Always a Scoundrel (16 page)

As soon as he had her undone, he pulled down on her sleeves and twirled her around so that he could clamp his mouth over her left breast. Whatever her reasons for wanting him, at any moment she could come to her senses, and urgency pulled at him.

Lifting her, he half dropped her backward onto her bed. He yanked her dress up over her hips, wetting his
lips as she lifted her hips to assist him. Then he shoved down his trousers.

“Your boots,” she rasped, gasping as he pulled her toward the edge of the bed.

“Leave them.” With a growl he slid inside her, relishing the tight, hot sensation. Still standing beside the bed, he pumped his hips hard and fast, leaning forward to place his hands over her breasts. Her nipples pebbled beneath his palms, and he bent further to replace one hand with his mouth again.

Moaning in time with his thrusts, she reached up to tangle her hands into his hair. “Bram,” she gasped, and then came, pulsing around him.

Heat speared through him, turning his blood molten. Without any of his usual finesse he found his own release, deep inside her.
Sweet St. Christopher
. Whatever the devil she did to him, and much as he hated to admit it, he liked it. And he liked Rosamund Davies.

He released her hips and twisted to lie back on the bed beside her, reaching over to fling a blanket over the two of them. When she rested her head on his shoulder, her hand curled over his chest, he had the oddest sensation of simply wanting time to stop.

Clearly he needed to rid himself of this oddness. “Will you tell me what happened?” he asked, placing a subtle kiss into her hair.

For a moment she lay there in silence. “He knows,” she finally said in a muffled, miserable voice. “Cosgrove knows that you…that we’ve been together. I didn’t tell him, but I suppose I wasn’t as frightened of him as he expected.”

As he held her, listening, he sent his gaze around her room. Aside from the cricket bat on the floor, a chair stood jammed beneath the door handle. Most telling of all, though, was the portmanteau on the floor at the far side of the bed, the thing half filled with clothes and other personal items.

Something had happened. Something worse than Cosgrove’s previous threats and promises. Something bad enough to make the absurdly loyal chit fly into his arms and pack her bags. Bram rubbed his hand down her back, pulling her closer against him, as she began shaking. Her fright troubled him. It troubled him a great deal. “What did he do?” he murmured.

“He said something about if his words didn’t put me in my place, he would find something that would. And then he slapped me.”

Bram abruptly regretted not making use of the knife he’d carried in his boot to the Hampton soiree. He could understand Cosgrove desiring her and wanting to control her. But to strike her…Bram was accustomed to being angry; he’d spent most of the past ten years in varying states of it. What he felt as he listened to Rosamund, though, to the shake of her words and the despair in her voice, was deeper and hotter than anything he’d ever experienced. Plainly and simply, it was fury. White-hot, blood-boiling fury.

“Hope that he enjoyed hitting you, Rosamund,” he said in a low voice, “because he will never touch you again.”

She lifted her head, green eyes gazing at him. “I won’t let him. I’m going to leave.”

His breath caught in sudden dismay. “I believe I suggested that before,” he said as evenly as he could.

“And I should have listened. My family…my family will be destroyed, but I can’t spend the remainder of my life in that man’s company.” Her voice broke. “I can’t do it, Bram. I thought I could, but—”

“But at some point you need to begin looking after your own welfare,” he finished. “I’ve found that that is the only way to live, Rosamund.”

She frowned. “No, it’s not. But I’ve been forced into it by his actions.”

“I have an idea,” he said slowly, about to break another of his rules. Three in one night. Someone should have made a wager. “Stay with me.”

Rosamund’s pale cheeks darkened. “What?”

“Stay at Lowry House. No one would suspect it. I would…I would protect you.”

She leaned up and gave him a soft, slow kiss. Bram closed his eyes at the touch. A kiss freely given by her was almost better than sex.

“I’m not complaining, but what was that for?” he asked.

“You
would
protect me, wouldn’t you?”

With his dying breath. “Yes.”

“From Cosgrove, anyway. But you couldn’t protect me from Society, and who would protect me from you?”

