Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman (10 page)

Then, squaring his shoulders, he mounted the steps of the small seaside office where his chequered past and uncertain future were about to collide.

G
reville entered the building to find a small, swarthy man in sailor's garb seated on a stool behind a desk in the anteroom. One side of the man's face was covered with a bandana, while his visible eye focused on the elaborate knot pattern he was creating with a length of twine. One of the hands plying the rope was missing two fingers, Greville noted.

As Greville walked over, the sailor jumped up and touched his forehead respectfully. ‘Kin I help you, sir?'

Greville noted further that the old sailor balanced on one wooden leg affixed below his knee. No question, then, why this seaman was moored in port. ‘Yes, Mr…?'

‘Gunner's Mate Andrew Porter, sir, late of the
Indie
.'

‘Ah,
Indefatigable
, a fine ship! I'm Greville Anders, late of the
Illustrious
.'

Porter's one eye brightened with interest. ‘Was you on board for her action against the Algerines a month or so back?'

‘Yes, I was.'

‘Ah, what a fine fight it were, or so I've been told! Had a dust-up with that ship and her captain back when we was
battling the slave trade off the Africa coast. Fierce fighters. Carrying quite a cache of gold this time, I hear, instead of the poor Europeans they used to sell off to them harems and such.'

‘So it was rumoured. I took the sharp side of a cutlass before we breached the hold. Though I fared better than you, the wounds were bad enough that they shipped me back.'

‘Aye, luckier by half,' the man acknowledged with a nod. ‘I couldn't tell you'd been wounded, whereas there'll be no more deep-water sailing for old Andrew, more's the pity. But why are you not in uniform, sir?'

With him wearing gentleman's dress, the sailor took him for an officer, Greville realised. ‘I was transferred off in the rags of the clothing in which I fought the action. I had no seaman's trunk to follow me, nor spare uniforms; I was impressed as a landsman.'

The sailor's eyes widened as he took in that information. ‘Thought we weren't impressing no more, now that the war against Boney's over. And it weren't never legal to impress gentlemen.'

‘The circumstances of my entering the Navy were rather…unusual. In any event, proceedings are underway to have me honourably released from the service. In the meantime, I am to report to the commanding officer here.'

‘That would be Lieutenant Belcher,' the sailor said. ‘I'll tell him you're here.

Greville was duly escorted into an inner office with a window overlooking the harbour. Behind the desk sat an older man in a naval lieutenant's uniform. Since he was wearing civilian dress—and if cousin Nicky prevailed with the Navy Board, he would remain garbed that way—Greville did not salute.

After the gunner introduced them, Belcher said, ‘Mr Anders, what can I do for you?'

‘Technically, Lieutenant, I'm still a landsman attached to the
Illustrious
, although I expect soon to have word from the Admiralty Board directing that I be released from service.'

Belcher frowned. ‘You, sir, are obviously a gentleman. How did you come to do service as a common sailor?'

‘Apparently the ship was vastly undermanned due to an attack of virulent fever among the crew. Eager to set off immediately for the Algerine coast, the captain instructed the press gang to take every able-bodied man they could find. Once underway, he had neither the inclination nor the opportunity to send me back.'

‘If you were confined with the crew, 'tis little wonder you seek a discharge! Most are scurvy knaves, working only for their rum ration and out of fear of the lash.'

Greville's initially favourable impression of the lieutenant abruptly declined. How could an officer expect to inspire the respect and allegiance of his crew, if he held
them
in so little respect? There had been one or two such officers among the wardroom of the
Illustrious
—all uniformly despised by the men.

‘True, there were slackers and malcontents, but the majority were good solid men,' he replied. ‘The ship ran with an admirable efficiency that would not have been possible without a skilled crew performing their respective jobs as a unit.'

