My Notorious Gentleman (12 page)
B
y late morning, the day had finally returned to its normal track after the debacle at dawn.
Still stewing on her fight with her new neighbor, Grace headed down to the village, carrying a few easy children’s books in a satchel on her shoulder. Three times a week, she worked with Marianne, teaching the unfortunate young woman to read.
But after a pleasant walk to the village, she went up the few steps of the coaching inn and promptly stopped in her tracks, spying her pupil through the window.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Her stomach instantly twisted into knots. Marianne was sitting at the window table inside the pub, polishing silver, laughing, while across from her, finishing his meal, sat Lord Trevor Montgomery. He reclined a little, at his ease, one arm cast across the back of the empty chair beside him.
Grace snapped her mouth shut. Well, he certainly hadn’t wasted any time! Then her heart began to pound.
He said something to Marianne that Grace could not make out, then he listened intently to the answer, which was shocking in itself. Nobody around here except Grace and her father ever actually
listened
to Marianne.
They just stared—women, coldly; men, leering. Trevor was treating her like a person, and Grace had not anticipated that. She wanted to be happy about it, but a curious rush of unpleasant emotions stormed through her at finding them together.
One thing was for certain. She suddenly comprehended in a whole new way why Calpurnia still wasn’t speaking to George.
Grace, however, refused to admit that her own reaction could be described as jealousy.
The implications of that were too dark to contemplate, considering she had already assigned him to Callie, at least in her own mind.
Safer to convince herself that, at the moment, all she felt was protectiveness toward her wayward pupil.
Yes. That was it. Marianne had to be protected from that worldly seducer.
Relieved at this conclusion, Grace quickly recovered her composure. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and noted with relief that Trevor was wiping his mouth with his napkin and paying Marianne for the meal.
She hoped that was
all
he was paying her for.
Not wishing to cause a scene in front of the village, she pushed the pub door open and masked her moral outrage behind a cool stare as she walked in, ready to play the harlot’s guardian angel. Somebody had to save poor, misguided Marianne from that devil.
Who better than she? Somebody who had already tasted the sort of temptation he could offer.
W
ell, here comes the sweets course,
Trevor mused as Miss Kenwood came marching into the pub.
He had known, of course, that she was coming.
Marianne had already told him about the scheduled reading lesson. Besides, he had seen Grace from the corner of his eye, gawking in the window with a stricken look.
It was gone now, as she advanced toward their table—on the warpath once again. Indeed, she looked even more furious to find him talking to Marianne than she had been this morning at his
cruel, callous
yelling at the pair of little housebreakers.
The sparks shooting out of Grace’s blue eyes didn’t have much effect on Trevor but sent a flash of guilt across Marianne’s face.
The bold, bawdy tavern girl suddenly turned humble and obedient as her virtuous reading tutor came stomping across the wood-planked floor to stand by their table.
Trevor just looked at her, but Marianne shot to her feet, scrambling to gather up her silverware. “Morning, Miss. I’ll be ready in a moment, if ye please. I was just finishin’ up my work ’ere—and talkin’ with our new neighbor.”
“So I see,” she answered with a frosty stare at him.
Trevor smiled politely and, hiding his amusement, leaned back in his chair. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Won’t you join us, Miss Kenwood?”
He was in no mood to stand at her arrival. Why bother? She had already decided that he was not a gentleman.
“I am here,” she said stiffly, “for Marianne’s reading lesson.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I better go put these away, then,” the village hussy mumbled.
Grace looked daggers at her. “Yes. Do.”
Marianne lowered her head and hurried off with a load of flatware clattering in her apron.
After she had gone, Grace turned to him and, to his amusement, did not even bother trying to find a subtle approach.
It seemed they were past such formalities.
She set her white-gloved hands on the table and leaned closer, glaring into his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Pardon, dear?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I’m sorry, I was just having my breakfast. Can I buy you something to eat? Your father was right. The food here’s not half-bad.”
“I’m only going to say this once, so hear me well. Stay away from Marianne. Is that clear?”
