Always a Scoundrel (26 page)

“And of course if you
are
arrested, you won’t have to risk proposing and being turned down a second time. One last dance and a romantic, cowardly farewell.”

Bram pushed to his feet. “What would you have me do then, Sullivan?” he snarled. “Deny that I’ve done anything wrong? Blame it on someone else? I’ve been a scoundrel. I only see one way to make amends for that.”

“That’s well and good and noble, I suppose,” Sullivan shot right back at him, “but it also leaves Cosgrove free, and no one to look after your Lady Rose.”

“You
two will look after Lady Rose.” Bram stalked over to Titan, slid the bit back into the black’s mouth, and swung into the saddle. “Do yourselves a favor. Stay home tonight.”

Sullivan and Phin exchanged a glance as Bram exited the property. “So we’re to protect Lady Rose from now on,” Sullivan muttered.

With a grim smile, Phin shook his head. “That’s not what he said. He said we’re to look after her. Which I would take to mean we’re to see that she’s happy.”

“Ah. Well, we’d best take care of that, then.”

Rose held her breath until her father and James returned to the house, the promissory notes her brother
had signed over to Cosgrove back in their custody. With a puff of smoke from the morning room fireplace, her obligation to the Marquis of Cosgrove ended. For a long moment she perched on the couch, intense relief pressing at her. Just as quickly, too soon for any real elation, reality crashed back down around her shoulders. She sat there, keeping her expression cool and pleased for the benefit of her family. At this moment no one else could know what had dawned on her this morning—that her monthlies were a bit overdue.

She pushed that thought away. Going from one thing she couldn’t control to another, was too much. Later she could decide whether she was mistaken, whether this could be another chance for a changed life or the tombstone to decorate the old one.

“I have to say,” her mother commented, as they watched the papers burn, “though it would have been lovely to see you as a marchioness, Rose, Lord Cosgrove’s reputation left a great deal to be desired.”

“It did, indeed,” her father agreed. “There’s a bit of madness to that fellow, and I sincerely hope our paths do not cross again.” He sent a pointed look at James.

“Yes, Father,” the young viscount said, his demeanor uncharacteristically subdued.

That didn’t bode well. Her sense of impending trouble deepened. “James, would you assist me with retrieving a book from the top shelf in the library?”

“Of course.”

“Rose, you are unattached again,” Lady Abernathy pointed out. “Gaining a reputation as a bluestocking will not help your prospects.”

“Yes, Mama.” Clearly she was never going to be appreciated as anything but exchangeable goods. She wanted to leave them to their own self-concerned lives, and there they were, back to the way everything had been before Cosgrove. Except for her, that was. She had changed. Irrevocably.

As soon as she and James were alone in the library, she grabbed his arm. “Tell me what happened. Everything that happened.”

He shrugged her off. “It was just business. You don’t need to hear that boring drivel.”

“James Elliot Davies, you tell me—”

“Devil a bit, Rose. King was surprised. Startled. Like we’d caught him with his trousers down. I ain’t ever seen him caught off balance before. And he wasn’t happy. At all.”

“But you got back the notes. He accepted payment.”

Her brother took a deep breath. “He pushed for information, and Father told him we were gifted with the funds to repay my debt. Cosgrove asked if it was Bram. He said Bram had played a good hand, but he would lose the game. It was so…odd. All this time I thought he was at the top of the pole, with the rest of us ranged below him. But now I ain’t, I’m not, so certain it’s not Bram looking down at the rabble—except that he had nothing to gain by giving us the blunt.” He faced her squarely. “Did he?”

“Don’t you dare, James. You caused this mess. Simply because Bram and I like one another doesn’t mean he had anything but altruism in his heart.”

James gave a short laugh. “You just used ‘like,’ ‘Bram Johns,’ and ‘altruism’ in the same sentence.”

Rose smiled reluctantly. “I will concede that it’s an
unlikely combination. But he has some things at risk, too. More than you realize.”

“A few weeks ago you wanted to punch him in the nose.”

