My Notorious Gentleman (26 page)

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sure you already know.” He forced the door open a little wider as his greedy gaze trailed over her. “Well, look at you. Lookin’ finer than ever. Where you been, Stella?”

“Go away,” she uttered, instantly starting to shake from head to toe.

“Come, now, you weren’t goin’ to cut me out of your windfall, were you, love? I always knew you’d do well for yourself, and now, look at you. A proper high-class courtesan.”

“Get out of here,” she whispered fiercely, trying to hide her dread of him. “I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

“Wot, after all we been through? I’m hurt. News just hit the rookery you’re back. I don’t know where you’ve been hidin,’ but the boys told me they saw you ridin’ in some rich man’s carriage in Hyde Park. So I did some askin’ around. Heard some young lord has given you carte blanche. Is he here?” the infamous flash man asked, glancing past her into George’s fine apartment. “Because if he is, he needs to pay.”

“You don’t own me,” she vowed. “Whatever I earn, the money’s mine.”

“Now darlin’, you know better than that.”

“You’d better get out of here before he hears you. Believe me, you don’t want to tangle with him,” she warned, but he saw through her bluff and snickered.

“I’ve missed your sass.” He cupped her cheek; she smacked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t give it to you like I do,” Jimmy whispered. “You do look mighty fine in that gown.”

“I say, what is going on here?” George came shuffling out in his long drawers, bare-chested, his hair sticking out in all directions, his eyes full of sleepers. “Who is this?”

“My, my, is this the lucky fellow? Lord Brentford, ain’t it?”

“That’s right,” George said proudly, glancing from Marianne to their cutthroat visitor in the purple coat. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Name’s Lynch. I’m our lovely Stella’s business partner.”

“Stella?” he echoed.

Marianne dropped her gaze. That was the old stage name Jimmy had given her when she had first got started in the business of taking off her clothes for an audience.

“Sir, whatever your business here,” George said in a tone of aristocratic hauteur, “this is not the hour to conduct it. I can’t even think how you got past the guards at the gate. Marianne will have to see you later. For now, I’m afraid you have to leave.”

“Marianne?” Jimmy echoed with a smirk, making no move to go. He looked askance at her. “Why, he must mean a lot to you if you let ’im use your real name.”

George frowned. As sleep and the groggy aftereffects of too much drink the night before began to clear, he noticed the stranger’s flamboyant yet shabby clothes, tattoos, and snakeskin boots, and it dawned on him what manner of man this was.

And suddenly he was outraged.

How dare this low piece of filth come to his very doorstep?

Keeping an admirable check on his fury, George sauntered over to the wall and casually picked up his dress sword. “Leave. Now,” he advised as he stalked toward the door. “You have no business here.”

“My business is standin’ right in front you, milord.” Lynch gestured at Marianne.

“George,” she cautioned. “Jimmy controls a gang in Seven Dials, called the Rooks.”

“I don’t give a damn,” George replied. “Begone now and don’t come back.”

“If you want my merchandise, you going to have to pay for it.”

“Of course I’m going to pay her,” George replied through gritted teeth. “It’s none of your affair.”

“No, you horse’s arse, you pay
me
. Now, we either need to come to terms, or she’s comin’ home with me. Where she belongs,” Lynch added coldly.

Marianne whimpered when the flash man grabbed her arm and started to pull her outside.

“Take your hands off my mistress!” George roared with Callie’s accusation ringing in his ears.

“
You’re a coward.
”

He’d show her.

“Unhand her or die!” he ordered, bringing the tip of his sword up to Lynch’s throat.

The whoremonger instantly reached into his waistcoat for his pistol. Marianne screamed and George reacted with his blade, slicing downward at Lynch’s right forearm.

Lynch dropped the gun with a furious yelp of pain. The pistol fell and slid across the polished parquet floor of George’s apartment. Marianne lunged after it and picked it up in shaking hands, aiming it at her longtime tormentor.

Whose arm was bleeding profusely.

“You little bastard,” Lynch said to George. “You’re a dead man!”

“Jimmy, wait,” Marianne started, lowering the pistol as her former flash man turned away from the door.

“Look what he’s done to me!” he bellowed. Then he headed back to his carriage, throwing George a glare over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon, milord. Don’t doubt me. I know where you live!”

