Lord Gray's List (22 page)

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Authors: Maggie Robinson

BOOK: Lord Gray's List
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“Not even close. Words are cheap, written or spoken. I believe I prefer action.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. Why, he was finding all this
amusing
. His anger had dissipated, like a summer thunderstorm that moved over the landscape. It had been quite a long thunderstorm, however.
“And how will you act, my lord?”
“It is not I who has to atone for my transgressions, Miss Ramsey. Pass me a sandwich, please. I’m suddenly very . . . hungry.”
He was wrong. Satan would welcome him with open arms, like recognizing like. She was sorry now there was no fish paste, just butter and parsley rounds and a few muffins filled with thinly sliced ham. Evangeline put several sandwiches on a plate and added an unbroken biscuit and a mince tartlet. “How do you take your tea?”
“With a healthy dose of whiskey. You do have some?”
“My father sometimes remembers he’d like a tot before bedtime.” And there were days when she needed to drink a little to forget. She rose and went to the drinks cupboard, bypassing the teacup for a tumbler. “Here you are.”
“You won’t join me?”
“If I’m to be atoning, I wish to be clearheaded.”
Ben grinned. “Wise girl.” He drank half the contents, then ate all his food in record time while she choked down a single slice of buttered bread.
“Is your father resting? I was looking forward to seeing him today.”
Well, that was a comedown. “You came here to take tea with my father?”
“No, Evie, don’t be naïve. I came to keep you to our agreement in every way I can manage within the limited confines of your parlor. But if you think a visit from me after would do him good—”
Evie shook her head. “He’s got a cold at the moment. You wouldn’t want to be sneezed on.”
“Very probably not. I expect the Ramsey proboscis is a force to be reckoned with.”
“Some might consider it deadly.”
He leaned over and put a fingertip to her nose. “Not deadly. Just determined. I wouldn’t have your nose any other way, Evie. It suits you.” His green eyes were intent, his voice laced with drugging sincerity. Evangeline felt a blush coming on. He really was a consummate rake who should be put in his place, but right now the only place she wanted him was between her legs.
Stupid, stupid.
Well, she’d been indifferently educated as a girl. Anything she knew now was the result of hard work and punishing experience gleaned from the gambling capitals of Europe.
His broad hand went back to wrap itself around his glass, whereupon he drained it. “Finish your tea,” he said with authority. Ordered her to do so, really. Evangeline didn’t like taking orders, and her tea must be quite cold by now. She shook her head, not that she wished to indicate she was all that anxious to resume what they’d started in his private library. Not at all.
“All right then. I suppose I’ve forgiven you. We’ll proceed.”
We’ll proceed?
He spoke of their encounter as if they were following a list of some kind. First, disrobe. Second, fornicate. Third, button up and leave. Fourth, forget her after January 1.
She wanted to be forgotten, did she not? They could not go on working together, not after
this,
whatever it was.
“I’m honored I’ve earned your forgiveness, my lord. I’ll sleep so much better tonight, I’m sure. What would you have me do? I must remind you, we are in my home and the walls have ears.”
“That maid of yours does at any rate. Cheeky little baggage. Why do you put up with her?”
Evangeline did not wish to gossip, and besides, Ben would think her mad for hiring the girl after finding her half-dressed and shivering on a street corner last winter. “She
is
a bit of a trial sometimes. But she’s had a hard life.”
“You’re too softhearted by half. It’s a wonder I’m not stepping over blind kittens and mangy puppies.”
There had been no money left in her household budget for pets until Ben had purchased the newspaper. She’d always wanted a dog, something that had been denied her as a girl since she and her father had no fixed address most of her childhood years. When she retired from the paper, she’d get a dog for company—something large and shaggy and loyal. She might speak to it instead of talking to herself as she was wont to do, and Patsy wouldn’t have cause to tease her.
But she was not going to waste one more minute conjuring up an imaginary dog. “Are we
proceeding
or not?”
“By all means. It’s just that I can’t decide where to start.”
Evangeline lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“I seem to remember you on your knees a few weeks ago. You know, the night you tried to kill me. I confess I’ve been unable to get that image out of my mind, not that I’ve tried very hard. It’s a comforting memory, especially when you turn vicious on me. I remind myself you can be so much more accommodating and thus am able to ignore your insults somewhat more easily. But were I to ask you to
proceed
in that fashion, I might be considered selfish. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Evangeline tried to keep her composure. “We would not.”
Ben leaned back in his chair and steepled his inky fingers, fingers that Evangeline was anxious to have sweep across her body. “I suppose we might take turns.”
“We might.”
“Or perhaps we could coordinate our efforts to provide mutual satisfaction.”
Evangeline’s high-necked, long-sleeved dress suddenly became much too restrictive. If he was proposing what she thought, the logistics would be tricky but certainly worth exploring.
Ben extended a hand. “Ready, Evie? Let’s see if we can’t make some new memories.”
“You must promise to be quiet,” she whispered, rising from her chair.
