This Rake of Mine (10 page)

He handed the glass to the man beside him. The fellow looked, then shook his head. "Never seen 'em before. And they can't be from Dashwell's ship, for he hasn't crossed yet."

"And we should both pray that Captain Dashwell is right now at the bottom of the Channel. Along with his precious cargo. There will be hell to pay if his passengers ever set foot in England again."

"
Oui, monsieur
," the smaller man agreed. "They'd ruin everything you've done."

"We've done, my good friend," he said, patting his partner on the back. "But all is not lost yet, and we have much work to do."

Retrieving his spyglass, he took another look at the ladies retreating back to the house. Ladies could be harmless enough, but then again, he knew from experience they could also be as lethal as a nest of asps. "Find out who those women are and what they are doing with Tremont."

His partner nodded and both of them slipped into the countryside, on separate paths, but with the same determination to see England fall to her enemies.

Just as the storm had toppled the mighty oak.

«
^
»

A
s Miss Porter and her charges returned to the house, Jack muttered a curse.

"Me thoughts exactly, milord," Bruno said, spitting at the ground. "Women! They're nothing but trouble, mark me words."

At the steps, Miss Porter glanced over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed—not so much in annoyance but in intelligent assessment, as if she were measuring the oak and calculating what the board feet would fetch.

And how Jack had yet to take any of her good advice.

Organizing, meddlesome spinster. Obviously, there was more to Miss Porter than what met the eye—for while she had the hair and curves of a siren, she also possessed the managing mind of a London
cit
.

A
dangerous combination, indeed.

"What is it that bit o'muslin teaches?" Bruno was asking.

"Decorum," Jack replied, wondering how it was that a lady of good form and manners could possess such a knowledge of naval business. Oh, she'd explained it quite readily that her father had been in the trade, but her understanding went far beyond that of the typical daughter sitting through mealtime complaints of business strategies and government policies.

Then again, it seemed that Miss Porter was anything but typical.

A thought echoed by Birdwell. "Miss Porter is quite an exceptional lady."

"That's one way to describe her," Jack muttered.

"She may well bring a civilizing influence about here," the butler continued, his tone suggesting it was well overdue.

Bruno wasn't convinced in the least. "They'll bring ruin, Mr. Birdwell, that's what they'll bring."

"I hardly see how three young girls and their chaperone can bring ruin upon our heads, Mr. Jones," the butler replied.

"I'll tell you how," the larger man said. "They'll be nosing about, peeking into closets, listening at the doors and asking questions. And when they leave, they'll be like magpies, carrying their stories all about the countryside."

"Miss Porter strikes me as most discreet," Birdwell told him.

Bruno snorted at the notion. "I don't see no choice," he said, rubbing his meaty paws together, "but to sell them to Cap'n Dash and be done with the lot of 'em. He could probably take 'em East and get a tidy price for 'em from one of those foreign fellows, those sultans."

"Mr. Jones!" Birdwell exclaimed, his face going purple. "You are talking about kidnapping the daughters of respected noblemen. Not to mention Miss Porter, who is a good Englishwoman. Why, the very idea—"

Jack held up his hands between his two loyal servants. "Enough. No one is selling anyone. Besides, I don't think even our immoral friend Dash would take them. We just need to make demmed sure that Miss Porter and her young companions haven't the opportunity to discover some of the… the… incongruities of our household."

Like the former highwayman who served as his butler and the forger and sometime pugilist who stood in stead as secretary to the manor.

"Good luck there," Bruno muttered.

"Ignore him, milord," Birdwell offered, shooting Bruno a scathing look. "Elton's mother had a saying that may serve well in this situation."

Jack was almost afraid to ask. Elton had been Birdwell's partner when he'd been a highwayman, and Elton's mother, a disreputable hag if ever there was, was in Birdwell's mind the pinnacle of nefarious wisdom. Though most often enough, her advice had to do with giving Bow Street the slip or how to make a misplaced knife in the back look like an accident.

"And Old Mam would want us to do what?" he finally queried.

