A Rag-mannered Rogue (14 page)

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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

BOOK: A Rag-mannered Rogue
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“Oh, you will hate what I have come here for!”
“Have you just been married?”
“No . . .”
“Then I shall not hate it. Have your tea. You will need it while I inscribe your name, at last, on this.” He opened a bureau drawer inlaid meticulously with mottled amboyna wood.
“What is that?”
“It is a special license for us to be married.”
“You really mean it, don't you?”
“I always mean what I say. You have saved my life at the great expense of your reputation. You shall marry me before there are any scurrilous rumors floating about.”
“And we shall live happily ever after?”
“I doubt that.” Blue eyes blazed, suddenly, in amusement. He was not deceived that marriage would be meek and harmonious. With Tessie it would be like walking the plank into ever-increasing danger, but he was glad of it.
Tessie, less attuned to his thoughts than she should have been, heard his funning words bleakly.
He didn't
want
to marry her, why should he? Doubtless he had a thousand eligible belles fawning at his feet for the privilege. He felt obliged, which was kind, and very possibly noble, but not at all, at all, at all what she wanted. But neither did she want to reward his kindness by dunning him. She drew in a breath and flung the papers in the fire.
He stopped her by staying her arm and catching a charred sheet just as it was about to ignite. He blew on the blackened edges.
“What is this?”
“It is nothing. Let it burn!”
“A curious nothing that you have been clutching more closely than your pistol! I must, if you please, see this nothing.”
“No!”
“You intrigue me now enormously.” Nick flicked some ash off his sleeve and reached for the second paper, burning merrily in the grate. He singed his fingers a little, which caused Tessie to alternately chuckle and look upset, a situation he found mollifying.
“If you hadn't been such a chucklehead as to throw those things in the fire, I would not have had to retrieve them!”
“You would never have burned your fingers, my lord, if you had just let be. Does it hurt very much?”
“The very devil!”
“Then you must pour some of your Madeira over it. Cold liquid will help.”
“Oh, no, you don't! That was smuggled out of France, if you please!”
“Then your fingers shall ache and very likely blister.”
“You look uncannily pleased, little madam!”
“Well, you would be well served, for you have no right to scrutinize my private papers!”
“I do if they burn in
my
grate. Let me see . . .”
Tessie made a dive for him but tripped over her troublesome skirts and landed in a tumble at his feet.
“Good, a woman who knows her place. Now, let me read—”
“No!”
“Good gracious, woman, stop being such a pelterhead! I only want to know what dastardly words can be penned in there! Or can they possibly be love letters dedicated to the arch of my brow, or to the scar at my temple?”
“None of those, my lord. I fear your consequence is quite large enough.”
“Oh, you slay me. I shall make you eat those words, lady wife!”
“I am
not
your lady wife!”
“No, but you shall be just as soon as I can get you to a dressmaker. My consequence simply does not allow me to wed a young lady dressed in that vile shade of green.”
“Olive, my lord.”
“Olive, then. A particularly dreary color.” He helped her up with a touch as light as silk. Tessie snatched her hands back and ignored the sudden arching of his brow.
“It is all Madame Fanchon could whistle up upon such short notice!”
“Then we shall take our custom elsewhere. I would like to see you in pinks and silvers, maybe a touch of turquoise . . . the glimmer of gold, possibly, and pearl buttons . . . but I digress from the point.”
For an instant, Tessie was so tempted, it seemed like a physical pain. Nicholas Cathgar was so exactly like the type of person she could fall in love with, it seemed heresy not to do so. This despite his deplorable manners and his insistence on snatching things that did not belong to him . . .
“You have a very strange idea of fashion, my lord! Turquoise and golds are
not
the colors of half mourning!”
He grinned, an endearing twinkle lighting up the severe blue of his eyes.
“My bride, my dear, shall in no way be mourning! It would be a blight on my manhood I simply could not tolerate!”
“Fustian! Your consequence is quite large enough for me to wear sackcloth and ashes!”
“Which I must implore you not to do, for kissing a sack, while novel, must nevertheless be somewhat depressing.” The seriousness returned to his eyes. “Hush, don't argue for once, little Tessie. For whom do you mourn?”
