An Unmistakable Rogue (3 page)

“I went to ... Aunt Anna’s, and found the children, abandoned at her death, hiding in her cellar to keep from getting separated or going to the workhouse.”

“Anna’s?”

“Anna’s cellar, yes. I just told you that.”

He looked disgusted. “No. Are they Anna’s children?”

“Heavens, no. She was old as Moses. She was their great aunt. Their mother left them with her.”

“You do not seem saddened by Anna’s passing.”

Anna was, in fact, William’s aunt. “I had only just learned of her existence. The children had been on their own for weeks, sleeping during the day and, ah, foraging for food and supplies at night, which is what they were doing now. They find it hard to believe that I will provide for them.”

Reed chuckled. “Quite a fairy tale you spin. You stole the brats from the workhouse. You forget; I saw you.”

“First, I found them at Aunt Anna’s, then they were taken from me and put in the workhouse, then I rescued them.” She should tell him what children endured there, about the ones who died the week she worked there trying to get hers back, about the newborn she had wanted to take, but he would not believe her.

“And why may I ask were they taken from you?”

“The Beadle said I had no means to provide for them.”

“Did it never occur to you that he might be right?”

“He cared naught for their welfare. He said if I were to ... perform a certain ...
task
, I could keep them.”

Reed raised a brow. I find it difficult to believe that you let him take them without a fight.

“I— Before I left, I nearly-accidentally dropped a bust of Jeanne D’Arc on his foot, and I am not sorry.”

Reed coughed and turned away, and Chastity supposed she deserved his contempt for assaulting a man of the cloth, despite his depravity. “The children need a home, Mr. Gilbride. They are alone, lost. Surely after all they have suffered, you could find it within yourself to forgive their misdeeds.”

“Misdeeds?”
He turned in disbelief. “They’re street-hard. I should take a paddle to their tough little hides. Children are locked up for less than they did, tonight.”

“That’s barbaric,” Chastity said.

“People are heartless where hunger and poverty are concerned. Children are sent to prison, or worse, for stealing bread. That, Madam, is barbaric. Their short, grim lives are not even regarded in pronouncing sentence.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you of another world, Chastity Somers, that you are unaware of such things?”

Yes, she thought, I am, but she remained silent, and shocked to her soul.

“Life is brutal,” he said. “So gather your cold and hungry cygnets under your feathers, sweet, sheltering swan, for the world outside your nest can be worse than hell itself.”

How cynical, how hard he could be. “Could you not think of the children as people, like us, but smaller?” she asked.

“Small ones are the worst kind.”

Chastity raised her chin. “Do you stay then, Reed Gilbride, or do you go?”

CHAPTER THREE

He’d dreamed of sweet Chastity Somers last night.

That morning, after bathing in the river, Reed made his way back to the house recalling the odd jumble of fancies, chaste and not, that had troubled his sleep before his assault. After his rude awakening by the blonde brigands, however, his dreams turned to nightmares he’d rather not recall.

As he made his way back to the house, Sunnyledge shone gold against a bright morning-glory sky. He caught the song of a Lark, thought the buds on the trees had swelled overnight, and was filled with a rare sense of hope.

WARRONNNK.

Ah. Horn-blower had found his instrument of torture outside the parlor window. His veneer of hope burst like a soap bubble.

What a horrid jest, with the answer he sought so near to hand, that he should be given an obstacle in the guise of children. He scoffed and shook the excess water from his wilding hair, thinking that perhaps sweet Chastity Somers—so innocent, she’d let a stranger share the house—could trim it for him.

Damn, that woman needed locking up, or looking after—but not by him. Reed rubbed his thigh. Her brood might be protection enough for her, though. He had the teeth marks to prove it. As to whether her virtue was safe, however, was another matter entirely. Reed fingered his bristly chin, and grinned. Perhaps ferocity would keep all the beggars at bay.

As he entered the kitchen, Reed came face to face with the objects of his musings, the smallest male heathen dancing clean and naked, horn in hand—
WARRONNNK
—his two brothers cavorting beside him in like state.

Bent over a small tin tub, Chastity struggled to keep the man-eater in her bath. Reed knelt to help by holding the little one’s tiny shoulders, to keep the she-devil down, but his touch set off her god-awful wail.

Chastity glanced at him with apprehension.

“Are you afraid of me?” Reed asked, and when she bit her lip, he guessed she had not as yet decided. “I am no villain.”

Humor filled her eyes. “Just what a—”

“Villain would say, I know, but you have nothing to fear.” He regarded the children. “Any of you.”

How easy Chastity’s trust—instant and unquestioning; there on her face for all to see—but how weighty a burden to receive it. And he had been right; her smile did brighten a room.

Even with a topknot of sagging curls, she was a beauty, though water spots dappled her gray striped apron. But the rest of her clothes? Beneath the wide sleeves of her hideous black dress hid a white undergarment, one he could not name, its sleeves wrapped and pinned tight at the wrists, their edges soiled and wet.

Like a true rogue of the club, seducing her played in his mind, a notion he should quell, and fast. Something about her, innocence perhaps, he was loath to destroy.