"Keep your friends close, your enemies closer still."

Bruno eyed the butler. "Keep 'em closer, you say? Bah! I still think we could convince Cap'n Dash to sell them for us. He's a greedy enough fellow. You could talk him into it, milord. Throw in some of those gold coins me cousin got for us. The fancy lead ones."

"I'm not selling the ladies," Jack said, hoping his tone sounded final enough for Bruno, because if there was a chance that Miss Porter and company discovered the truth about Thistleton Park, that may well be their only choice.

But his butler wasn't far off the mark either, he realized.

"If we are to keep our guests sufficiently diverted, Mr. Birdwell, I am putting you in charge of the arrangements."

"Me, milord?" Birdwell looked askance.

Bruno, on the other hand, grinned from ear to ear at this proposal.

"Yes,
you
. I haven't got the time," he said, waving a hand at the oak. "What with this mess, and…" he lowered his voice. "Dash's pending arrival with our cargo."

"But my lord," Birdwell insisted. "It isn't proper for me to entertain the ladies. It is your duty as master of the house."

"Decorum and all," Bruno said, nudging Jack, obviously enjoying this further turn of events, especially since no one was likely to put him in charge of their guests.

Jack shook his head. "What do I know of entertaining ladies?"

Birdwell and Bruno glanced at each other, then laughed uproariously.

"Milord," his butler said once he recovered, "you know more about entertaining ladies than either of us."

"Oh, aye," Bruno added. "I remember yer aunt saying you could charm any bird out of her feathers… or her corset or stockings, for that matter. Why, I heard tell that once you kept three mistresses and that you could visit each of them in a single—"

"Enough, Bruno," Jack said, holding up his hands. "Besides, that was years ago, and the ladies I kept company with back then weren't exactly…"

"Innocents?" Birdwell suggested.

"Yes, those," Jack agreed. "I never really fit in with the crowd at Almack's and the doe-eyed belles of the
ton
."

"Surely it isn't that much different," Birdwell said. "Entertain them as you did your lady loves, albeit without the more compromising aspects of those relationships. A picnic, dinner, a tour of the estate, perhaps an excursion to the shore or the folly."

Entertain them? Jack groaned. Birdwell didn't realize what he was asking. That would mean keeping company with
her
… her and her red hair.

Her and that demmed button.

Jack raked his fingers through his hair and groaned.

He didn't know why that button bothered him so much, but it did.

It made him wonder what sort of man evoked a passion within a woman that had her still holding onto the memories.

Not that there were any ladies out there holding onto a fond remembrance of him. He'd been the worst sort of rakish cad, stealing kisses and breaking hearts and with no more thought than his next meal, next willing lightskirt…

No, the sort of man who held a woman's unwavering affections was usually a gentleman, loyal and elegant, and always considerate. Like his old friend Sedgwick, or even his boorish brother Parkerton.

So what had happened that had separated Miss Porter from her heart's desire?

The war? The fellow—an officer, no doubt—had likely fallen at Corunna.

Or maybe the man had been too toplofty, and she too poor, without the connections to traverse such a divide.

Oh, hell's fire, what was he thinking? He closed his eyes and rubbed his pounding head. This is what came of spending too many years trying to devise the most outlandish wagers for the hallowed pages of White's betting book… or what came from having been alone for far too long.

He was getting as odd as Aunt Josephine.

The front door opened anew and out marched Miss Porter with her trail of ducklings behind her. Each of them carried a workbag, making them look like an industrious lot.

Bruno nudged Jack forward. "Here's your chance to show Birdie and me how it's done, milord."

Before Jack could come up with an affable and credible-sounding hail, Miss Porter beat him to the punch. "Lord John," she said in a tight greeting. "The girls and I are going sketching. If we must impose upon you, we might as well make the best of the situation and use this extra time to our advantage through some much-needed lessons." She shot a quick, pointed glance over her shoulder at her charges. "If you could direct us toward this tower of yours, we will put the rest of the morning to good use."