“Jimmy, please! Let me come with you. I can bind the wound—”

“Are you mad?” George stopped her when she started to follow him. “Let him go!”

“You don’t understand!” She turned to him with terror in her eyes. “Jimmy doesn’t make idle threats, George! You need to get out of London before he comes back here with an army—probably tonight. I’ve seen this too many times, George, please. You need to get out of Town and hide! I’ll try to talk to him. Maybe I can calm him down. Otherwise, believe me, you’ve insulted the wrong man; for his reputation’s sake, he won’t rest until you’re dead.” She handed Lynch’s gun to George, then rushed out the door.

Chapter 23

D
inner at the Kenwoods’ that night held an atmosphere of forced cheer. All three of them—Papa, Trevor, and she—were trying very hard to put things back to normal.

Nobody spoke of it aloud at the table, but Callie had made sure to tell the entire village about finding Lord Trevor and the rector’s daughter
en flagrante delicto
at the Grange. And no wonder. It was the biggest scandal to hit Thistleton in decades.

Grace barely knew what to do with herself. She had never been the subject of gossip before, did not know how to feel with so many people disapproving of her.

Lady Windlesham was the angriest, of course. Her Ladyship had taken time out of her busy day to track Grace down and give her a memorable tongue-lashing.

Lady De Geoffrey had pursed her lips in prim disapproval when she saw Grace at church. Even Mrs. Bowen-Hill had seemed pained to greet her.

Most devastating of all were Papa’s stern private words about sin and carnality and having raised her better than that. Could she not have waited until marriage? he had thundered. Thankfully, it was a rhetorical question, one too humiliating to answer.

In any case, she had no reply. It was not the sort of thing she could explain, especially to her clergyman sire.

With so many people disappointed in her—a bewildering state of affairs after having been universally admired for her virtue—it certainly caused her to see herself in a new light. True, she had failed miserably in her role as a good example to others.

But Grace Kenwood: passionate? Scandalous?

Disapproval seemed absurd when loving Trevor came so naturally.

All she knew was that no amount of public censure could truly make her regret what she had done.

If anything, it was oddly liberating. One thing was certain—being painted as a scarlet woman gave her a whole new respect for her failed “project,” Marianne.

She understood now more than ever how much courage it took for a woman to hold her head up when the whole world disapproved. To be sure, the fear of that disapproval had been a large part of what had held her back from going to Trevor sooner.

Whatever happened, he was worth it.

Fortunately, a lifetime of service and good behavior coupled with Trevor’s extraordinary efforts to help the village meant that Thistleton’s disapproval did not equal banishment.

Anyone could see that as a couple, they were very well matched. Most people were happy for them, just not entirely pleased with how they had gone about it.

Not that it was anybody’s business.

Callie, however, sadly showed no signs that she’d be forgiving her anytime soon. Grace felt awful that Callie had been hurt, though she was hurt, as well, by the girl’s determined effort to ruin her reputation and turn the village against her.

As for George, well, Grace was angry at him, too, for revealing her secret against her specific instructions.

She could only blame herself for trusting an immature rake in the first place. She had been a fool to pin her hopes on the idle wish that somehow George’s actions, reconciling with Callie, could magically solve her problem for her.

Instead, it had only made everything worse.

In any case, with all of the tears and painful reproaches of the past few days behind them, at last, the village, and especially Papa, seemed ready to let her and Trevor look ahead.

They had a wedding to plan, after all.

Only Trevor himself had taken everything in stride this week. The ex-spy was unflappable.

Indeed, she thought, the man was a rock. She supposed that when you had spent years of your life with enemies trying to kill you, a little disapproval from the local villagers was nothing to make a gentleman sweat. Dirty looks and whispers were easier to shrug off than bullets. He truly didn’t care what anybody thought. It was inspiring to her, actually.

At length, Mrs. Flynn brought out the roast beef that had been cooking for hours in the oven and filling the parsonage with wonderful smells.

The dog, Nelson, followed at her heels, and ignored Trevor when he ordered him to sit.

The dog went everywhere with him now, which Grace’s cat did not at all appreciate. The oversized red tabby was hiding under Grace’s bed upstairs behind the closed door of her bedroom.

When Mrs. Flynn retreated to the kitchen, the reverend said a prayer over the meal. Though their heads were bowed, Trevor and Grace gazed at each other across the table with a sparkle of impropriety in their eyes.

