Less Than a Gentleman (10 page)

What the hell?
Matthias scooted out of her reach. “I’m not going to hurt you. Who do you think I am?”

“Captain Hickman, of course.” With a gasp, she moved back. “You are Captain Hickman, aren’t you?”

Hickman? Who the hell was he? Did the vixen invite lovers into his house and entertain them in his bed?

“Oh, dear.” She retreated to the far side of the bed. “Your voice does sound a little different. Who
are
you?”

“Who are
you
?”

“I told you. I’m Agatha Ludlow.”

Matthias lunged back. Mosquito netting tangled around his head and shoulders like a trap falling into place.
Damnation!
His mother was at it again.

“Who are you?” Agatha asked again.

“A . . . a nightmare.” He fought his way free of the netting and ran for the door.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

“M
other, you put
another
woman in my bed.”

“Matthias, is that you?” His mother sat up in bed, dropping her book onto the floor. A lit candle revealed the shock on her face. “Good God, why did you come here?”

“I thought I lived here.”

Jane scrambled out of bed and ran to the shut door. She pressed her ear against the wood to listen. “You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.

“I wish I hadn’t. This time I found the real Agatha Ludlow.”

“Oh, no. Did she recognize you?”

“No, it was dark and she thought I was someone else. Can you believe the woman comes here to wed me and consorts with other men at the same time?” Matthias retrieved his mother’s book from the floor and placed it on her bedside table. “I see you’re reading the Bible. If you’re searching for moral guidance, I could offer you some useful advice. Stop planting women in my bed.”

“Keep your voice down.” Jane dashed to the balcony door. Hiding behind the curtains, she peeked out. “ ’Tis not safe.”

Matthias strode toward the balcony. “What’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t have come tonight. Can you sneak out the way you came in?”

“Hell, no. I came through my bedroom and Agatha is there.” He peered through the glass-paned door and spotted the glowing coals of a dying campfire down by the river. In the moonlight, he could make out a few bodies on the ground close to the fire. “Who are they?”

Jane whisked the curtains shut, blocking his view. “Don’t look at them. They might see you.” She gave him a worried look. “They didn’t see you when arrived?”

“No. I rode in from the back. Who are they?”

Jane paced to her bedside table and ran her fingers over her Bible. “They’re redcoats.”

“Damn,” Matthias whispered.

“They’re guarding a supply barge at the pier.”

He peeked out the curtains. “How many are there? Do you know what kind of supplies?”

“Don’t you even think about causing trouble. The last thing we need is the British exacting revenge on us.”

Matthias studied the scene in the distance. “They’re not very good guards. They appear to be sleeping.”

“Good.” Jane sighed with relief. “The potion is working.”

“Potion?” He pivoted to face his mother.

“Yes. Dottie mixed a sleeping potion into a bottle of rum, and then Caroline gave it to the soldiers outside.”

“Caroline? Then Miss Munro finally told you her name.”

Jane nodded. “After the real Agatha showed up, she could hardly continue with the pretense.”

He snorted. “She waited until she was caught before she confessed?”

“Don’t be harsh on her. I don’t know how I would have survived the day without her. She helped me mix some sleeping potion into your father’s good brandy, and I gave it to Captain Hickman.” Jane shuddered. “He’s a Loyalist.”

“Bloody turncoat,” Matthias muttered. “Where is he?”

“Hopefully, he’s sleeping in your father’s bed.”

A Loyalist redcoat sleeping in his house. Matthias cursed silently. He could hardly confront a sleeping enemy. “ ’Tis a shame the bastard’s drugged.”

“ ’Tis a blessing. We were frightened out of our wits. Betsy dropped the soup tureen at dinner, she was so afraid. She ran to the kitchen in tears, and Caroline took over her duties.”

“Miss Munro waited on you?”

“Yes, she’s been very helpful. It was her idea to drug the soldiers. And I readily agreed. If you’d seen the way that captain was looking at her—”

“
What?
”

“Shh.” Jane frowned. “He might still be awake.”

Matthias balled his fists. “Did the lobsterback have his claws on her?”

“He flirted with both the young ladies,” Jane muttered. “Agatha enjoyed it, but I could tell Caroline was nervous.”

“She should have bitten him.” Frustration boiled inside Matthias. How dare the redcoats invade his house and frighten his mother, her servants, and his . . . vixen. He paced the floor. “How long do they intend to stay?”

“They’re leaving at dawn.”

“If they’re able to wake up. I hope the potion has no side effects that will make them suspicious.”

