The Notorious Scoundrel (7 page)

“I see you do know who I’m talking about.” Dark eyes flashed. “Now tell me where he is, wench.”

However, she refused to betray Edmund’s location. It was so uncivilized, to be a snitcher. She wasn’t so dishonorable. She wouldn’t let them have the man who had saved her life, even if he was a thief.

“I don’t know where he is,” she returned stiffly, her heart in her throat.

“A guard at the Pleasure Palace told us he saw you run off with him.”

She paled. “A g-guard told you that?”

The same lazy one who had napped during her performance, allowing Edmund to sneak into the rear of the establishment?

“Hmm…he was very forthcoming. He needed a little encouragement before making the confession, though. Will you need encouragement, wench?”

She ignored the threat, filled with one haunting thought: she was ruined. If a guard at the gentlemen’s club had witnessed her dash off with Edmund earlier in the night…then Madame Rafaramanjaka would hear about it eventually, as well. She would know Amy had lied, that she had a “lover,” that her true identity had been revealed, and Amy would be dismissed from the establishment for good.

Hot tears filled her eyes. “Damn him!”

She railed at Edmund. She had told him
not
to follow her to the club, but he had been stubborn; he had refused to listen. He had ruined her.

She should confess the scoundrel’s whereabouts, that he was staying at her apartment. She should let the three bounders trounce him soundly for upsetting her life in such a cruel fashion!

Edmund rounded the corner then. He glanced at Amy, pinned between the barbarian and the wall—and started swinging.

“Get away from her!”

He knocked the other two ruffians aside, amid hails of protests, with little effort, he was so incensed. He tackled the barbarian with precision next, but the ominous fellow had enough brute strength to pin the deft pugilist against the wall, curtailing the fisticuffs.

He shoved his elbow under Edmund’s chin, and growled. “Where have you been?”

Slowly Amy slunk along the wall, hoping to skirt away; however, one of the other beasts, who had recovered from the earlier assault, grabbed her arm, and she sighed in defeat. The young buck offered her a flirtatious wink in consolation, though, and she frowned.

“What the devil is wrong with you, Edmund?”

Edmund stopped struggling at the sound of his name, looking confused. “Ed…what?”

“Do you think you can just run off and hide with a ladybird, without letting us know where you are?”

Amy bristled. “I’m not his ladybird.”

He already had a bonny Meg stashed away in some port, she thought tartly.

“Belle’s been worried sick,” the ruffian charged.

Amy rolled her eyes. Edmund had another sweetheart weeping for him in port? Was that why the men had come looking for him? To drag him back home to his family, his wife? Hell, he might even
be
one of those drunken curs she had denounced just a few minutes ago.

Amy’s temper rankled as she stewed in her own folly. She had forsaken her livelihood to care for and protect
him
, the wretch!

Edmund narrowed his eyes. “J-James?”

“Are you drunk?” the barbarian demanded.

“With love,” said the flirty ruffian, grinning at her.

Amy twisted her arm in a bid to escape his clutches, but he maintained a firm grip.

She huffed. “He’s not drunk—with love or otherwise.” She looked pointedly at her cheeky captor, then: “He hit his head and can’t remember his name.”

James relaxed his hold. “Is that true, Eddie?”

“You can’t remember us?” said the third ruffian. “Your own brothers?”

Amy glanced from one face to the other, and quickly assessed the claim was true: the men were his brothers. It was there in their rugged features and dark hair, the shapes of their eyes, and even their manners of expression.

Edmund grabbed his skull as he was wont to do whenever a memory came upon him. “My head hurts.”

“Let’s get him indoors,” suggested Amy. “He needs to rest. I live just around the corner.”

She yanked her arm away from the young upstart, who chuckled at her curt manner, and guided the brothers back to her lodgings.

Inside the apartment, the four men filled the room, making it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“Sit,” ordered James.

“No.”

