Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (3 page)

“I asked for you to
help
, not
hinder
, the cook,” he said dryly.

She appeared as if she was attempting to check her ire. “Do you think we might discuss this in a rational manner? I’ve had a bit of time to think about all of this and—”

“Go ahead, madam. I’m all ears. Just how do you propose to repay me for baring my
arse and ballocks
to a dozen of Wellington’s finest?”

He watched her swallow, before a coughing fit erupted. With a sigh, he stood and walked toward the sideboard. Extracting two glasses, he poured dollops of spirits from the decanter. “And more to the
point, how shall we cipher in the danger of assisting a criminal?”

“I haven’t committed a crime.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely not.” The hint of a blush crested her cheeks.

“Mrs. Ashburton, your bravado mars the performance. Now, then. Why were those soldiers looking for you?”

She stared back at him with a mutinous expression, and he was certain he would not extract a single truth from her.

“I’ve changed my mind, Mrs. Ashburton. Don’t bother. I’m something of an expert on the art of lying, having done it every damned day of my life, and I really don’t want to hear your trumped-up story. Shall we get back to the matter at hand? As I recall, you said I could have anything I wanted if I helped you.”

“I am not going to…to…”

“To what, madam?” He offered her one of the glasses and she accepted it.

“You know perfectly well what.”

“I should like to hear you say it.” It would serve as the first volley in this game. There was nothing like a little disinterest to arouse the opposite in delicate female hearts.

She took a gulp of liquid. He was impressed by her ability to govern a cool expression.

“What is this?” she finally asked hoarsely.

“Water of life.”

“This is the farthest thing from water.”

“Not in Ireland. And you’re changing the subject again,” he drawled.

“I will not allow you to do what you pretended to do in your carriage.”

“Now there’s an idea,” he growled to good effect. “But I’m not really tempted, madam.” That brought the color back to her cheeks. He wondered if she would be an easy mark, and hoped not. Most women succumbed far too quickly for any sort of serious sport.

“Really? And just what sort does tempt you?”

“Good, honest girls who enjoy being bad. Not bad girls pretending to be good and honest. Although…you might show promise if you could just dispense with that false mask of innocence.” It was fortunate that he was a far better liar than she—or anyone else for that matter.

The sparks darting from her eyes could light a fire at ten paces. “I’ve always thought it poor form to offer excuses for one’s behavior, Mr. Manning. And so I will offer you no explanations. I can only be grateful that neither of us is each other’s favored sort.” She muttered the last.

He laughed softly. “Come, come, Mrs. Ashburton, if you can’t even bring yourself to tell me what you’ve done to cause soldiers to be sniffing your trail, do you really think it fair to ask me such intimate questions about the sort of female I favor? And here you are a lady, and all. You are a lady, aren’t you?”

Her eyes darkened. “If I agree, then you are sure to think the opposite. I choose not to answer.”

“And your husband? Who was he?”

“Mr. Ashburton.”

He sighed heavily, enjoying the game.

“And your father?”

She paused, and lifted her chin. “A gentleman.”

“Really?” At least she did not scare easily or simper like the majority of the primped pusses he encountered in the occasional ballrooms of desperate lords who issued invitations in an effort to curry his favor. He would—

A damned knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes? Come.” Damn it to hell, was nothing to run on schedule today? He was not to be disturbed for two hours post auction.

A footman stuck his head inside the door. “Mr. Manning? Mr. Lefroy begs a word.”

Hat in hand, Lefroy approached.

“This had best be important. Is Gray Lady dropping?”

“No, sir. The men and I wanted to thank you.”

“For godsakes, why? I did not authorize any afternoon off until Michaelmas, and that’s six bloody months away.”

“Nay. For the dinner. For the gingerbread in particular. Most o’ the men ’ad never ’ad it afore.”

Without looking in her direction, he murmured, “Don’t say a word, madam.” To Lefroy, he continued, “Tell them they’d best not get used to such fancy fare, because I’ll not—”

Lefroy had the audacity to interrupt him. “I thought you’d want to know the men are so grateful they ’ave taken on the work o’ erecting the last o’ the fence posts and rails to save you the cost of the other
crew of men, sir. They said they’d whitewash all the rooms, too.”

