What a Rogue Desires (10 page)

“Bugger yourself,” she muttered.

“There you go, two words, and neither of them polite. What shall I do?” He put his head to one side, studying her. Her face was flushed, but she kept her gaze on the breakfast tray. “Perhaps if I put you on bread and water rations until you tell me your name?” he said thoughtfully. Then her eyes did turn his way, half alarmed, half contemptuous. It came to David instantly, that she’d lived on bread and water before. She wouldn’t like it, but she wouldn’t be broken by it. “No, that most certainly would not be the proper way to treat a lady,” he said in the same tone. “Perhaps if I tempt you…” He smiled slowly. “Yes, that’s it. I quite like tempting ladies. I shall have to think carefully about what will tempt you most.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and giving her a smile. “Talk to me, Mrs. Gray,” he murmured. “I’ll persuade you one way or another.”

She stared back at him with narrowed eyes. There was defiance and scornful pride in her gaze. Just as she had become a challenge to him, resisting him had become the challenge to her. It was to be a battle of sorts between them, then. She didn’t move except to follow him with those eyes as he got to his feet and crossed the room, then let himself out.

David locked the door without thinking about it, his mind flitting from one method of persuasion to another. Persuading ladies to his way of thinking was, perhaps, David’s one true talent in life. If he couldn’t loosen her lips—at the very least—by the end of the week, he’d give up drink for a week.

Vivian sat in the chair, her knees trembling. Oh, dear. This was taking a turn for the worse. She ought to have known he wouldn’t simply feed her and wait patiently forever. That man burned with energy. It was likely a miracle he’d left her be for so long already.

Tempt her…What did he mean by that? She knew very well what he was thinking. She’d seen that look in a man’s eye before. Not quite like that, though; she’d never seen anything quite like this man. She was afraid of what would happen if he did try to tempt her.

She rubbed her hands nervously up and down her arms, glancing around the room. But nothing about it had changed. She was still locked behind a stout wooden door in a room with a well-fitted window, some two floors up. She couldn’t jump out the window any more than she could fight her way past her captor. But she saw now that she might not have been wise to delay her escape so long. A challenge, he had called her. Vivian snorted. This was all still a game to him, but to her it was life or death. He could hand her over to the Runners if she admitted to stealing his belongings, and then she’d hang for certain.

Of course, he could have handed her over to the Runners first thing, and they’d have hung her then. Vivian frowned a little as she thought. He said he would let her go once he had the bloody ring back. She still didn’t see how she could accomplish that, but perhaps she should think about how to convince him instead of simply refusing to answer him.

She just didn’t like that threat about “tempting.”

David continued to be amazed at the breadth of his brother’s concerns and interests. He had always known Marcus was the brighter of them—every tutor and professor had always said so, and of course their father had made it clear he was relieved it was Marcus who would inherit and not David. For the most part, David had simply accepted it. No one expected him to do anything else, until now. Now he was confronted daily with proof that he had not done very much with his life, while Marcus had become an authority on nearly everything. Every day something new and unexpected crossed the wide mahogany desk in Exeter House, and it seemed David hadn’t the least idea how to deal with half of them.

“What the devil is this?” he asked, frowning at the densely-written document Adams handed across the desk late the next afternoon. They had already dispensed with most of the correspondence and necessary matters, and David was already thinking of dinner.

“It is a bill,” said Mr. Adams. “Calling for the resumption of currency convertibility.”

David dropped the bill almost reflexively. “Currency?”

“Yes, sir.” Adams went on to explain. The sponsors wished to require banks to redeem all paper notes in gold bullion on request, a right which had been suspended due to the war against Napoleon.

“But I have no vote in Parliament,” David said. “I’ve no say in the matter.”

“His Grace gave his proxy to His Lordship the earl of Roxbury,” replied Adams in reverent tones. “Lord Roxbury wishes to know how to cast His Grace’s vote.”