“A few weeks ago I was only acquainted with the tales you told about him.” Her smile fading, she gazed at her younger brother. “Both you and I have been given a second chance, James. Tell me truthfully—are you going to gallop back to Cosgrove’s side now and lose shocking amounts of money to him all over again?”

He shook his head. “No. I saw a side of King this morning that…well, frankly it repulsed me. And frightened me a bit, too.” James grimaced. “If Bram don’t—doesn’t—mind me hanging about him, I’d like to learn some of his skills, though.”

Oh, splendid
. “What skills would those be? More gaming?” He’d merely shifted his idolatry from one rake to another. If James had learned anything from this mess, he seemed to be keeping it to himself, except that his grammar was improving.

“No. Well, perhaps a bit. But mainly the way he knows things, and how he walks into a room and everybody notices.”

Hopefully that wouldn’t include losing money, then. And if James wanted to emulate anyone, she much preferred that it be the Bram she’d come to know over the past few weeks. If he had the chance to do so.

Her chest constricted. If Cosgrove had been as angry this afternoon as James claimed, public accusations could be the least of Bram’s worries. Oh, why hadn’t she made a greater attempt to talk him into fleeing with her? The thought of not seeing him, of being unable
to chat with him and touch him and kiss him—it hurt so much that her mind kept turning away from it. Especially now, when the connection between them had literally become a tangible presence. Or it could, it would, in eight months or so.

“Rose?”

She shook herself. “What is it?”

“Father said that Bram means to call on you. I don’t want to be blamed for getting you into another mess, so do you want me to warn him away?”

It would be like trying to separate a moth and candlelight. “No. That’s not necessary.”

“Very well. Now did you actually want a book lifted down, or may I go?”

“Go.” She took his arm again as he walked by her. “There is one thing you could do for me,” she continued in a lower voice.

“I’m not going to murder anyone for you.”

“What? Oh, good heavens no. Did Papa have any money left after he repaid the marquis?”

“About fifteen hundred pounds. Why?”

Rose hesitated. James wasn’t precisely her first choice of confidant. At the moment, though, she didn’t seem to have much choice. And technically the money belonged to Bram, anyway. “Bram and I may need to flee London.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Oh, dear.” She took a deep breath. “Bram is the Black Cat, James. He’s stopped his burglaries, but Cosgrove knows. If he does as he threatened and makes his accusations in public, Bram will be arrested.”

Her brother stared at her. “Bram’s the Black Cat?”

“Yes.”

“But he wagered ten quid it was the Duke of Storey. It’s on the book at White’s.” James frowned. “Come to think of it, Storey only has one leg, and he’s eighty years old. Bram had to know he wouldn’t win the wager.”

“This isn’t about a wager, James. Please pay attention. Is there any way you can find out where Papa put that money? If we have to leave Town, we’ll need some ready cash.”

“If
he’s
accused, why are
you
leaving?”

“Because…because as I said, I’ve become quite fond of Bram. Exceedingly fond.”

“I’m fond of him, too, but that doesn’t mean I’d let myself be ruined because of something he did.”

“He became involved in this because of me. That makes this partly my burden to bear.”

The look her brother sent her was impossible to decipher, but after a moment he nodded. “Father’s not likely to trust me enough to tell me where any blunt is, but he’s only got three hiding places here. The man has no imagination. Give me a couple of hours to get around him, and I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, James.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbled. “When Father realizes what’s happened, I’m likely going to be running close behind you.”

The afternoon remained quiet, and though Rose jumped each time the front door opened, no word arrived about either Bram’s thefts or his arrest. She began to hope that Cosgrove
had
been bluffing, and that he didn’t have any proof of Bram’s activities after all. If that aggravatingly handsome, charming, dark-haired man would bother to simply stop by the house
and inform her one way or the other, perhaps she could stop pacing and finish her blasted handkerchief embroidery.

For heaven’s sake. If she’d been a man, she would have ridden out to find him. And then she would punch him in the nose, not because she disliked him, but because she was so blasted worried she couldn’t even think straight.