Jane winced. “Dottie said it was a light potion.”

“I hope you’re right. Try to sleep.” He kissed her cheek.

“Are you leaving?”

“I dare not leave you here unprotected. I’ll stay close by until the redcoats are gone.”

“Please don’t tamper with their cargo. Captain Hickman would blame us.”

He groaned inwardly. As much as he’d love to set the barge on fire, he couldn’t risk endangering his mother. Or her guests. “All right.”

“Thank you.” His mother hugged him. “The third floor should be safe for you. Why don’t you use Haversham’s old room?”

“Very well. Good night, Mother.”

Moonlight shone through the large window on the second-floor landing, lighting the way up the stairs. The third-floor hallway was dark, but Matthias knew his way. He had slept in Haversham’s room the last two nights.

The door opened an inch, then knocked against a piece of furniture. A soft feminine gasp greeted him.

Damn
. Set up again. His mother had lured him to the vixen’s lair.

“I’m warning you.” Miss Munro’s voice sounded strained. “I have a knife.”

Matthias snorted. “Is it as sharp as your teeth?”

There was a pause. “Haversham? Is that you?”

“Yes. Who else barges into your bedchamber every night?”

“Oh, thank God. For a moment, I thought you were one of the redcoats.”

Did this mean
he
was welcome in her bedchamber? Or did she merely consider him safe compared to a redcoat?
Damn
. He was tempted to let her know he could be just as dangerous as the next man. If he wanted to be.

He shoved at the door, reached inside to yank the chair out from under the latch, then invaded the dark room.

She gasped. “I—I was going to let you in.”

He spotted the form of her white nightgown across the room. The scent of magnolia blossoms drifted toward him, almost as if she had reached out to touch him. Blood surged to his groin. Damn, he could barely see her and he was reacting to her.

“Are you still by the door?” she whispered.

“Yes.” He closed it behind him.

This was the east side of the house, directly under the apex of the roof. The wall to his left boasted a window in the shape of a half circle. Moonlight spilled through, creating a shaft of misty light that cut the room in half.

On each side of the light, darkness reigned. He was on one side; she on the other. The shaft of light reached the wall to the right, illuminating the clothespress where he had found Haversham’s uniform. Next to it sat a wooden chair where Miss Munro had spread her gown and white petticoats.

He clenched his fists, fighting an urge to cross the room and pull her into his arms. “Forgive my intrusion.”

“No, forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve taken over your room. We didn’t expect you back for a few days.”

He stepped closer to the shaft of light. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you worrying. I have good news for you.”

“Yes?” The white form of her nightgown moved closer.

“Your father is alive and well.”

She gasped. “He is?”

“Yes. He survived the battle—” He stopped when a white blur ran toward him, crossing the shaft of light. With her arms outstretched, she bumped into him in the darkness, throwing her arms around him as he steadied her.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Haversham!”

His groin tightened at the feel of her body pressed against his. “Miss Munro.”

Sniffing back tears, she reached up to touch his cheek. “Thank you so much.”

He swallowed hard at the guilt stuck in his throat and placed his hand over hers. “Caroline.”

Her hand tensed. “I—I beg your pardon.” She retreated a step, withdrawing her hand.

He was sorely tempted to pull her back into his arms, but no doubt, she would be shocked by the growing problem in his breeches.

She clutched her hands together. “How did you find out so quickly?”

“Your father was looking for you and your sister, so he left word with the partisans in the area.”

“Is he nearby?”

“He went to North Carolina with Francis Marion, but they’re expected back soon.”

“I see. Thank God he’s safe.” She stepped back into the shaft of light, clasping her hands together at her chest. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. He’d never seen such a beautiful sight.

“I needed good news.” She lowered her hands to her sides. “Thank you.”

He gulped. In the light, he could see the outline of her breasts. He stepped back. “I should be going now.”

“No! I’m the one who should leave. I’ve taken your room.”

“There are other servant rooms.”

“But this one is yours.” She dashed to the chair and picked up her gown.

“I don’t want you wandering about the house, not with a redcoat here.”

She hesitated, clutching the gown to her chest.

“You don’t feel safe with them here, do you? That’s why you’re sleeping with a knife.”

She sighed. “They came with Miss Ludlow.”

He moved closer to her, staying in the dark. “Mrs. Thomas told me how helpful you’ve been. Thank you for that.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m glad to help. Jane has been so kind to us.”

