A Baron for Becky (4 page)

Rose sat at the
earl’s feet, propping herself against the seat, taking Sarah into
her arms.

The coachman
must have had instructions to spring the horses once all the
passengers were aboard, for the coach suddenly lurched forward, and
Rose had to brace herself with her feet and one arm.

Aldridge, from
the seat opposite his cousin, said, “I expect them to check on us,
but they won’t follow us to the Court. You’ll soon be safe,
ladies.”

“We have
perhaps fifteen minutes until we are on my land,” the earl told
her, “and then a further ten to the Court.” He raised his brows at
Aldridge. “Time enough to tell me your story, cousin.”

The brief
explanation they gave, all they were prepared to say in front of
the child, clearly didn’t satisfy Rede. But he said nothing, even
after they were met at the Court by Rede’s countess, the lovely
Anne. But as soon as Aldridge delivered Mrs Rose Darling—a working
name if ever he heard one—and Miss Sarah Darling into Lady
Chirbury’s hands, Aldridge heard the command he’d expected.

“Aldridge, I’ll
see you in my study.”

The courtesan
had been subdued in the carriage, but he’d caught a speculative
look in her eyes from time to time. Eyes of cornflower blue, in a
face that fulfilled the promise he’d glimpsed in the night’s
shadows. And her body brought his to instant, quivering
attention.

He hoped her
mind was drifting in the same direction as his. Rede’s house had
many inviting nooks and crannies to provide cover for a couple in
search of privacy.

“Aldridge!”
Rede’s voice cut through Aldridge’s lazy speculation about Mrs
Darling’s treasures.

Aldridge
followed Rede, who went straight to a row of decanters in the
spacious study. “Brandy? It’s early, but you look like hell, old
chap.”

“Please.”

Now that the
crisis was over, Aldridge’s headache had returned full force, and
he was having trouble focusing his thoughts. Perhaps his lies about
being drugged were closer to the truth than he’d thought.

Rede waved him
to a chair. “You are planning to offer Mrs Darling
carte
blanche
, I assume. Very well. The lady has to make a living.
But while she is a guest under my roof, you will not bed her—or tup
her anywhere else. Nor will you offend my wife with lewd talk or
innuendo. I’ll have your promise before you leave this room.”

Aldridge didn’t
have the energy to be offended at Rede’s poor opinion of his
manners. Besides, he had intended all of those things. Except for
lewd talk in front of Rede’s countess, obviously.

“I didn’t come
down to see her,” he said. “I didn’t even know she existed. How
does it happen that you’ve heard of The Rose of Frampton, and I
haven’t?”

A two-pronged
distraction, and thankfully, Rede picked up one of the lures. “If
you didn’t come for Mrs Darling, what were you doing in her
garden?”

“I have no
idea, Rede. Last I remember, I was at a house party just outside of
Bath. What’s the date?”

“The date?”
Rede raised his eyebrows, but answered. “The 17th of October.”

“Really? The
last day I remember was the 14th. I went to bed on the 14th of
October, and woke up in the early morning of the 17th twenty-five
miles away and in the garden of a complete stranger.”

“Who were you
in bed with?” Rede asked dryly.

Aldridge tipped
his glass to Rede to acknowledge the point.

A servant
arrived in answer to the bell pull. Rede ordered a full breakfast
to be brought to the study. “If you’ve not eaten for two days,
you’ll be hungry,” he observed.

“My stomach
thinks my throat’s been cut,” Aldridge agreed.

He was still
thinking about the woman he’d been in bed with, and the others
who’d preceded her during the house party.

On the one
hand, any husband whose wife warmed the bed of the Marquis of
Aldridge had only himself to blame. If they paid more attention to
their wives and less to games of chance, drinking, and pursuit of
other women at the party, their wives would have no reason to
stray.

On the other
hand, husbands seldom accepted that point of view. At least six men
at the house party would consider themselves entitled to be upset
with Aldridge. Make that seven, since one betrothed gentleman also
had a neglected lady. Aldridge never made a show of his amorous
adventures, but ladies often used an affair with him to punish
their spouses, and any of them might have dropped hints designed to
do the most damage.

Presumably, the
perpetrators did not intend to reward him with the delectable Rose,
so what was their purpose in stripping him and leaving him in
Perringworth’s garden? They couldn’t have known, surely, that
Smite’s boys were on their way?

“Tell me about
Perringworth,” he said.

Rede steepled
his hands and considered for a moment. “He’s a younger son.
Brother’s a baron just south of Bristol. They’ve had a falling out.
Perringworth had a legacy, and he’s blown it, by all accounts.

“A loose fish,
that’s certain. And a big bruiser of a man. Has a reputation as
handy with his fists, but lousy with money. Can’t resist a game of
chance, and always thinks he’ll win the next one. Very jealous.
Rumour has it, he put the Rose out at Niddberrow to keep her away
from competitors. Likely, your friends thought it would be a fine
joke for him to find you naked in her garden.”