Belcher sniffed. ‘If the ship ran with “admirable efficiency”, it was because the captain knew how to get work out of scum. I'm astounded that you, who claim to be a gentleman, could have served for any time aboard ship and remain ignorant of so obvious a truth. Unless your common sense was tainted by the common associations you formed below decks?' he proposed, chuckling a little at his own joke.

Greville was not amused. Association with hard-working common sailors had made him a better man than he'd been a year ago. His entire view of life had radically altered after
spending months as one of the powerless at the mercy of those who exercised power—for good or ill.

Without the compassion and assistance of several of those ‘scurvy knaves', he wouldn't have survived the experience.

‘That wasn't my impression of the men aboard the
Illustrious
, but I allow you your opinion.'

‘Oh, will you now?' Belcher cried, drawing himself up stiffly, as if to move away from the contamination of Greville's views. ‘That's not the manner in which a sailor addresses a superior officer, a fact I advise you to remember for such time as you remain attached to the Navy. In fact, I'd be of a mind to discipline you for it, but as I haven't yet received word from Admiralty apprising me of your exact position, for now, I will exercise leniency.'

He leaned towards Greville, a banty rooster ruffling his feathers. ‘Don't count on it happening again, sirrah. In any event, given your scant experience, you can't be entrusted with any naval duties. You shall remain in Salters Bay until Admiralty sends me word of their decision.'

‘Am I dismissed, then, Lieutenant?'

Ignoring Greville's question, Belcher said, half to himself, ‘I've got Black John Kessel moving in, intimidating villagers, even attacking my revenue officers. I need more veteran sailors to man my cutters, and they send me a useless landsman with peculiar opinions.' He shook his head in disgust. ‘Very well, Anders, you may go.'

By now as angry as Belcher, Greville inclined his head. ‘Lieutenant,' he said by way of farewell, determined not to accord the man a ‘sir.'

As he turned to the door, the lieutenant said, ‘I suppose I should enquire if you need billeting? I can have Porter find you something in town since you are, apparently, still the Navy's responsibility.'

‘No need to trouble yourself,' Greville said. ‘I've been offered hospitality for the duration by Lord Bronning.'

The lieutenant was nodding absently, but at that name, his eyes snapped wide. ‘Lord Bronning?' he echoed. ‘Can you mean…
Miss Neville
's father?'

Greville suppressed a smile. Apparently the glorious Amanda had made a conquest here. ‘The same. You are acquainted with his lordship and Miss Neville?'

‘We've been introduced, though I've never been invited to Ashton Gr—' Belcher halted abruptly, his ruddy colour deepening with indignation as he realised this man whom he disdained was on familiar terms with the most important family in the locality—and he was not.

‘A most handsome property,' Greville said. It might be ignoble of him, but he was enjoying Belcher's chagrin. ‘You must visit it, should you ever have the opportunity.' Leaving the lieutenant with his open mouth gaping like a beached halibut, Greville walked to the door.

Gunner Porter sprang up as he reached the threshold. ‘Should I add Mr Anders to the duty roster, Lieutenant?'

‘No!' Belcher barked. ‘I'm not sure what to do with such a person,' he added, his aggrieved voice still vibrant with anger. Turning to Greville, he said, ‘I shall dispatch a letter to the Admiralty, enquiring about your case. Report back here in a week, Anders.'

‘Mr Anders,' Greville corrected softly, holding the man's gaze. He might pay for it later if Englemere's intervention didn't succeed and he ended up under this man's authority, but he had ultimate confidence in cousin Nicky's influence. And he did not intend to bend to this petty tyrant.

The lieutenant looked away first. ‘You are dismissed.'

Greville closed the office door after him and turned to see the gunner grinning. ‘Mustn't mind ol' Belcher, sir. Likes to act important, as if he was still aboard a man-of-war, standing
the quarterdeck watch. Hard on him, being passed over for promotion. With the cutbacks in the Navy and the war ended, he knows he'll probably never get a command—unless he finds a rich wife to buy him one, like that Miss Neville you was speaking of.'