“That must have been shocking when the real Agatha showed up. I would have liked to have seen your face.”

She shuddered. “I thought I was going straight to hell. But from what I can tell, it is a blessing not to be Agatha Ludlow.”

He chuckled. “That is true.”

She smiled. “Well, thank you for coming back to give me the news. I’ll take my leave now. Good night.” She stepped toward the door.

“Go back to bed, Miss Munro.” He moved into the light to block her.

Her eyes widened. “I’m not throwing you out of your room.”

“Caroline.” He grabbed her by the upper arms.

She stiffened. “I—I shouldn’t sleep in your bed,” she whispered.

“I can no longer sleep there.”

“Why not?”

“I would be tortured by the scent of magnolia blossoms and lie awake all night, thinking of you.”

“I—I find that hard to believe.”

He moved closer. “Do you know your eyes are the bright color of a magnolia leaf just as it unfurls?”

“No.”

“And your skin, I wager it is as soft as the flower petals.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Then we should find out.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips. “I was correct.”

She drew in a shaky breath.

He skimmed his fingers down her neck to her shoulder.

“Haversham,” she whispered. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Do you think I could?” He slid his hand to the back of her neck.

She shook her head. “No.”

Indeed? The vixen might as well have issued a challenge. “There’s only one way to find out.”

C
HAPTE
R
E
LEVEN

C
aroline gulped. Haversham meant to kiss her.

And she wanted it. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin. He pressed his lips against hers, then released her and backed away.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
That was it?
It wasn’t bad, but somehow she had expected a cannon to fire in the distance.

She moistened her lips and adjusted the gown against her chest. Then she ventured a glance at Haversham’s face.

He was studying her, his eyes glimmering in the dim light. A chill prickled the skin on her arms. Whatever was he thinking to cause him to stare at her so much? “It seems odd for me to call you Haversham. What should I call you?”

“Lover would do.”

Surprised, she gave a nervous laugh. “I think not.”

“I see I’m out of practice.”

She smiled. Somehow, the thought of a man this strong and handsome being less than expert appealed to her. “Well, I wouldn’t fret about it if I were you.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“It was rather . . . pleasant, actually. Considering you’re out of practice. I—I rather enjoyed it.”

“How kind of you to notice.” He stepped closer. “There
is
a remedy, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

His gaze lowered to her mouth. “More practice.”

“Oh. I supp—” She gasped when he pulled her against him. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth was on hers.

Stunned, it took her a moment to realize everything he was doing. His lips were opening, closing, pressing, nibbling, molding against her lips in a way that made her mouth move with his. It was shocking. Intriguing. She’d never known there could be so many subtle maneuvers involved in a kiss. She could hardly think. Hardly stand.

She grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself. He tightened his arms around her. With the gown sandwiched between their bodies, she slid her hands up to his neck.

He groaned and abandoned her mouth. He moved down her throat with tickling, tasting kisses.

With a moan, she tilted back her head. This was far better than she had ever imagined. Was that a rumble deep in his throat or had the cannons fired in the distance, shaking the walls of the house?

“Was that an explosion?” she whispered.

“Not yet, but damned close.” He nuzzled her ear, then traced it with his tongue.

She shivered, too muddled in her mind to think clearly. She only knew she wanted more. She splayed her fingers into his thick, damp hair. Loose from its tie, his hair was shoulder-length and soft against her cheek. He smelled of soap and sun-dried linen.

He slid his hands to her waist and pressed her against him. Something jabbed at her, sharp and sudden.

“Ow!” She jumped back. The gown dropped to the floor.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Something poked me in the stomach.”

He stepped back into the shadows. “I—I beg your pardon.”

“It seemed awfully sharp.” She rubbed her belly. “And pointed.”

“
Pointed?
”

“Yes.” She considered the gown on the floor at her feet. “Oh, I know what it was.” She plucked the dress off the floor. “See the pin? Jane’s gown was too big around the waist for me, so we pinned it.”

“I see.”

She suddenly felt the full impact of what she’d been doing with this man she hardly knew. Her face flooded with warmth, and she gave him a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . end things so abruptly.”

He remained silent, hidden in the shadows.

“I’m quite all right,” she assured him. “ ’Twas naught but a small prick.”

“You don’t say.”

She wondered why his teeth sounded clenched.

“I bid you good night, Miss Munro.” His footsteps tapped sharply, headed toward the door. Then she heard the door close.

He was gone.

Caroline draped the gown over the chair, pondering his hurried exit. Had she angered him? Or perhaps she had not excited him enough.