By eight o’clock in the evening there was still no sign of Bram, and no word that he’d been taken anywhere against his will. Rose dressed in a new gown, a rich burnished copper creation with a low, swooping neckline and a shimmer that brought out the red highlights in her hair.

“You look very nice, my dear,” her father said, as she descended the staircase.

“Thank you,” she returned, giving a shallow curtsy.

“Stay close by tonight if you can,” the earl continued, dropping his tone. “We’ve paid off Cosgrove, but he may approach you anyway. Try to be civil; as far as anyone knows, you are only friendly acquaintances. We want nothing to alter that perception where our fellows are concerned.”

For a heartbeat she’d thought him concerned over
her safety and well-being, until she considered that he was only attempting to preserve the facade—that the Davies family had no troubles, past, present, or future. “I’ve never wanted anything to do with him. I intend to make every effort to avoid him.”

“Avoid his friend, too. I have no wish for this family to be caught in the middle of a disagreement between Cosgrove and Bram Johns. It’s a damned coil of snakes.”

The family
was
the middle of the disagreement. She was, anyway. “You have nothing to worry about where Bram is concerned, Papa,” she said aloud. “He and I are friends.”

“Tell yourself whatever you like, Rose, but Bram Johns is only a friend to someone who has something he wants. Best guard your virtue, or he’ll have you as another of his light-skirts, and I’ll have you out from under my roof.”

For the space of a heartbeat Rose was tempted to tell him that she’d lost her virtue several times over to Bram, that she was likely carrying his child, and that it had been her idea to begin with. Thankfully her mother and James appeared before she could seriously contemplate that foolishness.

It was more likely, anyway, that having lost this game, Cosgrove would go on to torment someone else. She would once again be the chit no one noticed, doing her best to keep her silly family from looking foolish and wondering whether that would be the sum total of her existence—except for that lingering, growing hope that one man would be looking directly at her. A warm tremor ran down her spine.

“I hope it’s not too crowded tonight,” her mother was already complaining. “You know how I hate a crush.”

“You love a crush, my dear.”

Rose sighed. It was true that she had very little respect remaining for either of her parents, but it was also true that they’d done nothing more or less than what custom and the law dictated. She was wise enough never to expect anything more of them. Bram, however, had gone well beyond rule and custom to help her.

And he had more than her loyalty or her friendship or her respect. He had her heart.

He had her heart
. She loved him. Rose put out a hand to steady herself against the stair balustrade.

“Rose, are you ill?” James asked, taking her elbow.

“No, no. I just got dizzy for a moment,” she stammered.

Oh, goodness
. Why had she just realized it? She knew she enjoyed his company, and she certainly enjoyed his attention and his touch. But somewhere in this tangle and in her dawning realization that deep down he was a decent man, a good man, with a dented but very strong moral compass, he’d become…indispensable.

“Do you wish to stay in tonight?” her mother asked. “I can’t say I would be disappointed to avoid any chance of encountering Cosgrove and his cronies this evening.”

“I want to go,” she said, too sharply. “We could all stand a bit of celebration tonight, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” James seconded, guiding her to the door.

As the coach rolled toward Penn House and the Clement soiree, it was all Rose could do not to sit forward on her seat. She wanted to see him, wanted to know that he was safe. What a change, from being so concerned about her own future to being consumed with him and his well-being. And aside from that, she just wanted to have him gaze at her in that warm, possessive way he had when they kissed.

The street in front of Penn House was solidly blocked with vehicles. They had to stop the coach two full streets away and walk the remainder of the way to the front door. Once inside, there was barely room to move.

“What a crush,” her mother exclaimed. “How will they ever make room on the dance floor? I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.”

“We’re opening a second anteroom, my lady,” a footman said, offering them selections from a platter of cheeses. “And the second ballroom, if necessary.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Lady Abernathy returned, fanning at her face. “I suggest you do so at once.”