“You’re the one who began undressing me.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Explain, then.”

“This”—and she ran a finger across his chest—“is…delicious. But this”—and she lifted her hand to place it over her own chest—“is something else entirely. Because I seem to desire you doesn’t mean that I trust you.”

This time Bram scowled. “Marry me, and Society and I will both be managed.”

For a hard heartbeat he wasn’t certain he’d spoken aloud, until she pulled away from him and sat up.
Christ
. What the devil was he thinking? He’d
proposed
, for God’s sake. But now that he’d done so, he damned well wanted an answer.

“Well?” he prompted, rising beside her.

Rosamund cleared her throat. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “I admit, I expected you to turn tail and run for Scotland or somewhere rather than put yourself directly in your friend’s path.”

“He’s not my friend any longer. I made that rather clear this evening. And thank you for your faith in my character.”

“It’s not faith or a lack thereof. I’ve been studying up on you, Bram.”

“Isn’t that nice.” Just what he wanted after a damned proposal; her picking at his character. Admittedly there was a great deal to take apart, but he was being the bloody hero, damn it all. “I could be mistaken, but I think I just asked you to marry me. Pray give me an answer.”

“I insulted you when I said you were cut from the same cloth as Cosgrove. I apologize for that.”

“Thank y—”

“But you’re still trouble. A great deal of it. I won’t flee one ill-conceived marriage that I had a good reason to go through with for another one that I don’t.”

Swallowing, Bram rose and yanked his trousers back over his hips. Just one bloody time he would like to lie in bed and quote poetry or some other damned thing with her before the blows began flying. “Very well,
then,” he growled. His first instinct was to throw open her door and walk down the stairs and out her damned front door with the entire household staff watching. Just as compelling, though, was the desire to know what she meant to do if she wouldn’t have him. “If you’re fleeing your home and you won’t marry, you won’t be able to stay in London.”

“I thought I might find work as a governess or a companion. Perhaps in York, or in Cornwall. I like the sea.”

Either place was too far away. Another worry entirely seized him. If she went away, he wouldn’t be able to see her any longer. And that was unacceptable. “No.”

“‘No’? I don’t believe it’s up to you.”

He paced the length of her room and back again. Twice. And then once again. For years he’d amused himself with schemes and games and wagers. It was a simple procedure: Figure out what he wanted, and then the best way of getting it. “This is all about a ten-thousand-pound debt,” he mused, half to himself.

She nodded. “Yes, I agree.”

“Your engagement to Cosgrove won’t be announced for better than a fortnight.”

“Again, you have a wonderful grasp of facts.”

Bram sent her a glare. “I’m thinking, if you don’t mind.”

“Think all you like. I’m not staying to be accosted by that man again.”

Finally he faced her again, his heart pounding so hard he was surprised his chest didn’t erupt. “Make me a bargain, Rosamund. Give me fourteen days. If I haven’t removed you from Cosgrove’s grasp by the time he’s able to make your engagement public, I will see that
you get safely to wherever you wish to go, with enough pin money to give you time and a chance to find decent employment.”

She looked at him for a long moment as she found a night rail and pulled it on over her naked form. “What’s in it for you, then?” she finally asked.

You
. “You know I like a challenge. And if you can withstand him, with my assistance, for another fourteen days, then you have nothing to lose.”

“You just proposed to me. Are you going to behave as a gentleman?”

He grinned, amused for the first time since he’d spoken to Lester. “I never said that. Do you agree?”

Finally she stuck out her hand. “Fourteen days, Bram. I’m trusting you.”

He shook hands with her, then lifted her fingers to kiss her knuckles. “Fourteen days.”

And if everything went according to his hurriedly constructed plan, at the end of the fortnight she would be free from Cosgrove, and she would instead be hopelessly—hopefully—entangled with him. This was going to be a seduction, and marriage to Lady Rosamund Davies would be his prize.

Rose made it halfway from the stairs to the breakfast room before her father emerged from his office. “There you are,” he said in a tight voice. “Come in here. Now.”