“My grandfather. He was the Viscount of Hampstead and the dearest, nicest man. . . .”
“Indeed. I was on terms with him. His death was tragic, but it must be put behind you. No one in society will look askance at the Countess of Cathgar dressing as she pleased.”
“You mean as her
husband
pleases.”
“Indeed, no! If she were to dress as her
husband
pleased, she would wear nothing but nightrail—preferably torn to the knees—all evening long.”
“Now you are being absurd! And all this is academic, my lord, for I shall not marry you.”
“We do not suit?”
“We do, I believe, but for your high-handedness . . .”
“Then?”
“Then I am not what I had thought. It changes everything.”
“What had you thought yourself?”
“My grandfather's heiress. It was for that reason I traveled so precipitously to London.”
“For that reason you traveled as Miss Charity Evans?”
“Yes, for I thought I could drop that persona and slip easily into my new one—that of Miss Theresa Hampstead, heiress—without anyone being any the wiser.”
“Silly! Don't you realize that head of hair would be recognized, or the clarity of those eyes? Or that haughty stare, for that matter . . .”
“It is not haughty!”
“Yes, it is . . . and if you go about shooting people, you are bound to be noticed!”
“I do
not
go about shooting people . . . or not in the ordinary way. I did not shoot Mr. Dobbins, and he was odious enough to deserve it!”
“What did you do to him?”
“I bit him and kicked a little . . .”
Nicholas laughed. “If I didn't want to crush him to pulp, I might feel a little sorry for him!”
“Well, spare your sorry, for he stole my valise and left me with nothing but a drab mauve gown. . . .”
“Then I shall kill him undoubtedly if ever our paths cross.”
Tessie laughed, but she was holding her breath again, a habit she seemed destined to adopt in this rakish man's presence. It almost felt like he was about to kiss her again, but he did not. The papers, still crushed in his hands, crinkled a little. Tessie noticed a black, charred end float idly to the floor.
“I wish you would give me back my property.”
“I wish so, too, but alas, my besetting sin is curiosity. You shall have them back after they are read.”
“You are a beast!”
The beast eyed her quizzically and grinned.
Twelve
He smoothed out the papers and scrutinized them carefully. Then he drew out a quizzing glass from his desk and stared at one of the charred pages longer than seemed strictly necessary. Tessie said nothing, squirming at her ridiculous plan to extort money from him.
“Good gracious, what a singular female you are! You are actually dunning me!”
“I
was
actually dunning you. If you had let the wretched papers burn, you would know nothing of it.”
“But I didn't, did I?”
“No, for as I believe I have repeatedly told you, you are rag-mannered and never, simply
never
do anything to oblige me!”
“Oh, I wouldn't say
that,
my dear. It is really far too tempting a prospect to contradict you. I recall once or twice when I have
indeed
obliged you . . . ah, yes! The telltale color in your cheeks! You really are very modest for the little spitfire you purport to be. Maybe it is because your weapon is safely out of harm's reach. At least I hope it is!”
Then, rather negligently, Nick leaned forward and drew poor Tessie into his arms. She regarded this as supremely unfair, for it is very hard to stick to one's resolve to be noble when the beneficiary of all this self-sacrifice is being so disobliging as to kiss one's nose.
Tessie slapped him.
“You little vixen! That stung!”
“I warned you, my lord.”
“So you did.” The voice was a trifle cold as he regarded her. Tessie wanted to weep, but instead, she stiffened her shoulders and turned on her heel.
“Just one moment!”
She stopped.
“I owe you a sum of money, I believe.”
“It is void, my lord. I believe I made that clear.”
“And
I
believe I am a gentleman. A gentleman always pays his debts.”
“Then why was this one never paid?”
For a half second, Tessie thought she had gone too far. Then she noticed the fingers, arrested at his neckerchief, relax. The grim expression altered subtly. For some reason,
she
breathed easier, too.
“I am sorry. I should not have—”
“No, by all means Miss Hamptead. Chastise me. You are perfectly correct.”
“I am
not
chastising you!”