He certainly had excited her. Dear Lord, the man had nearly made her swoon with excitement. With a sigh, she returned to bed. At least she could face her spinsterhood knowing she’d been thoroughly kissed. By a butler, no less.

She smiled. Haversham was not like any butler she’d ever met. She wasn’t quite sure what he was. An indentured servant? A man of business? He was confusing—attentive one moment, running away the next. But one thing was very clear.

Haversham was not in need of practice.

M
atthias rolled over on the narrow cot in an empty servant’s room next to the nursery. The air was stuffy and hot. The lumpy mattress smelled of mildew. Still, for a man accustomed to sleeping in the swamp, these problems should be minor. He knew exactly what was keeping him awake.

Naught but a small prick.

Bloody hell. He’d been close to bursting his breeches and all she had felt was a tiny pin lodged in a gown? And that first kiss she had dismissed as merely
pleasant
? He had purposely restrained himself for fear of offending her with too much lust and too big a bulge. As if she’d notice.

Oh, she’d
enjoyed
it, she said. No doubt, she’d also enjoy a ride in the park or a shiny new ribbon for her bonny red hair.
Damn it to hell
.

He punched his moldy pillow. It was just as well. He had no intention of involving himself with a woman, not even the tempting Caroline Munro. The timing was wrong.

Slowly, he became aware of a strange odor. Was something burning? He slipped on his breeches. Fumbling with the buttons, he paced toward the door in the dark.

“Ow.” He found the door by ramming his big toe into it. Outside in the narrow corridor, he sniffed to determine the origin of the smell.

The nursery.

He burst open the door. He had a quick glimpse of Edward sitting cross-legged on his bed with a lit candlestick in front of him. He held something over the fire, melting it. “What—”

Edward jumped and dropped whatever he was melting. It knocked over the candlestick. Instantly, his blanket caught fire. The boy yelped and leapt out of bed.

Matthias lunged forward, grabbed the pillow, and smothered the flames. “What the hell are you doing? You want to burn the house down?”

“I’m sorry.” Edward’s voice sounded shaky in the dark. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Haven’t you been told not to play with fire?”

“I . . . I thought I could control it.”

“Edward?” Charlotte’s sleepy voice came from across the room. “Who are you talking to? Is it Papa?”

Matthias winced. “I’m not your father.”

“Are you his ghost?” Charlotte whispered.

“Don’t be silly,” Edward growled. “If he were Papa’s ghost, then Papa would have to be dead.”

“Oh. Then whose ghost is he?” Charlotte asked.

“Enough.” Matthias gritted his teeth to keep from shouting. “Both of you, go to sleep. Now.”

“He sounds like Papa,” Charlotte mumbled.

“Good night, Princess. And you, Edward,” Matthias turned to the boy. “No more playing with fire.”

“You’re not my father. You cannot order me about.”

“
You
cannot stop me. I’m bigger than you.” When Matthias was satisfied the boy was going to remain quiet, he pivoted toward the door. “Good night.”

Back in his room, he stretched out on the cot. His mother certainly couldn’t complain about being lonesome now. There were a greedy strumpet and a drugged redcoat on the second floor, a redheaded temptress and a pregnant woman on the third, and in the nursery, a little princess and a boy who played with fire.

T
he next morning, Matthias sat up with a gasp. A thin layer of perspiration coated his skin. With a muttered curse, he shoved his hair back from his face.
Damn it to hell
. It was back. The nightmare. He thought he had outgrown such nonsense.

Four years in the army had given him a ready supply of wretched memories, but none of those tortured him in his sleep. In fact, he couldn’t recall any nightmares since he’d left home. It was only at Loblolly where this one childish memory continued to torment him.

The sounds next door in the nursery alerted him that the guests were up and about. Soon they would be having breakfast, but with Agatha in attendance, Haversham could not appear. She would recognize him as Matthias in a second.

A shame, though, that he would miss seeing Caroline. Was she remembering their kiss? Or trying hard to forget?

And what about the drugged soldiers? He dressed quickly and made his way to the nearest dormer window. Yes! The barge was gone, and the British with it. Only a blackened circle marred the green lawn where the campfire had been.

So the women were now safe and he could return to Snow’s Island. He would have to exit the house without Agatha seeing him. The simplest solution was the servants’ stairway.