‘Gunny, were you listening at the door?'

‘Can't help if yer voices was a bit loud,' the sailor replied.

Recalling Belcher's contempt for sailors, Greville said, ‘Though I imagine you'd welcome his transfer, I have to say I'm glad the lieutenant will never get a command.'

‘The devil of it is, I understand he's a damn good sailor. But he's got the making of a flogging captain if anyone does, and there's nothing worse in the fleet. So you lived on the deck plates, you a gentleman 'n all?' Porter shook his grizzled head. ‘Seems near impossible.'

Greville remembered his shock and despair when the truth had finally sunk in that he was not going to be able to talk his way off the ship. ‘It nearly was.'

With neither the training nor experience as a sailor, suffering from the unaccustomed labour and poor food, for a time he feared he might never leave the fleet save with his feet weighted down, slipped over the side under the cover of a Union Jack.

‘Had it not been for the doctor who tended me and one old salt who'd been at sea since he was a five-year-old powder monkey, I might not have survived. He kept the bullies from tormenting me, went out of his way to teach me how to perform my duties.'

‘Had a friend meself among
Illustrious
's crew. Everyone called him Old Tom, been in the service since sails was first made, he used to say. You woulda known him, I expect.'

‘Indeed, I did! It was Old Tom who helped me. An excellent sailor, and I've never met a finer man,' Greville said warmly.

‘We sailed the China coast together, and there weren't never
a better Jack Tar in a gale or a fight. Sure wouldn't mind having more of his ilk here, what with what's going on now.'

Greville recalled Lord Bronning warning his son about smugglers and the concern the lieutenant had just expressed. ‘What is going on?'

‘Always been smugglers here—how could there not be, close as we be to the French coast and duty on brandy and fripperies being so high? Things been run for years by John Rattenbury out of Beer, a right kindly gentleman the folks hereabouts call Rob Roy. But lately, a gang from Sennlach near Land's End been trying to take over his territory, led by an out-and-out cutthroat more fit to captain a pirate crew.'

Porter shook his head. ‘Black John fired at the last revenue cutter that got close to his ship, wounding three and killing one sailor outright afore he slipped away into the mist. I hear he gets local people to move goods for him—whether they be willing or not.'

‘Is that why there are no cutters at anchor now?'

‘Aye, they're all out looking for him, though I'm not so sure the next dust-up won't come on land. There were a fight between Black John's men and Rob Roy's last month over how they was forcing some folk to store his cargo. Then, just last week, Farmer Johnson was found murdered. It's said he refused to hide contraband for Black John. My friends in the village tell me some in Salters Bay been saying they better stand up to Black John afore he takes out them what resist him, one by one.'

‘Sounds like a man who needs killing. I don't think I'm able yet to wield a cutlass with any force, but I'd be glad to help out if I can.'

‘You get yourself healed first afore you think of joining a fight,' Porter advised. ‘Well, I reckon the lieutenant will send word when the Admiralty makes up its mind.' He patted Gre
ville on the arm. ‘It's the Navy, though. Don't expect it will be quick.'

Greville thought of the enticing Miss Neville. ‘Slow is fine with me.'

The old seaman chuckled. ‘Wouldn't expect nothing else from a man who's hanging his hammock in the house of a beauty like Miss Neville!'

Who was by now probably waiting for him at the inn. Cheered by that thought—and by recalling the arrogant Lieutenant Belcher's teeth-gnashing indignation at finding his subordinate on familiar terms with so rich and beautiful a lady—Greville bid the sailor goodbye and headed off to find the Knight and Dragon.

A
fter an enjoyable lunch at the inn, during which Mr Anders kept them amused with naval anecdotes, Amanda let him hand her into the gig for the drive home.

For a few moments, the pleasant tingling sensation created by the touch of his hands at her waist halted all other thoughts. Then it faded and her present worries rushed back.

