Love With the Perfect Scoundrel (35 page)

Michael staggered back, his arm flailing, only to catch the screen. Both man and panel crashed to the ground.

“Come, come,” Ellesmere said. “Take care. You’re not allowed to die on us quite yet, Wallace.”

“And why is that?” Michael asked, his voice raspy.

“Why, because you owe Lady Sheffield too much money.” Ellesmere offered his hand to ease Michael from the floor.

“There’s that,” Helston growled, “and the fact that he owes
us
far too many favors.”

“What sort of favors?”

“The ones that involve recalibrating the delicate balance of power among our peers, all in an effort to see your title secured in the most efficient way possible. You know, the sort of debt that is nearly impossible to repay.”

“I shall repay you.”

Helston snorted. “Wallace, don’t be ridiculous. You have little chance of repaying us in ten lifetimes. And since you’ve used up nearly nine lives to get to this point, I do think you should just give up all pretence to noble intentions.”

The sound of his true name coming from both gentlemen nearly broke him.

The marquis pursed his lips and cleared his throat. “A plan is already in motion. Lord Palmer and Helston have secured the support of more than half the peers in the House of Lords. We are waiting for answers from the other half. You certainly were cutting it close, Wallace.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another few years and the land might have reverted to the crown, although I haven’t had the time to study the matter closely enough to be certain. As it stands, the lands were left in the hands of trustees, and the title was left dormant since you were presumed alive but taken up by gypsies who were seen in the vicinity. While the abbey and the attached stable all burned, as you know, the authorities who investigated the fire noted a few inconsistencies. In addition to you, there were a number of horses missing—and chickens.”

“Chickens? I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to research the matter,” Michael murmured, overawed that these gentlemen had made such efforts on his behalf. “I fear I owe you both a great deal, indeed.”

“Oh, but this is just the beginning,” Helston said in a bored tone.

Michael’s chest ached. Gratitude was an emotion he had so rarely felt, he wasn’t even certain it was what was welling up inside of him. “I am honored by the yoke of friendship you both so willingly took up,” he said, quietly.

“
Friendship
?” Helston said, his eyes darkening with horror. “Oh, Christ, no. Ellesmere, you never said we’d have to befriend him. I took on just about as much friendship as I can tolerate in one lifetime when I agreed to befriend you.”

Ellesmere chuckled. “Wallace, you can help by giving us the names of any people who knew you when you were a child. People who might remember you well—servants, the vicar, anyone. Or names of peers who knew your father—or any other incontrovertible proof. I’ve already sent my steward to Derbyshire to ask about the neighborhood. We’ll need all the ammunition we can secure to have you officially declared the right and true Earl of Wallace.”

Michael scratched his jaw. “While it’s impossible to tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done, my lords, you still haven’t told me what I really want to know.”

“How very demanding of you, Wallace,” Helston replied dryly.

“I want to know where Lady Sheffield is. And I also want to know about her meeting with Rowland Manning.”

“And why would you need to know that?”

“Because I mean to get her fortune back, of course. You didn’t really think I’d sit here and do nothing, did you?”

Helston, exasperation dripping from his expression, sighed. “We’re coming to that. But you’ll have a better chance with the power a title confers.”

“I don’t need a title to kill the bastard. And I’m not going to wait another day. Manning will secrete away or spend her fortune in a fortnight, if not sooner.”

Ellesmere gritted his teeth. “Don’t be a fool. Do you really want to revisit the underground gardens of Newgate so soon? I would think one tour would be enough for anybody.”

“Actually, I was hoping since we’re friends, that—”

“God help me…” Helston muttered.

“Perhaps you would come with me. I would of course do the primary work. But it would help if I had you both stand as sentry.”

The duke and marquis exchanged glances.

Ignoring the blaze of pain in his jaw as he grinned, Michael continued, “Since you’ve been good enough to expend your varied talents to my benefit, I was thinking I might show you some of mine.”

“And what talents would you possess, Mr. Jack-of-all-lowering-trades?” Helston asked, exasperated.