Squaring her shoulders, Rose turned down the hallway and followed him into his private domain of ledgers and newspapers and almanacs. This confrontation didn’t trouble her as much as it might have a few days ago; she’d likely spent more time considering her actions and all their possible ramifications than he ever could. And she’d done her best to comply with his wishes, even when she knew no good would come of it for her. “I wanted to apologize for not attending the soiree last night,” she said, deciding to bridge the topic before he could begin chastising her over it. “It must have been something I ate. I had to sleep beneath a damp compress all night.”

He sat down behind his desk. “My income last year, from both estates, was seven thousand pounds,” he said without preamble. “Expenses, including taxes, salaries, Oxford tuition for James, and food, among many other things, totaled six and a half thousand pounds.”

“Papa, I—”

“Quite simply,” he went on, raising his voice until she stopped talking, “I cannot afford to hand Lord Cosgrove ten thousand pounds. As he has the promissory notes to prove that James owes him that sum, I am at his mercy. He has offered me a way to escape from this debt. I have to accept his terms. Do you understand?”

She looked at him. Her first instinct was still to say that of course she understood, both the debt and that he had to do what was best for the family. Her growing…frustration at having all this put on her shoulders when she’d already done more for the family than any of them would ever realize, though, stopped her. “I understand that James has put you into a difficult situation,” she agreed slowly. “I also understand that handing me over to Cosgrove is the easiest way for you to rectify matters.”

“‘The easiest’?” he repeated, scowling.

“You have a great many wealthy friends, Papa. I should have considered that before, but now I realize that you would rather lose me than lose your pride.” Rose took a breath. “If you truly had no alternative, I imagine I would be more compliant. Since you’ve given me your facts and figures, I shall give you mine. Cosgrove slapped me last night, because I didn’t want to change my dress. My marriage to him might allow me to have some control over his future actions, but as
I’ve become acquainted with him it seems more likely that our connection will provide him with an unending influence over both James and this entire family. And so whatever
your
plans are, I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

He nodded. “How many proposals of marriage have you received, Rose? Excluding Cosgrove’s of course.”

She hesitated. Clearly she couldn’t mention the one that had occurred in her bedchamber last night, either. “Two. I didn’t feel I would be…compatible with either of them.” And they’d both had even less sense than her own family.

“Then perhaps you are the architect of your own fate, my dear. If you had married, I would be
forced
to find other means to deal with Cosgrove—or if you happened to be wrong about the willingness of my so-called wealthy friends to loan me such an exorbitant sum, I suppose your mother and I might find ourselves without property or income. But you chose not to marry, and quite frankly, each year you grow older, you place more of a strain on my accounts.”

Oh, she should have fled ages ago. To be so unvalued when she worked so hard—she’d known it forever, but to hear him say it flayed her to the heart. Even marriage to a dullard like Thomas Hankenridge would have been preferable to this. In that sense, she
had
done this to herself. But not quite yet; she still had thirteen days for Bram to play his part, and two more beyond that to arrange her flight if he failed.

“Then I think we understand one another,” she said, lifting her chin. “Is that all?”

“Yes. As long as you keep in mind that this marriage
will
happen. It will be better for everyone concerned, then, including you, if it looks to be a result of mutual affection.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Her hands clenched into fists, Rose stalked into the breakfast room, spied her brother loading thick slices of ham onto his plate, and stalked out again. As if her contributions to the family amounted to less than James’s. She doubted her father had spent ten thousand pounds on her upkeep.

A knock echoed from the foyer, and Elbon hurried past her to answer the door. She turned to watch, ready to flee up the stairs again if it should be Cosgrove. Whether she would be better off playing pretty with him or not, she was certainly not prepared to do so the morning after he’d struck her.

The silhouette in the doorway, though, was leaner and taller than Cosgrove, and her pulse stirred. For a time this morning she thought that perhaps she’d dreamed Bram’s visit last night, because it made more sense that she would put her faith in a phantom Bram Johns than in the actual one.

