Tender Rebel (24 page)

His voice was a trifle loud in his surprise. “Good God,
he’s
a woman!”

James grinned. “I know.”

“Now you’ve done it, you miserable curs!” the girl snarled at them both as several men within hearing glanced their way. “Mac, do something!”

MacDonell did. He pulled back his arm and swung at Anthony. The decision was made quickly not to fight, much as Anthony needed that outlet to let off some of his frustration. He caught the fist and slammed it down on the bar.

“There’s no need for that, MacDonell,” Anthony said. “I made a mistake. I apologize.”

MacDonell was disconcerted at how easily he had been outmaneuvered. He wasn’t that much smaller than the Englishman, yet he couldn’t raise his fist off the bar to save his soul. And he had the feeling that even if he could, it wouldn’t do him much good.

Prudently, the Scotsman nodded his acceptance and got his release by doing so. But his companion was still held tight, and it was to James his aggression turned now.

“Ye’ll be letting go, mon, if ye ken what’s good fer ye. I canna let ye monhandle—”

“Be easy, MacDonell,” Anthony interjected in a hushed tone. “He means the lass no harm. Perhaps you’ll let us accompany you outside?”

“There’s nae need—”

“Look around you, dear fellow,” James inter
rupted the Scot. “There appears to be every need, thanks to my brother’s loud blunder.”

So saying, he hefted the wench under his arm and started for the door. Her protest died with a tight squeeze about the ribs, and since MacDonell heard no complaint from her, he followed behind. Anthony did as well, after tossing a few coins on the table for the ales that had never arrived. He spared a glance for the room to see that most eyes were still on James and the girl, or rather, just on the girl. He wondered how long she had been in the tavern before her disguise was uncovered. It didn’t matter. Dressed as she was in skin-tight breeches, even if her sweater was baggy in the extreme, there probably wasn’t a man there who wouldn’t have made a try for her if James didn’t have her firmly in hand.

Anthony supposed it was too much to hope that they could exit the place without some further incident occurring. He caught up with the others only because the barmaid had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, and latched possessively onto James’ arm, stopping him.

Anthony arrived to hear her demand, “’Ere now, ye’re not leavin’, are ye?”

James, instead of brushing her off, gave her a smile to quite dazzle her. “I’ll be back later, my dear.”

She brightened, not even bothering to glance at the bundle under his arm. “I finish work at two.”

“Then two it is.”

“Two’s one too many, I’m thinking.” This from a brawny sailor who had stood up and was now blocking James’ path to the door.

Anthony sighed, coming up to stand next to his brother. “I don’t suppose you’d care to put her down and take care of this, James.”

“Not particularly.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Stay out of this, mate,” the sailor warned Anthony. “He’s got no right coming in here and stealing not one but two of our women.”

“Two? Is this little ragamuffin yours?” Anthony glanced at the bundle in dispute, who had pulled her wool cap up enough to see by and was peering at them with murder in her eyes. He was almost hesitant to put it to the test. “Are you his, sweetheart?”

She was wise enough to give a negative shake of her head. Fortunately, the sailor was an ugly-looking brute, or she might have given a different answer, she was so angry at the way she was being manhandled. Anthony couldn’t blame her. James was holding on a bit tighter than necessary, and the position he had her in was far from dignified.

“I believe that settles it, doesn’t it.” It was not a question by any means. Anthony was tired of the whole affair, especially when he had no one to blame but himself for being there in the first place. “Now be a good chap and move out of the way.”

Surprisingly, the sailor stood firm. “He’s not taking her out of here.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Anthony said wearily just before flattening his fist on the fellow’s jaw.

The sailor landed several feet away from them, out cold. The man he had been sitting with rose from their table with a growl, but not soon enough. A short jab and he fell back in his chair, his hand flying up to stanch the blood now seeping from his nose.

Anthony turned around slowly, one black brow arched questioningly. “Any more comers?”

MacDonell was grinning behind him, realizing now how fortunate he had been not to take on the En
glishman. Not another man in the room made a move to accept the challenge, drawing the same conclusion. It had happened too quickly. They recognized a skilled pugilist when they saw one.