Their excursion was almost over, and she'd still not worked out how to have a private word with Mr Anders about whatever he might have learned of the smuggling threat. She didn't think it wise to broach the matter in front of Althea; she had enough to worry about without having her Navy-mad cousin decide to go haring off investigating on her own. Or worse, take it into her head to help the free-traders bring in cargo, as Amanda suspected her bored brother George might be doing.

She hadn't wanted to voice the fear to Papa, but after what he'd said about the local smugglers, the many nights her brother had absented himself and the mornings she'd caught him creeping in had taken on an ominous new meaning. If something as exciting as a battle between rival smuggling groups
was going on, George would very likely want to be right in the thick of it.

She'd tried to send Althea off on an errand before they left the inn. But since the girl was perfectly indifferent to visiting the haberdasher or the local modiste and there was, alas, no bookseller in town, Amanda hadn't been able to shake herself free of her cousin's company after Mr Anders rejoined them.

There'd be no opportunity for a private chat now, with Althea seated right beside them in the gig. Tuning out her cousin's chatter, Amanda tried to figure out how she might create a chance to talk with Mr Anders once they reached Ashton Grove.

‘…open air so energising, I believe I shall ride once we get home.' Althea's words penetrated her abstraction. Amanda looked up sharply to see her cousin direct a hopeful glance at Mr Anders. ‘Would you like to accompany me?'

To Amanda's relief, Mr Anders said, ‘Perhaps another time, Miss Holton. Poor spirited as that makes me appear, I must confess to being somewhat wearied by our excursion today.'

Amanda didn't doubt it. She'd seen how he'd grimaced, one hand going instinctively to cushion his wounded side after he'd hauled back on the reins to halt and then control their frightened team during the near-collision earlier.

He'd steadied them masterfully. That incident and the way he drove today demonstrated a skill at handling the ribbons any Society Corinthian might envy.

Had he been a Corinthian? He'd not yet explained how he came to enter the Navy as a mere common sailor. Amanda wished for once she was as heedless of proper behaviour as Althea and could just boldly enquire about this and several other very personal matters.

She knew he'd attended Cambridge. What else had he done for what looked to be thirty-odd years? Amanda had to admit to a very ill-bred curiosity.

She came back from her reverie to hear Mr Anders encouraging Miss Holton to proceed without him and chose a favourite path on which he might ride with her later.

Excellent, she thought. When Althea stepped down at the entryway to go change into her habit, she'd invent some excuse to remain in the gig while Anders returned it to the stables. That would gain her a snippet of time on their way back to the manor for her to speak with him.

It would be only a short walk across a flat bit of Ashton Grove land, but an unexpected thrill of anticipation ran through her. Would he think she was asking for something other than advice if she were bold enough to solicit his company?

She recalled that moment on the terrace at Ashton when, startled, her eyes had locked on his. Heat had blazed across her skin, her bosom, her lips. Every nerve awakened, she'd sensed the descent of his lips towards hers, anticipated the brush of his hands at her sides. Urgency flooded her to feel the warmth of his hard chest against her body, the press of his mouth upon hers.

Her face and ears flaming at the memories, surreptitiously she fanned herself, blessing the fact that Althea continued to chatter on, holding Mr Anders's attention. Though her experience was limited, she did have some notion of what had transpired between them on the terrace. Now she felt acutely aware of him seated beside her, radiating a strength, warmth and boldness that urged her to draw closer.

Lust was the blunt name for the force pulling them together, a force, she was nearly certain, he felt as strongly as she. A year ago in the autumn, before her second aborted Season, Mama had taken her to the local assemblies in Exeter, to acquire a bit of town bronze before she had to appear under the far more exacting eyes of the London
ton
.

Several attractive young gentlemen had pursued her. She'd felt a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach when one
particular man, a rogue with knowing eyes and a wicked smile, let his fingers linger just a bit longer than was proper on her waist and wrist when he helped her in or out of her carriage.