Edmund moved toward the window and stood beside the glass, pensive. The other three ruffians settled into the oak chairs, the wood joints creaking.

Amy looked at each of the big fellows crowding her small apartment. Within a few days, she had witnessed her life sink even deeper into turmoil. Distressed, she remained beside the door, lips pinched.

“I’m Quincy,” said the scamp who’d guarded her in the street, clearly sensing her unrest. “That’s William.” He pointed to the third, quiet ruffian. “And James you know.”

The barbarian. He and William were about twenty years older than Edmund and Quincy, for she observed the smattering of silver at their temples.

Edmund still gazed out the window, wondering: “How did you find me?”

“We retraced your steps from the flash house in Buckeridge Street,” William informed him.

“We had a drink there before parting ways,” said Quincy. “Remember?”

“I remember.”

“Why don’t we take you home so you can rest, Eddie.” James shifted from the chair and approached his brother at the window. “You hit your head?”

“Aye.” Edmund ruffled his hair. “But I can’t go home yet. I have to talk with Amy.” He crossed the room, eyes alight, and took her by the hand. “Alone.”

He dragged her into the bedchamber and shut the door.

Edmund had regained his memory, that much Amy was sure about, for he had looked at her with such fire in his eyes, it was clear he had recollected their first unfriendly meeting.

The small room was dark. Moonlight moved softly through the space, illuminating the man’s wide form as he sat down on the edge of the bedstead.

She remained standing beside the closed door and folded her arms across her chest. “Who are you?”

“My name is Edmund Hawkins,” he said with some uncertainty.

“Are you a thief? Or a seaman?”

He was silent.

“Ugh!”

“I didn’t steal the purse,” he returned with quiet conviction. “It’s mine. The initials are mine.”

“What are
you
doing with such a fancy pouch?”

“It was a gift from my sister, Belle…I think.”

Aha! Belle wasn’t a sweetheart he had abandoned, then. For some obscure reason, she was relieved to hear that. Although it didn’t explain the identity of the mysterious bonny Meg he had tattooed on his back.

“I would never keep the purse otherwise,” he said dryly.

She approached the locked chest in the corner of the room and removed a key secured on a chain from around her neck. She opened the chest and rummaged through the contents for the pouch. The coins
still secured within the leather, she tossed him the purse.

He captured the small satchel with one hand.

“The tattoo on your back?”

He rubbed his shoulder. “The bonny Meg?”

“Yes, her.”

Amy tried to keep the tartness out of her voice, but she had failed to do so, and the scoundrel had noticed her tone, for he murmured softly, “Are you jealous?”

She snorted at the absurd suggestion.

“I thought I would ask.” He shrugged. “The
Bonny Meg
is a schooner. She was my late father’s ship, named after my late mother, Megan.” He said with reverence, “I sailed aboard her for many years.”

The stiffness in Amy’s shoulders eased. “I see.”

“Amy.”

“What?”

He lifted off the bed and stepped toward her. “I want you to come home with me.”

“As your ladybird?” she snapped, pulse fluttering.

“I can help you find another line of work.” He pressed his hands against the door, trapping her. “You can’t work at the club anymore.”

He was too bloody close, the proximity making her senses dance with awareness. A hard set of eyes stared at her, offset by a pair of lush, well-formed lips that seemed balmily tempting to taste.

“Did you hear me, Amy?”

“Hmm?”

“You can’t work at the Pleasure Palace anymore.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

He sounded unconvinced, surprised even, that she had acquiesced, and after resisting the suggestion so ardently earlier in the night.

“Yes, thanks to your brothers, I’ve learned one of the sentries at the club witnessed us leaving together.” She said tightly, “The wretched queen will soon find out my identity is revealed.”

“As Zarsitti?” he whispered.

The man’s lips moved with captivating sensuality, leaving Amy grasping for her wits, and even her breath.

“She’ll dismiss me, I’m sure,” she said, voice shaky.