“Very nicely done, dear boy,” James congratulated him. “Now can we quit this place?”

Anthony bowed low, coming up with a grin. “After you, old man.”

Outside, James set the girl on her feet in front of him. She got her first good look at him then in the glow of the tavern lamp above the door, enough to make her hesitate a hairbreadth before she kicked him in the shin and bolted down the street. He swore violently and started after her, but stopped after a few feet, seeing that it was useless. She was already out of sight on the darkened street.

He turned back, swearing again when he saw that MacDonell had disappeared as well. “Now where the bloody hell did the Scot go?”

Anthony was too busy laughing to have heard him. “What’s that?”

James smiled tightly. “The Scot. He’s gone.”

Anthony sobered, turning around. “Well, that’s gratitude for you. I wanted to ask him why they both turned when they heard the name Cameron.”

“To hell with that,” James snapped. “How am I going to find her again when I don’t know who she is?”

“Find her?” Anthony was chuckling once more. “Gad, you’re a glutton for punishment, brother. What do you want with a wench who insists on damaging your person when you have another one counting the minutes until you return?”

“She intrigued me,” James replied simply, then
shrugged. “But I suppose you’re right. The little barmaid will do just as well.” Yet he glanced down the empty street again before they headed toward the waiting carriage.

Chapter Twenty-five

R
oslynn stood by the window in the parlor, her cheek pressed to the cool glass, her hands gripping the blue tasseled drapes next to her. She had stood like that for the past thirty minutes, ever since she had left the dining room and an uncomfortable dinner with Jeremy and his cousin Derek, who had come by to take the youngster out for the evening.

At least Derek Malory’s arrival had proved a diversion for a while. The marquis’ heir was a handsome young man about her own age, with an unruly thatch of blond hair and eyes more hazel than green. He cut quite a dashing figure in his evening togs, and it took Roslynn only half a minute to discover he was fast following in his uncles’ footsteps—another rake for a family that had too many already. But there was still a certain boyish quality about Derek Malory that made him seem harmless and quite charming.

He reacted to the news of his uncle’s marriage just as Jeremy had, at first with disbelief, then delight. He was also the first to call her Aunt Roslynn, and not in jest, giving her quite a start for a moment. She really was an aunt now, to a whole brood of nephews and nieces. An instant family, thanks to her marriage to Anthony, and a warm and loving one, if Jeremy was to be believed.

But Jeremy and Derek were gone now, and Roslynn had gone back to her brooding, hardly even aware that she had stood in the same spot for the past half hour, gazing out at the passing traffic on Piccadilly.

On the one hand, she was worried sick. Something had happened to Anthony. He was hurt, unable to get word to her. That was the only reason the whole day had gone by and she had heard nothing from him. On the other hand, what had started as a slight irritation upon being abandoned, so to speak, had grown to a simmering anger as the hours dragged by, especially when Derek arrived and she couldn’t explain Anthony’s absence. He had simply gone about his business for the day without a by-your-leave, never mind that he had a wife now who might worry about him.

These conflicting feelings hadn’t sat well together and had spoiled her appetite for the special dinner that she had held up for more than an hour, hoping Anthony would arrive in time. He hadn’t, of course, and her anxiety was growing now, taking precedence over the anger, tying her belly up in knots.

Hell’s teeth, where was he? This was only the second day of their marriage. Had he completely forgotten that fact? They should have spent the day together, getting to know each other better.

A carriage finally stopped in front of the house. Roslynn raced out of the room, waving Dobson away when he started for the door. She yanked it open herself before Anthony even reached it, and scanned his tall frame for injuries. There were none. He was all right. She wanted to hug him and clobber him at the same time. She stood there gripping her hands instead, to keep from giving in to either urge.

When Anthony spotted her, looking like a confection in a pale green gown with delicate white lace trim, his face lit up with a dazzling smile. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart. I can’t tell you what a bloody rotten day I’ve had.”

