Proper Scoundrel (2 page)

Marcus swallowed his grin. “Your pardon. Pray, continue.”

“The Society’s very existence is threatened of a sudden by financial chaos,” she said. “If it fails—if I fail—the women I rescue, house, and train to support themselves, will end in the street. With no homes or skills, they will be forced to support their children in unimaginable ways.

“Almost since my grandmother’s man of affairs left my employ,” she said, “my finances have been all of a muddle. I am not sure where I stand.”

“Who was this man?”

“Was?” she snapped. “I didn’t kill him. I discharged him. His name is Neil Kirby.” She firmed her jaw and clasped her hands tight. “He sold an option on a tract of my grandmother’s property to the railroad. Never mind that I refused, point-blank, to sell. Now, the income from the sale is missing as is the record of the sale.”

Marcus schooled his features so as not to reveal the intensity of his interest. His railroad investigation had barely begun and already he knew that the Lady Jade Smithfield bore watching, which intrigued him as much as it disturbed him. “Surely the man needed your signature to complete the sale?”

“The papers had been signed, as it turned out, by my grandmother on her deathbed. Kirby had to have lied to accomplish it, because she would never have optioned that parcel. To get the land option back, I need the paperwork, and the money we were paid.”

“Why do you want it back?”

Though Lady Jade paled, anger snapped her spine to the inflexibility of a ramrod. “Your business, in the event you are hired, Mr. Fitzalan, would be to keep my records, nothing more.”

Marcus knew then, without doubt, that if Jade Smithfield found a way to keep the railroad from going through her property, she might very well be first in line as suspect. “Do I take your words to mean that you might overlook my ... perfection long enough to hire me?”

Her chin went up. “Mine is not the average household. More than a dozen brittle, soul-scarred women and seventeen sad frightened children live here. All my servants are men, from scullery maid to cook, all beyond reproach in fact, and beyond danger in years. You, I am afraid, would seem too much of a threat, as young as you are.”

All male servants, Marcus thought, the final straw, the ultimate transgression that branded the Lady Jade Smithfield—young, beautiful, and unmarried—as a perfect scandal in the eyes of society as far away as London.

Ivy said that because Jade’s grandmother had been ninety and considered eccentric, her outlandish behaviour had been tolerated, but when her granddaughter stepped into her shoes at twenty-seven, and changed nothing, the gossips had gone on rampage. Marcus had in fact been in London when he first heard the gossip, and, therefore, he had been fascinated before having the opportunity to meet her.

She shook her head now at some disharmony Marcus could not discern. “If I were to hire someone as young as you, frankly I would be concerned about—”

“A scandal?”

Not the least amused, she set her jaw, firm, disapproving. “Women—” She cleared her throat, which eased the fury in her gaze. “Some women feel they need ... a man ... on occasion, and I would not want you—I would forbid you—to take advantage of the vulnerable among my residents.”

“You wound me.”

“I would if I had to.”

With that threat on her lips, she reminded him of a swan, rising in hissing defence, a host of cygnets beneath her sheltering wings.

His respect for her grew. “I would not seduce any of the women in your care.” Which is not to say that I will not seduce you.

“You, I can handle,” Jade said, as if she heard his caveat. “My concern is my women. I fear they will try to seduce you,” she said, entirely serious. “You must not let them.”

Marcus grinned; he couldn’t help himself. He’d be damned if he’d respond, negatively or positively, to being seduced before ever setting eyes on his seductress, unless ’twas she who sat before him. This seductress, he would never refuse.

Speaking of enigmas, Jade Smithfield was a classic. “You dress like a man to prove you are as strong and capable as one, do you not?”

“I dress like a man, Mr. Fitzalan, so men will take me seriously and stop looking at my—”

“Assets?” No sooner had the word passed his lips than Marcus knew he had jeopardized his position.

“I beg your pardon!” Jade Smithfield rose with righteous indignation, full of cold dark fury and bold striking magnificence.

Despite his remorse for insulting her, the stallion in Marcus quickened in anticipation of the challenge she presented.

“This interview is at an end,” she said. “I despise you and every man like you.”

Marcus stood. “It is I who must beg pardon. My impertinence is unforgivable. I can act the cretin, sometimes.”

She waved away his apology. “You’re a man. Crudity and stupidity are to be expected, though not accepted—not by me and not in this house.”

“I assure you that foolhardiness and insensitivity are not chronic failings of mine, despite the fact that the momentary dullness of my wits seems matched only by the size of the foot in my mouth.” Marcus ran a hand through his hair and considered speaking frankly. “Jade ... you did say I could call you that?”

She nodded with all the warmth of an ice queen.

Marcus stood. “As a man who will, as it turns out, never enter your employ, but offers ... fellowship, on the basis of a shared friend, and similar childhood memories, I beg you will allow me to advise you on one point before we part.”

He received a second royal nod. Regina Victoria herself would be proud.

Placing the flat of his hands on the mahogany surface of his unlikely employer’s desk, he leaned forward, to keep his advice between them, and capture her brazen, chin-up gaze with his earnest and open one. “When a man can see exactly how long a woman’s legs are, and how perfectly her—” Marcus cleared his throat. Telling her how well her bottom would fit his palms would simply release the fury roiling in her, so he let the thought go, and straightened. “Well ... he isn’t likely to be thinking clearly, or seriously, on any level, save one.”

Jade Smithfield’s ebony eyes widened, and she paled slightly, before a crimson blush scuttled up her neck.

