What a Rogue Desires (8 page)

After two days spent trying to find a way to escape, Vivian gave up. The servant seemed incorruptible, for he never came to open her door. She thought up an elaborate story sure to make him feel very, very sorry for her, to no purpose. The man brought clean linens for the bed, and then never came again. She never had the chance to use her tale of woe. No possible escape route presented itself, as the room proved as ordinary, and as secure, as she had thought at first. The only person she saw was
him
, that hateful man who’d locked her in here, and he only brought her dinner and breakfast. Even though she didn’t want to talk to him, particularly not about his bloody ring, Vivian was growing a little edgy from having nothing to do and no one to talk to.

Frustrated and bored, Vivian took to pacing the room. What was she to do all day? Did he mean for her to fall into a stupor from sitting here staring at the walls? She dragged the chair over to the window and plopped into it, gazing out the window with longing. It was a lovely day. How she longed to be outside, to be free….

Then she could return to Simon. She missed her brother; she worried about him. What if he and Flynn came to blows over her disappearance? Flynn would be furious, no doubt, for not only was she gone and unable to set up other jobs, but she still had some of the profits from the last job with her. No doubt he would demand Simon hand over his share, to make up for what Vivian had hidden in her skirt hem. And her poor brother wouldn’t be able to stop Flynn from taking it.

Of course, if she returned to Simon, she’d also be returning to Flynn. Even furious as she was with the gent who’d kidnapped her, she had to admit he was more pleasant than Flynn. Unlike Flynn, he fed her good food, gave her a luxuriously soft bed, and hadn’t once tried to feel her bottom. Things could be much worse, and Vivian acknowledged it. Once her initial outrage had dimmed a bit, she even began to appreciate the advantages of being locked up. True, she was no help to Simon, but she also had a respite from Flynn. She had time to consider her future, what she would do once she managed to slip out of this spot.

That was a thorny question. Especially now that she’d had a taste of real comfort, it seemed harder and harder to return to sleeping on the ground, eating oatcakes and watery stew, and constantly moving around to avoid arrest. It was quite nice not to have to worry about her brother making a mistake, or about Flynn bringing disaster down on them in a drunken fit. Only now that it was lifted, even for a short time, could Vivian appreciate how oppressive that worry and responsibility had become.

It had always been her hope to find an occupation that was, if not completely respectable, then at least settled. Vivian had lived in more places than she could count, and she didn’t care to remember most of them, cramped, dirty places that didn’t offer an iota of the comfort of this room she was in. She had learned to keep her few belongings in a handy bundle, ready to be snatched up at a moment’s notice in case the charleys had gone through in search of thieves. She glanced at the heavy wardrobe in the corner again, that big, solid piece meant just to hold a body’s belongings in one place. The man who lived here had never had to leave in the middle of the night for fear of being thrown in prison.

For that, she envied him. For as long as she could remember, Vivian had wanted that security, that knowledge that she had a safe, cozy place to return to every night. She wanted not to be cold at night, not to be hungry during the day, and more than anything she wanted to feel in control of her own life. Now, she knew that the few things in life she valued could vanish at a moment’s notice.

For a moment she closed her eyes. In her mind she could see the house, a small stone cottage with roses rambling over it, a prosperous smoke puffing out the chimney. The windows were open, and a yellow cat lay curled on one sill, tail twitching lazily. Vivian could see that house as clearly as if it were before her, even though she’d only seen it once with her eyes. The house was in Essex. She had seen it as she and Simon walked along the road toward Colchester, damp from sleeping under a tree, cold from having no fire, and so terribly hungry Simon had woken up crying from the pain in his belly. At that moment, that little cottage had been everything Vivian ever wanted in life: four sturdy walls and a solid roof, and a fire with a pot of food over it. She had wanted it for Simon, who was her responsibility, but she had wanted it most of all for herself.

She sighed and rested her head against the window frame. On the other side of the glass, far down below, a small bird was digging in the garden for worms. He moved around with sharp, jerky movements that managed to cover every square inch of the sad little garden down below. His feet scratched at the dirt, his little brown head bobbing hopefully as he inspected his progress every few scratches. But the garden seemed as barren of worms as it was of flowers. With a sudden flutter of wings the bird was gone, off to seek greener, worm-filled, pastures.