Michael raised a single brow. “Entering without breaking for one, finding but not taking, for another. Unless it’s Grace’s money, of course.”

Ellesmere examined his fingernails. “I suppose we should have guessed it would come to this.”

“Undoubtedly,” Helston replied. He dragged his hands down his face. “Good God, I’d thought my days of plundering over when I resigned my commission. And when were you proposing we—God preserve us—pay a ‘social call’ on Mr. Manning?”

“At three o’clock,” Michael replied. “Tomorrow morning.”

Helston shook his head. “I hear Ata coming up the stair. Let’s decamp to plan this properly. Won’t waste a moment letting her expound on all your fine attributes. I would prefer to keep my dinner, thank you.”

The three men strode to the door, and nearly collided in the effort to file out at the same time. “Blast it all, Wallace,” Helston gritted out. “It’s dukes before marquises, and marquises before earls. Please tell me we are not going to have to waste our time teaching you the elementary rules of polite society?”

Michael attempted a contrite expression. The duke sighed heavily as he preceded Ellesmere out the door. Michael followed his new friends down the back hallway. God, were they really that to him? The last time he’d enjoyed that bond had been with Sam Bryn. It had been a long time ago. A very long time.

But it felt good. It felt very good.

Nine weeks later…

“J
ames,” Michael said to the boy riding alongside him in the flat lands of Berkshire, “I have a good feeling about this place.”

“Sir, you’ve said that the last three times.” The former chimney sweep’s small gray gelding trotted a bit faster to keep up with Sioux.

Michael chuckled and tried to ignore the pain in his one arm. “I know, lad. It’s just that I’ve had a good feeling ever since we left town. Anticipation is half the joy, don’t you think? Lower your hands, and ease off the bit. Yes, that’s exactly right.”

The boy showed such promise. He’d taken to riding like a bird takes to flight. Michael glanced at James’s noble profile and open countenance, so different from two months ago, when Michael had arranged his release with much difficulty. Ah, the adaptability of youth.

Michael halted Sioux at the crest of a small rise, James following suit. “Glory be, sir,” he said with wonderment. “Never seen anything like this in me life.”

The magnificent view beckoned them, the air thick with vernal evidence—shy snowdrops nodded their single clasped blooms while enjoying the shade of the burgeoning tree branches heavy with bud. Daffodils and gorse competed to show off the brightest yellows of the season, and everywhere, new life was in evidence. Tiny lambs bleated for their mothers in the vast pastures dotted with wisps of lost wool that appeared like remnants of snow.

Nestled in a little bit of wilderness, with a stream running nearby, lay an ivy-covered cottage complete with gables and a tile roof. Two outer buildings stood behind. When he spied the very uneven lines of a newly laid kitchen garden, Michael grinned and tipped back his hat. “James?”

“Sir?”

“I’ll wager evening chores this is the one.”

“Why, you know I’ll do whatever you ask, sir.” The boy looked so happy. “And you know I never gamble, sir.”

“Except that one time.”

“Yes. Except that one time.”

“I’ve not said it, James, but I thank you for placing your trust in me, son.”

“I’d go to the ends of the world for you, sir,” the boy said quietly.

Michael leaned down to place his hand on James’s shoulder for the briefest moment. “And I think you just about did. But I’ve good news. We’ve arrived.”

James studied the landscape. “It sure is pretty. How long will we stay?”

“Not sure,” Michael said, clucking to Sioux to continue forward. “It might not be as long as I’d like.” Michael did not mention that this was the point where expectation turned into uncertainty.

“Sir?”

“Yes, James?”

“Tell me again what she’s like.”

Michael smiled. “Like the first ray of sunshine after a long blizzard. Brilliant and pure. And her eyes are like bluebells and violets and as clear as a sapphire, untainted by any other hue of a rainbow.”

“Can’t imagine it, sir. But tell me about her goodness.”