Marcus nodded, certain she’d got his point. “I apologize for my impertinence, though not for my admonition, and I am genuinely disappointed that we will not be working together.”

Jade’s clenched hands relaxed slightly, her composure returning in slow determined measure. “With Ivy staying, you will be forced to catch the public coach for your return journey, but since it won’t be along again until tomorrow, a room will be prepared for you.”

A few minutes later, a brawny, barrel-chested older man—

Jade’s resident doctor cum housekeeper—introduced himself to Marcus as Beecher. With twinkling eyes and fond looks for the children scampering about, Beecher led Marcus from the bedchamber to which he’d been assigned and into a main-level ballroom. Ornate with gilded wainscoting and festooned mirrors, the stately room held an array of fussy gilt chairs facing a puppet stage in the throes of preparation.

The minute Marcus stepped into the room, the assemblage of women and children stilled and quieted, as if they knew he’d displeased their benefactress. But no, on second look, their reactions reflected nothing so simple as displeasure. Some of them had stepped back, others placed hands on hearts, touched their children or each other. Like game in a hunter’s sight, all were frightened and too stunned to move.

Ivy warned him that most of Jade’s cygnets had been assaulted—by husbands, fathers, strangers, males all. He knew they had been battered physically and emotionally, and still, Marcus stood stunned in the face of their terror. Judging by the children, their mothers’ experiences had been, at the least, witnessed. At the worst, Marcus refused to consider.

Drawn by the silence, Ivy peeked from behind his puppet stage and grimaced. He came and made the introductions. Ivy— Yves St. Cyr, Puppeteer—revelled in his role as friend, mentor, and father-figure to half the children in Sussex ... even to the ones who’d grown up, or should have done, at any rate, the scoundrels and scandals especially.

After the silver-haired puppet-master’s introduction, most of the women relaxed. Ivy must seem as safe as Jade’s retainers, though not nearly as old.

The children calmed, because their mothers did, all but one cowering blonde moppet, her wide-eyed china-doll gaze directed straight at Marcus himself. Even from across the room, he could see that his presence terrified her.

Damn it, he’d left enough damage in his wake for one lifetime, Marcus thought. He did not want to leave one woman, or child, with nightmares, especially not as a result of a swift appearance in their lives.

Since he would leave Peacehaven tomorrow, he had no choice but to counter China Doll’s fear today.

Marcus distributed pennies to the children farthest from china-doll, to calm her before he reached her. “Here’s a penny for each of you,” he said as he distributed the coveted coins, “to pay to watch the puppets. Drop it in the hat when it’s passed.” Marcus spoke loudly to make his intentions known to parents and children alike and calm them all.

The next child primped as he turned to her. Marcus smiled at her mama and handed the coquette-in-training her penny. “Why, your dress is the same pretty blue as your eyes,” he said, making those indigo orbs bigger.

Marcus looked up, like a stallion scenting a mare, and saw that Jade now stood inside the ballroom watching. He’d considered her magnificent in black leather, but her scandalous splendour paled beside her ripe feminine allure in a full striped skirt of ebony on silver, her generous breasts snug in a short black bolero.

She appeared more seductive, if that were possible, especially with those slight ruffles at wrists and neck. Yet despite her feminine regalia, her stance left no question as to which of them retained full charge.

Marcus hoped she changed clothes because she took his warning to heart. He’d hate to see her ravished in business ... or otherwise ... except by him.

Mocking himself for the foolish thought, Marcus gave his overnight hostess his frank approval with a nod—sorry he’d acted the wrong end of the stallion. Then he sighed for what he’d never gained, but lost anyway, and looked about him.

Standing among so many families, however broken, made him remember his childhood yearning to be part of a family. That particular need vanished, of course, when he became a man and discovered that scoundrels had more fun than husbands. He regarded his hostess with speculation, wondered at her inscrutable gaze, shrugged inwardly, and continued passing his pennies.

A minute later, a bold little miss stroked his coarse whiskers. Marcus chuckled, gave her a penny, and caught Jade’s I-told-you-so brow. Yes, he thought, around her, he would need to shave twice a day.

When Jade turned and left, Marcus moved on. One boy challenged him to a duel, another said he’d rather have a peppermint stick than a puppet show for his penny.

China Doll seemed both cowed and fascinated by him. He’d wager she worried as much that he’d try to give her a penny as he would not. She might allow herself to breathe, if she could receive her penny without him stepping near.

Challenged in a way he had not been for some time, determination compelled Marcus forward, until panic filled China Doll’s eyes, and she lowered her head and hunched her shoulders, as if to make herself smaller and less visible.

Marcus stopped where he stood and regarded the woman who held her. “Good day to you,” he said. “Will you tell me your little one’s name? I do not think she is of a mind to tell me herself.”

The woman paled. “I ... I’m not Emily’s mama. My name is Lacey Ashton, and I’m her friend,” she said. “Her mama left her in our care ... for a while.”

Ah, like he and his brother ... Emily must feel lost, abandoned, frightened, which deepened Marcus’s compulsion to erase her fear, of him, at least. Who knew what had befallen her parents, but this was not the time for questions. “I see that Emily is shy,” he said. “But how will she get her penny if she’ll not accept it from me?”

Lacey stroked the child’s tawny curls. “I don’t know. If she doesn’t get her penny, how will she see the puppets?”

Marcus took half a step closer, knelt on his haunches, and waited for Emily’s shoulders to relax. Then he reached over, intending to lift her chin with a finger, but the closer he got, the more she trembled.