The Rogue (14 page)

Ethan
blinked. "A woman? In this house?"

"Yes,
sir. You seem upset, sir. Do you by chance possess an allergy?"

Ethan
swallowed. "She isn't by any chance… young, is she?"

"Oh
no, sir. She is quite satisfactorily middle-aged. Although I pray you
do not repeat that, sir. I do so enjoy my coddled eggs in the
morning."

A
bit of sausage evaded Ethan and rolled from the plate. The kitten
flew across the counterpane in a flash of ginger to snap it up.

Ethan
laughed. "Look at that! Like a bolt of lightning from the hand
of Zeus himself!"

Jeeves
scooped the kitten up in one hand. The little creature sent a pink
tongue across his whiskers while keeping his gaze fixed on Ethan's
plate, alert for more escaping sausage.

"I
think the young master might prefer a saucer of milk in the kitchen,
sir," Jeeves said, as if he did not have a handful of squirming
fur.

Ethan
shook his head. "The young master can eat with the old master.
I'll give him some cream from my tray." He went back to his
pears. "Be sure to tell Cook—"

Jeeves
cleared his throat. "Might I suggest, sir—as she is a
respectable woman of great talent—that you address her as 'Mrs.
Cook,' at the least?"

"Mrs.
Cook, it is," Ethan announced. "You may tell Mrs. Cook that
these are the best bloody eggs I've eaten in my entire sodding
existence."

"Yes,
sir."

"Jeeves?
That's word for word, mind you."

Faint
agony crossed Jeeves's aquiline features. "Yes, sir. Of course,
sir. I'll leave you to your meal, sir."

Ethan
snorted into his coffee as Jeeves left the room. He ought not to
tease Jeeves like that. He really, truly ought not to.

Then
again, life was short.

After
he had woken at an hour decided upon by Jeeves, eaten a breakfast
selected by Jeeves, and donned a suit chosen by Jeeves, Ethan was
beginning to wonder who served whom in his house.

He
trotted down the stairs to stand undecided in his own front hall.
"Jeeves!"

The
butler appeared like the bursting of a soap bubble, inevitable yet
still startling. "Yes, sir?"

Ethan
fidgeted. "I'm never awake this early. What am I supposed to do
with myself?"

Jeeves
didn't so much as blink. "I believe most healthy young gentlemen
enjoy a turn about Hyde Park in such nice weather."

The
park? Ethan couldn't remember the last time he'd been in the park, at
least not in daylight. There was that time he and Collis had ended up
naked and singing in a tree—

"Naked"
and "tree" reminded Ethan of Lady Jane Pennington. Now he
was sorry about that kiss—well no, actually, he wasn't. What a
missed opportunity that would have been! Missing opportunities wasn't
Ethan's usual style at all.

As
if Jeeves were reading his mind, the butler said, "I believe
there are many ladies partaking of fresh air in the park at this
hour."

Yes,
a bit of pretty companionship would do him good, for he was beginning
to obsess about a certain pair of milky white thighs. Ethan nodded
decisively. "The park it is. Would you mind fetching my—"

Jeeves
brought his hands from behind his back. One held Ethan's hat, the
other held the gloves that matched his suit. "Have a nice walk,
sir."

Ethan
sighed. There were no words. One didn't berate a servant for doing an
excellent job, after all. Still, Jeeves's attention to detail made
the little hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand up.

Outside,
the day was something altogether new and interesting. People were
much friendlier at this hour, for one thing. Ethan was greeted with
polite, assessing nods from the gentlemen who passed him, and polite,
admiring glances from the ladies who passed.

Furthermore,
there were children around. Hyde Park abounded with them. Wee infants
in prams, chubby toddlers taking unsteady steps, laughing boys and
girls chasing dogs and balls and apparently anything not tied down.
Pausing to think, Ethan realized he had not seen an actual child in
years. Folks usually didn't pack their offspring along to gaming
hells and brothels, or even ballrooms.

A
small, lace-covered whirlwind slammed into his legs as he stood
there. Without thinking, Ethan swept her up into his arms before she
ricocheted to the ground.

"Hello,
darling," he said with a smile, automatically turning on the
charm. Female was female, after all.

Wide
blue eyes stared at him from the depths of a lacy bonnet. "You
ran into me," the child accused.

Ethan
blinked, then set her on her tiny booted feet with a deep bow.
"Indeed, my lady. My deepest apologies." He plucked a
clover flower from the lawn while he was down there and presented it
to her. "Please take this token of my profound regret. May I
hope you will ever forgive me?"

She
took the flower and sniffed it, considering him carefully. Then she
answered his bow with a very pretty deep curtsy. "You are, of
course, forgiven, kind sir."

Then
she grinned at him, showing a charming lack of two front teeth. "But
you're much too familiar," she scolded, and ran back the way
she'd come, little feet kicking up a froth of lacy skirts.

Ethan
sighed. "I hear that a great deal," he murmured.

"She's
a bit young for you, I think," said a teasing voice behind him.
Ethan turned to see the face that still haunted some of his more
domestic dreams.

"Rose!"

Rose
Tremayne stood there, looking the picture of inborn grace in a
sprigged frock with a parasol crooked over her shoulder. A trim young
maid stood behind her, but Ethan wasn't fooled by the uniform and
cap. The girl was one of
them
.
Still, Rose was a far cry from the woman he'd been very nearly
kidnapped by, desperate, dirty, and clad in boy's trousers. Yet the
irreverence for all things Society still twinkled in her hazel eyes.