David’s first instinct was to vote in favor of it, just to curb the use of bank notes. He had a hearty appreciation for the solid weight of coins in his purse now. But perhaps that was wrong; would people rush to exchange their notes for gold and bleed the banks dry? Marcus hadn’t mentioned any thoughts on gold or currency; how was he to know how to proceed? Just tell Roxbury to vote as he saw fit? And if he decided wrongly, David thought morbidly, he could be the ruin of the entire English banking system.

He sighed. “Do you ever feel, Mr. Adams, as though you are utterly incapable of doing things correctly?”

“Indeed, sir, all the time,” replied the man fervently. David glanced up with a rueful grin.

“Ah. Right. Working for my brother, no doubt you would have that feeling all the time.”

Mr. Adams turned red, then white. “Oh no, sir. Not at all, my lord! I didn’t mean to say—or imply—that His Grace is anything other than a model employer—”

“You’re a dashed idiot if you think he’s a model employer,” said David. “He’s demanding beyond all belief.”

“Ah…” Mr. Adams looked as though he were being prodded along the length of a plank by pirates. “Yes, my lord,” he said carefully. “But he is fair. I expect I shall learn a great deal from him before he sacks me.”

“You expect it?” he exclaimed.

The secretary blushed. He looked very young when he did that. “Oh, yes, sir. Daily, in fact, sir. I can see that he hasn’t much patience with my mistakes. He would never have given me the post if my uncle, Mr. Cole, hadn’t written a letter. A letter full of lies, I have no doubt, as Uncle Cole must have known I would never be able to meet His Grace’s requirements.” His face fell.

David frowned. “Why couldn’t you?”

Mr. Adams blushed again, but said nothing. David folded his arms on the desk and let his head hang forward, easing the tension in the back of his neck. “Well, thank God he hasn’t given you the sack already. I’d have been hopelessly lost on my own, you know.” He grinned humorlessly. “Perhaps we’ll get the sack together.”

“Oh, no, indeed, sir!” gasped the horrified secretary. “That is,
you
, sir, are doing splendidly. Surely His Grace will have no cause for complaint about your actions. I, though, have made one mistake after another. It’s not difficult to see how impatient His Grace is with me.”

David laughed. “Impatient with
you
? You’ve no idea what my brother’s impatience looks like, Adams.”

Adams opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, apparently realizing there was nothing he could say in reply. David sighed again, turning to the bill in front of him. “I’ve no idea what to tell Roxbury.” He put it on the side of the desk. “I’ll deal with that later.” Adams bobbed his head, writing. Restlessly, David got to his feet. “I’ll deal with all the rest later.” Adams nodded again, still scribbling. “Until tomorrow, Adams.”

“Yes, my lord.” Adams jumped out of his chair, still clutching his pen and papers. He bowed as David strode around the desk. At the door, David glanced back.

“Go home, Mr. Adams,” he said. “You have the evening free.”

“Thank you, sir!” rang the secretary’s surprised, but pleased, voice behind him. It brought a grin to David’s face as he crossed into the hallway, where Harper was already waiting.

“Is the staff being given extra days out in the family’s absence?” David asked, taking his things.

“Yes, sir,” said Harper. “His Grace always orders it so, when he leaves town for any length of time.”

“How often is that?” David donned his hat.

Harper hesitated. “Not often, sir.”

“I thought not. He ought to go away more often, too. Good evening, Harper.”

“Good evening, my lord.” The Exeter butler bowed slightly as David walked out the door held open by a footman.

It was barely evening. David finished tugging on his gloves, breathing deeply of the warm air. Enough bother about Parliamentary bills and shipping contracts and drainage problems. He was free, for the night at least, and tonight he meant to make Mrs. Gray open her luscious lips and speak to him.

His leg felt better today. There was hardly a twinge as he covered the distance to his own house, and it gave David a thrill of hope. Perhaps the doctor was right, and the leg was just taking a bit longer than usual to heal. Lighthearted, he bounded up his front steps and let himself in.