Vivian’s mouth twisted. Would that she could fly away, too, to someplace far away where life would be easier. Unlike the little bird, she was stuck with her bare patch of earth, scratching away day after day in search of bounty that never appeared. She heaved another sigh. Now the bounty was served to her twice daily, which she couldn’t complain about, but she hated being caged in. This was by far the longest Vivian had ever spent indoors in her life.

A soft tapping made her sit up, alert. Someone was knocking, very lightly, on the door. “Who’s there?” she said, getting her to feet nervously.

“Bannet, ma’am,” said the servant’s muffled voice.

“Aye, what?” she asked suspiciously. Why would he come knock on her door now, after two days?

“I thought you might like something to read,” he replied. “Seeing as the master says you’re not going out.”

That was an understatement. “Will you let me out?” she said, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice.

“No, ma’am, I cannot. The master says not.”

“But he’s locked me in here!” she cried. “I want to go out! It’s imprisonment!”

“But he’s not mistreated you, has he?” asked the servant with infuriating calm. “I’d not stand for that, but he’s a gentleman, and you’re his guest.”

“I don’t want to be,” she muttered.

“But the master’s too busy to stay around the house all day, so I took the liberty of choosing a book you might find diverting.” A thin volume slid under the door with a slightly gritty sound. “It took me some time to find something appropriate,” he added apologetically. “The master’s library isn’t well-used, nor well-kept. But I once saw this play put on by a traveling troupe of actors in Plymouth, and hope you might like it as well.”

Vivian picked up the book and frowned at the title.
The School for Scandal
. She wasn’t much interested in school, nor a book about one. Still, it was a nice gesture, and it had brought the servant to her door. Perhaps she could work on him after all. She moved closer to the door.

“Oh, thank you. It looks wonderful. But I must tell you, what I long for above all else is a breath of fresh air. The window won’t open. Might I please take a turn in the garden?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.”

“But it’s such a beautiful day,” she pleaded in her softest, sweetest tone. “Just a brief turn?”

“No, ma’am,” he repeated. “The master said not even a turn in the garden, nor sitting in the drawing room, nor leaving that room at all.”

“But…” Vivian placed her palms on the door, the book tucked under one arm. She spoke right into the seam where the door met the frame. “But if he ordered you to do something awful, you wouldn’t obey, would you?”

“No, ma’am, but he’s never asked me to do something awful.”

“He’s told you to keep me locked up like—like an animal.” She choked and affected a small sob.

“Now, ma’am, the master has his reasons. And as I said before, he’s not mistreated you.”

“His reasons are to torment me! He knows he is keeping me here against my will!”

“Now, madam.” He was beginning to sound aggrieved now. “I’d lose my place if I let you out.”

“I’ll help you find another,” she promised at once.

“But this one suits me. Thank you kindly, ma’am. I hope you enjoy the book.”

“Wait!” she cried. “Wait! Please, don’t go!” She pressed her ear to the door and listened, but heard only a faint sound of slow, shuffling footsteps, slowly fading away. She slapped her hand against the door in irritation.

“Sure, and you’re such a good man,” she muttered. “Keeping a woman locked up! Bugger the both of you.”

This was always the way of it in her life: someone else decided, and she had no choice but to live with that decision. Vivian cursed them all, from her father who went away to war and left her mother destitute, to her current captor who imprisoned her just because he felt like it. Vivian hated not being able to choose her own path, even if the choices she faced were not always pleasant.

Her eyes fell on the book where it had fallen on the floor. A book about a school. Vivian rolled her eyes, but picked it up. Her mother had taught her to read, years ago, but she had never had a book all her own to read. She flipped it open, more for lack of anything else to do than because she truly wanted to, and started to read.

David’s intention to hire a complete new household staff soon hit a snag. He had instructed Adams to send round to the agency requesting a butler, a cook, two housemaids, and a pair of footmen. The reply was swift in coming.

“It is from the agency,” said Adams, reading a letter. He was sorting the post just delivered to Exeter House, where David was struggling to get through Marcus’s daily workload.