Even as the man-eater’s keening continued, Reed could not take his eyes from the woman, nor she from him, it seemed. She pushed a damp, springy wisp of russet hair from her face leaving suds on the tips of her long, thick lashes.

Reed warmed and nodded toward the man-eater for distraction. “Best wash her and quick, or we’ll lose our hearing.”

WARRONNNK.

Reed regarded horn-blower. “Sorry, did I forget to give you credit for your portion of the din?”

“Hush, Luke,” Chastity said.

The scamp called Luke, and his brothers, watched their sister get the scrubbing of her life, and when Chastity sat back and blew hair from her face, those suds clung to her lashes.

“Done?” Reed asked.

“Done.” She sighed.

Reed released the small, bony shoulders, and up came the water-sprite, to run wet from the kitchen, three brothers at her heels.

“Bother,” said Chastity, kneeling in a puddle. “I suppose they’ll be back sooner or later.”

“Afraid so.”

Chastity frowned and rose to throw the bath water out the kitchen door. “How sad that you dislike children. They have so much love to give. Do you dislike them all, or just mine?”

He passed on questioning her custody any further. “Suffice it to say that I do not dislike every child as much as I dislike their company, especially in groups.”

“How big a group?”

“Two?”

Shaking her head, Chastity refilled the tub with water that had been heating, and threw in a bar of the lye soap. “Why did you help with Bekah?”

“Self-defense. She smelled.”

Yes, Reed thought, Chastity Somers was even more beautiful when she smiled. He watched her gather the children’s clothes, toss them into the soapy water and push them under.

“It’s been an age,” she said, “since their clothes saw soap; they need to soak.” She brushed the damp curls at her nape upward. “Are you ready to break your fast?”

“Here, wait,” Reed said, stepping near. Close your eyes.”

Her widening violet eyes a treat, Chastity finally did as he bid, making Reed wonder how far her obedience would go. Those lashes fluttering against her porcelain-pale cheeks, however, said that she fought obedience, while under his hands, her shoulders trembled.

Her breath fanned his face as he blew on a sudsy lash, and his lips grazed her cheek, almost by accident—a kiss, but not, light and fleet as butterfly-wings, skimming skin of smooth cool silk. His own skin warmed, as did his stone-cold heart, but he ignored the elemental warning.

‘Twas the most chaste, yet the most erotic of kisses—if it could be termed so—of his life. God’s teeth, he wanted to do it again.

Reed resisted the urge, his body strongly disagreeing with his decision.

Chastity opened her eyes, wonder in her look.

“Close them,” Reed whispered. “There’s a girl.” He blew on her lash again, ousting the suds this time, wishing there were more.

Yearning filled Chastity at the warmth of the stranger’s touch. A simple stroke, a heart close by; new and wild sensations. She had been born parched for human contact, for gentleness, succor. William had sensed and voiced it but never touched her.

Unlike William, Reed Gilbride, this seemingly cold, hard man created a purling of warmth within her, to the point that even her soul knew the wonder. She looked into his eyes, as golden bright as fire, before his mouth came again for hers, soft, swift, but steely with purpose, a startling sensation, pleasant and tingling, swelling and radiating to her breasts, her—

Chastity squeaked and stepped back. She should be frightened. She should demand that it never happen again, but she could not, because, God help her, she liked it.

So strong was her sense of loss when Reed Gilbride released her, Chastity fought an urge to cover her face to hide her disappointment.

She raised her chin and covered her thrumming heart, instead.

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

His look changed to ... horror? “You should not—that is, someone more worthy—I mean, I am not—”

“I know.” As mortified as on her wedding night, Chastity gazed somewhere beyond his right shoulder. Not attracted to her, of course. He would prefer someone more worthy; she should not be surprised. “Do not concern yourself. It will not happen again.” She’d displayed the kind of behavior the sisters warned her against.

Reed Gilbride became for her, a danger. Around him, she must tread wary.

He ran a trembling hand through his coal-black hair, mussing it. “Look I—”

“The incident is behind us, Mr. Gilbride, and will not be repeated, especially around the children.” She spoke for her own benefit as she rolled down her black wool sleeves. “Where were we? Oh, yes, would it not make a difference to how you felt if a child loved you? Do you not desire that kind of love?”

“One does not desire what one has never had.”

“Oh, that is not true,” she said in complete earnest. “It is not true at all.”

“Ah,” said he. “Now each of us knows something of the other, and of desire, and yearning, and the need for love, or of not regarding the lack of it. He cleared his throat. “Must be time to eat. You mentioned breakfast?”

Relieved to keep her hands and mind occupied, Chastity nodded and opened the tin-lined bin where she put their bread, but it was empty. She tried another, then another.

“Is something wrong?” the man standing too near for her peace asked.

She stepped back. “I cannot seem to find our food.”

“Where did you leave it?”

“In that bin, which is empty now.”

“Well, well, well.” Reed leaned against the sideboard, his arms crossed, his smug smile revealing the dimple in his chin. “What could have happened to it?”