“Bannet,” he asked his servant when the man came into the hall, “have I any chocolate?”

“Chocolate?” Bannet blinked. “Perhaps, sir. Shall I see?”

“Yes. And if there’s none in the house, go fetch some at once.”

“Yes, sir.” Bannet shuffled off, and David went up the stairs, smiling to himself in anticipation. This was going to be entertaining.

By the time Bannet had procured the necessary supplies, David had stripped off his jacket and put on his dressing gown. There were two trays waiting for him outside Mrs. Gray’s door, the dutiful Bannet standing guard.

“I collected everything you might need, sir,” said his man as David poked around the second tray. The first held her dinner, and it smelled distractingly good. David had not yet had his own dinner. The second tray held a silver chocolate pot, slightly tarnished, a kettle of hot water, two small cups, and the chocolate.

“Excellent work, Bannet.” David nodded in approval, reaching for the key. He opened the door and beckoned Bannet to carry in the dinner tray, then once the servant had backed out of the room—he’d apparently accepted Mrs. Gray’s presence, and the locked door, completely—David carried in the chocolate tray and set it on the mantle.

Mrs. Gray stood in the far corner of the room, as if to stay as far away from him as possible. Her eyes flickered from the dinner tray to David and the other tray. He couldn’t guess what she was thinking. He gave her a smile. “Dinner, madam. And a little something else.”

Vivian watched warily. What was he about now? He had another tray, with a kettle and a gleaming silver pot that would be worth a guinea in any pawnshop in London.

“Go on.” He gestured toward the familiar tray. “I haven’t come to disturb your dinner.” He even turned his back on her as he poured water from the kettle into the silver pot, then took up a dark block and scraped it into the pot as well. She could see a pleased little smile on his face as he added more things to the pot, then closed the lid and began working a handle that fit in through the lid. An aroma, strange but wonderful, drifted from the pot. She licked her lips without thought as the answer came to her: he was making chocolate.

The dinner tray was forgotten. She craned her neck, wanting to see what he did without getting closer. He was perfectly at ease, spinning the handle between the edges of his palms. He set one little cup on the table, and poured the dark steaming liquid into it. Vivian couldn’t stop a sigh at the scent.

“A peace offering,” he said, curving his long fingers around the small cup. His dark eyes gleamed at her guilelessly. “Would you care for some chocolate?”

Was this what he had meant by “tempting” her? Vivian hesitated. As much as she longed to taste chocolate, she wasn’t about to let him trick her into something she would regret.

“No?” he said with a raised eyebrow when she didn’t respond. He sniffed the cup, then tipped it to his own lips. “Quite good, if I do say so myself,” he said, sounding mildly surprised. He poured some more. “Are you certain you don’t care for some?”

“What do I have to give for it?” she asked suspiciously. His smile was all charming innocence.

“Nothing more than your name. A cup of chocolate for your name.”

If she had known what he was planning, she would have been able to resist. If he had asked for the ring again, she would have been able to resist. As it was, Vivian didn’t see what he could do with just her name, and the smell from the cup was so enticing, so she told him. “Vivian.”

His face registered a moment of surprise. “A lovely name,” was all he said, extending the cup. Vivian took it warily, but aside from a slight brush of his thumb on her knuckles, he did nothing but hand her the cup. She put it to her lips and sipped.

Oh. Oh Lord in heaven. It was sweet and warm and rich, everything Vivian had never tasted in her life. She took another greedy sip, and another. All too soon the little cup was empty.

“Would you like some more?” asked her captor. He had pulled the chair up to the table as she drank, and now he looked up at her, his hair falling around his face, his chin propped on one hand. He looked harmless and beautiful and he had a whole pot of that lovely chocolate right by his elbow. Vivian nodded and handed back the cup.

“Where are you from, Miss Vivian?” He poured some more and held it out to her.

“Nowhere.” Vivian reached for the cup but he drew it back.

