Scandalous (15 page)

Priscilla introduced John to the man and repeated her fiction that he was visiting her family from America. Rutherford looked at him with interest.

“America, eh?” he asked pleasantly. “I confess I've always wanted to visit there. Too much a homebody, though, I suppose, to take the chance.”

John smiled noncommittally. Priscilla plunged into the story John had told the vicar's wife about the attack by brigands, and Rutherford was appropriately shocked.

“I say…what a shame. I hope you did not lose too much.”

“Mostly sentimental things,” John replied shortly, a little surprised by his immediate antipathy toward the man. He found he did not want Rutherford's help. “Don't worry about it.”

Priscilla gave John a cross look at his lack of tact and proceeded to describe John's attackers to the other man, who admitted that he had seen no one answering their descriptions in town.

“I wish I could be of more help,” Rutherford added, his brow knotting in a frown.

“I am sure we'll be able to find the curs on our own.” John gave Rutherford a smile that was more like a grimace and steered Priscilla out the front door with a firm hand on her arm. As they stepped outside into the street, Priscilla turned to him, exasperated.

“What was that all about?” she hissed. “You were practically rude to Mr. Rutherford.”

“Didn't like the fellow.” He continued walking quickly, not looking at her, practically pulling her along with him.

“Why ever not? He is a very nice gentleman.”

John made a disagreeable noise in his throat. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Are you daft? You do not even know the man.” Priscilla came to a dead stop, jerking her arm out of his grasp. “Would you stop? I feel like a cow you're pulling to market.”

He came to a halt and turned to her. “The way he looked at you was entirely too warm,” he replied stiffly, thinking even as he said the words that he was making a fool of himself.

“Too warm?” Priscilla repeated, astonished. “You must still be suffering from the effects of the blows on your head. Mr. Rutherford is old enough to be my father. Besides, I think he's half in love with Lady Chalcomb.”

“Oh.” John found himself softening toward the other man.

“He has been a friend of our family's for years, ever since he moved here. He thinks of me as a…a niece.”

“Oh.” John felt even more foolish. “I…well…I am sorry if I was mistaken about his intentions. It appeared to me— That is, I thought—”

“Yes?” Priscilla had to fight back a smile. It was obvious that John was jealous. That was the reason he had reacted so peculiarly to Mr. Rutherford's quite ordinary friendliness. Now he was floundering around, trying to find some other excuse for his odd behavior.
It was quite amusing; she was not about to try to help him out of his predicament. She found it made her feel warm and soft inside, too. He cared for her; otherwise he wouldn't be so upset or so quick to assume that Mr. Rutherford's attentions were anything other than the natural liking of an old family friend.

“Oh, forget I ever said anything about it,” John ended abruptly, and started to turn away.

But just then a man's voice sounded behind them, “Miss Hamilton! How delightful to find you in town.”

A quiver of dislike moved across Priscilla's face. Then she set her face and turned around. “Mr. Oliver.”

John noticed that she did not make any similar claim that it was nice to find him there. If there had been any doubt that Priscilla did not like the man, the stony set of her features would have dispelled it.

There was nothing about the man to explain her immediate and apparent unfriendliness. He was a strikingly handsome man, with thick, dark hair and compelling features. His eyes were large and soulful, a deep brown in color, and his lids drooped a little, giving him a sensual look. He was dressed quite well, and the smile he turned on Priscilla was charming.

Calculated to charm, John thought, but having been so wrong about Mr. Rutherford made him a trifle reluctant to make a snap judgment about this man.

Priscilla did not offer her hand to the man, but he took it anyway, raising it to his lips as he bowed. His lips lingered a trifle too long on the back of her hand, and John took an involuntary step forward. The other man released her hand and stepped back.

Ignoring John, he continued, “It has been so long since we've had the pleasure of your company at
Ranleigh Court. I am sure young Alec has been pining away for you.”

“Alec knows where I live, if he wishes to see me. He is always welcome at Evermere Cottage.” Her voice laid the faintest emphasis on the word “he.”