Aldridge
nodded. “Not much temptation in Niddberrow, I would think. Not many
who would even acknowledge her, I expect.”

“Poor girl. It
can’t have been much of a life for her.”

“Better than
the one he was selling her into. Her and little Sarah.”

Rede swore, low
and long, not repeating himself once in a several sentences.
Aldridge agreed, but Perringworth had his own problems. He was
unlikely to survive the encounter with Smite.

“They’re well
out of it, and lucky your abductors chose to abandon you in that
garden. Do you think they drugged you?”

“Possibly, but
perhaps not. I was fairly drunk for most of the party.”

“Cousin, I
don’t believe you’ve been sober since June—I’ve never seen you
drink so much.”

Aldridge shook
his head. He’d lost both of his brothers in June. One had fled
overseas, and the other had pursued the first. Rede knew that, but
didn’t need to know that Aldridge blamed himself.

He put the full
glass down on the corner of the desk they’d been using as a
table.

“No more,” he
said, decisively. “You’re right; it isn’t helping. Rede, I’ll have
to talk to Smite. He has a purchaser set up for the little girl.
They’ll not be safe unless I can buy him off. Can they stay here
till I have it sorted?”

Rede nodded.
“If I have your promise not to swive Mrs Darling under my roof,” he
answered. Aldridge’s cousin always had been a tenacious sort.

Chapter Three

Aldridge returned
triumphant from his trip to London.

“Smite agreed,”
he told her, catching her alone in the garden, where two or three
late roses clung to the last remnants of their blooms. He sat down
beside her on the stone seat, taking up the centre, so she had to
lean against the curved arm to keep some distance between them.
“You and Sarah are free.”

The relief made
her breathless. “I had enough?”

She’d given him
the jewellery she’d managed to hide in the summerhouse. Paste, most
of it, he’d said.

He shrugged,
more an action of his head and eyebrows than his shoulders. “It
doesn’t matter. Here. I used the ones with some value and brought
back the rest.” The little cloth bag was still full of glittering
baubles. He’d used hardly any. How...?

“You paid?” It
was barely a question, and he didn’t answer, just smiled, rather
smugly.

“How can we
thank you?” she said. And that wasn’t a question either. She knew
what he would ask in return. For five days, the Chirburys had
treated her like a guest, but her holiday was clearly over.

“I’m sure we
can think of something,” he replied, crowding her with his
strength, but not his weight, his warmth sparking a responding
heat. But his complacent assumption, after five days of being
treated like a lady, sparked a contrary impulse to deny him, at
least for the moment.

She slid
sideways off the bench and stood, focusing on smoothing her skirts
as she said, “Perhaps you would accept a few pounds a quarter until
the debt is repaid?”

“I would accept
a kiss on account,” he said.

“Certainly,”
she replied. “Sarah would be delighted to give you a kiss. You are
quite her hero.”

The moment she
spoke, she wanted to take it back. She did not want another
protector, but she needed one, and at least servicing this one
would not be such a chore.

But no, he was
grinning at her, his head cocked to one side and a light in his
eyes that said she held his interest. Aha. The man enjoyed the
pursuit. Well then, Rose would lead him on a right merry chase.

“If you will
excuse me, my lord, I promised to help the countess with her
knitting.”

She dropped a
curtsey and made her escape before he formulated a response. For a
few more days, perhaps, Sarah could continue to enjoy life in the
upstairs nursery, with the countess’s daughter and sister, and Rose
could pretend a life further up the ranks of the gentry than she
could ever have achieved, even if she hadn’t been made a fallen
woman before her sixteenth birthday.

Aldridge was
waiting for her in the hall outside the countess’s sitting room an
hour later.

“I had in mind
something more personal than soulless pounds,” he said, without
preamble.

“Perhaps I
could bake you a cake,” she suggested.

“Certainly,
what I have in mind involves tasting,” he answered smoothly. “Some
sweet, decadent tasting. Licking, undoubtedly. Perhaps a little
gentle biting.”

Goodness, it
was hot for October.

“A single meal,
my lord?”

“One... meal...
would not be enough, dear Mrs Darling. Do you not agree?”

Sarah. This was
not about her pleasure. This was about securing a future for Sarah.
If Rose weren’t very careful, she would agree to anything he said.
“An arrangement, then?”

“An arrangement
to please us both.” He took her hand as he walked beside her, and
placed a single chaste kiss on the tip of her index finger before
sucking the whole finger into his mouth in a far-from-chaste
gesture.

“Do you garden,
my lord?” Her voice was unsteady.

The gambit
prompted a quizzical amused quirk of the lips and one eyebrow.
“Garden? No, I don’t garden.”

“I had a garden
at Niddberrow. I thought the cottage was mine, you see.
Perringworth promised me a house.”