Simply Scandalous (18 page)

'Well, harpy?" he greeted her with his usual lack of
courtesy. "What do you want?"

She turned, frowning, but for a moment, she was
struck speechless by his appearance. His shirt was
badly wrinkled, and it lay open at the neck. His coat
was unbuttoned. He wore breeches and boots. He was
unshaven, and his red hair was standing on end.

"Good God, man!" she said, appalled. "Your face
looks like an anthill. Did you sleep in your clothes?"

"No, my dear young lady, I slept in my bed. What
did you sleep in?"

"That, Ginger," she spat, her hands tightening on
the crop, is none of your business."

"Quite! "

Juliet resumed an air of queenly dignity. "I have come
to speak to you on a matter of some importance."

"It may very well be important to the harpy population," he said, "but what chiefly matters to me is
breakfast. Ali! Here is Mistress Sprigge."

The landlord's wife bumped into the room carrying a jug. She was closely followed by a sturdy young
man carrying a heavy tray.

Swale sat down at the table and rubbed his hands together as various dishes were set before him. As he
began to eat, Mrs. Sprigge looked askance at the young
lady.

"Thank you, Mrs. Sprigge."

"Oh, now, Miss Julie-"

"That will be all ," Juliet said firmly, and Mrs. Sprigge
reluctantly withdrew.

Swale, his mouth full of heavenly bacon, chuckled.
"You've shocked her," he observed. "You should be
more careful, you wicked doxy. What if I were to tell
the Sprigges I had offered you carte blanche and you had
accepted? Who would be in a spot then, eh, my girl?"

He expected a pale face and a gasp of horror, but
she baffled him with a puzzled look. "What is carte
blanche?" she asked. "White card, I know, but what
does that signify?"

He felt his own cheeks grow hot.

"Never mind! " she said hastily. "Whatever it is, the
Sprigges have known me since I was a baby. They
would take my part against you, Ginger, rest assured."

He grunted and reached for the jug Mrs. Sprigge
had left. It turned out to be buttermilk. Not as refreshing as ale, of course, but it helped the sausages
go down. "A gentleman offers a courtesan carte blanche
when he wishes to become her only client," he told her.
"Oh! "

He leaned back and looked at her. Righteous indignation, affronted prudery ... these would have
amused him. But in her expression, he saw only disgust. "If you don't want to be offered carte blanche, my
dear," he told her roughly, "you might refrain from
requesting private meetings with strange gentlemen
at your local inn. Appearances and all that."

"Do you keep a manservant called Bowditch?" she
asked abruptly.

He polished off a few slices of toast while considering the matter. "Is there some reason I shouldn't
keep a manservant called Bowditch?"

"Well, if you have a man called Bowditch, which I
think you do, I have two very good reasons why you
should turn him off immediately. First of all, you
look like you just woke up."

"I did just wake up," he informed her.

"You always look like you just woke up!" she
retorted.

"And the second reason?" he said. "The first carries
no weight with me, you understand."

"Your Bowditch has been imposing on my Fifi!"

He nearly choked on his buttermilk. "Your Fifi?"

"My maid," she explained with dignity. `Josephine."

He looked her up and down. She did not appear in
the least to have just woken up. Parthenon goddesses
never do. "The maid that curls your hair over your
ears?" he inquired. "Why do you let her do that? I don't
think your hair wants to be curled over your ears."

"Hairdressing advice from the Viking berserker,"
she scoffed. "Never mind my hair, you insufferable
oaf! What are you going to do about this Bowditch?
You may as well know that Fi-that Josephine is an
orphan. Her parents were emigres who fled the
Terror in France and arrived here with nothing. I am
responsible for her."

"A touching story," he said, trying unsuccessfully to
disguise a belch as a hiccough.

"Last night, I found her in tears!"

"Your Fifi?"

"You may be accustomed," she said icily, "to laughing at the tears of a friendless young girl, but I am not!"

°I beg your pardon," he said, ringing the bell, "but
surely you do not expect me to console your Fifi?"

"I wish you would tell your Bowditch to stay away
from my Fifi!" she snapped. "For how can I doubt his
character when he is the servant of such a master! "

He stood up and threw down his napkin. "What did
you say?"