“That will be all, Lefroy.”

The stable master stared at him for a beat and then nodded before turning on his heel. Only the click of Lefroy’s boots against the floor and the door opening and closing could be heard. The weight of the silence became nearly unbearable to him until he heard her stand and carefully place the glass on the table. She followed the same path Lefroy had made toward the door.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To make a list.”

“Of possible ways to repay me, dare I hope?”

“No. A list of goods needed for the kitchen and storerooms.”

He should have seen it coming. Nothing good came of helping a
lady
in need. Nothing good ever came of helping
anyone
in need. “And I suppose you now think this gives you license to sack the cook. Only pampered, lazy dandies require bloody gingerbread, Mrs. Ashburton. And I did not bring you here to take over my kitchens. I have other plans for—”

She stuck her pointed little chin in the air. “I regret to disagree with you. Even a beastly miser can see the benefits of a different sort of fare than Mrs. Vernon’s rotting concoctions. Now I shall stay for the next few days to arrange for your pantries to be restocked and also for several cooks to be interviewed. But, I leave it to you to attend to Mrs. Vernon.” She pushed back that magnificent mane of hair, lionlike in its wild
hues. “And that, Mr. Manning, is how I shall repay you for your efforts this morning.”

“Really?” He took care to lower his voice to a growl. “I fear you’ve underestimated the cost of saving your pretty neck.”

“Oh, fear not. I never had any doubt what you would want, Mr. Manning, whether I’m your favored sort or not and whether you admit it or not. But as a
lady
, I never had any intention of repaying you in such a fashion,” she said acidly.

This was not how he played the game. He scratched the edge of his jaw. “The ladies I know never let their station hold them back. In fact, I’ve always found the grander the title, the bolder the wench. Duchesses, in particular, are a frisky, demanding lot,” he said with a smile that twisted one side of his mouth.

She collected the tray, not a ruffle out of place despite his outrageous words. “Yes, well, I’m not a duchess, so you have nothing to fear.”

He waved her away dismissively. “I’ve more important things to do than to fritter away the rest of the afternoon talking cock and bull to a widow, a lady,
and
a liar.”

He wondered if she had any idea how attractive she was to him. She was not conventionally pretty—in the soft, graceful way of most pampered aristos. Her eyes, farouche in that angular face of hers, showed hints of a brand of stubbornness he was all too familiar with since it stared back at him in his shaving mirror every morning. Any fool could conjure up the sort of woman she would be in bed.

She was trouble. He would do well to send her on her way this very minute. There was something about
her that spoke of goodness despite appearances. But then, she was an amazingly guileless liar. If he did not enjoy skating on the thin ice of disaster, he would let her go. But he had glided on dark, melting regions for so long, it was where he felt most at ease.

Without missing a beat, she grabbed at the chance of escape. “In future, what shall I have prepared for you then, since you don’t fancy this fare?”

He stared hard at her. “Boiled eggs and bread. Twice a day. An apple or orange, on occasion.”

She gaped at him but was smart enough to not let another peep escape her pretty gob. Instead she edged toward the door.

“And by the by, Mrs. Ashburton. Dare you set one foot off my property before you repay me in a way
I
decide, I shall hunt you down myself and put a bow around your neck before delivering you to those officers or directly to General Pymm himself. I’m certain he’ll be happy to tell me why his men are searching for you.”

The merest hesitation in her step betrayed what her words did not. He didn’t doubt she’d bring a pretty penny…and God knew he needed more than a few of those. Yes, he had but a mere month or two before creditors might attempt to steal away all he had built—with satisfied smiles, no less. They would take great pleasure crowing to all and sundry that his spectacular fall was expected. Indeed, his entire life he’d been told cunning bastards such as himself shouldn’t attempt to reach the sun. No, they should be happy scavenging the tidal flats like the mudlarks they truly were.

E
lizabeth scrambled from the narrow bed in the middle of the night. Her door was ajar, and a large shadow moved with stealth within the small, cramped room she had been provided.

