into the tall summer grass and buried her face on her knees.

‘Is everything all right, Prim?’

His concerned deep voice shocked her. Hannah did her best to scrub away the tears before she answered, but there was really no disguising the fact that she had been crying for the better part of the afternoon. Her face must be a fright.

‘Y-yes. I am f-fine,’ she stuttered unconvincingly as she stared in the opposite direction. She could hear Dog panting at his feet.

‘Well, you don’t look fine. I have a talent for spotting these things.’

She felt him sit down in the grass next to her but he did not say anything further—which was just as well because Hannah could barely stifle the sobs trapped in her throat. When a fresh white handkerchief was gently pushed into her hand she lost the battle and bawled into it.

To his credit, he did not run away as most gentlemen would have. Neither did he offer inane platitudes and say
There, there
, as if she was a silly child. Instead she felt two strong arms come around her shuddering shoulders and drag her into the solid comfort of his embrace. Bizarrely, just that made her feel so much better.

Without thinking, she burrowed against him and allowed herself to revel in his strength. She remembered how he had condemned Eldridge’s actions in the carriage and realised that this man would never have turned his back on her in that ballroom. He was too kind-hearted to be that callous. He would have come to her rescue, as he had Reggie and his silly besotted dog, and helped her no matter what she had done.

Her despair was now tinged with shame. She had spent the last month trying to see the worst in him, when in actual fact he had turned out to be one of the most decent people she had ever come across. That realisation made her cry even harder.

Ross let her cry, although it hurt to do so. The front of his linen shirt was soaked with her tears and still she kept going, as if her heart was breaking, and he had absolutely no idea what was wrong. If he knew what ailed her he would fix it—hell, he would slay dragons if need be.

When her loud sobs subsided a little, he absently stroked the top of her head. Her hair was soft and gloriously silky. He itched to pull out the pins and run it through his fingers—but it had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the overwhelming surge of tenderness he felt towards her at this precise moment, and the need to bring her some comfort.

‘I—I’m s-sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he whispered into her hair, and then he absently kissed the top of it. ‘My mother always says that women cry in the same way that men punch things. She says that it is better out than in. Is it all out yet? If it’s not then the back of my shirt is still dry. You can grizzle on that. Or you could use Dog. He is quite clean now.’

He felt her laugh a little between hiccoughs and tightened his arms around her possessively. There was something about her that made him want to protect her. It was odd. He had only ever experienced that emotion when it concerned either his mother or his sister before now—but he had never before yearned to kiss away another’s pain.

‘Now you are being too kind. I cannot destroy
all
of your shirt. Especially as your handkerchief is now quite ruined.’

He felt her take in a deep, steadying breath against his chest, then she sat up and idly scratched Dog between his pointed ears in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Ross allowed his arms to fall away, sensing she needed the distance, while she made a valiant if futile attempt to repair her face.

‘Do you want to tell me what this is all about?’ he asked.

She stilled before exhaling. ‘It was the story Captain Carstairs told us in the carriage. It was a little too close to home for my liking.’

She chewed on the corner of her lip nervously, obviously considering how much she should confide, before her slim shoulders slumped and she worried at the sodden handkerchief that was balled up in her hand.

‘It might surprise you to learn that I was engaged once, Mr Jameson, and like the poor woman in the story my fiancé broke it off quite callously. I still have no idea why he did so.’

Anger flared on her behalf. Something about the way she’d admitted this convinced Ross that right now she was telling the truth. No actress could recreate the sheer pain he saw reflected in her lovely eyes.

‘Then the man was a fool and never deserved you in the first place.’

The ghost of a smile briefly touched her lips and she shook her head. ‘Maybe. But I was judged and blamed by everyone, regardless. That is the way of things. They all saw it as my fault that he had cried off.’

‘In my experience people are always inclined to think exactly what they want to and there is absolutely nothing you can do about that. Unfortunately they usually think the worst.’

Her blue eyes lifted towards his for the first time. ‘As I have with you?’

Ross wanted to nod, but he made an excuse for her behaviour instead, to make her feel better. ‘We got off on the wrong foot, Prim. Your first meeting with me happened in my bedchamber, remember? And I was not alone. Or clothed. Under the circumstances you had every right to be shocked.’

‘I disagree.’

Her hand rested tentatively on the back of his. He wanted to turn it and clasp her fingers in his, but resisted.

‘You are making excuses for me that I do not deserve. I do agree that our first meeting was...unconventional...but since then you have been nothing but kind towards me. I am heartily ashamed of how judgemental I have been towards you. I know better than to behave that way. You are a decent man, Mr Jameson, and I have been judgemental and rude towards you from the outset. I hope you can forgive me for that.’

He smiled, because he did believe that she was being honest and it was nice to hear. ‘I accept your apology, Prim, but please do not paint me as such a paragon of virtue. I did pretend to be drunk so that I could maul you in my bedchamber.’

He watched in fascination as her already blotchy red cheeks darkened with a blush, but she smiled too.

‘I had just accused you of being a drunken debaucher, sir. So I suppose that we are equal.’

‘That’s very sporting of you, Prim. And please stop calling me
sir
. I don’t like it. My name is Ross.’

He hoisted himself up from the ground and offered her his hand as Dog bounced excitedly at his feet, but she hesitated.

‘It is not proper for servants to call their employers by their first names.’

Ross rolled his eyes and glared down at her. ‘I am no gentleman, Prim, and I thank God for it. I would hate to feel so superior and so self-righteous that I would turn my back on someone or look down my nose at them in judgement. I know what that feels like and it is not good. If that is what being
proper
is, then you can keep it, frankly.’

He held out his hand again and this time she took it. He pulled her to her feet with a little more force than was necessary. As he had planned, she came up against him suddenly, bracing her other hand against his chest and staring up at him a little startled.

‘Call me Ross, Prim. That’s an order.’

His face was inches from hers.

‘Fine,’ she whispered gently as she stared up at him with limpid eyes. ‘Ross.’

It was his undoing. Without thinking, he dipped his head and touched his lips softly to hers. This kiss was not about passion or lust, although he was acutely feeling both, he simply needed the contact and sensed that she did too. It was brief and sweet and tender, and left him feeling a little dazed. When he drew his head back she made no attempt to move out of his arms but stared back at him, startled, her breathing a little ragged—much like his own.

For several seconds they stood like that, neither one of them knowing quite what to make of what had just passed between them.

Prim stepped away first. ‘Thank you for the sympathy and the shoulder to cry on.’

She wanted to categorise what had just happened, he realised, to make it easier to accept. For a moment he was tempted to call her on it, sure that she would not resist if he hauled her back into his arms and kissed her again with more passion. She was rattled by what had occurred.

But he didn’t—because he was rattled too. This maddening, untrustworthy and complicated woman was getting under his skin—perhaps worming her way into his heart—at a time when he needed to keep his head. She might well still be an enemy.

‘I suppose, if we are now being informal, you should call me Hannah.’ She offered him a shy smile and began to hurry towards the house.

‘I prefer Prim,’ Ross announced to her retreating back with a grin. ‘Because I know that it riles you.’