She did not scruple to repeat the insulting words. "Perhaps you do not care that your servant is imposing upon a defenseless female," she went on. "Perhaps
you are so licentious yourself that your servants see no
need to curtail their own behavior!"

His green eyes narrowed. "Licentious! So I'm licentious now, am I? No serving wench is safe from me?"

Too proud to withdraw, she stoutly declared, "If I
were a servant girl, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could
throw you."

He crossed the room to her in two long strides. "By
God, if you were a man-!"

If she had been a man, he would have punched her
in the nose. But she was not a man, so he grabbed
her by the elbows, lifted her bodily from the floor,
and kissed her, causing her to drop her riding crop.
When he was finished, he let her go so quickly, she
nearly fell as well.

"Call me licentious," he said, a little short of breath.
"I'll teach you licentious!"

For a moment, she was too surprised to say anything. The sound of the boots clearing his throat in
the doorway brought her to her senses.

'What is it, Jackey?" she said crisply, then wiped her
mouth hard with the back of her hand.

The boy's eyes were open to their fullest extent, and
judging from his cheeky grin, he had witnessed the
entire disgraceful incident. "Begging milord's pardon,
Miss, but milord's man asked me to give this note to
his lordship when his lordship woke up."

He held up a bit of folded paper and added apologetically, "I was in the cellar filling the lamps, milord,
or I'd have brought it sooner."

"Never mind, Jackey," said Swale, giving the lad a
breezy smile as he unfolded the letter. "I was quite
agreeably occupied, as you saw. Clear the table, will you;
there's a good lad. And bring Miss Wayborn some hot tea. She has had a bit of a shock. I daresay she has never
been kissed before, which explains both the ineptitude
of her response and her present confusion."

Juliet was not to be goaded so easily. "What does
Bowditch have to say for himself?"

"Ha!" said Swale, waving the page under her nose.
"I knew it! It is not my Bowditch that has imposed
upon your Fifi. Rather, it is your Fifi that has imposed upon my Bowditch. The frisky minx has prevailed upon him to take her away from this provincial
backwater. It would appear that your Fifi regards you
as a sort of a jailer, Miss Wayborn."

"What nonsense,"Juliet scoffed. "He has abducted
her. I tell you, I found her crying!"

"Quite," he told her happily. "It says here she
meant to employ some ruse to get you out of the way.
In sending you here to confront me about Bowditch's
supposed crimes against her, I'd say she has succeeded. You've been outmaneuvered by your own
Fifi, Miss Wayborn."

"My maid would never run away from me," said
Juliet. "Not willingly! Your vile Bowditch must have
exercised some terrible influence over her, some
coercion . . . "

"Begging your pardon, Miss Julie," said the ever present Jackey. "But I happened to see his lordship's man
yesterday-"

"Not now, Jackey!"

"But he had a piece of paper, Miss Julie! When he
spied me looking at it, he folded it up real quick-like
and stuck it in his pocket."

Juliet sighed. "What of it, boy?"

"I asked him what that paper was, Miss Julie," Jackey
went on enthusiastically. "And he told me it were a
special license!"

"Special license! " Swale was thunderstruck.

Jackey grinned. "Aye, milord! Only I thought it
was milord's!"

"Oh?" said Swale. "I look like the sort of fellow
who goes scampering about the country with a special license in his pocket, do l?"

"Aye, milord!" said Jackey, unabashed.

"Oh, dear God," cried Juliet, sinking into a chair.
"He means to force her to marry him."

Swale glared at her. "Why do you persist in this delusion that your Fifi was unwilling? She seems to me
about the fastest bit of goods since-since that filly
that won the Newmarket!"

She flushed angrily. "That is a thoroughly commonplace thing to say. For your enlightenment, allow
me to tell you that Mademoiselle Huppert has an understanding with Bernard, with Mr. Bernard Corcoran, my brother's groom. The attachment is deep and
of long duration."

"What?"

"They are engaged, Ginger," she snapped. "So you
see it's quite impossible that she would elope with your
Bowditch."

"I see nothing of the kind," he returned. 'Why, that
worthless jade! My poor Bowditch has been deceived
very thoroughly by your diabolical Fifi."

"Nonsense! He has abducted her! Don't let's argue,
Ginger," she added quickly. 'We agree on one thing,
I hope-they must be stopped! I suggest we go after
them at once."