Mama would have been horrified had she ever learned, but she'd even let Lord J. of the dancing smile and roving hands walk her into her cousin's garden and steal a kiss behind the rose arbour.

Like the scent of the autumn blooms that masked their intrigue, the kiss had begun as a sweet, light sensation. Then came the shock of a wet tongue brushing her lips, a firm hard hand stroking her breast.

Aghast, she'd broken away immediately and run from the garden…not sure whether it was the audacious Lord J. or her own response to him that had frightened her the most. She'd returned to Ashton Grove the next day, never able to decide whether she was glad or happy she wouldn't see her rogue again.

She was honest enough to admit she'd be delighted to repeat the experience—with Mr Anders's hand at her breast and Mr Anders's tongue tasting her lips.

In fact, the thought of him doing so sent a veritable blast of sensation through her, making her nipples tingle and sending a rush of liquid heat between her thighs, far dwarfing in intensity the response she'd had to Lord J. that long-ago afternoon.

She drew in a shaky breath, not sure what had just happened. She only knew it was fortunate the rose garden at Ashton was now nothing but sad brown sticks stripped of foliage, awaiting spring.

As she and her desires must do. If she wanted to fulfil Mama's dream of making an advantageous match, she couldn't racket about Ashton Grove, kissing available men when the fancy struck her.

Even though the urging to do so had been stealing over her with increasing frequency ever since that interlude on the
terrace, she thought—and realised she'd instinctively slid closer to him.

This would never do, she told herself, moving towards the outer rail of the gig and firmly yanking her thoughts away from his too-attractive torso.

Ah, yes, it was time to get herself wedded and bedded indeed!

Since Mr Anders was not a member of the political elite into which she aspired to wed—assuming wedlock was of any interest to him, which he'd given her no reason whatever to believe—she'd do better to turn her thoughts to someone who was…like Lord Trowbridge.

If what their neighbour said was true, here was a gentleman who seemed a perfect choice to make all her plans a reality.

Not that she doubted Mr William's word, but he, like Papa, preferred to tend his acres and remain in country. He'd have no way of knowing whether Trowbridge's attractive exterior was matched by an excellence of character worthy of his family's position among the
ton
and his father's prominence in government.

Lady Parnell would know. Amanda would just have to wait until London, where she could rely upon that lady to guide her choice. But in the interim, it wouldn't hurt to get to know Trowbridge better. After finding a way to speak privately with Mr Anders, she would speak with Papa about arranging a dinner.

She squelched a
frisson
of unease at the little voice pointing out that, despite her appreciation for his many assets of family, title and position, she felt for him nothing like the strong, instinctive attraction that pulled her towards Mr Anders.

 

Stealing a few moments with her guest turned out to be easier to arrange than she'd hoped. By the time the gig turned into the entry gates at Ashton Grove, cloud banks had blown
up, accompanied by a sharp wind that promised rain. Anxious to get in a ride before the weather turned, as soon as Mr Anders pulled the gig up before the entry Althea scrambled out and flew into the house. While Anders waited for the footman to assist Amanda down, in a voice she hoped sounded quite natural, she informed him she'd like to continue on to the stables, as she needed to speak with the head groom, and would like to claim his escort to the house afterwards.

He made no comment, only setting the horses back in motion, though she dared not sneak a glance at his expression.

It took only a few moments' thought to come up with a topic to discuss with Jenkins. Though the head groom gave her an odd look when she enquired about the ordering of tack, a matter that was certainly not of sufficient urgency that she needed to seek him out this particular afternoon, thankfully he asked no awkward questions while Mr Anders stood by, waiting politely.

Then, finally the moment arrived. Heart hammering in nervous anticipation, she turned to Mr Anders, who offered her his arm. The jolt of sensation as she laid her hand upon it, for a moment, blew every other thought out of her head.