“Believe me, my mouth will be much too busy to utter one word.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed each knuckle, then brushed over her palm with the tip of his tongue. As if that were not bad enough, he chose to suckle her forefinger, releasing it only after she gave an involuntary groan. “As will yours. Hush, beginning right now.”
Tight. The dress was much too tight. Hot. Itchy. But Ben was relieving her of it in his efficient way, and then
proceeded
to efficiently spoil her for any other man.
Somehow he shed his clothes in an instant and guided her into a position that should provoke laughter or discomfort, but resulted in neither. Evangeline had never felt so wanton in her life, nor so very connected with Ben in the most primitive and private way. She returned every attention she received with newfound skill of her own, and it was not long before the tension built, then erupted in a torrent of sensation that swept through their circle and over their edge of control. Evangeline had no breath left, and certainly no shame. For how could something this amazing be wrong?
Ben rolled away on her worn carpet and reversed himself, taking her in his arms. His body was hot and hard, still pulsing from the volcanic fury between them.
“See?” he whispered. “I told you we’d be quiet.”
Evangeline was fairly sure she might have groaned in agonized ecstasy sometime during this extraordinary event, but she was too tired to argue. She wished she could remain right where she was for the remainder of the day, safe and cosseted in Ben’s embrace, but duty would call to her soon. The night nurse Mrs. Mendenhall was going to be late, and it fell to Evangeline to sit with her father for a few hours tonight.
“You should go.”
Ben kissed her damp brow. “I don’t want to.”
“I have to attend to my father.”
“I can sit with you.”
Evangeline searched his face. “You would do that? Why? It will be boring, watching him sleep.”
“I’ll watch you then. Perhaps the old boy will wake up and we can play a hand of cards for old times’ sake.”
How comforting it would be to share her burden with Ben, but Evangeline shook her head. “One never knows what will set him off. He might not recognize you, and think you’ve come to murder him.”
“He’s that bad off? He seemed fine when I met with him—what was it, three weeks ago?”
Was that all the time it was? So much had happened it made Evangeline’s head spin.
But she mustn’t get used to
this
—to be lying in boneless delight with her lover. In eight days their experiment would be over and the cold new year would be here.
December 24, 1820
 
L
ady Pennington had gone to Kent for Christmas, so Evangeline had no excuse to refuse Ben’s offer to take her home once the papers had been delivered and the office tidied for the holiday hiatus. Evangeline planned to still come in to work during the time the office was shuttered—there would be letters to prioritize and stories to research and lives to lighten, but the printing press would be idle and her hours would not be so arduous.
She might even accept Ben’s offer to join him for Christmas lunch tomorrow. Her father would not know the meaning of the day, and he was much too ill for Christmas goose—his cold had worsened and settled in his chest, resulting in an alarming cough. The doctor had visited yesterday and was optimistic about his recovery if he was kept quiet and fed a diet of tea and broth. Robert Ramsey’s body was still fit for a man of his age, but his mind would never be what it was.
The mercy of it was that her father didn’t seem to know the severity of his circumstances. Most of the time he was cheerful, if vague. His demons came out at night though, when he rose from his bed in search of the nearest gaming hell. His old valet Wilfred had long been overdue for a raise, and now that Ben enlarged their coffers, Evangeline had seen to it.
The sky was overcast, dark clouds heavy with the portent of snow. All of London was grumbling about this winter’s weather, but Evangeline had been buried in too many of Scotland’s storms to object to a snowflake or two. She was buttoned up now to her nose in her brown plaid greatcoat, its flaps snapping smartly in the wind, but could have done with hot chestnuts in her pockets to keep her warm. She wondered if Lady Imaculata had arrived on the old major’s Welsh doorstep yet. There had been no news from that quarter, but Evangeline didn’t expect any. The less that connected her to the girl’s disappearance, the better.
The Sunday streets seemed even more deserted than usual. No doubt everyone was getting snug by the fire, readying themselves for their family festivities tomorrow. Evangeline had Christmas envelopes for her small staff, knowing that in these hard times money was preferable to a badly knitted sock. Thanks to Ben, the envelopes were thicker than they might have been.
A donkey cart a quarter-filled with kissing boughs and branches of holly rumbled by them, then stopped. “Oi, gents! Some fresh greenery for your ladies?” the driver asked. From the looks of his limited wares, he’d had a successful day so far.
Ben looked at Evangeline and nodded. “We’ll take what we can carry. Deliver the rest to this address.” He pulled out a silver case and handed his card and an obscene number of notes to the man.
“Ben! Are you mad?”
“It’s Christmas, Evie, or near to. I reckon this fellow wants to go home before the snow flies, and I haven’t so much as a leaf on the mantel at home. My mama usually takes care of all that, but she’s been busy with Lady Applegate. I expect you’re in a similar fix. What harm can a bit of mistletoe do you? Here, stretch out your arms.” He heaped a mixture of branches onto her coat sleeves, then took twice as much for himself.
“Mistletoe is poisonous, is it not?”
“Hazardous, but not deadly, I believe. We’re not going to eat it, Evie, just kiss under it.”
“We are, are we?”
