Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (6 page)

Jeremy frowned, still not understanding the cause of the woman’s breathless laughter—which had soon turned to low moans.

He had meant to sneak down for a closer look, but something had held him back. And the pair’s faces, when they emerged from the barn some quarter of an hour later, had been contented enough, even though they did have hay scattered all over their backs.

He would definitely have to ask Uncle Tony about that, Jeremy decided. It was time he knew about such things. He was nearly
ten,
after all.

“So why won’t he get married?”

“Hang it, Elspeth, how should
I
know?” The boy scowled and reached for another stone. This one missed its mark by at least three feet. “There, see what you made me do! Now I’m almost out of artillery shells.”

Elspeth’s thumb slipped back to its perch. Her face grew tense.

Instantly repentant, her brother leaned down and hugged her clumsily. “No need to cry, silly. Grown-ups are—well, just queer about such things. They spend hours mooning about, writing poetry and making cow eyes at each other. The next thing you know, they’ve forgotten the whole business. Damned waste, if you ask me.”

Elspeth’s eyes grew saucer-round at this breach of what Nanny called “proper and gentlemanlike deportment.”

Her thumb popped from her astonished mouth. “Oh, Je’emy! Nanny would cane you if she heard
that!”

“We’ll just have to see that she doesn’t hear, won’t we?” The boy shot his sister a conspiratorial glance, full of mischief and bravado.

The two broke into wild laughter, hugging their sides until tears came, all their earlier differences forgotten.

When they finally settled back against the rough wooden floor, Elspeth squinted up at the sky, her blue eyes thoughtful. “But I
know
Uncle Tony likes ladies,” she confided. “I think he likes them ever so much, in fact.”

Her brother frowned. “Not the same, you know.”

“What?”

“Ladies.”

Elspeth’s thumb eased free. “Why not?”

“Because ladies aren’t—well, they’re not the same as
women.
”

“But—”

“Hang it, Elspeth, don’t ask me why! I know what I know, that’s all. The second groom told me so.
Ladies
are for marrying, but women are for—” He frowned. “Well, they’re for doing that noisy stuff Uncle Tony was doing in the barn with the widow from London. That sort of thing is
different,”
he ended importantly.

Elspeth eyed him in round-eyed awe. “Golly, Je’emy! You know ever so much about men and ladies. How did you—”

But her brother had done enough explaining for one day. “Blast it, Elspeth, no more questions!” He fired off another of his dwindling supply of stones. The quartz spun through space, glittered for a moment in a bar of sunlight, then struck the beech tree with a satisfying
thwack.

But Elspeth was not deterred, even in the face of such impressive marksmanship. “He lost his heart to Uncle Hawke’s wife, you know.”

A started sound broke from the young duke’s lips. “Where did you hear that, you little devil?”

His sister merely smiled, kicking her feet back and forth in the warm air.

Jeremy elbowed her. “Spill all or I’ll tickle you until you scream.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will
not!”

“Will too!”
As if to prove it, Jeremy leaned close, his fingers curled in an elaborate gesture of menace.

“Stop! I’ll tell! I’ll tell!”

Jeremy’s eyes softened. “Give over then. Where did you hear it?”

Elspeth looked sheepish for a moment. “I heard it when—when I was in the linen closet.”

“What in the blazes were you doing in
there?”

The girl’s hands closed tightly over her doll. “I was hiding. I was going to run away, “ she added defiantly.

“You were
what
?” Outrage tightened Jeremy’s young face. “Without me?”

Elspeth sniffed. “It was last month. I was ever so lonely, and all you could think about was that ugly old tin soldier Uncle Tony brought you from London.” Her fingers opened and closed. “You never sneak in to see me anymore after Nanny puts out the candle. You never come to take me fishing. And you never want to play knights and dragons. Not since you became d-duke.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. “All you want to do is poke your head into some stuffy old book or walk about with the grooms, or—”

Jeremy frowned, uncomfortably aware that there was truth to his sister’s accusations. “I’m never too busy to talk with you, silly goose. And if you ever decide to run away again, you’d jolly well better take me with you. Understand?”

Elspeth nodded obediently.

They settled back against the planked floor and Elspeth’s thumb slid back into her mouth. For a long time they sat that way, their eyes fixed dreamily on the passing clouds.

“Je’emy?”

“What
now
?”

“Uncle Tony was heels over head for Lady Ravenhurst, too.” Elspeth’s brow creased. “Or maybe it was head over heels. I couldn’t hear so well when they tossed the sheets in.”

Her brother gasped. “Lady Ravenhurst
too
?”

His sister nodded soberly. “The under-housemaid told the second parlor maid so. Cook smacked them both and told them they’d best stop carrying tales about their betters.”

“I can just believe Cook would. Dash it, where were
you
all this time?”

“Hiding in the scullery, of course. What’s
heels over head
mean, Je’emy?”

Her brother sighed. He had some notion of what this phrase meant, but decided not to tell. One question might lead to another, and he was out of his depth already. “Oh, it means that you like someone.”

Elspeth smoothed her doll’s skirts. “I guess that means I’m heels over head with Uncle Tony,” she said happily. “I wish
he
were our papa.”

“He’s our uncle, silly. He can’t be our papa.”

“Well, he
looks
just like our papa. And his name is almost the same. Besides, our papa wasn’t good—all of the servants say so.”

Jeremy had heard enough gossip of his own to believe this statement, but he didn’t like the idea of his sister hearing it. “What have the servants said, Elspeth?”