Obviously not as affected by the contact as she, Mr Anders was able to chat politely about their pleasant day's outing, giving her time to recover.

Gathering up her scattered wits, she said, ‘I must offer my apologies for kidnapping you, but I needed to speak to you without Althea being present.'

‘You flatter me,' he replied. Then, a naughty light gleaming in his eyes, he added, ‘Do with me what you will.'

Back into her head flew the image of kissing him behind the arbour, his mouth on hers, his tongue seeking…

Jerking her thoughts away, she said, ‘You may recall my father mentioning his concern about a rather ruthless group of smugglers who've moved in to challenge the local men. My
brother George, after being sent down from Cambridge, asked and was refused Papa's permission to await the beginning of his next term in London. I fear that, bored and resentful of being forced to remain far from his friends and amusements, he may have become involved. Confounding the revenuers and maybe earning himself a cut of the profits is just the sort of thing that would appeal to him.'

By the time she'd finished, the teasing light had gone out of his eyes. ‘What makes you think he might be involved?'

Quickly she described the many nights her brother had been absent and the mornings she'd caught him sneaking in, not always in his cups. To her dismay, rather than passing off her concern with a joke about hovering womenfolk and a recommendation that she loosen the young man's leading strings, Mr Anders's expression turned more serious.

‘He's certainly been absenting himself during the hours that smugglers would be moving their cargoes. And both Lieutenant Belcher and Petty Officer Porter at the Coastal Brigade station mentioned there'd been a marked increase in tension lately between the local men and a group of newcomers for control of this stretch of coast. The Cornish group seems not at all averse to violence.'

His words confirmed her worst fears. ‘Did you learn anything more about the situation?'

‘Nothing specific. But Porter did say he thinks some sort of altercation might be imminent.' Anders shook his head. ‘I wish I'd known of your concern before I reported in. Though I'm not due to return for more than a week, perhaps I will drive in sooner, see what else I can discover.'

‘I would be most grateful! And if you would, please don't mention this to my cousin. She might be moved to try to investigate on her own, and she is as heedless of danger as my lackwit of a brother.'

‘Poor Miss Neville!' he said with a sympathetic smile. ‘Yet
more concerns to occupy you. No wonder you wish to escape to London.'

She flushed, feeling both ashamed and resentful. Was it so wrong that she wished to escape dealing with such a tangle of problems? ‘That makes me sound self-centred and frivolous.'

‘I meant nothing of sort!' he protested. ‘Excuse me, but you seem far too young to have been saddled with the many responsibilities you must shoulder. And shoulder with excellence, I should add.'

Her resentment dissolved in a glow of pleasure at his compliment. ‘But here I am, selfishly chattering on about my own concerns. What of you? Did Lieutenant Belcher have any information about your situation?'

He grimaced. ‘Precious little. He wasn't even aware that I'd be reporting. He's going to send a note to the Admiralty, requesting their guidance.' He grinned. ‘I'm afraid he didn't think much of this former gentleman-turned-landsman. He made it quite clear he doesn't want me involved in any of his patrol work.'

‘If there's a confrontation in the offing, I should think he would want to muster every able-bodied hand.'

Too late, she caught the connection and could have bitten her tongue. He must have as well, for as he watched her face flame, a slow, teasing smile curved his lips.

‘I'm glad you think I'm…able-bodied,' he said softly, his velvet voice rich with sensual undertones.

Oh, she did indeed! With his head tilted towards her, those arresting green eyes fixed on her face, his lips curved in a wicked smile, he was temptation incarnate. Her fingers itched to explore, from the broad shoulders down his chest to the trim waist…and lower. Lean up just a bit, rest her hand on his shoulder, and she might brush his mouth with her own…

Her pulse hammered and she jerked her gaze away. With a shuddering breath, she forced her feet back in motion. If this
was how well she was going to resist the pesky attraction that kept pulling her to him, she'd better get back to the house, and quickly.