Indeed, several minutes later the crowd seemed to ease a little, and they were able to make their way upstairs into the main ballroom. Rose cast her gaze in every direction, looking for Bram. This wasn’t the sort of party he enjoyed, but he had said he would attend. And he had to know she would be worried over him, blast it all.

As she looked about, she couldn’t help noticing guests looking back at her. Men, specifically. The moment she had a chance, she glanced at herself in one of the wall mirrors. Nothing hung from her teeth, her gown remained covering all the bits it should have, and no bird
or bug had set up residence in her hair. What the devil were they staring at, then?

“Lady Rose.”

Her heart stuttered until she realized the voice belonged neither to Bram nor to Cosgrove. She turned around. “Mr. Henning, isn’t it?”

The rotund man smiled, sketching an elaborate bow. “Indeed. I was wondering if I might claim a spot on your dance card. There are to be two waltzes, you know.”

And she hadn’t even procured a dance card. She rarely had enough requests to warrant one. “The first quadrille is available,” she decided. She’d seen him dance, and a waltz seemed far too dangerous an enterprise.

“I will be honored.” With another bow he straightened, gave an uncertain smile, and wandered off into the crowd.

“I shall have to get a dance card, apparently,” she commented.

“I’ll fetch you one,” James said, and walked off.

She wasn’t certain whether he was being belatedly conciliatory for the mess he’d caused, or whether he’d wanted to escape their parents’ reach, but he was gone before she could ask him. By the time he returned with a card and a pencil, though, she had three other spots taken. What in the world was going on? At most she danced a cotillion or two with elderly widowers or the chinless sons of the Earl of Banbury.

As she scribbled down her partners’ names, the throng to her left stirred. Like the Red Sea parting, space opened up and revealed a black-and-gray-clothed Adonis. Her breath caught as his black gaze swept the room and then found her. From then it didn’t waver.
Bram strolled up to her, other guests simply moving aside for him as though they sensed danger, a predator, in their midst.

“Good evening,” he said, stopping in front of her. Reaching out, he took both of her hands in his and brought them to his lips.

“Bram,” she returned, her voice catching a little. She wanted to throw her arms around him to be certain he was real and he was safe. She wanted to ask whether he’d meant it when he’d said he loved her, and whether he would say it again just so she could hear it.

“Lord Bramwell,” her father interjected, making her jump. She’d forgotten anyone else was there.

Bram’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he released her fingers to shake the earl’s proffered hand. “Abernathy. I hope you had a productive day.”

“I did indeed. And you have an angry friend.”

“He’s no friend of mine, but thank you for the warning.” Bram inclined his head, then lifted the dance card Rose hadn’t even realized he’d taken from her. “Henning?”

“He asked. Everyone’s been asking. I have no idea why.”

Bram regarded her for a moment. “You don’t, do you? You’re beautiful, Rosamund. It’s just taken this long for the rabble to notice it.” He scribbled something down, then handed card and pencil back to her.

Rose looked at the card, her cheeks warming. “You can’t take both waltzes.”

“Watch me.” His mouth curved in a slow, heart-stopping smile. “I don’t want you in anyone else’s arms,” he murmured.

Goodness
. As lovely, heavenly, as that sounded, however, it was more than likely meant mainly to distract her from the large measure of trouble that was still dogging them. Him, specifically. “Have you seen…him?” she asked, lowering her own voice.

“‘Him’?” he repeated. “You’re thinking about another man while I’m flirting with you? I’m pierced to the heart.”

“Be serious, will you?” She took a step closer, unmindful of the fact that people were probably watching. People always watched Bram. “James said he was practically foaming at the mouth when they took him the money.”

“Then we’d best not miss the first waltz.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Your quadrille is here.”

Drat
. “Please, Bram. If you see him—”

“I’ll keep him well away from you.”

“That is not what I m—”

“I know what you meant.” Bram touched her cheek briefly, as though he couldn’t not touch her. “I won’t be killed or dragged off before I’ve danced with you.” His eyes went cold and serious. “I swear it.”