After speaking for a moment to the butler, he entered the foyer. Black eyes lifted, and he saw her. “Good morning, Lady Rosamund,” he drawled, bowing.

The smile that curved his mouth seemed to light even his dark eyes. Shaking herself, Rose curtsied to him. “Lord Bram. I didn’t think you ever ventured out this early in the day.”

“I’m a conundrum,” he returned, stopping in front of her. “Lester told me you were ill last night. I hope you are feeling improved.”

“Much improved. Thank you.”

Bram leaned his face closer to hers. “Are you much improved?” he whispered, taking her hand to bow over it.

Rose nodded. “For the next thirteen days,” she replied in the same tone.

“Hm.” He straightened again, releasing her. “Is your brother about?”

“He’s in the breakfast room.”

“Ah. Escort me, my lady. I don’t have much familiarity with anything having to do with morning or breakfast.”

Smiling despite her earlier ire, Rose wrapped her fingers around his arm. As they walked, she examined him more closely. “Blue today? Your valet must be overset.”

“You have no idea. He tried to gouge out his eyes this morning. But you were correct; I wear far too much black. I looked like a bookkeeper. Or worse, a solicitor.”

He’d declared himself an ally, and when he appeared, she actually felt as though she needn’t face the next few weeks entirely alone. His time and attention didn’t make him an angel; he was nothing close to one, in fact. But he’d offered to help her escape. She would keep her eyes wide open, but she would also allow herself, for the moment, at least, to hold on to a small sliver of hope.

“Lester,” Bram said, offering his hand to her brother.

“Bram. What brings you here?”

“You do. I’m off to Tattersall’s. Care to join me?”

James cleared his throat. “I’m to attend luncheon with King and some of his cronies.”

“Then attend if you wish.” Bram shrugged. “If I know King’s friends, which I do, they’ll be too busy proving how clever they are to notice whether you’re there or not.”

“I—”

“Let’s go to the horse market. You have a good eye for driving pairs, and I’m in need of one. Leave whenever you choose, or stay. I may make a day of it.”

Finally James grinned. “Let me change my boots.”

“I’ll be here, eating your food.”

As soon as her brother left the room, Rose faced Bram. “That was very direct of you.”

“Was it? It must be the early hour. You know I prefer deviousness.”

“Hm. What are you up to?”

“Taking your brother to Tattersall’s,” he returned, lifting an eyebrow. “Do you wish to join us?”

“Why aren’t you attending Cosgrove’s luncheon?”

“Because I wasn’t invited.”

That made her pause. “You truly have broken with him, then?”

“I said I had.” He took a half step back in her direction. “Perhaps you should come with us. Cosgrove may decide he wants you to attend, and it’s not anything you need to witness.”

She couldn’t stop the shiver that traveled down her spine. “What happens at these luncheons?”

Bram lifted his hand. Running a finger softly along her cheek, as though he couldn’t help touching her, he lowered his gaze to her mouth. With two footmen and the butler in the room, she didn’t think he would kiss her, but she abruptly wanted him to, anyway.

“People remove their clothes,” he murmured, still
studying her face. “They drink and wallow about together. Some of them should really know better than to be seen nude.”

And if she married Cosgrove, she would no doubt be expected to participate. His words were horrific, but the way he said it—dismissively, as though he was involved with something more interesting—lessened her own apprehension. Did he know that? Did he do it intentionally?

“Have you attended any of these luncheons?” she asked.

His hand dropped from her face. “On occasion,” he said quietly. “Generally I prefer to pursue my amusements in private.”

His amusements
. She was one of those, she supposed. Even knowing that, she was still more inclined to join him looking at horses than to risk being at home if Cosgrove should send over an invitation. “Thank you for telling me,” she commented. “And I think I’ll go find something to wear to the horse auctions.”

He flashed a smile. “Good.”

Even as she spoke, Elbon edged toward the door. Oh, dear. If the servant told her father of her plans, she might be forbidden to leave the house. Before she could move, though, Bram stepped between the butler and the hallway.

“Elbon, is it?” he said. “I need to send a note to my home. Please guide me to a pen and some paper.”