"I'd be more than happy to show you," Jack offered, bowing slightly and forcing his best Town smile on his face—the one that had conquered some of the stoniest of hearts. "To spend the morning with you fair ladies would be my greatest joy."

His gallant offer failed to melt Miss Porter's frosty demeanor. She took a step back and stared at him, her brows furrowed with suspicion.

Either he was very out of practice or Miss Porter's icy exterior extended deeper than he'd suspected.

"Oh, would you take us, Lord John?" Thalia asked. Her hopeful words gained an arched glance from her teacher.

"It is kind of you to offer, my lord," Miss Porter replied. "But we wouldn't think of separating you from your duties here. I am sure that your obligations to your estate take precedence."

"Oh, of course, but I believe things are well in hand—"

Her gaze swept over at the still lounging workmen. After a brief moment, she heaved a sigh.

He ignored her unspoken chastisement and went forth with all gallantry. "Besides, the path along the cliff can be dangerous. I would be remiss to have you venture forth without a guide."

"We have Brutus," she said, nodding toward the little gruff dog. "He is quite sure-footed, I assure you."

Forsaken for a mutt. The sting of it did not pass unnoticed. Bruno was having a hard time muffling his guffaws.

Jack held up a finger. "Ah, but your Brutus will not be able to regale you with some of the interesting facts about Thistleton Park and the history of our esteemed folly. History lessons that could prove quite edifying for the young ladies."

Miss Porter shook her head. "I would never think to impose upon you, my lord, nor take advantage of your newfound hospitality. Why, you told us not an hour or more ago, 'I have no time for entertaining or recounting local histories.' " She folded her arms across her chest, as if she dared him to contradict her. When he couldn't think of something to say, she let out another disgruntled sigh and started shooing the girls past him and his servants. "The folly, my lord?"

That did it. With his masculine pride completely trampled beneath her sturdy and practical heel, Jack made a vow.
The moment this ends, I am going straight up to London to cut a swath through Society that will ensure my place in history alongside Casanova and every other great rake. There won't be a woman's heart safe from my charms
.

Including Miss Porter's?
That wretched voice teased.

He pointed toward the narrow door in the wall. "Through there and follow the path." He couldn't help but add in a happy voice, "Be careful along the cliff, 'tis a long drop to the rocks below. 'T'would be a terrible shame if you fell."

Behind him, Birdwell gave him a not-so-gentle nudge. "Dinner, milord. Ask them to dinner."

Hadn't his butler just witnessed the dressing down the lady had given him? Well, if anything, he might as well get every last bit of this humiliation over with in one lump.

"Miss Porter," he called after her.

She paused, then slowly turned back around.

Girding himself, he said, "I would be honored if you and the ladies would join me for dinner this evening."

She looked about to naysay him, but then he realized he had her on the ropes. To outright refuse his offer would be rude, hardly the act of a decorum teacher, and a glance over at his grinning butler said Birdwell had guessed this point all along.

"If we are still here, Lord John, that would be most kind," she replied through what looked to be gritted teeth. Then the ladies departed, the girls chattering merrily while their teacher marched ahead as if she were being led to an execution.

"Excellent," Birdwell said. "A dinner party. I've got my work cut out for me." The man began ticking off his list of preparations, then came up short. "Oh, dear."

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"We can hardly feed them mutton."

Bruno snorted. "I told you last night not to let them in. Ladies are all alike. It's chicken and warm milk. That's all they'll be wanting. Might as well have let in the French!"

For once, Jack had to agree.

When they were well out of sight and earshot from the house, Miranda pulled to a stop. The girls, busy debating which would be better to marry, an impoverished duke or a wealthy baron, didn't notice and tumbled into the back of her skirt.

She let them compose themselves for about two seconds, then launched into her investigation.

"You will tell me immediately why it is we are here," she demanded, ready to go to any length to ferret out their plans.

"To sketch?" Pippin offered.

"Oh, yes, to sketch," Tally added.

Even Brutus gave his mangy head a shake, as if he too had thought that such a plan was their intent.

She ignored them and held out her hand toward Felicity. "Your notebook, Miss Langley."