"Yes," he said grimly. "Then we'll see who's right.
Jackey, go and ready my curricle."

"If your Bowditch has a special license, he could
marry her anywhere," Juliet pointed out. "He would
hardly dare ask my cousin to perform the sacrament. The nearest village is Little Straythorne. If you've
brought your grays, we may be able to catch them in
time. My Fi Josephine was yet at the Vicarage when
I left it at half-past nine."

"We've already established who it was that gave
you those ridiculous curls."

"You ought to let me drive," she said, following him
from the room. "I know the country better than you."

The resourceful Jackey had brought the curricle
into the yard. "Shut up," Swale replied to Juliet's suggestion, "or I shan't take you with me at all." He
watched her climb up into the seat beside him but did
not offer to help her. "You drive my precious grays?"
he scoffed. "I had rather see them fed to my hounds."

"In case you've forgotten, I drove my brother's
chestnuts," she snapped.

"Ha!" he replied. "And a fine mess you made of it
too, you miserable brat. Stopping in the middle of the
road like Balaam's ass! I nearly broke my neck getting
'round you. Which way do I go?" he asked abruptly,
for the grays had reached the end of the yard.

"South, down the High Street, over the bridge,
then take the eastern fork. It's four miles to Little
Straythorne. "

As he took up the reins, she looked at his hands critically. In his haste, Swale had forgotten his gloves, if
he had any. His hands were large, with red knuckles
and thick, coarse fingers. They were not the hands of
a gentleman. They did not appear capable of delicacy,
but she had seen them very gently doctoring the
paw of a hurt dog, and the horses seemed to respond
to him gladly. He did not use the whip. "It may be of
interest to you," she said slowly, "that I had no choice
but to stop in the middle of the road."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed," she answered, "because, you see, I did not
know where we were racing to."

"What?"

"I thought Southend," she went on blithely. "But
then I thought, perhaps Colchester after all. What else
could I do? I was obliged to stop at the crossroads and
let you go first so that I could follow you."

"Let me go first-!" he choked, then swore violently under his breath.

"But then I saw you veer to the right, and I knew
you were trying to get inside me-inside the right
hand turn, I mean," she amended hastily. "So I-so
then I knew it was Southend after all. It was just bad
luck that you collided with me."

"Damned bad luck," he agreed. "Damned, wretched
bad luck. I should never have met you, let alone collided with you! "

"What I mean to say is, if you were a very bad driver,
you would have overturned. But you didn't," she
added unnecessarily.

"I expect you were sorry I didn't overturn and break
my neck!"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "At the time, I would
not have been sorry to see you overturn. But that is
when I thought..." She completed her sentence with
a faint sniff.

"First, a compliment, and now, an apology," he
said mockingly. "It would appear, Miss Wayborn, that
I have gentled you with a kiss."

"I was gently born, Ginger," she informed him.
"That is why I haven't slapped your horrifically ugly
face. You only did it to embarrass me."

"Succeeded too," he laughed. "You blushed to the
roots of your hair."

"I did not indeed," she said. "If I blushed, it was only for your stupidity. But tell me, why Southend? Cary
always races to Brighton."

"The turnpikes," he told her.

"Of course," Juliet murmured. "There are none between London and Southend. Otherwise, I should
have had Bernard with me, and he would have told
me the way."

"I would have gladly hazarded my grays against
Mr. Wayborn's chestnuts," Swale said, "but I hadn't a
decent groom to manage the turnpikes. Your brother
was very fair to me when he hit on the Southend
scheme. I'm as good a driver as he is," he added
forcefully, anticipating argument.

"Perhaps you are," she said thoughtfully and colored up as he flashed her a look of surprise. "You
could never have beaten him though," she went on
quickly. "You are a much bigger man. Heavier, I
mean. You simply couldn't ask it of the horses."

"You had a decided advantage there," he said irritably. "You weigh next to nothing."

"Good morning, Mrs. Croft! "Juliet called out suddenly, waving to a grim-looking matron coming down
the street with her two unmarried daughters. "I
expect little Jackey Lime will be only too pleased to
tell the world what he saw today at the Tudor Rose.
And now Mrs. Croft."