With another brief smile of her own, Rose fled the room. Having someone as quick-witted and astute as Bram Johns for an ally definitely had its advantages. And that wasn’t even counting his proficiency with kissing and other, more intimate things.

Two hours later she stood on the bottom rail of a large show pen with Bram holding her elbow to help her keep her balance. A lovely chestnut hunter trotted around the ring on a longe line while a rather frantic, round man several yards away from her shouted out steadily rising numbers in opposition to another half-dozen members of the crowd.

“Who is that?” she whispered, indicating the nearest bidder.

“Francis Henning,” Bram returned, his voice amused. “Poor fellow. That’s his horse.”

She stepped back down to the ground, not commenting when Bram kept his hand on her arm. “What?”

“He lost it in a wager last week. Now he’s trying to get her back before his grandmother arrives in Town and catches him out at gambling.”

“He shouldn’t have wagered her, then,” James said from the far side of Bram.

“He shouldn’t have gotten into a game when he couldn’t afford the loss,” Bram said in a sharper voice. “Wagering is an amusement. Anyone who does it for any other reason is a fool.”

Rose glanced from him to her brother. From his pinched expression, James had heard and understood the criticism. But if Bram was attempting to make her brother stalk off to Cosgrove’s luncheon and leave her there alone with him, she didn’t think even James was that self-absorbed.

“That don’t make sense,” her brother complained. “You win most of the time, but I’ve seen you lose.”

“I do indeed.” Bram reached into an inner pocket of his blue jacket and pulled out what looked to be fifty or
so pounds. “This is the blunt I have to play with at the moment. If I lose it, my evening is finished.”

“But what if the next hand is the one that could win it all back?”

With a sigh Bram put his money away. “Since I can afford to lose it, I don’t mind letting it go. If I borrowed more and lost, I would be forced to apply to the duke for funds. Aside from the fact that I would never, ever do that, he would sooner see me clapped in irons than spend any additional blunt on me.”

“Then you don’t have a choice when you run through your money. I d—”

“No, you don’t. You will owe something to somebody. And then you have lost your freedom, or that of someone you care for.” He sent a glance at Rose. “What if Cosgrove had said the only way to make good on your debt was to shoot Earl Minster? Those two aren’t precisely friends.”

Blanching, shaking his head, James backed away. “He wouldn’t ask such a thing. King is my—”

“He’s your friend. And so he will be, until you decline to do something he asks of you, James. Trust me on this. I have been in your shoes.”

“But you and Cosgrove were still friends until…very recently,” Rose commented, not certain whether she should be intruding on this lesson, but too curious to keep silent.

Black eyes assessed her. “I did as he asked.”

James gasped. “You never killed someone.”

“Actually, I’ve killed a number of someones, but that was when I wore a uniform. No, his request was simpler than that. The ruby ring he wears on his left forefinger—do you recall it?”

Rose nodded, since he seemed to be addressing her. It was an exquisite piece, as she recalled.

“My father gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. It had been in the Johns family for five generations. I, however, owed Cosgrove three thousand quid and had no means to pay it back.”

The ring most likely wasn’t worth three thousand pounds, but clearly that hadn’t concerned the marquis. “What did His Grace do when he found out?” she pursued.

His expression hardened. “Several choice things.”

Goodness
. Was that ring the reason for the very strained relationship between father and son? It explained a great deal, but not why Bram had chosen to break with Cosgrove now. Rose studied his lean profile as he returned his attention to the bidding. The ruby hadn’t ended their friendship, but had she?

That felt very significant. And the story made her review all over again what she knew about Bram. She couldn’t imagine that he’d ever been as gullible as James was. Nor could she imagine the man she knew today ever being put in the position where he would have to do anything against his will. It must have been a very hard lesson, but he’d clearly learned it—unlike her own brother.

Heat traveled slowly through her insides, warming every corner of her being. Whoever this man was, it was becoming more and more clear that he was not a twin in either character or demeanor to Kingston Gore. And who he might be was beginning to intrigue her very, very much.