“Yes, yes,” said David distractedly, thumbing through the Ainsley Park estate manager’s latest report. There were some queries he must answer at once. “Tell them all to start at once.”

Adams cleared his throat. “Ah. Sir, there seems to be a bit of a problem.”

David looked up with an impatient frown. “What?”

Nervously, Adams held up the letter. “Mrs. White, sir. She says…But I shall send around to another agency today, one better able to…” He fell silent, fidgeting with the letter.

“What?” said David. “What did Mrs. White say?”

Wetting his lips, the secretary said, “She is unable to fill your positions, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because—because her people have heard of your past difficulties, sir. In paying wages.”

David’s frown deepened. “Surely you jest.”

Adams shook his head, looking miserable. “No, sir.” He held out the letter. “Would you care—?”

He flipped one hand in disgust. “No, no. Send around to another agency then. Bannet cannot run my household on his own.”

“No, sir. Yes, sir.” Adams shuffled the letter to the bottom of his stack of papers. “I shall see to it at once, sir.”

The replies to those inquiries were swift in coming as well, though, and they were alarmingly similar. No reputable agency in London, it seemed, was anxious to assist him. One even went so far as to say that David had employed nearly all of their people at one point, and not a one of them would agree to return. At first David laughed it off, then he cursed in irritation, and finally he sat in grim, humiliated silence as Adams handed over yet another letter with downcast eyes. Never in all his life had he felt so low—rejected by employment agencies as unworthy! A Reece!

He leaned forward, folding his hands carefully on the desk. “Mr. Adams. I require a staff. See to it at once.” He ought to have done it this way from the beginning, he thought, and spared himself the galling experience of knowing he was considered unsuitable by every scullery maid in London.

Adams swallowed, bobbing his head. “Yes, sir. At once, sir.”

David jerked his head once. “Very good. Now, yes, back to work.” Adams nodded again, readying his pen, and they resumed the Sisyphean task of dealing with Marcus’s correspondence.

David waited until Adams took himself off to work in the small office down the hall before he flung his empty coffee cup across the room. It smashed into the fireplace in a tinkle of fine china. David ignored it, seething. Of all the nerve—how dare they—it was insupportable—

He unfolded his clenched fingers and stood, crossing the room with controlled steps. He chose a glass from the sideboard with equally deliberate care, unstopped the decanter, and poured precisely two fingers of whiskey. Calmly he lifted the glass, and tossed back the whiskey with one flick of the wrist. David stared out the window. Mocked and spurned by a pack of footmen. He poured two more fingers of whiskey and drank it as quickly as he had the first. He wasn’t good enough to pay their wages, was he? He poured more whiskey, less precisely this time, and gulped it down, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Still holding the decanter and glass, he turned and went back to his seat behind the desk. Thumping the glass down, he poured another drink and slouched in his chair.

This wouldn’t happen to Marcus, he thought grimly, tipping the glass to his mouth. Not that Marcus would find himself ostracized by
anyone
who wanted money, but his brother, David was sure, would have known how to present his request in a way that admitted no possibility of refusal. No one refused Marcus anything.

His eyes fell on the desk in front of him. The decanter was sitting on top of the account ledger from Blessing Hill, the farm in Essex where Marcus raised thoroughbreds. David didn’t have to open it to know it contained columns of numbers indicating to the pence how much and how often each employee of Blessing Hill was paid. If he looked in the London ledger, he knew he would find the same notations for every servant in Exeter House, to say nothing of some entries paying David’s own faithless servants.

He sighed. Things like this didn’t happen to Marcus because Marcus didn’t let things get out of hand to begin with. Marcus paid his servants generously and promptly. Marcus didn’t gamble his housekeeping funds away on cockfights and horse races. Marcus didn’t get entangled with married women and then have to leave town to avoid their raging husbands. Marcus simply didn’t make a thorough mess of his life. David poured the glass full of whiskey almost to the rim, and drank it.

Some time later someone tapped at the door, then again after a long pause. “What?” growled David.