“Oh.” Chastity bit her lip. The children had once again proved to be the brats he named them. “Once they know I will provide, they will stop saving against disaster.”

“They are little pilferers who will grow up to become hardened thieves, mark my words.”

Hand in hand, spanking clean, naked as the day they were born, the pilferers in question stepped into the kitchen and stood like blond-haired, blue-eyed stair-steps.

“Did any of you move the food I put away last night?” Chastity asked.

Matt shook his head, then Mark, then Luke, then Bekah.

“They’ve done this before,” Reed said near her ear, making her shiver, and want ... she knew not what.

Mark pointed an accusing finger his way. “He did it. He stole our food.”

Reed laughed, surprising even himself. “I do not usually find children amusing. I must be sickening from something. Hunger, mayhap?”

Chastity sighed. “Best make the introductions. Children this is— Shall they call you Reed?”

At his nod, she continued. “Reed, in order of size, these are the Jessops, Matthew, age about 10, Mark, 8, Luke, 6—he plays the horn.”

Reed acknowledged the musically-gifted child and vowed to banish said instrument to shepherd’s-horn heaven. “What, no John? As in Matthew, Mark, Luke and—”

“John died.” Mark’s narrowed eyes filled with hate.

Reed groaned. That would teach him not to drop his guard. He could take a lesson from Mark: Remain poised, fists clenched, protecting heart and head, stance defensive, the way he had faced life before war softened him.

Around this seductive woman and these small insidious weapons she wielded so masterfully, he must remain strong.

“You mean you had another brother?” Chastity asked.

“He died when he was small. Mum cried a lot.”

Chastity knelt to hug Matt.

Reed’s mother had never hugged him, Reed thought, though the Midwife Gilbride had not been his real mother. Then again, neither was Chastity Matt’s
real
mother. Could his notion of a cold-as-steel world be wrong? Could he adapt his hard-edged attitude to a softer, warmer existence without landing on the sharp edge of the blade, or finding the dull when he needed the sharp?

Chastity opened her arms to the others.

Now that he had held her, even for a minute, Reed resented the children’s place in the circle of her embrace, and he detested himself for it. Who was this woman, who gave love and comfort to the children of another? Comfort ... had she sought that from him earlier? What did she mean about wanting something one never had? Did she need succor so badly that she bore a keen sense when others needed it?

If that were so, he was in trouble, for he did not bloody well want her sensing his needs, not when he worked so hard to hide them.

Above the four small heads, she regarded him with enmity. And why the devil it troubled him, Reed could not say, because he did not care a rat’s tail what she thought. “They’re shivering, damn it. Dress them. You’re not being a very good mother, if you ask me.”

Bloody hell. She looked as if he’d slapped her. Pale as a tallow candle, she rose and looked about. “Oh my God!”

“What now?” Reed snapped, his mood foul.

“Their clothes are all wet!” She picked up a satchel to rummage inside. “I must have something that will serve.”

“Damnation!” Reed stormed off. A scourge on her and her brigands for muddying his goal. After he found out who he was—if proof existed—he would send them packing so bloody fast—

Chastity emptied her bag to sift through her clothes. Her children were naked; there were no clothes. They were hungry; there was no food. She knelt to put more logs on the fire. “I can provide for you and I will, by God!”

Luke patted her shoulder. “Course you will, Kitty. We’re better already since you took us.”

The rogue came storming back with four homespun shirts. “Put these on them, damn it. What the devil is that?”

Chastity looked behind her, gasped, and snatched her veil off Bekah’s head. Any other time, the sight of the little one wearing a wimple would be charming, but this was the worst possib—

“Let me see that.” Reed took the veil and examined it as if he expected it to change form, spew venom, and slither away. Before Chastity knew what he was about, he set it on her head, stood back, and whistled. “Holy—your accent? French? A Papist, right? Ugly black dress, vows. No, ah, men. You’re some kind of nun! Are you?”

Perhaps this was best, Chastity thought. Her old life could provide a deal of protection—from herself and him. His look of utter helplessness, when he saw her hug the children, had made her want to beguile him into accepting affection, himself—the children’s as well as hers. Dangerous thought, that.

“Well, are you?” he wanted to know.

“Am I what?”

“A damned nun.”

“Damned? I certainly hope not. I have been led to believe that nuns are usually saved.”

“A nun!” He had lusted after a nun, which would get him nowhere, except into hell. Reed looked at the nun again. He thought about her lustrous hair, now hidden from view by her ridiculous headgear, the feel of her against him, even for that moment. Seduction, again, came to mind—the seduction of Sister Chastity.

“Damnation!” This was not the road to hell, this was hell itself.

Chastity settled the odd headgear about her face and shoulders and tucked her hair inside, a sacrilege. As Reed watched in horrid fascination, he silently called down the wrath of any number of pagan spirits upon fate for placing him here with this woman and these children.

“Mr. Gilbride, I fail to understand your anger. Nothing has changed. You need a job and a place to stay. I need your help around Sunnyledge. We have a bargain.”