“So, how long is the guest list these days?” her father inquired a little while later, as they dug into the meal.

“Well, we have a bit of a dilemma,” Trevor answered. “I have brothers, sisters, and all their families with them, and my fellow agents from the Order, and there’s nowhere to put them all. The village inn isn’t nearly large enough, and even if it were, I’m afraid some of my siblings would not consider it fine enough for them.”

“Well, I don’t think we can count on the Windleshams opening up their home to offer hospitality, even for the family of a duke,” Grace drawled. “Pity.”

“Nor Lord Lievedon, considering George’s role in all this,” her father added wryly.

“Maybe it would be easier if we just eloped to Gretna Green,” Trevor said, then he took a large bite of beef.

“Certainly not!” her father said with a scowl of indignation. “I’ll not have my daughter married by some Scottish blacksmith.”

Trevor sent his bride-to-be a wink.

“Humph,” said Papa, but Grace just gazed at her intended with an adoring blush.

Just then, Nelson growled, perking up from where he had curled in the corner awaiting a handout that was sure to come. The spaniel suddenly jumped to his feet and trotted toward the front door to investigate. Then a bark exploded from him.

“Stop that racket!” the pastor scolded.

Trevor rose to restrain his pet, waving off Mrs. Flynn, who came hurrying out to assist with a dish towel over her shoulder. “Someone at the door, sir?”

“I’ll get it,” Trevor said casually. They heard him a moment later ordering his dog to be quiet. Nelson obeyed, and when the door creaked, Grace could hear Trevor talking to someone. “You’d better wait here for a moment,” he said to their visitor before coming back into the dining room.

“It’s your friend George, Lord Brentford,” he said, bracing his hands on his waist. He gave Grace a probing look. “Do you want to see him or not?”

“Of course, send him in,” her father said, though for Grace, the decision was a bit more complicated. Still, it was her father’s house, and she knew that it was wrong to hold a grudge. She nodded to Trevor and decided to be cordial to the bounder.

A moment later, George came into the room, looking chastened. Her father stood and shook their visitor’s hand.

“Of course you can come in,” he told the prodigal warmly. “You’re always welcome here, m’boy.”

George lowered his head, then glanced uncertainly at Grace. “Thank you, sir. Miss Kenwood,” he added a bit more gingerly.

“Join us,” her father invited him, gesturing toward the empty chair. “Have you eaten? Please, help yourself. Mrs. Flynn,” he called to the housekeeper. “Would you set a place for Lord Brentford?”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m not hungry—”

“Nonsense. A healthy young man will never turn down a good meal, in my experience.”

George smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, sir, you’re very kind,” he mumbled, offering the housekeeper a smile that signaled his willingness to be fed, after all.

“What brings you to Thistleton, Brentford?” Trevor asked in a mild tone edged with skepticism. He took a drink of his wine while his dog returned to his spot in the corner.

“Oh, nothing.” George swallowed hard.

Grace furrowed her brow and looked askance at him.

“Let me guess,” Trevor said. “You came to try again with Miss Windlesham. I do admire your persistence.”

“Oh, but if that’s the case, I fear you are too late,” Papa spoke up. “The Windleshams left today for Brighton. They find themselves with an urgent wish to escape our fair village for a while. And no wonder that, with the spectacle Her Ladyship made of herself, screaming at my daughter. I fear you have just missed them.”

“Actually, no, sir,” Mrs. Flynn interjected with a cautious glance as she returned to lay out a place setting on the table for their guest.

“Oh?” George perked up, no doubt in spite of himself.

“Aye. I heard from Sally they got a late start. Trouble fittin’ all the luggage the ladies wanted to bring along onto the carriage,” she said with an arch look. “So perhaps His Lordship won’t be staying for supper, after all?” the old housekeeper inquired, glancing at George.

Papa looked at him, as well. “You might still catch them if you hurry.”

George shook his head wearily. “I didn’t come here for Callie. She’s made her feelings abundantly clear. No, the real reason I came is to apologize to you,” he said, turning to Grace.

She could have choked on her food. George the brat apologize?

“You asked me to use discretion, and I promised you I would. But I lost my temper at some of the cruel things Callie said, and I revealed news that wasn’t mine to tell. Frankly, I threw it in her face. I wanted to hurt her,” he admitted, “but I never wanted to hurt you. You’re one of the best friends I ever had, Grace. Losing Callie is bad enough. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if you should hate me, too.”