John glanced at her in surprise. Priscilla was being overtly rude to the man. He wondered curiously what connection this Mr. Oliver had to Alec and to Priscilla, and why she was so clearly antagonistic to him.

Mr. Oliver, however, showed no surprise at Priscilla's words. He merely smiled and said silkily, “My dear Miss Hamilton, you wound me. One would almost think that you disliked me.”

“No doubt one would,” Priscilla agreed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have several errands to run.” She turned and put her hand on John's arm, pressing his arm significantly. John took the hint and immediately began to walk away with her.

However, Mr. Oliver was not so easily left behind. He hurried to catch up with them, saying, “Ah, then I will walk with you.”

“Thank you, that is not necessary. Mr. Wolfe will accompany me.”

“Indeed.” Oliver looked over curiously at John. “You haven't introduced me to your friend, Miss Hamilton.”

Priscilla stopped and faced the other man. “No, I did not. I saw no reason to, as I doubt the two of you will ever meet again. And it is not necessary for you to accompany us, Mr. Oliver.”

For a long moment, they faced each other; then John stepped in front of Priscilla, facing Oliver, almost toe-to-toe with him. “I believe the lady said she would like you to leave her alone.”

Oliver looked faintly surprised and confused. “I say—are you American?”

“Yes.”

“How odd.” He glanced at Priscilla, who regarded him stonily. “Wherever did you find an American champion, Miss Hamilton?”

“He is visiting my father,” Priscilla replied. “Although frankly, Mr. Oliver, I don't see that it is any of your business.”

“I am merely concerned for your well-being, Miss Hamilton. I should hate to think that someone is taking advantage of you or your…generous father.”

“There is no reason to think that either of us is being taken advantage of, Mr. Oliver. Now, pray, excuse us, won't you?”

She turned and swept away. John remained for a moment longer, staring the other man down. Oliver glanced at Priscilla's retreating back, then at John. He doffed his hat and made an extravagant bow before turning away and setting off in the opposite direction.

John turned and hurried to catch up with Priscilla.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

Priscilla glanced at him. Her cheeks were flaming with color, and her eyes were bright. “That man makes me so furious!”

“I could see that. Why? Did he do something to you? Say something?”

“He's a low, filthy…” Priscilla stopped and drew a long breath. “He is the Duchess's paramour.”

John's eyebrows vaulted upward.

“It's horrible. Poor Alec is utterly humiliated by the situation. His mother took up with Mr. Oliver after the
Duke died. The poor man was barely cold in his grave when Benjamin Oliver moved into Ranleigh Court.”

“That blatantly?”

“She
claims
he is a dancing teacher. A tutor for Alec in the art of making one's way in polite society. But everyone knows that it is a polite fiction. Alec takes no sort of lessons from him. Why, Alec is barely civil to the man.”

“I see.”

“As if that were not bad enough, Mr. Oliver is not even faithful to her. He has made advances to Lady Chalcomb, and to me.” Her mouth tightened at the thought. “He is disgusting. I could not believe it at first. It seemed beyond belief that he would dare to do so right there at Ranleigh Court—at one of Bianca's own parties!”

John's face darkened ominously. “Did he hurt you? Lay a hand on you?”

“He tried to kiss me. We were dancing—since then, I have never made that mistake, I can assure you—and suddenly he whisked me into an alcove and took me in his arms. I was so stunned, I didn't say anything. I couldn't even think. Before I knew it, he was kissing me!”

John stopped, his hands knotting into fists. “I shall go back and find that blackguard.”

“What?” Priscilla looked at him, startled out of her unpleasant memories. “No, John. For pity's sake, do not start a brawl in the middle of the street. It was nothing, and it is long since over. I was able to take care of him, I assure you. I was not raised with two rowdy boys for nothing. I yanked his hair so hard he let out a yelp, and
then I hit him in the stomach. Gid says I have a fair right, you know.”

John let out a laugh, his body relaxing. “I should have known you got your own back. What did the fellow do?”