Her heart in her throat, she ran to the tiny window and threw open the sash, ready to grab on to the large limb of the tree just beyond. She would not go with Pymm, she would rather—

“A little dangerous to your health, don’t you think?” Rowland Manning’s jaded amusement was evident the moment he spoke from the dark corner.

She whirled about and straightened her now much wrinkled wedding finery with as much dignity as she was able to muster given her fright. She hadn’t dared sleep in her shift alone. “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean, Mr. Manning. It’s hotter than Hades in this cramped room. Just require a little air—”

“Please tell me this is not how it’s going to go, Mrs. Ashburton?” He silenced her lie, his words steeped in doubt.

Elizabeth peered through the darkness of the chamber only to see something white in his hands. “I thought I locked that door, Mr. Manning.”

“And I thought I’d find a use for the spare key.” He continued. “Now then, am I to expect my beauty sleep to be disturbed every night at four in the morning by Lefroy reeking of guilt and skulking about your door? What exactly did you do to make my stable master hop to your beck and call? Well? What have you to say? Please, dear God, tell me you are not some sort of spy? Hate spy stories…all that intrigue, all the invariable martyrdom that comes part and parcel with it. Well? Cat got your tongue?”

She still reeled from her dreams of running from Pymm as she walked toward Mr. Manning. “No.” She pushed her tangled locks over one shoulder. “I’m just waiting for you to get all your questions out at once…and hoping you’ll run out of breath,” she added under her breath, “or maybe even die.”

He clucked. “Now, now, Mrs. Ashburton. Is that any way to thank the man who saved your—”

“Yes, no, no, nothing, and no to the rest.”

“Excuse me?”

“The answers you sought.” Thank the Lord she was fully awake now, her wits returned.

“Very good, Mrs. Ashburton. Now would you like me to read this entire overwrought letter Lefroy carried as he tiptoed past my rooms?” He dangled a note in front of her. “Or shall I go straight to the point?”

“You opened a letter to me?” Her fury grew as she tried to snatch the paper from his hands.

He avoided her easily. “It appears your ‘dearest friend in the world,’ Lord help me, a Sarah W., has duped the Marquis of Ellesmere and his wife to provide their townhouse as a temporary refuge. She has apparently confided all your mortal sins to your
mutual friends, including that prying dowager duchess. There is some hint of
another
letter but, frankly, it was such a mishmash of melodrama that I lost interest.” His hooded eyes gave nothing away.

“I’m certain Sarah did not mention
mortal sins or prying or duped
.” She snatched the note from his hands when he finally lowered it.

“Let’s not bother with trivialities, Mrs. Ashburton. Your friend now thinks to join you here as soon as she can. Lefroy will, of course, be dispatched to tell Mrs. Winters this is not a hotel.”

“Well, I am not a cook, but—”

“On that point we agree, madam.”

“But—”

“And I will thank you to stop seducing my stable master with gingerbread or any other of your bloody concoctions.”

“Mr. Lefroy? You must be joking. I’m—”

“I’ve never seen the man rendered so dull witted in our twenty years of association. You are to stop talking to him too.”

“Mr. Manning?”

“Yes?”

“The next time you interrupt me I shall—”

“What?”

“Boil your eggs in arsenic.”

“Such a temper. You should watch that. You might want to search your conscience to see if that’s what got you into so much sodding trouble in the first place. Oh, and by the by, Mrs. Ashburton…”

“Yes?” she asked, with ill-concealed annoyance.

“This latest round of lies and stupidity? Your penance is to scour the linens tomorrow. It appears my
washer maid has departed. Seems she didn’t particularly like the idea of her mother, my former perfectly adequate cook, being sacked by Lefroy.”

She tried to cut in, without success.

“At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if the last remaining female here, aside from you, decamps by the end of the week. And then where will you be, Mrs. Ashburton? I fear I see a broom and dustbin in your future. And think of the impropriety. We can’t have you ruining my reputation, now, can we?”

