The Last Wicked Scoundrel (6 page)

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” William said quietly. “Although you might instruct your butler that he needs to knock before entering.”

She nodded jerkily. “I want to die.”

“Winnie, you are not at fault here. The fault is mine for being unable to resist your charms.” He tucked his finger beneath her chin and titled her head back until he was gazing into her eyes. “Invite me to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, you know. That meal that takes place in the evening, a few hours before bedtime.”

“Are you not at all embarrassed by being caught?”

“I’ve been caught for worst offenses, and there’s no punishment to be had here except for the abrupt ending to something that I was enjoying immensely.” He gave her a wicked smile. “I’ll promise to behave this evening if it’ll put you at ease.”

As wrong as it was, she wasn’t certain she wanted him to behave. Still, she nodded. “Yes, please join me for dinner.”

“I’ll be here at half past seven.” Leaning in, he took her mouth hotly, but swiftly, before giving her a seductive wink and grin. “Now button up.”

As he began striding from the room, she slid off the desk and began to do as he suggested.

C
atherine Langdon, Countess of Claybourne, paced the hallway just outside the door to Winnie’s study. The butler’s announcement of her arrival was only a formality that he insisted upon. She knew the duchess would always be at home to her, as did the butler, so she had merely followed him into the study. She should not have been surprised by what greeted her. William Graves might have been a respected physician, but he was also a man, a man whose friendship with her husband had been forged during their youth. She knew the upbringing they’d had and their dislike of convention. But Winnie had always been so terribly proper.

But then so had Catherine upon a time. Scoundrels tended to have their way.

The door to the study opened. Graves closed it behind him and acknowledged her. “Countess.” Then, with long strides, he carried on down the hallway as though that were sufficient.

She hurried after him. “What the devil were you doing in there?” Catherine demanded.

He spun around, and she was taken aback by the anger burning in his blue eyes. “If you have to ask then Claybourne is not the man I thought he was.”

Obviously he’d not appreciated being interrupted, but the truth of it was that there should have been nothing going on to interrupt. “I know very well
what
you were doing. I was asking why you were doing it.”

“I was doing as ordered, ensuring that the lady would want to keep me close.”

She took a step forward. “You cannot toy with her affections.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Countess. Either you tell her why she needs to have someone watching over her or I provide her with a reason to want to keep me near.”

“And when the reason no longer exists?”

“We’ll deal with the aftermath. I promise it won’t be worse than a hangman’s noose.”

Spinning on his heel, he strode toward the door. She wanted to call after him, wanted to demand more of him, that he not hurt Winnie. But the only way to ensure that would be to do as he suggested: tell Winnie the truth.

Her friend would despise her. She might even decide that Avendale should be welcomed home. Then all would be for naught. She would again be at the mercy of a brute. And those who had been involved in his false demise could very well be introduced to prison or, as Graves had implied, the hangman’s noose.

Catherine had worked too hard to protect Winnie from Avendale to see it all undone now. All she could do was hope that they were mistaken about the man being about.

S
itting at a small table on the terrace with Catherine, Winnie ordered the butler to have tea and biscuits brought out. She had retied every ribbon, secured every button, and yet she still felt slightly askew. Every now and then a few strands of her hair would blow across her face with the gentle breeze. No matter how many times she tucked them back into her bun, they came free, reminding her of the madness that had consumed her within her tiny study.

She could taste peppermint on her lips, smell sandalwood on her skin. Her tea sat untouched and cooling because she didn’t want to lose the taste of William.

She could only be grateful that it hadn’t been Whit who had walked in on them, but she’d had the foresight to send him on an outing to the zoological gardens with his governess that morning. She hadn’t wanted him to be about when the inspector arrived. The last thing she desired was for her son to become frightened or to have any doubt regarding his mother’s sanity.

“Win, I know it’s none of my business—”

“If you’re about to comment on what you walked in on, then I quite agree that it is not your business.”