That might have been a bit too vehement, Bram reflected as his Rosamund turned and stepped on the dance floor opposite the clod Francis Henning, but he very rarely swore to things. And when he did, he kept his word. Always.

If Cosgrove knew anything, he would know that the Davies family would be in attendance at the Clement soiree. And he would then easily puzzle out that the man who’d paid off their debt would be there, as well.

He might have stayed away and avoided Cosgrove, but that would have left Rosamund to face the bastard alone. No, this was better. More dangerous for him, but that hardly signified.

Keeping half his attention on Rosamund, he watched the two separate entryways leading into the main ballroom. Thus far Sullivan and Phin were absent, and while he was a bit surprised that they’d listened to him, he was also glad they’d done so. He appreciated their loyalty more than he could ever express aloud, but he didn’t know how to make any clearer the fact that they had more important concerns than protecting him from his own short-sighted stupidity.

“Bram?”

“What is it, James?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the flow and ebb of guests into the room.

“I thought you should know,” Viscount Lester said, his tone uncharacteristically low and cautious, “Rose has it in her head that if Bow Street should come after you, the two of you will flee London.”

Bram frowned. “I wouldn’t drag her off to ruin,” he muttered back, for the moment ignoring the fact that Lester seemed to know of his nefarious activities. If Rose had chosen to tell him, then she’d had a reason for doing so.

“What bothers me is that she thinks you’d want her with you. If you’ve been leading my sister down the garden path, or worse, then I want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to see you put into gaol.”

“I want her with me,” Bram grunted, irritated at being dressed down by a pup. “But first I want her safe. I need to see to this mess before I can do anything else.”

“And if you’re arrested?”

“I’m not fleeing, with or without Rosamund.” He frowned. “I don’t appreciate explaining this to you, but at least you’re finally seeing to your sister’s well-being.”

“I think I’ve learned my lesson,” the viscount said stiffly.

“Good. I think I’ve learned mine, as well. And I’m willing to pay for it.”

The quadrille ended to general applause, and he walked forward to meet her for their waltz. He
was
willing to pay, after a dance.

“Shall we?” He held out his hand to her.

Rosamund wrapped her gloved fingers around his bare ones. From the look on her face she intended to begin ranting at him again about the chance he was taking by being out in public. If it helped clear any guilt from her conscience he was more than willing to listen to it, but he could think of better ways to spend the few minutes he would have in her company.

The music began, and he slid a hand around her waist as she placed one on his shoulder. Together they swept into the waltz. “You avoided Henning’s feet with admirable skill,” he drawled.

“Thank you.” She took a breath, her body trembling a little beneath his fingers. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“About the relatively minor nature of your crimes compared with what they’re likely to do to you when they catch you.”

“Ah. You’re going to serve as my solicitor.”

“Don’t jest, Bram. Do you truly think your mistake is worth years in gaol or transportation or a hanging?”

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” he murmured, pulling her a breath closer.

“I will not be distracted.”

Of all the conversations they might have had, the question of whether he was worthy of a rescue was not one he would have chosen. “I want you to realize something, Rosamund,” he began softly, turning her to the music. “I studied under a monster on and off for more than a decade. And this past year, even when I’d made friends whom I truly value and admire, I went back to him because I was bored. Even that, though, wasn’t enough for me, and so I stole from people simply because they called my father friend. As much as I want to be the one who shares your life, I can’t do that until I’ve made some sort of amends for being the…the utter scoundrel that I have been.”

“You are not like Cosgrove,” she returned, her voice shaking.

“I am exactly like Cosgrove. The only difference is that I fell in love with you.”

“You are so far apart from him that I can’t believe how thick you are not to see it.”

“Or you’re so good-hearted that you imagine it.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “How many other of Cosgrove’s pupils have successfully completed their education under his tutelage?” she finally asked.

The question stopped him for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You told us about the one who killed himself. And then there’s James, who would have been lost if not for you. Who else is there?”