She knew she should be grateful that he hadn’t given away her whereabouts. And for the merest moment she tried to figure out why he had not. He was the most unreadable person she had ever encountered. His eyes held naught but mystery. And yet, while he was as harsh a man as she had known, the end result was that he had not betrayed her. And he had not once touched her since that awful interlude in his carriage—despite his vulgar suggestions, and despite the fact that two short corridors separated their chambers, according to Mr. Lefroy.

He could have unlocked the door earlier and ravished her so easily. There were but five people residing in the main building at night: Mr. Manning, two footmen, one maid-of-all-work next door, and now Elizabeth. She was at his mercy, of that there was little doubt. But for some reason she could not fathom, she almost felt protected. Yes, well, she had thought Pymm a hero, too. At this point, with her former spectacularly erroneous character assessments, she should, indeed, jump out the window.

She smiled to herself as he made his way to the door. “Oh, Mr. Manning? Thank you so much for
your gracious hospitality.” She glanced about the bare chamber. Only a simple cot resided there. “I’d be
delighted
to do your washing, along with all the cooking. And here I had worried I’d be bored, with so much time on my hands.”

He retrieved an old valise from outside the door and dangled it before him. “Well, since you’re adequately grateful, I shall offer you a reward. If you employ all your ladylike embroidering skills on my mending too, then, and only then, will I reward you with
this
little item Lefroy brought from your friend as well.”

“Give me that, you—you
lout
.” She stretched up on her toes to reach for the bag he held aloft. He was so very tall she had not a chance. And suddenly, he was far too close to her and she realized that she shouldn’t trust her earlier opinion of him. She could see darkness in his eyes, and she could sense the heat and brutal strength of his immense body.

She was such a fool. He had the expression of a great warrior in the midst of battle. A man who knew naught of right from wrong. Of an animal ruled by pure instinct.

She refused to buckle beneath his harsh, hungry gaze. It was impossible to look away. And yet, it was difficult to understand what he sought. If he wanted to ravish her, he was taking his time about it. And then, she heard the crash of her valise falling from his grip to the floor. His hands were now like twin bands on her arms, and the distance between them was closing fast. And yet, she did not a thing to stop him.

He paused a mere inch from her lips and suddenly, just as she expected him to crush her to him, he
pushed away in a rush and stumbled back. Rowland Manning reached for her bag at his feet and hurled it into the corner of the tiny chamber. Shocked by his actions, she couldn’t form a word under his hot glare. He tore his gaze from hers and a moment later, he crossed to the door with ground-eating strides, a string of violent curses blooming in the air.

An hour before dawn, Elizabeth woke with a start and jumped from the rumpled bedclothes to make her way to the window of the small bedchamber. Lord, she was exhausted and yet as awake as she had been for more than half the night.

Eliza scanned the darkness beyond the tree branches of the window. “Oh, Sarah…find your way to me. Please, God,” she whispered. Elizabeth longed for her friend, who, six years her senior and the wife of Elizabeth’s father’s commander, had always assumed the role of wise older sister more than any true relation ever could have. Sarah’s steadiness of character had provided an anchor for Elizabeth, whose rash actions had caused them to be cast adrift in the first place. No matter how often Sarah told Elizabeth that she depended on her for her liveliness of spirit, Elizabeth knew she was the root cause of all their worries. Yet, they were like two sisters, one light and one dark, each needing the other for ease.

It had been this way all night. Little patches of sleep between horrid, heart-pounding nightmares of smoke-choked battlefields and running. Running until her lungs burned. And each time she would awaken with a start, sure Pymm’s men were climbing the stairs beyond the door to her room.

Peace was not to be found in the kitchen. At least the loaves of bread had risen properly. Eliza had nicked her fingers raw coaxing nuts from their shells to produce the nut bread the dearest men in her life had favored so much, and then she had tended to the eggs and warm pints of milk the dairy maid had delivered.

The kindhearted, brawny young footman, Joshua Gordon, appeared, eyes wide, smile even wider, especially upon finding Mrs. Vernon gone. “I’ve never smelled anything like this, ma’am,” he said nodding toward the steaming loaves. You are the best thing that has happened here since the day Mr. Manning’s mare won the preliminary race to have a go at Ascot. Actually, I’m thinking the men might think you are the better of the two.” He grinned and whisked all to the dining hall, while whistling a jaunty tune.