“Nowhere?” He made a disappointed noise. “A little more specific, please.” She hesitated, and he added, “Nowhere is so large a place.”

“Here, there, everywhere, nowhere.” She shrugged. “No place special.”

“Ah.” He looked at her a moment. “Have you been a thief all your life?”

Vivian straightened her back in affront. “Most. Beats starving to death.” This time he didn’t move as she reached for the cup again. Oh, joy, thought Vivian, unable to keep from drinking it straight off in one long sip.

“Did you ever starve?” he asked, and Vivian jumped. She had forgotten about him for a moment. She shrugged again, putting the little cup back on the table.

“A bit.” She gave him a challenging glare. “Did
you
, your rich-and-mightiness?”

He started, then laughed. “Have I ever starved? More than once, love. But not always for food.” His smile was wicked as he poured more chocolate. “Have you another name, Miss Vivian? Or is it Mrs.?”

She sniffed. “Aye, so you can hand me to the charleys?”

That sinful smile lingered on his lips. “Have I set the charleys on you yet?” She just glared at him. The little cup of chocolate sat at his elbow, wisps of steam curling from the rich brown froth. Her nose twitched involuntarily.

“Well, why haven’t you?” she sneered, annoyed that he was just letting that cupful go to waste. “You said you would if I didn’t hand over your bloody ring. I haven’t got it, as you can see. Call the ruddy charleys, you lying bastard.”

He leaned back in his chair. He seemed in a very good humor this evening, unruffled by anything she said. “But then they would take you away, my dear. We’ve hardly gotten to know each other at all.”

Vivian snorted, retreating to the other side of the table and examining the dinner dishes. It would all smell much more enticing if not for the smell of that undrunk cup of chocolate. Any other night, the roasted chicken would have made her mouth water. Tonight she poked at it half-heartedly.

“For instance, I only just learned your true name,” he went on. “All this time I could only think of you as Mrs. Gray. A bit formal, don’t you think, given that you don’t seem the least bit inclined to leave me and I cannot bear the thought of anyone taking you away?” Vivian snorted again, finally digging into the chicken. “And now I shall call you Vivian.”

The way he said her name was wrong. He rolled the first part around his tongue, as if tasting it, then said the second on a low murmur. No one said her name like that, and Vivian wasn’t sure she liked it. She wasn’t sure she didn’t like it, either, but it was somewhat unsettling when he said it that way, looking at her that way. Simon called her Viv, and Flynn called her Miss V, when he didn’t just call her girl. She picked up the piece of chicken and retreated a step. “And I shall call you a knave, just as I always have.”

He grinned, leaning forward again. “I’ve been called worse. The way you say it is so charming, though. I think I like it.” She stared at him in disbelief. The blighter was mad, that’s what he was; he was flirting with her. With
her
! “In case you should ever grow tired of it, though,” he went on casually, “my proper name is David. David Reece, at your service, madam.”

She curled her lip at him in disdain. “You’re a wretched host, Mr. Reece.”

“How so?”

She dropped the chicken bone back on the plate. “You took the only chair, that’s how. Not much of a gentleman, are you?” She smirked. “Not that I expect you’re much worth the name, being a lying, cheating, guttersnipe of a kidnapper as you are.”

He looked thunderstruck for a moment, then slapped his hand down on the table with a crack, making her jump. “By Jove, you’re right!” He was on his feet and at her side before Vivian could move. “Allow me, madam.” He caught her arms and steered her toward the chair, where he all but pushed her into it. His hands were big and strong, and Vivian was again aware how easily he could pick her up and do whatever he wished with her person. Although…His grip was firm but not rough. He had never really hurt her, and Vivian realized he wouldn’t. She had no good reason for it, but somehow she was certain he wouldn’t hurt her—unless perhaps she provoked him, and she had learned her lesson on that score. Still, she sat as far back as possible in the chair as he towered over her. Then she gave a squeak of alarm as he went down on his knee in front of her, folded his arms, and rested his elbows on the ends of the chair arms.