“I remember the first night I saw you on stage—the very first night.” He peered at her intently, as if conjuring the images in his head. He then glanced hotly at her belly. “You have a mark between your breasts.”

She shivered, senses ravaged, for he stared at her midriff, peeling away the layers of her garments in his mind, she was sure. And the thought that he was thinking about her without her attire properly secured made her heart beat with ferocious swiftness.

“A kiss,” he murmured. “You have a kiss between your breasts, I remember.”

He sounded like
he
wanted to kiss her right between the breasts, the man’s voice was so low, hardly audible…and the thought was so wickedly tempting, moisture gathered between her breasts.

“Is it real, Amy? The mark?”

She licked her lips. “I-I was born with the birthmark.”

“Hmm…It’s a good thing you can’t return to the club.” He lifted his eyes and gazed at her with mesmerizing intensity. “Come home with me and I will find you a new profession.”

It was hot inside the room. The scoundrel’s heated words warmed her even more, making the blood pump through her veins with greater vigor.

“As what?” she said hoarsely.

“How about a lady’s maid? No one knows your identity as the dancer, for you always concealed your features with a veil and paint. And Madame Rafaramanjaka will never move in high society, so she will never cross your path at a social function; she will never betray your past.”

Amy dismissed the heady effect he had on her for a moment, and glowered at him as if he were daft. “A lady’s maid?”

“You want money
and
a comfortable life. I can see to it that you get both things.”

“How? You’re just a sailor…aren’t you?”

After another perturbing pause, she cried:

“Oh no! You
are
a gentleman? The fancy purse. The
gentlemen’s club.
That’s
how you got inside the Pleasure Palace!”

Thoughts whirling, Amy pushed away from the man’s warm embrace and crossed the room.
He
was a bloody gentleman?
He
could…help her?

She rubbed her flushed cheeks. “Why are you dressed like a vagabond?”

“So I won’t be robbed at the pub,” he returned sensibly.

Yes, of course. That meant the other men in the adjoining room were gentlemen, too, all dressed down so as not to attract criminal notice in the city’s poor district.

“I pegged you a thief. A sailor,” she said in an excited fashion. “But I never considered you a gentleman.”

“I wasn’t born a gentleman,” he said to appease her, not sounding the least bit insulted by her rude remarks. “Come back to St. James with me, Amy.”

“St. James!”

The bachelor quarters of London? One of the richest parts of London? He wanted her to live
there
?

“I can’t live with you openly in St. James!”

“Not openly, of course. I’ll soon find you a position as a lady’s maid or companion.”

She was still confused, flustered. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t leave you destitute,” he said firmly.

She glowered at him. “This
is
all your fault.”

“Then let me make it right.”

A series of objections entered her head: the
impropriety, the danger of the situation. If she was discovered living in the bachelor district with Edmund, she would never become a lady’s maid or companion…and yet the proposition, the opportunity for social advancement, was too tempting to resist. Besides, what other choice did she have but to go with the scoundrel? She would be dismissed from the club tomorrow. She would survive off her savings for a short while, and then what would she do?

Amy gathered a deep, fortifying breath. “My things?”

He smiled, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Take what you can tonight. Quincy and I will round up the rest of your belongings the next day.”

She looked around the room, fretting. “I want everything, including the curtains.”

“We’ll collect the curtains.”

“And the rods and finials.”

“And the rods and finials, I promise.”

Amy sighed. “All right.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell my brothers.”

Edmund left the room to converse with the other ruffians about their newly formed arrangement.

Amy stood in the small chamber, her home for the last three years, without a measure of regret. She wouldn’t have to listen to the endless squabbles from the other tenants or the hoarse, distasteful couplings. She wouldn’t have to squat in such ignominious lodgings anymore. Refinement. Breeding. Respect. She’d be surrounded by the elegance, the sophistication of life.