“No, that sort of activity can become tedious, can it not?” He gestured to his cheek, though the redness had long faded.
“It is my damnable temper. I am sorry about that too.”
“Oh, dismiss it entirely from your mind. I am sure my mama would conspire with you to say I was most deserving of it!”
“Well, you were . . .”
“Such
contrition!” The mocking laughter returned. Better, Tessie thought, than that truly bone-chilling coldness. She smiled, but he was striding across to his desk. He opened a locked drawer, pulled out a box fashioned in leather, and beckoned her to sit.
“Now, Miss Hampstead, to business. I did not, as you point out, pay the debt on time because I have lately dismissed my man of business and have had great difficulty finding a reliable replacement. I did, at last, on Tuesday, but my desk is piling up with bits and pieces that will take us to Christmas to wade through. The note must have been one of them. How much, precisely, do I owe?”
“Do you not know?”
“No, for the sheet has burned at the crucial figure. Most distressing, is it not? So tell me, how much do I owe?”
Tessie skirted around the question and finally helped herself to an iced cupcake. She was hungry, after only her morning chocolate!
“You owe me ten pounds.”
“You lie, Miss Hampstead.” Blue eyes gazed directly into nutbrown. He pushed her into the seat beside his desk.
“Ten pounds is a fortune, my lord.”
“Ten pounds will buy you a gaudy bauble. I do not deal in baubles.”
Tessie swallowed. “And
I
was mad to come here! It is just that . . . oh! I do
not
wish to become a watering pot!”
“What an inestimable relief! I do
not
think I could tolerate tears upon my very fine Axminster carpets. Did you notice them?”
“Yes, they are very fine, like everything else in this . . . home.”
“I am glad that they please you.” Nicholas caught a tear that was about to offend his precious carpets. Tessie tried her very best not to startle to his touch. Her efforts were wasted, however, for he trailed a gloved finger right down her face, almost to her lips. Then she
really
wanted to cry, for he was horribly comforting and maddeningly impossible to resist, though all her principles cried out against succumbing. She pushed his hand away ungratefully and rubbed crossly at her face.
“I am probably all blotchy.”
“Very likely, for my sisters say tears are fatal to the complexion! ”
For an instant Tessie was diverted.
“You have sisters?”
“Oh, dozens of them! They bully me frightfully. It is a great trial.”
“I'll bet they cosset you rotten!”
He grinned. “I was the baby, you see, and a rare uproar it was, for Mama had been trying for the succession for positively eons!”
“No wonder you are spoiled!”
“I am
not
spoiled, hellion! Tell me at once how much I owe.”
“No, for though you are overbearing and wickedly tempting—yes, I own myself tempted, and it would serve you right if I relented—I do
not
think I should cadge money off you like a . . . like a . . .”
“Like a street urchin?” he put in helpfully.
“Street urchins ask only a penny.”
“And you ask?”
“I am not saying.”
“This grows tedious. It is a small matter for me to find out. Perhaps I shall just notify my banker that you may draw whatever you like.”
“You are negligent, my lord. I could be a thief.”
“A singularly pretty thief.”
“Nonsense, for I know perfectly well that you must have . . . vast experience of beautiful women.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Tessie's heart sank at his careless agreement. He smiled.
“All of them would be perfectly wild for the banker's draft I've just promised you!”
“You are being completely nonsensical. I wish you would be serious. I must take my leave.”
“Not until you finish those cupcakes.”
“There are a dozen on that plate!”
“You need filling. What did you have for breakfast?”
“Only chocolate. I was nervous. . . .”
“Oh, nervous, were you?”
“Yes. It is not every day I dun peers of the realm!”
“Well, you are making a hash of it. Tell me, for goodness' sake, what I owe!”
“Ten thousand pounds!” Tessie glared at him, choked on her cupcake, and coughed.
“Oh, is that all? What a pother over nothing. Here, I'll make it over to you now. Doubtless my new man of business will be reminding me of it when I see him.”
“Ten thousand pounds is not nothing, my lord!”
“It is when considered in the light of a dowry.”
“It is not a dowry, my lord! I will have you know, I intend to turn it to good use!”