“As a bell, love.” He lifted his eyebrows innocently. Her wrath was too amusing. “But why?”
“That girl has been through more than you can possibly imagine. She’s already suffered enough at the hands of cads like you.”
“Oh, so I’m a cad now, too? The list of my faults is growing apace.”
“Mock me as you like, I’m not going to let you despoil her.”
“Despoil her?” He chuckled softly. “Oh, I think it’s safe to say someone else did that long before I came along.”
“Listen to me. This is not a jest.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Marianne was not in earshot. “She’s trying to change her life, all right? Papa and I found her in a London gutter with two black eyes given to her by her flash man.”
Trevor instantly stopped smiling.
“She was penniless and half-starved. Beaten to within inches of her life. Disowned by her family. She had nowhere else to go.”
He checked an impulse of rage at this information, maintaining his mask of nonchalance. “Go on.”
“We brought her here so she could have a new start, a chance to rebuild her life. If you ruin it for her—”
“I’m not going to ruin it for her. What do you take me for?” he retorted.
“You’d better not, or I will personally come over to the Grange when you’re not there, a-and burn your house down as soon as your renovations are complete!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, you are even more violent than I suspected. Now you threaten my poor old house with arson, too?”
“I’m warning you. Stay away from her.”
He frowned. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a killjoy?”
“Say what you want of me; just leave Marianne alone.”
He lowered his gaze and tried to sound as casual as possible as he asked, “So what’s the name of this flash man who beat her?”
“I don’t know. She’s too frightened of retaliation to tell us.”
“Or maybe she’s protecting him,” he murmured.
“Why would she do that?” Grace asked, keeping her voice down so the tavern girl putting a few things away behind the distant bar wouldn’t realize they were discussing her past. “Well?”
Trevor didn’t bother trying to explain it. A preacher’s daughter would never understand the whore’s age-old curse of becoming enthralled with her abuser. “Never mind that. Would you like me to talk to her? I’ll get the name.”
“Why would she tell you? You only just met her. We’ve known her for a year, but she won’t tell us anything.”
“She’ll talk to me,” he replied. “Just say the word.”
Grace shook her head. “Thanks, but I really don’t want you getting involved. It’s still too soon to press her. She’s finally started feeling safe here. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
“And you don’t want her trusting me.”
“Not really, no.”
“Because you don’t trust me, either?”
She looked at him in hesitation. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
Trevor held her stare. At least he could appreciate her honesty. “If you get a name out of her, you give it to me. Next time I’m in London, I can make sure this man never hurts her or any other woman again.”
“More violence? That is your solution?” She sat back and studied him intently. “I should’ve known.”
Trevor paused. “I know you don’t like soldiers, Miss Kenwood, but I’m afraid a gun to the head is the only language that certain types of men can understand.”
Grace rubbed her brow as though striving for patience with him. “Thank you, my lord. I’m sure you mean well, but please, just stay out of it.”
He shrugged, irked. “Only trying to help.”
“Then don’t go luring her into wickedness! You know what I mean. That’s all I ask.”
He smiled ruefully at her blush in mentioning such things. “Very well. I’ll keep my hands off Marianne. But I hope you don’t regret it. For if I get lonely, maybe I’ll just have to come to you.”
She turned a darker shade of red and fell silent for a second. She looked away. “I wish you wouldn’t flirt with me when you’re in love with someone else. It may be the custom in London, but—”
“Wait. What? What are you talking about, in love . . . ?”
She tilted her head at him with a knowing stare. “I heard about your broken engagement at the Lievedon Ball.”
“Oh, Lord,” Trevor muttered, looking away, bristling.
Miss Kenwood shook her head. “Why do you sit here suffering?” she asked in a frank tone devoid of malice. He could tell she was only trying to help, but he wanted to throttle her for bringing it up. “You’re like a tiger with a toothache, roaming around ready to bite anybody who comes across your path. If that woman broke your heart, then let her fix it. Go and win her back. You deserve a chance at happiness after all you’ve been through. Why should you accept this if you love her?”