His sister shrugged. “That he cheated at cards. The third footman said he didn’t pay his gambling debts, that he hadn’t a feather to fly with. And he got one of the scullery maids with a bun in the oven. What does
that
mean, Je’emy?”

“Never you mind,” her brother said in a choked voice.

Elspeth shrugged. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. But Cook said that our papa was a man with a Great Vice. I wonder what she meant.” Her small head cocked to one side. “Do you think that he stole scones from the stillroom like we did last month and got sent to bed without supper? Do you think that was what Cook meant? “

Jeremy’s eyes turned chill. “I imagine it was something like that, Elspeth.”

The lie came smoothly enough. After all, Jeremy had learned a great deal about lying in the last months.

He had also learned to bear the pain of cruel discoveries, but he deuced well wasn’t going to see Elspeth suffering that same pain.

“Never mind.” He ran a hand through his sister’s tangled curls. “You’ve got me to take care of you. We’ll manage just fine.”

Elspeth rewarded him with a sunny smile that reflected her endless faith in his talents.

And then a new thought struck her. “What if Uncle Tony never comes back? What if he goes back to that place he went before—China, wasn’t it? Or to that nasty war with that mean old Frenchman?”

“He’s Corsican, not French, Elspeth. And the war is over. Uncle Tony’s never going back to fight. He told us so the night he came.”

Jeremy’s voice trailed away as he remembered the night Tony had arrived, mud-stained and exhausted, from Bath. He had gathered the children close, his hands tight about their shoulders.

And that was how they learned that their mama would not be coming home. Not ever again.

Their uncle had held them close several months later, when he’d told them the same thing about their papa.

Thank God for their uncle Tony, Jeremy thought. Without him, the months that followed would have been unbearable.

“I remember,” Elspeth said softly. Her hand stole into Jeremy’s. “Uncle Tony was ever so nice. I like him a great deal
more
than Papa, so there!” Her bottom lip began to tremble. “I wish
he
were our real papa.”

“He can’t be that.” Jeremy’s voice rose in exasperation. “They were twins, silly. Just because Jem Coachman looks like the Prince Regent in his cups doesn’t mean he can stroll into Carlton House and command the royal carriage to be brought around,” he added scornfully.

Elspeth considered this. “What does
in his cups
mean?”

Her brother snorted. “Never you mind! And give up this idea of having Uncle Tony for a father. He’s our uncle. We’ll just have to make do with
that.”

Elspeth gave a slow, thoughtful suck on her thumb. “But when will he come back?” she asked plaintively.

“In two weeks, just as he promised. He’s never broken a promise before, has he?”

“Only that one time.”

“He
had
to stay in London then, silly. It was Official Business, with the government and all. I thought you understood.”

Elspeth merely sniffed. “You understood. I never said
I
did.” A tear slid down her grubby cheek. Another followed.

With a low sound, her brother circled her trembling shoulders. For a long time they sat that way, black hair against gold, Elspeth’s grubby rag doll crushed between them. The sharp pain of their memories was almost beyond bearing.

Finally the little girl began to squirm. Still sniffling, she pulled away and inched over to the ladder. “I w-want to go home.”

“Be careful on those rungs,” her brother cautioned, hovering above her as she inched down to safety.

But Jeremy took his time gathering the last of his stones into a battered canvas satchel. By then, his face carried tear tracks of its own.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun sank slowly, crimson and gold above the slender spires of St. Paul’s.

Seated in a deep wing chair before a sunny window, the Duke of Wellington stared at the two men opposite him.

“Damned bad business. Sometimes I think the whole country’s going to rack and ruin. Riots and disorder. Disrespect of the grossest sort.” The duke sighed. “The country’s changing, and something tells me I am not going to like the new country it becomes half so much. And then there’s this whole bloody business with China.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a heavy parchment sheet, which he waved heatedly. “Have you
seen
this?”

Morland shook his head.

“It’s a letter from the Celestial Son of Heaven himself, written direct to King George III. I’ve just been shown the thing today.”

Scowling, Wellington hunched forward and began to read, his outrage growing with every word: “
The Celestial Kingdom possesses all things. The Son of Heaven has no use for your odd or ingenious devices. Nor do we have any desire for your country’s products.
”

Wellington’s eyes hardened. “And then the emperor adds this:
Obedience is demanded. Only complete submission will ensure the harmony and prosperity you desire.”
Wellington slowly crushed the paper to a tight ball. “Has the fool
any
idea to whom he is speaking?”

Morland decided prudence lay in silence.

What good would it do to remind Wellington that the Chinese had ruled a vast, civilized empire centuries before the first Romans came to England and found themselves greeted by savages in blue paint? That Chinese armies had once controlled half of the world, while Chinese fleets had cruised the ocean all the way to Africa?

But Morland said none of those things.

He only waited.

The duke raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to your hair-raising scheme, Tony. Let us pray that it works. We’ve lost too many fine men already in Spain and Portugal. I don’t care to lose any more.”

The duke frowned down at his half-filled glass. “England is changing, I fear. All these infernal machines belch smoke and noise, turning out things people don’t need for prices they can’t pay. Northern nabobs, civil unrest. Damned if I know what to make of it. And more trouble yet to come, I fear.”

The three men were silent, each recalling the horrors of war. And now, though the war had ended, the turmoil continued.

Admiral Blessington finished his drink and sat back. “What’s to be done next?”

Morland stared at the cut-crystal decanter beside Wellington’s fingers. It reminded him of cold passes and frigid Spanish dawns. Of promises made but not kept.

More memories. Each more bitter than the last…