“Another of Madame Fanchon's gloomy gowns?”
“Don't be absurd. I have an estate to maintain. I can do so for a six-month on that!”
“And then?”
“That is
my
business, my lord!”
“And yet, curiously, my business, too.” Blue eyes searched her face.
In a rush, Tessie defied him.
“You are so certain you can coerce me into a marriage! Well, you shan't. My reputation is not worth salvaging, my lord. I am
never
going to make a court appearance or appear in the ballrooms of the Duchess of Doncaster or Lady Aberfeldy or their like. Perhaps, if I were not penniless, wedding you might have made some marvelous difference. But I
am
penniless and I
am
unchaperoned, and I
am
having a private interview with you in a closed library in a most improper manner! Society cannot forgive that, they won't.”
“They shall if I send a note to
The Gazette.”
“Well, you won't! I won't have you acting the martyr when I am perfectly able to stand on my own two feet!”
“You are
not
perfectly able to stand on your own two feet! I have seen you trip over your hems—”
“Oh, how literal you choose to be, but you shall see!”
“What shall I see?”
“You shall see me make an honest living.”
“As a companion? Governess?”
“Good Lord, no! I would make a shocking companion—my terrible temper, you understand—and as for a governess! The very thought makes me laugh.”
“I like to see you laugh. It brings the bloom back to your cheeks.”
“Now you are saying I am like a washed-out rag, in the usual way.”
“Well, you are, in all those drab gowns, and with your pale skin and dark lashes casting shadows across your countenance—”
Tessie was indignant. “Well! If you want to trade insults. . .”
“I do not. Tell me why you won't make a good governess? Your answers intrigue me.”
“Don't you have someplace to go, my lord? I am sure all this must be a shocking bore.”
“I will tell you swiftly when I am bored. Go on.”
“I would make a nightmare of a governess because I would very likely encourage the pupils to play truant, like I did. And I would spill the watercolors, teach them to poach trout from the lakes. . . . I would never get the job. No references. I could forge them, but Grandfather always says these things come back to haunt you.”
Nicholas's mouth trembled, but he managed to retain a straight face through this tangled explanation. “How sage. And so?”
“And so?”
“Yes. Tell me what would be a preferable alternative to marriage with me.”
“Oh! Well, not necessarily
preferable
, for it must be great good fun to have people bowing and scraping and kowtowing to your every word. . . .”
“I do not notice
you
doing such!”
“No, but then, Grandfather always says I am a contrary female. But you noted how the innkeeper jumped to your commands, where he merely turned up his nose at mine.”
“Yes, well, you did look like you'd stepped backward from a hay cart!”
“Unfair! I was wearing a perfectly respectable traveling gown before Oliver Dobbins mussed it up! And the innkeeper, whatever you may say, did treat you royally and ensure the fire was lit and the sheets aired. . . .”
“True. So tell me this plan that is not preferable to marriage with me.” Nicholas Cathgar's eyes twinkled.
Tessie refused to look at them. Rather, she fiddled with her fingers.
“Not preferable, but a good deal more sensible. I may not be able to draw or dance, but I can sew. I am remarkably good at it, actually, though Grandfather always used my samplers to clean his guns.”
“I am amazed you did not shoot him!”
“No, for they are silly kickshaws, but the finer work, the beading on poplins and gauzes, even on jaconets, I always hid up in the attics. I would have been as mad as fire if he had used those.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. So what are you going to do? Set up shop?”
Tessie eyed him suspiciously. “You are funning me! I daresay you think I don't know what sort of sum I would need for such an enterprise!”
“Oh, no, you sadly underestimate me, madam! Nothing, you know—especially in the more manly line—would astonish me!”
Tessie grinned. “Grandfather always said I had a good head for finances and a perfectly rotten one for the softer arts.”
“I delight in hearing the viscount's utterances—always so judicious—but I suppose it is your pleasure that I die of suspense?”
Tessie looked severe. She did not want to smile at his sarcasm—it might encourage such frivolous behavior in the future. She closed her mind to the fact that there
was
no future.
“Now you are talking nonsense again. But I did think I could put my skills to good use. . . .”

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