Harper, the Exeter butler, appeared in the doorway. “Some gentlemen to see you, my lord.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Anthony Hamilton, Mr. Edward Percy, and Lord Robert Wallenham, sir.”

David sank lower in his chair. “I’m not in.”

“Ballocks,” said a different voice. “The devil you say you’re not in to us.” His friends had not waited properly in the drawing room to be announced, but had followed the butler to the study. Now they pushed their way into the room, ignoring Harper’s cool disapproval. The butler stood, waiting for David’s instruction like a proper servant, and David reluctantly nodded in dismissal. Now that they were here, he could hardly tell Harper to throw them out.

“I say,” said Percy, glancing around somewhat nervously as he took a seat. “Odd to find you here, Reece. Gives me the shivers just to be in this room.”

David lifted one shoulder. “I’m looking after the estate while my brother’s away.”

A burst of general laughter greeted this. Hamilton grinned, lounging in his chair. “Doubly odd, then, if you ask me. How did that come about?”

“He asked me,” muttered David. Hamilton cocked an eyebrow. Percy shuddered in horror. “Do you question my competence, or his?”

“Not your competence, your sanity,” exclaimed Percy. “What did he threaten you with?”

“Nothing.” David frowned a little, cradling his glass against his chest.

“Ah, a debt repayment plan,” said Hamilton. “It happens to all of us who haven’t inherited our fortunes yet, from time to time,” he explained to Wallenham. “Relatives require the damnedest things in exchange for their money.”

“Don’t speak to me about debt, you young pup.” Wallenham glared at Hamilton. “I know all about debt. Got plenty of it myself. I just haven’t got a wealthy older brother to pay it off for me.”

“The debt was
to
him,” said David. “Not something he could repay for me, were I inclined to ask for that.”

“Well, enough about debt,” said Percy. “Nasty, unpleasant subject. We hadn’t seen you in over a fortnight, Reece. Hamilton feared you were imprisoned in the country, so it’s most excellent to see you back in town, even if we did have a devil of a time finding you. Dine with us at White’s?”

“Capital idea.” Wallenham lurched to his feet.

David opened his mouth to say yes. An evening out with his friends, carefree drinking, a little gambling, and possibly some women, would surely improve his mood. No one at Madame Louise’s or a gaming hall would refuse his money. It was what he usually did in London, and Lord knew he could use the respite from account ledgers and crop reports.

But then he remembered Mrs. Gray, locked in his guest room. Bannet would no doubt dutifully leave her be, and if David didn’t go home she would have no supper, and likely no breakfast, either. Evenings about town with his friends rarely ended before dawn, and always left him useless for anything. Not only did he have to see to her, he had to be back here, at this desk, tomorrow morning. With a sigh, he slumped back in the chair. “Not for me. Not tonight.”

All three of his friends paused, looking at him in surprise. “Have you taken ill?” asked Percy with a quizzical tilt of his head. David shook his head.

“I have some things to attend to. Another night, perhaps.”

His three visitors exchanged a glance. “All right, then,” said Wallenham. “Er, another night.”

David nodded as they took their leave. He hadn’t even really wanted to go, he realized with some surprise. It was rather a relief when they had gone and closed the door behind them, and he was left in the quiet solitude of the study. He had only been inclined to go because it was what he usually did in town. Had he become such a jaded creature that revelry was dull now?

He looked at the desk, and put down his glass. He’d had enough whiskey. He’d had enough work. He just needed a good night’s sleep, he told himself, and by tomorrow his staffing problem would be behind him, his head would be clear, and he could face whatever came his way.

David stood up, wincing as he put his weight on his leg. The damned thing seemed to get tender and weak just from sitting at a desk. He walked around the desk and left the room, forcing himself to walk normally. In the hallway, Harper materialized at his elbow.

“Tell Adams we’ll continue in the morning,” David said. The butler bowed his head in acknowledgment. “And see to it another hamper is sent around to my house tomorrow. For another week, in fact.” If not for the question of Mrs. Gray, David would consider taking up residence in Exeter House, just for the sake of convenience.

“Yes, my lord.” Harper cleared his throat delicately. “If I may be so bold, sir, I may be able to assist in your hiring.”