Now that she knew the way, Eliza took Mr. Manning’s tray to his cavernous study on her own. With each step she lined up more eloquently the reasons she would give to insist upon Sarah’s presence for the short term. She hoped Sarah remembered their old signal of a lone candle placed to the right of a sill. After a mountain of annoyed sighs, Mr. Manning had given her the meager remains of a cheaply made tallow candle yesterday.

It had not taken long to see the way of things at Manning’s. To outsiders, to customers with gold lining their pockets, the enterprise appeared the epitome of luxury, elegance, and possessed of the best horse stock in Christendom. But to those who worked there, not a tuppance was wasted—certainly not on superior food, nor on any of the small con
veniences of life, and especially not on “gawdamned bloody candles for cooks out to bewitch my men,” as he had shouted at her. Eliza dreaded to think of what he would say when Sarah arrived. He’d probably call her “another damned nuisance.”

The thing of it was that some sixth sense had always whispered to Eliza that she was responsible for her best friend’s future. Her actions were, quite possibly, the root cause of Sarah’s husband’s death, an event that had devastated her friend.

This same sense had made Elizabeth insist that they walk as far and as fast as possible through the war-ravaged forests and fields of Spain, to the coast, where Sarah and she had spent a few of their meager coins to convince a fisherman, with obvious smuggling intentions, to navigate the strong currents of the Bay of Biscay to deposit them on the opposite coast. And Sarah had followed her without question.

Mr. Manning’s office was empty of his person, and Elizabeth noticed with amusement how dull it appeared without him. Remembering the bluster of yesterday’s short and to-the-point conversation concerning the stump of the candle, followed by the bizarre encounter in her chamber in the wee hours, Eliza smiled. She then balanced the tray on her hip and cleared a small space on his desk, which held mounds of paper and ledgers.

Small words were carved into the inner edge of the desk. Setting the tray on a stack of papers, she looked closer to read
FORGET NOT-WANT NOT
.

The sound of the door opening made her turn abruptly and she felt unaccountably like a child caught, candy in hand. “I should have told you,
ma’am, that Mr. Manning is not about,” Joshua Gordon called to her. “But Mr. Lefroy said to leave Master’s breakfast here.”

“And where is Mr. Manning?”

“In the stables, but he’ll be back soon.”

Six hours of organized chaos followed. Ever practical and efficient, Elizabeth oversaw the effort to reorganize the kitchen. A pair of superior barn cats had been pressed into service and had tackled the whiskered enemies of the cold rooms below. Joshua Gordon was sent to the market to purchase fresh foodstuffs, and to an employment agency to search for a worthy cook, while Elizabeth and a stable hand scoured the pantries, before she alone turned to the task of supper. Fragrant plum pudding ended a meal of curried lamb with grapes and artichokes. Mr. Lefroy, along with the delirious stable hands from the hall, had nearly cried with gratitude.

Elizabeth carried the second tray of boiled eggs prepared to the minute and a portion of nut bread to Mr. Manning’s study. Her perverse nature made her hope he had caught fragrant wafts of the meal the others had shared in the dining hall.

Good God
. His breakfast still lay untouched where she had left it.
Stone cold
.

She wasn’t sure what made her so angry. Perhaps it was that a cook’s only pleasure was words of thanks and occasional praise, combined with the knowledge that she was nourishing a fellow being in body if not in soul.

Yet, why on earth should she care if he didn’t like the food she had so carefully prepared to his exact specifications? Well, almost to his exact specifications.
She had so wanted to hear one meager, grudging word of praise from the horrid, arrogant taskmaster that she’d cheated by making her special nut bread. She noticed the remains of an apple in the waste basket beside the table. Irritation mounted and her cheeks burned with frustration.

She shouldn’t care. She had something more important to concern her—her plan to leave London, first and foremost. She should know better than to dally where danger could only be found. These thoughts did not deter her from confronting the enemy. It never had before, had it?

The second tray still in her hands, she crossed to the door and stuck her nose outside for the first time since arriving here.