Winnie wasn’t certain she’d ever seen Catherine’s eyes so large with surprise, but then she’d never been one to stand up for herself. However, those days of cowering were behind her. She had nothing to fear any longer. Except for a possible thief or a bout of forgetfulness.

“He’s a commoner,” Catherine said.

“I’ve had an aristocrat, thank you very much. And that wasn’t so jolly.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Catherine said.

Reaching out, Winnie squeezed her friend’s hand. “I know you mean well. But he’s always been kind to me.”

“Just don’t misinterpret his kindness. Because of your past you’re vulnerable.”

Shaking her head, she looked out over the gardens. “I used to fear everything. I believed my opinion didn’t matter. I thought I was unworthy. I dreaded hosting balls or dinner parties, because I always disappointed Avendale. Now I can do so much more because I’ve no one to disappoint. William enjoyed the ball. He likes my plans for the hospital. He doesn’t judge me, Catherine. He accepts me as I am.”

“I didn’t realize you knew each other so well.”

She gave a secretive smile. “While I was healing he always there. He brushed my hair once. I was fevered and I think he thought I was unaware of my surroundings, but I was afraid if I let him know that he would stop. A man brushing my hair. I may have begun to fall in love with him then.”

“Just take care, sweetling. Like Claybourne, Jack, and Jim, he is a scoundrel at heart.”

“And I’ve yet to hear any of their wives complain.”

A
rriving a little before half past seven, Graves circled the grounds to ensure that no one was lurking about. The threat of rain was in the air. He suspected it would arrive before they finished dinner.

After a footman opened the door for him, he waited in the foyer while the butler informed Her Grace of his presence. When he saw Winnie descending the stairs in a lilac gown that revealed bared shoulders, he knew coming this evening was mistake. He should have simply sat on the steps and kept an eye out, because all he wanted now was to carry her back up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Knowing the truth of her situation, he couldn’t in all good conscience offer her marriage, knowing it would make her a bigamist. But it didn’t stop him from wanting her. Her hair was plaited and twisted in some elaborate design, but his fingers were nimble enough that he could have the pins scattered on the floor and her hair tumbling around her in two seconds. The fastenings on the back of her gown might take four, her corset six. He forced such tempting calculations from his mind as they served no purpose other than to add to his frustration.

She was under his care, and he had a strict moral code when it came to his professional pursuits, but his desire saw the ruse for what it was and refused to cooperate. She wasn’t a patient, she wasn’t ill. She was someone who intrigued him.

As she neared, her jasmine scent filled his nostrils and he wanted to seek out all the little spots where she applied the fragrance.

“Would you care for a bit of brandy before dinner?” she asked.

What he wanted was an entire bottle of whiskey, or perhaps a dose of laudanum, to drown out his errant thoughts. With a practiced smile that he knew appeared harmless, he shook his head. “You’re intoxicating enough.”

She laughed joyfully and sweetly. “Rubbish! My word, but I had no idea you were such a flirt.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling without pretense. He enjoyed her company; he had from the moment she’d begun to regain her strength and charmed him with stories of her youth. A pampered daughter of the aristocracy who had married a man who delivered harsh lessons that destroyed her naivety but not her spirit. “Only when it comes to you.”

“I find that difficult to believe. I suspect all of Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting are stumbling over themselves to get your attention.”

“Your suspicions are without foundation. I fear my flirtation skills are a trifle rusty. I’ve not had much time for the ladies since I began serving Victoria.” The women for whom he’d had time were the sort who required nothing beyond coins.

She wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow. “Shall we go into dinner then?”

“I’m famished.” He stopped short of saying he was famished for her. His true seduction would come after dinner because he wanted to ensure that he stayed in the residence throughout the night as close to her as possible. While he felt a niggling of guilt at the role he was about the play, he assuaged it by reminding himself that he was doing it to protect her.