“Well, thank you for your advice, but my affairs are my own,” he answered, rather more coldly than he had intended.
She said nothing, studying him like she had done with the soggy twin this morning, scanning him for bumps and bruises.
Trevor looked away, his jaw clenched.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” she persisted after a moment. “I can only conclude that’s why you had no interest in all those ladies chasing you at the Lievedon Ball. Why you danced with me that night, I can hardly fathom, but it explains why you couldn’t even be bothered with a beauty like Calpurnia. You’re still in love with your former fiancée.”
“No, I’m really not,” he said with cold conviction.
“Look, I’m only trying to help you—”
“Don’t! Please. For one thing, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Laura can go hang for all I care. For another, it’s none of your damned business.”
“It is my business, actually! The people of Thistleton have already been through enough—including Marianne. Now you come along, a trained killer with a chip on your shoulder the size of Gibraltar. With all due respect, my lord, can’t you see that you’re, well, a bit of a menace?”
“I am most certainly not!” he said indignantly.
“You are!” she exclaimed. “You’re angry at the world. Why don’t you go and reconcile with the one you love instead of taking out your bitterness on everyone around you?”
Trevor stared at her, amazed. He’d never been spoken to in this fashion in his life, at least not by a female. By his old handler, Virgil, maybe, but certainly not by some preacher’s daughter.
Nonplussed, he swept to his feet and kicked his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, certain tasks require my attention at the Grange.” He tossed a few more coins onto the table for Marianne, then turned to go.
“Lord Trevor,” she chided, at which he pivoted with a cold stare.
“Sorry, did you have still more advice you wanted to share with me?” he bit out.
“It’s not
advice
!” Grace exclaimed, and at least had the decency to blush after all her preaching. “I’m only saying, it’s obvious to me that you need to make peace with your
old
life before you’re truly ready to start your new one here. Otherwise, your problems will only follow you. That’s how it works.”
“Ah, so that’s how it works, I see. Thank you for enlightening me to life’s mysteries. What a great comfort it must be to you, having all the puzzles of existence so thoroughly in hand! How fortunate for me that you’re right next door if I should ever need your instructions on
how to put my bloody boots on in the morning
!” he bellowed before slamming out.
S
lack-jawed with astonishment at his roar, Grace stood staring at the door, still shuddering on its hinges.
Not until today had she ever considered herself capable of murder. But that man just might drive her to it.
Indignation broke forth from her in a torrent when she finally regained the power of speech. “What a barbarian!” she burst out, unable to help herself. “Oh, the sarcasm! The arrogance! I’ve never met such a thoroughgoing boor!”
She was quite past caring what anybody thought of her, in her outrage.
Marianne returned for their lesson with the tea. “Aw, he’s not that bad, Miss,” she said with a grin.
“Oh, yes, he is! That cretin needs his head knocked!”
Marianne seemed much too amused by it all. “He was very pleasant to me.”
“I’ll bet!” Grace fairly spat.
“Fine figure of a man, though, ain’t he? A hero, too, so they say.”
Grace snorted. “A few minutes in his presence would quickly dispel the illusions of anyone so deceived.”
Marianne folded her arms across her chest and studied her in amusement. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Me? Don’t be absurd!” she exclaimed, though it was pointless to deny the scarlet fire creeping into her cheeks. “He’s insulting and intolerable. You try to help some people—!”
But Marianne let out a low, throaty laugh. “The only help that one needs is a woman in his bed,” she murmured, much too knowingly.
“For God’s sake, Marianne!” Grace plopped into the nearest seat at the ex-harlot’s frank declaration. “You know you mustn’t talk like that in front of me!”
“Well, it’s true.” Marianne laughed and pulled out a chair. “Stallion, that one. Poor love, he needs it
bad.
”
Grace looked at her for a moment, at a loss. But as curiosity overcame her, she could not hold back. She leaned closer and whispered fiercely, “Did he proposition you?”