Ethan
was very glad to see her. "What are you doing here?" he
asked. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Are you on a
mission?" He pointed warily at the parasol. "Is that thing
loaded?"

She
laughed. "It isn't a weapon, Ethan, it's a sunshade." Then
she poised it before her, considering. "However, now that you
mention it, I do see potential."

Ethan
took her hand briefly in greeting, but refrained from holding it. It
had never been serious, his infatuation for Rose, but damn if she
wasn't as magnificent as ever.

The
fact that she was mad for Collis Tremayne and always had been had set
a limit on his feelings, for even Ethan didn't make a pass behind a
friend's back—although if Rose had shown him the slightest
encouragement he might have broken that unwritten rule.

No,
it was more that she almost allowed him to believe that there was
someone out there as perfect for him as she was for Collis.

She
was looking at him now with utmost concentration. He could almost see
the wheels turning in her head. "I hear you turned down Lord
Etheridge's offer," she said bluntly.

Ethan
smiled. Rose never wasted time. "I did indeed."

"Then
why did you go back to Maywell's last night?"

He
started. How had she known—oh, right. Feebles. He snorted. "To
prove to you lot that you couldn't force me to—Wait, that
doesn't sound right." He frowned to himself. "Damn, it made
sense when Jeeves said it."

Rose
tilted her head. "Who is Jeeves?"

"My
new butler."

She
looked at him oddly for a moment. "Jeeves," she said to
herself. Then, "Take a turn about the path with me?"

Ethan
offered his arm in response. They walked in silence for a while.
Ethan knew she was trying to think of some way to convince him. It
wouldn't work of course, but her company was enjoyable and it was a
very fine day. He could think of worse ways to waste the morning.

The
morning was half gone and Jane still had not finished her daily
letter to Mother.

So
far, she'd included seeing the mysterious glimmer of candlelight and
even a cheerful bit about her adventure into the locked room.

After
that—

She
hesitated. She could hardly tell Mother about the kiss! And really,
what was there to tell about Mr. Damont? All he had actually done was
play cards with her uncle.

Bending
back over the page, she dutifully listed all the gentlemen who had
joined her uncle in the card room last night, slipping Mr. Damont's
name casually into the middle of the list so as not to call extra
attention to him.

After
all, who knew what Mother would make of Mr. Damont's attentions?
Besides, if she explained about Mr. Damont, she would also be forced
to go into detail about the incident in the tree—something
she'd really rather not do!

Oh,
yes! Jane remembered something else she could put in the letter.

"Uncle
Harold's man of business arrived late last night with some
information for him. Uncle Harold received him in the library. He was
a smallish fellow, with a round face, dressed in a brown wool suit."
Mother liked to know that sort of thing. "Simms served coffee,
but Uncle Harold and the man of business did not stay in there long."

There.
Everything she'd said was the truth. It simply wasn't all of it.

The
fact remained, however, that Jane felt guilty as she sealed the
letter. She owed Mother so very much. The only thing that had ever
been asked of Jane in return was that she tell Mother every little
detail of her time in London.

Mr.
Damont was the problem.

Jane
ruthlessly examined her feelings about the tall, sardonic gambler. He
was very handsome and charming, in an exasperating sort of way.

He
was outrageous, shockingly forward, and generally irreverent. He was
also kind. Simply look at the way he'd rescued Serena. A little
thing, true, but so innately gallant that Jane counted it quite
highly in her assessment of him.

She
liked him.

He
was entirely unsuitable. She ought not even speak to such a rogue.

He
was the most interesting person she had met in all her months in
London.

He
was arrogant. And deeply, permanently objectionable.

Yet,
she still liked him.

Jane
let her head drop to her hands in frustration. How did one solve a
problem like Mr. Damont?

"You
must learn everything about someone before becoming too drawn in with
them. You cannot always trust what you see on the surface."

Jane
sat up with a smile. Absolutely true! More excellent advice from
Mother. She knew exactly what she needed to do next.

It
was time to find out more about Mr. Ethan Damont.

The
graveled walk trailed through the center of the park, taking them on
a tour of English leisure as they passed people from all walks of
life enjoying the day. Rough men in workingman's clothes lounged on
blankets with women in fulsome calico, while sturdy children climbed
over them. Long-limbed fine-blooded horses pulled phaetons occupied
by dashing young men and giggling young ladies, often with a patient
lady's maid tucked into the drop seat behind them.

If
Ethan was a marrying sort, he'd be taking notes on an excellent way
to steal a kiss or three. Unfortunately, the ladies he was accustomed
to kissing didn't go out in public much, unless you counted Mrs.
Blythe's Pleasure Balls. No, courtship was for other men—men
with expectations of a good living and, of course, the support of the
girl's family.

Not
a possibility either way for him. Not that he was truly interested.
It was merely a passing thought.

After
a prolonged hesitation, Rose gave a sigh full of irritation and
turned to him. They were pausing at the footbridge crossing the
Serpentine. Ethan thought she looked very appealing framed by the
narrow lake stretching out behind her.

"Ethan,
you aren't going to listen to a thing I have to say, are you?"
she said in an exasperated tone.