As joy swelled in her breast, she grabbed a carrying bag from the chest and started to gather her clothing and toiletries…but one niggling question still hounded her: How she was going to live with the sensual scoundrel now that he had regained his memory?

“T
he Duchess of Wembury?”

Amy’s ears tingled at the sound of the grand title. She glanced at Edmund, seated beside her in the hackney coach. He was bedraggled and surly-looking. To think,
he
was related to the Duchess of Wembury!

She eyed Quincy again; he was positioned opposite her on the cushioned squabs. There wasn’t enough room in the coach for five occupants, so the two eldest brothers traveled behind them in a second vehicle.

“How did your sister meet the duke?”

As a seafaring family, the Hawkinses hadn’t the social connections to mix with the aristocracy, so Amy was keen to know how they’d worked their way into the tightly guarded circles of the upper crust.

Quincy grinned. “She stowed away aboard the
Bonny Meg
.”

“Why?”

“She’s rebellious,” said Edmund in a terse manner.

“It’s more like James is hardheaded. He wouldn’t let her sail the
Bonny Meg
, so she stowed away. The duke was traveling with us at the time, and, well, trapped aboard ship together…”

“I see,” she said knowingly. “Is it a happy match?”

“I think so, but the rest of my brothers don’t like the duke.”

“Oh?”

“He was—”

“Is,” interposed Edmund.

“—a rogue.”

Amy raised a brow at the hypocritical grump seated beside her, who continually disrupted her discourse with Quincy.

Edmund frowned. “What?”

“Never mind,” she said.

She looked back at Quincy. A good thing he was a gossip, for she’d learn little about their unique family dynamic from the surly Edmund. For instance, she’d discovered there was a significant age difference between the brothers, stemming from the fact that their father had been away at sea for more than a decade, pressed into naval service. Upon his return, the family had expanded, and so had their maritime ventures with the acquisition of the
Bonny Meg
, their ancestral ship.

At the age of one-and-forty, James Hawkins now commanded the merchant schooner, whereas his brother, William, at age nine-and-thirty, captained the
Nemesis
as a privateer in the Royal Navy’s African
Squadron. At one time, the fledglings had served aboard the
Bonny Meg
, but about six months ago they had joined William’s crew in search of more “adventure,” according to Quincy.

The scamp chuckled. “James almost had an apoplexy when our sister married the ‘Duke of Rogues.’”

“The duchess must be a brave woman.”

He shrugged. “The duke’s a good fellow.”

What about her brother, the barbarian? she thought. He wasn’t such a good fellow. The duchess had gumption if she’d crossed his will…but, then again, to be a respected duchess, Amy would’ve thwarted the man’s will, too.

She glanced at Edmund again. His seaman’s upbringing explained his rough manners, and his rise to the rank of gentleman was the direct result of his only sister’s marriage to the Duke of Wembury. However, Amy was still perplexed by Edmund’s sudden, uncharacteristic sullenness. Wasn’t he happy to be reunited with his brothers? Wasn’t he happy
not
to be adrift in the city without home or family?

The hackney coach slowed to a halt before the well-groomed town house. Amy peered through the glass in wonder at the three-story edifice, its sleek white façade a brilliant, towering monument, even in the dull darkness.

Quincy hopped out first and maintained the door open for her as she exited the vehicle. Edmund followed, carrying some of her possessions.

She examined her unfamiliar surroundings with
scrutiny, muscles tight. If she was going to become a lady’s maid or companion, she had to preserve her respectability. It was late, though, the street deserted, so she relaxed her stiff spine.

James and William approached them as one coach rattled off into the night, while the other one remained stationed, and the entire party quickly entered the prestigious address, illuminated with oil lamps. The decor was decidedly masculine in flavor, with dark wood furnishings and accent colors of deep brown and red with hints of gold. There was some scandalous artwork on the walls, appropriate for a bachelor residence. Amy wasn’t put off by the familiar nude figures, which had adorned the Pleasure Palace, too.