Grace felt her anger melt away in an instant at his little speech, his eyes wide and earnest. “Oh, George, you are so dear,” she said in spite of herself, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. Tears welled in her eyes. “Of course you haven’t lost my friendship. You’re like the little brother I never had. I’m so sorry it didn’t work out between you and Callie. You always seemed so perfect for each other. I don’t know what the girl was thinking. And I wish you hadn’t told her, so I could have handled it more delicately.

“But—then again,” she continued with a shrug, “I also have to thank you. Because when I saw you take the chance, risking your heart to go to her, it gave me the courage, in turn, to tell Trevor how I felt about him. If not for that moment of inspiration you gave me, the truth is, I might’ve stayed a blushing, tongue-tied spinster forever.”

“You really think I would’ve let that happen?” Trevor drawled, his sardonic tone lightening the mood.

After a moment’s laughter, George turned to her again.

“As long as you forgive me. That’s all I care about. I should be crushed if I were disinvited to the wedding.”

“Of course you’re invited to the wedding, George,” Grace said.

“Good. You’d better take care of her,” he added, wagging a finger at Trevor.

The bridegroom-to-be bowed his head. “You have my word as a gentleman. Miss Kenwood will be treated like a jewel in a velvet box when she is my wife.”

“Here, here,” Papa said, “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his glass, and the rest of them did the same.

Mrs. Flynn quickly filled George’s glass, then at Grace’s insistence, poured one for herself, as well, to join in their toast to Grace and Trevor’s happiness.

It was a bit later, as they were finishing the meal, that Grace finally worked up her nerve enough to broach the subject of George’s new mistress.

She looked askance at him, and still could have wrung his neck about leading Marianne back into her old life, but it wasn’t as though he had put a gun to her head.

Marianne had made the decision herself, and there was only so much you could do for someone.

“So how is Marianne?” she asked.

George looked at her like a startled hare.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. He studied him intently. “You seem nervous tonight, Brentford.”

“What, me?” He faltered.

“Is everything all right?”

Suddenly, they heard voices outside, but Nelson’s instant outburst drowned them out.

The dog launched himself toward the front door, barking more viciously than they had ever heard.

“Oh, God.” George’s face was turning ashen. “They’ve found me.”

“Brentford.” Trevor stared at him in ominous, brooding calm. “What have you got yourself into?”

But George couldn’t even speak, his gaze darting around the room. When he spotted the back door out the kitchen, he swept to his feet. “I’ve got to get out of here. They must’ve seen my carriage.”

Trevor grabbed his arm. “Who?”

George blanched. “Marianne’s former flash man, Jimmy Lynch,” he admitted in a shaky whisper. “He came to see me in London. We had—words. I’m afraid I-I, well, I-I rather stabbed him.”

Grace gasped.

“Sliced open his arm. Well, he was pointing a pistol at me!” he hastily explained. “But apparently that wasn’t the end of it. The rookery bastard vowed he’d kill me for the insult.” Staring at the door as though he expected Lynch to come bursting through it at any minute, George swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Dashed if he didn’t also turn out to be the leader of a gang. Just my luck.”

“So you led them here?” Trevor answered, while Nelson continued barking up a frenzy at the front door.

“I didn’t think he’d follow me out to the country, let alone the parsonage! I meant to hide at Lievedon Hall, but when I got there, I couldn’t stand being alone in that big, empty house. That’s why I came here. I didn’t mean any harm! I just didn’t want to be alone. I can’t believe they tracked me here to Thistleton! Poor Marianne,” he said suddenly, his face darkening. “She wouldn’t have told Lynch where I went unless he did something awful to her, I’m sure.”

“Oh, no,” Grace breathed, her heart pounding. “Trevor, I think this is the man who used to beat her.”

George glanced from Grace to Trevor and nodded. “Judging by how I saw him treat her, I’d assume so,” he whispered, ashen-faced.

Trevor glanced coolly toward the door. A peculiar icy gleam had come into his eyes. “All of you, remain calm. Sit still. I’ll handle this.”

“What are you going to do?” Grace asked quickly.

“Just talk to them.” He threw his napkin down onto the table. “George, it would probably be best if you stay out of sight unless I call for you.”

“Gladly.”