Jack had sent a couple of his minions over to watch the residence, and Swindler had made arrangements for a few extra bobbies to patrol the streets, but Graves felt a need to take his own precautions to ensure that if her blasted husband was around, he would be near enough to deal with him—preferably with her being none the wiser.

He had Claybourne’s grandfather to thank for the manners he brought to the table with him. When the old gent had discovered his grandson was a child of the rookeries, he’d not only taken him in but taken in his friends as well. It was then that Graves had learned the comforts of a clean bed, a bath, clothes that fit properly. He never took any of his comforts for granted.

He settled Winnie into her chair and then sat in the one opposite her. He was grateful they were being served in the smaller dining room and that the table was a modest one that would sit only six. The family dining room.

White wine was poured and the first course was served: a soup that was more broth than substance, but he couldn’t fault its flavor.

“I feared you might not survive your encounter with Catherine,” he said, striving to keep his voice level so it didn’t reveal his curiosity regarding what might have been said after he left. Catherine might have cautioned her not to become involved with him, which would mean he’d have to work all the harder at seduction.

“She warned me away from you.”

“I’m not surprised. You see me as a man of goodness, but I assure you I am more scoundrel than saint. I became a physician because I had much to atone for.”

“Such as?”

“Nothing a lady needs to hear about, especially over dinner.”

Watching as she lifted the spoon to her lips, he found himself envious of a damned eating utensil. When she returned it to the bowl, she lifted her gaze to his, studied him for a moment. He wondered if she were able to see beneath the surface, to the part of him that he shared with no one.

“I know you grew up on the streets,” she said. “What was it like?”

While she’d been recovering, she hadn’t asked about his youth. He rather wished she hadn’t asked now. “Dirty. Harsh. But within Feagan’s den there was a sense of camaraderie.”

“Who is Feagan?”

“The kidsman who corralled us, taught us to steal and pilfer without getting caught.”

“What of your parents?”

He took a sip of his wine. “My mother washed clothes. What I remember most about her was how rough and raw her hands always looked.” How rough they felt when they grazed against his skin when she was in a rage and he served as the object upon which she could vent her anger. It was like being slapped with sandpaper. “My father earned his living digging graves in various cemeteries and pauper’s fields. And at night, he’d return to rob the graves. When I was big enough to hold a trowel, he took me with him.”

The bowl was removed and a plate of mutton was set before them but she hardly seemed to notice. “Weren’t you frightened, going into the graveyards at night?”

“What was there to dread?”

“The spirits of the dead. Don’t you believe they linger?”

As she had mentioned being haunted before, he didn’t laugh. “To haunt us?”

“Yes, quite.”

Pondering his answer, he took a bite of the tasty mutton. She was so earnest. Who was he to dissuade her from her beliefs? “I will admit that I have encountered phenomenon that is difficult to explain: A glow in the fog, a howling when there is no wind. And on occasion, the hairs on the back of my neck would rise. Sometimes I felt that I was being watched, but I assumed it was other grave robbers who were disappointed we beat them to the treasures.”

She glanced around and he knew she wanted to say more, perhaps even mention the strange occurrences she’d experienced of late, but she was hesitant to appear foolish in front of the servants, even if they weren’t supposed to be listening.

“So you’ve never actually seen a spirit wandering around the graves?” Before he could answer, her eyes widened. “Is that why your surname is Graves?”

He couldn’t help but smile. She looked as though she’d solved a difficult problem. “When Feagan took in a child, he always made him or her change their name. For most of us there is no record of our birth, no record of our existence. Unlike with the aristocracy where births and deaths are recorded steadfastly, in the rookeries names are changed on a whim or when someone is caught committing a crime.”

“It never occurred to me that one could go about changing his name so easily.”

“I suspect even some of your servants aren’t presently living under the name with which they were born.” He didn’t fail to notice how one of the footmen shifted his stance. He’d have to check the man out. Probably wouldn’t hurt to have Swindler investigate them all. He’d much rather discover it was one of them instead of Avendale sneaking about.