Once inside the dwelling, James said, “I’ll visit with you tomorrow, to make sure you’ve recovered.”

Edmund nodded. He didn’t say a word to his older brother, which didn’t seem to disturb the captain, for he next turned to William and murmured a few discreet words, perhaps advising the man to keep a close eye on her, for she might murder them all in their sleep and purloin their riches.

Amy pinched her lips and looked at Edmund for clarification. Wasn’t the captain staying at the house, too? The scoundrel remained quiet, though.

She looked at Quincy for illumination instead. “I thought you said you lived with your brothers?” she hissed.

He smiled at her in a charming fashion. “James lives in Mayfair with his newlywed wife, Sophia.”

Someone married the barbarian?
Amy thought, stunned.

“We’re all still reeling over it, too,” the scamp whispered into her ear, having clearly guessed her inappropriate thoughts.

Amy blushed.

Edmund frowned, his dark glare fixed on Quincy, who shrugged and quietly stepped away from her.

Their coterie disbanded, James wondered aloud, “How’s Sophia?”

“She’s fine,” William returned dryly. “I do so appreciate you leaving her in my charge.”

Amy furrowed her brow. Wasn’t James’s wife named Sophia? She looked at Quincy again.

“The snake,” he mouthed silently.

Snake?!

Quincy made a curt hand gesture, a cutting movement, telling her to end the conversation, that he would inform her about the unusual details at a later, more appropriate time.

How fitting that the intimidating brood should keep a snake as a pet, she mused wryly. Was the serpent caged? If not, it would find its head crushed under her heel. Amy wasn’t going to share her accommodations with a pest. She’d lived with enough vermin over the years.

James bid his brothers farewell before he stepped across from Amy. He was silent, yet his penetrating stare was abysmally clear:
Behave yourself at the house or you will have to deal with
me.

She shivered.

James seemed satisfied with the physical indicator of her compliance. “Good evening, Miss Amy.”

He offered her a brisk nod before he swaggered out the door and headed for the waiting hackney coach.

Amy was especially pleased to see him leave.

“Why don’t you show our guest to James’s old room?” suggested William in an even tone.

Edmund nodded in accord and placed his sturdy hand at her backside, making her muscles jump, and nudged her toward the steps at the end of the great hall.

“Good night, Amy,” from Quincy. The scamp even winked at her. “Sweet dreams.”

Amy muttered under her breath in discord as she mounted the regal staircase. At the top of the second level, she paused, awaiting Edmund’s guidance.

“This way, Amy.”

He steered her through the darkened passageway. As she traversed the imposing structure, she thought about being secured within its great walls with Edmund—the professed gentleman. She had met “the gentleman” once before at the club. Now she was going to reside with him.

She waited for him to say something more, to assure her she was safe at the house, perhaps even inquire if she needed anything. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, she presumed.

But he remained silent.

Her heart throbbed at the stretching quiet, and she
sighed—loudly—in a bid to attract the man’s attention, but he remained dedicated to the task at hand: escorting her to her temporary lodgings.

At the end of the long tunnel was a set of double doors, the wood engraved in a lovely jungle motif. She thrummed her fingers in appreciation across the well-crafted relief as Edmund removed a candle from the wall sconce.

“Where’s your room?” she wondered.

He lifted a brow, eyes smoldering in the misty candlelight.

“In case I need your assistance,” she was quick to explain.

He nodded toward the third door at the end of the tunnel. “I should warn you, though, I like to sleep in the nude.” He looked at her pointedly. “Knock first.”

He ushered her inside the darkened bedchamber as she twisted her lips and frowned…and yet her heart thumped with energy at the thought of him naked in his bed.