Roslynn didn’t move so he could enter, but stood
her ground in the center of the doorway. “Why dinna you tell me anyway?”

The brogue gave her away. He stepped back to get a better look at her and noted the mulish angle of jaw, the tightly compressed lips.

“Is something amiss, my dear?”

“Do you ken what time it is, mon?”

“Ah, so that’s it.” He chuckled. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

“Miss you?” she gasped. “Ye conceited toad! I dinna care if you go off for days at a time if that’s your wont. But it’s common courtesy, isna it, to be telling someone when they’re no’ to expect you home?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he surprised her by agreeing. “And I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I spend the day trying to track down your elusive cousin.”

“Geordie? But—why?”

“Why else? To give him the good news. Or hadn’t you realized that until he is made aware of your new status, he’s still a danger to you?”

Roslynn could feel the blush starting, and it was a furious one. He was late on her behalf, and how did she meet him at the door? Like a shrew.

“I’m sorry, Anthony.”

Her contrite, downcast look was irresistible. He pulled her close until her head rested on his shoulder. “Silly girl,” he teased her gently. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about. I rather like having someone worry about me. You
were
worried, weren’t you? That’s why all the fuss?”

She nodded, having heard him, but she wasn’t that attuned to what he was saying. Her nose was twitching, assaulted by an offensive, sweet smell coming
from his coat, almost…like perfume, cheap perfume at that. She leaned back, frowning, and caught sight of a thin yellow string on his shoulder—no, not a string, a blond hair. She picked it off and pulled, but it kept coming, until at least a twelve-inch length dangled from her fingers. She might have thought it was her own, even though it was so light in color, but it was brittle, not fine.

“I knew it!” she hissed, looking up at him with outraged fury in her eyes.

“Knew what? What’s got into you now?”

“This!” She shoved the hair in his face. “It’s no’ mine, mon, and it certainly isna yours, is it now?”

Anthony scowled, swiping the hair from her fingers. “It’s not what you think, Roslynn.”

She stood back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh? I suppose it was some brazen wench who just happened to plop down on your lap uninvited, rubbing her cheap smell all over you before you could be stopping her?”

Good God
, he groaned inwardly,
did she have to hit it right on the nose?
“As a matter of fact—”

“Hell’s teeth, you canna even make up your own tales!” she shrieked.

This was so ridiculous, it was laughable, but Anthony didn’t dare laugh when her expression at the moment boded murder. Very calmly, he said, “Actually, it was a barmaid. And I wouldn’t have been in a position to have found her tumbling into my lap if I wasn’t in a tavern, one of many, mind you, looking for your cousin.”

“Aye, put the blame on me for your unfaithfulness. That’s typical of a mon’s arrogance, isna it? But I’ll be telling you what I’m to blame for, and that’s be
lieving you last night! I’ll no’ be making
that
mistake again!”

“Roslynn—”

She jumped back when he reached for her, and before he could stop her, she slammed the door in his face. Anthony swore foully, his temper finally unleashed, but with nothing to vent it on now.

He turned around, facing the empty street, gritting his teeth. At least James had gone on in the carriage to White’s to kill a few hours before his rendezvous with self-same barmaid. He didn’t think he could have borne having his brother be a witness to this absurdity and watching him laugh his head off as he reminded Anthony about marital bliss.

Bloody everlasting hell. Kicked out of his own house! A fine topping for a day that had gone from bad to worse. If the
ton
ever got wind…

Anthony’s head came up with a jolt. It was
his
bloody house. What the devil did she think she was doing, kicking him out of his own house?

He swung around and started to kick the door, he was so angry. He thought better of that at the last moment and tried the latch first. But finding it unlocked, he threw it open forcefully. The resounding bang was satisfying; however, it did nothing to appease his temper. Nor did the fact that he caught his wife by surprise, halfway up the stairs.

“Get back down here, Lady Malory. We haven’t finished this discussion.”

He was amazed that she obeyed him immediately, coming stiffly down the stairs. But when she reached him, it was to give him a look of contempt.

“If you’ll no’ go away, then I will,” she said, and she actually walked toward the still-open door.