Already turning away, David paused. “Oh?”

“Mr. Adams mentioned you would be hiring a complete staff, sir,” Harper went on. “I am acquainted with a man who will soon be seeking a position.”

“Oh? Yes, yes, certainly,” David said in a rush. He wasn’t in any position to be particular. “By all means, give his name to Adams. He’ll be handling the matter.”

Harper bowed. “Very good, sir. Shall I send for your horse?”

David pressed the knuckles of his fist into the tense muscles of his thigh. His lower leg was throbbing dully. “No, I shall walk.” He mustered a carefree grin. “Fresh air, you know.”

“Yes, sir.” Harper glided ahead of him, handing over David’s gloves and hat. “A good evening to you, sir.”

David nodded. “Good night, Harper.”

The cloudy day had become even darker. It felt like rain. David walked purposefully, pushing through his heel with every stride. It wasn’t far to his town house, but by the time he arrived, his leg felt as if someone had beaten it with a club. He knew he was limping as he climbed the steps and let himself into the house.

Bannet appeared as David was taking off his hat and gloves. “I prepared a tray for Mrs. Gray, sir, just as you asked.” And just as David had instructed, the tray was sitting on the table in the hallway. David was torn between being pleased his servant had followed his orders exactly, and exasperated that the man hadn’t just taken her the damn tray and spared him the trouble. He eyed the staircase with resignation. He didn’t look forward to carrying a heavy tray up all those stairs on his bad leg.

“Good work, Bannet.” He couldn’t afford to run off his last remaining employee. He handed over his hat and shed his gloves. Bannet trundled off with them, leaving David alone in the hall. He sighed, hefting the tray on one arm, almost wishing he didn’t have too much pride to tell Bannet to carry it up for him. Gritting his teeth, he climbed the stairs and made his way to his prisoner’s room.

He took the key off the top of the doorframe and rapped twice with his knuckle on the door before unlocking it. He heard a muffled scuffle of sound from within, but by the time he had opened the door she was sitting in the chair, staring out the window. He closed the door, then with slow, deliberate steps, he crossed the room and set down the tray on the small table. “Your dinner, madam.”

She didn’t look at him. David’s calf trembled; he clenched his teeth against the pain. He should have told Bannet to prepare a boiling hot bath, the only thing David had discovered that relieved the ache. But now—the muscle was shaking. He could feel it on the verge of giving out. Not wanting to collapse in front of a woman, David quickly hobbled to the bed and sank down, hoping she didn’t notice the bare groan of relief that slipped through his teeth.

It was blissful, to be off that leg.

Mrs. Gray darted a nervous glance his way. David realized he had never stayed longer than a few moments in her room. Well, well. Pretending he had intended to do so all along, he leaned back against the pillows and swung both his legs onto the bed. Her eyes widened before she jerked her gaze back to the window.

His mood suddenly improved, and his leg all but melting in relief, David folded his arms over his chest and settled back, watching her. She’d been here for four days, and he hadn’t heard a word out of her since the first. He was growing tired of this escapade, and decided it might be time to rattle her chains a bit. “I apologize if I’ve been neglecting you,” he said. “Very poor manners for a host, I know.” He gestured to the tray. “I trust the fare has been satisfactory?” She said nothing. “And the accommodation, I hope, has been comfortable?” The bed was damned comfortable. David wasn’t sure he would ever be able to get up and put weight on his leg again. Of course, he could have been lying on a stone slab and been reluctant to stand up again.

“We’ve had so little time to become acquainted,” he went on, as if they were having a normal conversation. “Forgive me. I’ve had rather a lot to do of late, but in no way did I intend to slight you.” She stole a hungry glance at the tray of food, and David hid his satisfaction. “I shall be a better host from now on, you have my word.” He paused. “Have you anything to say?” All he got was an angry glare.

This time he didn’t bother to smother his delight. She was a fiery thing, even if she had some control over her temper, and perhaps, if he applied just the right pressure, she would crack and tell him what he wanted to know. “Then I suppose it shall fall to me to carry the conversation.” He stopped; what did one converse about with a woman? Any woman, let alone this particular woman. He hadn’t the first idea.