Amy dismissed the titillating reflection from her mind and examined her sensuous surroundings. It was a large bedchamber. The bed itself was enormous, with a six-foot-high headboard that dwarfed the rest of the elegant furnishings. The simple bed linens, pristine white, complemented the lavish woodwork in a subdued manner. She’d anticipated an embellished coverlet stitched with sparkling gold thread, but the plain and minimal design of the bedding was strangely comforting—unlike its former occupant.

She suddenly glowered at the bed, dropped onto her knees, and peered under the looming structure.

The low light flickered across the glossed flooring as boots treaded toward her, pausing at her head.

“What are you doing, Amy?”

She peered into the dark nooks. “Looking for Sophia.”

He said with a measure of amusement, “We keep her caged in William’s room.”

“Good.”

She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirts, her hair—and stilled as soon as she sensed the man’s knuckles skim her cheek.

He murmured, “You don’t need to fear snakes or mad queens or attackers here.”

His intimate touch warmed her blood, locked her breath in her lungs. At length, he stepped away from her, ensconced the tallow candlestick into a glass orb before he made his way over to the fireplace, preparing a flame with the kindling and candlelight.

Slowly she released her breath. “What about scoundrels?”

Guardedly she sat down on the edge of the bed, as if it would swallow her the way James’s dark eyes had swallowed her, and watched Edmund’s hunched figure.

“Now scoundrels you should fear…fortunately, there are no scoundrels within these walls.”

She humphed.

As the stillness stretched between them, she wrung her fingers in her lap. She waited for him to look at her again, but he seemed engrossed by the fire, blowing into the fragile flames, so she tapped her foot in rapid strokes, releasing the tension that had welled inside her. At length, he turned his head to look at her, lifting a single dark brow.

“Is something the matter?” he inquired in a drawl.

“I was meaning to ask you the same question.”

He lifted off his haunches and approached the bed in laggardly strides. She admired his fit figure, his long legs and wide shoulders. She quickly shifted from the bed, gaining height, so he didn’t loom above her like a towering ogre…he brooded like a towering ogre, though.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he returned gruffly.

She was even more convinced something was dreadfully amiss after
that
curt remark. Had he reconsidered his offer of assistance? Did he now think it was too great an effort to see her settled as a lady’s maid or companion? Did he resent her for putting the burden on him?

“Are you angry with me?” she snapped.

He frowned. “No.” He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you think that?”

Amy was strapped for words as she delved deep into his haunting eyes. The soulful expression bewitched her. She listened to the gentle crackle of the burning wood, and sensed the heat crackling in her belly as
well, for the warm, strong feel of his touch on her skin chased away all her uneasiness, stirring other, more pleasant feelings.

“You’ve been so reserved,” she said in a near whisper. “I thought something was wrong.”

He stared at her intently, as he was wont to do, brushing his thumb across her chin in feathery strokes, making her bones quiver in the slowly warming room.

“I’m not angry with you, Amy.” He pressed his thumb against her lips and she started at the intimate contact. “Not with you.”

Then with whom? she wondered. His brothers? It was obvious that the brood cared for one another. After all, they had searched for Edmund during his absence. And the eldest brute was keen to keep them all safe, even from the likes of her. Yet she was too engrossed by the scoundrel’s close proximity, his sensuous touch, and soon the questions flittered from her mind, and she concentrated on just him.

Edmund.

As his thumb smoothed her jawline, she struggled to keep her breathing steady, but each heartbeat was erratic and her lungs shuddered at the scoundrel’s gentle caresses.

Amy suspected a seduction. She suspected the man was lulling her senses for some nefarious purpose, yet she still remained rooted to the spot, unaccustomed to the ginger taps of his fingertips…and yearning for them even more. She wondered what it would feel like
if he kissed her right then, pressed his hot mouth over her lips…

“Good night, Amy.”

He dropped his hand away from her face in an abrupt manner, leaving her dazzled. She stared at him, confused, as he lazily moved through the room and departed, shutting the doors softly behind him.

Amy folded her arms across her bust and scowled.