“Let go of me, of course. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was not interested in being pawed by him. He hasn't tried anything like that again. But the man is a nuisance. He is always trying to charm me—as if I would have anything to do with him. But that does not stop him coming to call, or joining Alec or the duchess and me when I visit Ranleigh Court. I have almost given up going there, simply so I won't have to see him, and I have Penny tell him I'm unavailable whenever he comes to call. However, he is unbelievably persistent. Apparently he cannot believe that I am really not interested in him. Many women seem to find him attractive.”

John smiled at her, aware that he was inordinately pleased that Priscilla was not one of those women. “Are you sure you don't want me to hunt him down? I guarantee he won't bother you again.”

Priscilla smiled back at him. It seemed bizarre that a man's mere smile could affect her the way John's did. “No,” she assured him, shaking her head. “Let him be. What we need to do right now is to find those two men.”

It took a moment for it to register on him who she meant. “Oh. Them.” He sighed. He rather disliked giving up the idea of finding Benjamin Oliver and setting him straight on his behavior around Priscilla. “All right. Let's go. Which way?”

“Frankly, we have been walking away from the river. I let Mr. Oliver get me off course.”

They turned and retraced their steps to where they had encountered Oliver, then crossed the street and continued down a slight slope. As they walked, the buildings around them grew increasingly smaller and more dilapidated. The street narrowed, and there was a distinct smell of fish and other, more unsavory, things.

Finally they reached the last street before the river, unimaginatively named Water Street. They looked around. It was not a pleasant prospect. Upriver lay the mill, and down the street stood several dark warehouses. On the corner was an inn and beyond that, a tavern. A few men loitered about on the street, staring at them with a mixture of curiosity and defensiveness.

Priscilla swallowed. She was glad it was broad daylight; this place would be frightening at night. It was easy to understand why she had never been in this part of town; it was obviously not a place where ladies spent their time, even in company.

“Where shall we start?” she began, putting a good face on it.

Her companion looked dubious. “Nothing looks very hopeful.” He glanced at the inn, then back at her. “I suppose I would try the inn first, but I am sure it is not the sort of place where you should go. Why don't we go back to Mrs. Whiting's, and you—”

“No,” she replied firmly. “You are not going to leave me out of this.” The area might make her uneasy, but she wasn't about to abandon their quest because of that. Nor was she willing to be thrust back into the parlor to mind her knitting like a good little woman while John did all the work—and had all the fun.

He glared at her, irritation written plainly on his face, and Priscilla crossed her arms and stared back at him. He sighed. “All right. Let's try the inn first.”

When they stepped inside the inn, every eye in the place turned to look at them. The room fell silent. Priscilla swallowed and glanced around. It was a small room, dim despite the time of day. Priscilla suspected that this condition was because the windows were as grimy as the floor. Cigar smoke hung in the air, mingling with the odors of sweat and ale to create a foul miasma. It was all Priscilla could do not to pull out her handkerchief and cover her nose with it.

She glanced at John. She noticed that his face showed none of the surprise or repugnance she felt. It made her wonder whether he was used to such places, or merely more skilled at hiding his feelings. John took her arm and strolled across the room to the man behind the counter. The man watched them come, his arms folded across his chest, his face wary.

“Good day, sir,” John began. “I am looking for a couple of men.”

The man's only answer was a noncommittal grunt. John proceeded to describe the two men in a strong, clear voice that Priscilla was sure could be heard by every occupant of the room. The innkeeper listened, saying nothing, until John had finished his description.

“'N' wot'll ye be wantin' with 'em?” he asked finally.

“They've done some work for me in the past,” John replied. He had guessed as soon as they came in that this was not the place to tell his story of kidnapping and robbery. Now he grinned knowingly. “A certain type of
work, you understand. One that not everyone is capable of doing.”

The man regarded John silently. “I ain't seen anyone like you're talkin' about.” He shrugged. “But mebbe some'n like that'll come in ‘ere one day. If ye want, I could give ‘im your name.”