“Oh, yes. There are just seven days left to our bargain. We are going to decorate your parlor, and then your bedroom.”
“You can’t come into my bedroom!” Evie gasped.
“Oh? And why not? Afraid of your servants? They work for you, not the other way around. One mustn’t worry what the lower classes think.”
“Ben, I
am
one of the lower classes.”
“Nonsense. Your father comes from a perfectly respectable family. Isn’t he cousin to some marquess or other? And your mother was the daughter of a baronet.”
“He’s never laid eyes on the Marquess of Sandiford. And my mother was disowned when she married. The only reason my father still has Ramsey House is that it is entailed and he couldn’t gamble it away.”
“No matter,” Ben said airily. “Do you inherit it or is it all to go to some chinless nephew thrice removed?”
“It goes to the first-born Ramsey child regardless of gender.” Not that it would do her any good. The house was missing some strategic amenities, like the greater part of the west-wing roof.
“See? Then you are an heiress.”
She snorted and tripped over a curb that she couldn’t see because of the prickly bundle in her arms.
“Steady. We’ll make up some sort of excuse for your servants. Perhaps I’ve come to measure the windows for new drapes as a Christmas present.”
She could use some household refurbishment, but Ben was a very unlikely interior decorator. “I’ll have to live with them after you and I are finished,” she reminded him.
“Well, that puts us in a pickle, then. Where are we to go?” Ben sighed. “I suppose it will have to be tea in your parlor again, then.”
“That would be best,” she agreed. They had managed extraordinarily well on the floor doing that extraordinary thing. Seven more days of it, and she’d be dead of pleasure.
They trudged on, dropping the odd berry onto the frosty pavement. Patsy opened the door at once, something else that was extraordinary. The maid relieved them of their twigs and boughs and dumped them on the floor, where more berries scattered. Perhaps the greenery was not quite as fresh as the seller had promised.
“What do you want me to do with all this mess then?” she asked, looking at the mess she herself had made.
“Don’t worry, Patsy,” Ben said as he handed her his coat. “I’ll take care of it. Your mistress and I are going to decorate the parlor and don’t wish to be disturbed. It might take us a while to get everything just so. You’ll all have a lovely surprise when we’re done.”
Evangeline watched as the maid struggled to keep a straight face. Lord, the girl
knew,
probably had known from the first time Ben had taken her on his study floor.
“Certainly, my lord. Will you be wanting any refreshments to keep your strength up as you deck the halls?” Patsy winked right at him, removing any vestigial doubt Evangeline might have harbored about fooling her maid for one blasted instant.
“That would be delightful, Patsy. Some tea and whatever Cook has handy. I’m not fussy.” Ben gave her one of his never-fail smiles.
“Aye, you’ve got your mind on other things, I expect. Indulge me, my lord.” Patsy bent to retrieve a sprig of mistletoe and held it over her evil little head. “I haven’t been properly kissed in an age, not since Miss Evangeline rescued me from the streets, and then there weren’t really much proper about those kisses. Give a girl something to dream over, do.”
Ben’s mouth had dropped open, whether from Patsy’s bold flirtation or the realization that Evangeline had a prostitute for a maid. But then he laughed and gave her a kiss, not quite quick enough to suit Evangeline, but longer than Patsy expected or deserved.
Patsy looked stunned, as well she might. Evangeline sympathized entirely—Ben’s kisses were explosive.
“Tea, Patsy,” Evangeline reminded her, snapping fingers in front of the girl’s love-struck face.
“Yes, sir. I mean miss. I’ll be right up with it.” She scurried down to the kitchen and Evangeline gave Ben her dirtiest look.
“That was not sporting of you.”
“It was just an innocent kiss,” Ben shrugged. “Not her first, I take it.”
Evangeline grabbed some branches from the hall floor. “Not her first. The poor girl has been kissing since she was eleven. I hope she doesn’t murder me in my bed tonight to clear a path to you.”
“If you let me sleep over, I could protect you.”
Evangeline swatted him with holly. “Be serious.”
“I am. I’m told I don’t snore much.”
“
I’m
told I do. Get the rest of this, will you?”
She climbed the stairs, clutching the boughs to her breast. The house was tall and narrow, with a mostly unused dining room on the ground floor and the parlor directly over it. The bedrooms were on the floor above and the servants slept in a rabbit warren of rooms in the attic. When they had returned to London, Evangeline had rented the house because it was close to the newspaper office and cheap, but every time Ben crossed her threshold she was aware of just how very modest her dwelling was.
There was no fire laid in the grate, but Ben set about to remedy that while Evangeline tucked the wilting greenery around the room. It was not enough to improve the surroundings by much, but it did help.
After a bit, during which Ben and Evangeline stared at everything in the room but each other, Patsy came up with a tray and a pot of tea. Ben remembered where the liquor was kept and poured them both a drink, and they picked through Cook’s offerings so as not to offend her. The door was locked again, and Evangeline found herself on the floor with mistletoe hovering over her nether regions.
“Yes, please,” she said, and she bit her thumb to keep from screaming.

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