Years earlier when Grandfather had built Loblolly, his Quaker upbringing had made him uncomfortable about owning slaves. Not that it had stopped him. To alleviate his guilt, Grandfather had built the house with a hidden passageway so the servants could move about unseen. That way, he was spared the humiliation and discomfort of passing a slave in the hall or on the grand staircase.

Grandfather’s sons had contrasted sharply in their opinion of slaves. Whereas Matthias’s father, the elder son, accepted slavery without question, Richard’s father became a minister who preached against the evils of bondage. Even so, Uncle Nathaniel had swallowed his ire and allowed Richard to live at Loblolly during the winter months. That way, Richard had been able to share Matthias’s tutor and acquire a fine education.

Matthias recalled playing with Richard in the hidden corridor. If memory served, the passageway began in a storeroom on the first floor. It ran between the library and dining room, then continued up a narrow staircase to the second floor.

There, the corridor ran between his bedchamber and his father’s, with doors leading into both rooms. He had positioned a clothespress over the door to his room to block it off. But the servants had used the door to his father’s bedchamber. Unlike Grandfather, Father was quite comfortable around slaves. Particularly the young maids.

Matthias located the door that accessed the passageway. Disguised as part of the wall, it opened with a hidden latch beneath the chair rail. He clicked the door open. Before him, a narrow staircase descended into darkness. He closed the door and felt along the wall as he stepped blindly down the stairs.

On the second floor, he moved silently in case Agatha was still in his bedchamber. He descended to the first floor and stopped at the entrance to the library. His father had installed peepholes at each door so a servant could look before entering. He had always suspected this was his father’s way of keeping his lecherous activities from being interrupted.

The small sliding door was situated above a row of books in the bookcase. He pushed it to the side and peered through the open rectangle. The library was empty.

The door was part of the bookcase, hinged to swing back into the secret corridor. It opened with a creak. At the desk, he grabbed a piece of paper and dipped a quill into the inkwell.

Dear Caroline,

I must leave for a few days to attend to business.

He hesitated, tempted to write that he would miss her, but decided against it. She didn’t want to get involved with a soldier, and he didn’t want to marry as long as the war continued. In a moment of weakness, he had kissed her, but it would be better from now on to keep a cordial distance from her.

Wishing you and your family good health and happiness.

He signed it with an
H
, then, letter in hand, he returned to the passageway and pushed the bookshelf door shut. At the end of the corridor, the final door opened into a storage room. He cracked it open.

Betsy was stacking plates on the center table.

“Betsy,” he whispered.

She yelped and spun around.

“Shh. Someone might hear you.” Matthias eased inside and shut the door.

“Mr. Thomas! You gave me such a fright.” Betsy gave the secret door a curious look. “What were you doing in there?”

“I’m sneaking out so Miss Ludlow won’t see me.”

“Oh. I wish I could avoid her.” Betsy shuddered. “She brought those awful redcoats with her.”

“They’re gone now. You’re safe.” Matthias folded the letter he had written in half. “Will you give this to Miss Munro? And don’t tell her who I really am.”

Betsy gave him a quizzical look and stuffed the letter in her apron pocket. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be here?”

“Yes, but I’m leaving now.” He strode to the other door that opened into the dining room. “Where is everyone?”

“In the morning parlor.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, Betsy.” Matthias dashed across the dining room and exited the house through the servants’ entrance.

As he entered the kitchen, he spotted Dottie in front of the great hearth, sliding loaves of bread into the brick oven. “Good morning, Dottie.”

“Morning. Your mama told me you were here, so I started making some bread for your boys.” Her round face glistened from the heat of the kitchen fire. “Can you wait ’til it’s done?”

“Aye, I’ll wait. Thank you.” Matthias filled a bowl with hot water from the kettle so he could wash and shave. Steam rose up to his face. “Your sleeping potion worked well on the redcoats.”

Dottie nodded. “Poor Betsy couldn’t do a thing with them around.”

Matt rolled up his sleeves. “I noticed she seemed edgy.”

“More like terrified.” Dottie broke eggs into a skillet. “And with reason. She lost her father and two brothers in battle. Then her mother died. She couldn’t keep the farm going by herself and ended up selling herself to your mama.”

“Damn.” Matthias touched the water to test its temperature. “I never knew.”

“You never asked.” Dottie carried the skillet to the hearth and set it on a three-legged trivet.

He’d never asked. Matthias stared at the bowl of water, listening to the sounds of Dottie’s cooking. Her spoon scraped against the cast iron. The fire crackled. Sausages in another skillet sizzled. “I never asked if you have family, Dottie.”