He’d asked so many times to hear about Grace’s character. Michael knew it was all due to the boy’s fear. He would never voice it, but Michael guessed long ago that James was terrified she wouldn’t accept him. What James did not know was that Michael was a thousand times more worried that she wouldn’t accept the larger of the two of them. She’d had two months to regret the horror of what she had done, two months to doubt him, and two months to learn she could go along very well without him.

“Her goodness, James, is as pure as an angel from heaven. Her generous heart is unparalleled; her spirit, kindness personified. You do know what those words mean, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter, sir. It sounds better than anything I can imagine. So shall I water the horses and let them graze, like at the other places?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, here near the stream.” Michael swung off, removed Sioux’s bridle and replaced it with a halter, James mimicking his motions with the other, smaller horse.

He strode toward the cottage, James’s words floating behind him. “Good luck. And sir?”

Michael stopped but didn’t turn around. She was so near. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry so. If she won’t take ye in, we can al’ays go back to Brynlow. Or if she takes ye, I could go to work in the stables of the Duke o’ Helston, like his worship said.”

“James, I would as soon as part with you as I would lead you back to the rookeries. You’d best get used to it. You’re stuck with me. Always. And I’ll remind you of it every day of our damned lives until you tell me you’re sick of hearing it. Agreed?” He glanced behind him just in time to catch James bob his head and turn away to hide his emotions. Michael swallowed against the knot in his throat. “And James, if it becomes too hot, I spied shade trees on the other side of the cottage. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

Michael continued on but his footsteps slowed as he approached the lacquered door with the black cast-iron winged hinges. He knocked, his belly churning. Counting to twenty, he knocked again, and then tried the latch, which gave way.

Michael called out, “Lady Sheffield…” He cleared his throat, his voice strained to the point of breaking. “Grace?” The floorboards creaked as his heavy boots crossed the room. He poked his head in each of the four small rooms.

Evidence of her was everywhere he chanced to see…he recognized her even stitches in a small pile of mending. A simple pink wool shawl lay on the back of a worn armchair near a grate. But more than anything, it was her elusive scent he caught once or twice, which sent his mind spinning.

Blinded suddenly by the overwhelming need to see her, he took the steps on the narrow staircase three at a time, now calling her name with increasing urgency. But she was not to be found in any of the bedchambers above. This was not going as he’d expected.

Where in hell was she? Had she hid herself when she’d seen him coming? He chastised himself. Fear always led to absurd thoughts. He let himself out the back of the cottage and scanned the small garden and structures beyond.

A loud squawking erupted from one and he broke into a run toward the enclosed yard. Without bothering to knock, he entered the henhouse.

Feathers floated in the air and a clutch of birds intent on mutiny surrounded her. She was everything he remembered and so much more. Christ, she was his whole world. Her hair was pinned back and gleamed in the shaft of light from the sole window. He would never be able to describe her no matter how many times he tried. For she was perfect. Even her damned imperfections were perfect because they were part of her.

He coughed. “You know, sometimes it’s easier to collect eggs when you distract them with feed outside.”

Grace whirled around, her eyes widening. She dropped the empty wire basket she carried. “Oh. It’s you.”

Leaving the door open, he walked forward, the chickens scattering into the yard behind him.

He leaned down, retrieved her egg basket and placed it in her hand.

“Thank you.” Her gaze remained on the basket.

“You’re very welcome. Grace, I’m sorry I star—”

“It’s lovely to see you, my lord,” she interrupted, her tone now even and calm.

He stared at her, terrified of her formality.

She brushed a lock of her hair back into place and finally raised her eyes to his. “If I’d known you were considering a call, I would have prepared better for your visit.”

Her eyes were so very warm, their blue depths startling. He longed to wrap his arms around her and crush her to him, and yet it was obvious she would not welcome it. Not in the least. “May I offer my help?”

“No, this will take but a moment.” She strolled the aisle, plucking eggs from the various nests until she circled to the door. He stood watching her silently, feeling every inch the awkward lumbering giant in the cramped space. Christ, what had he been thinking? He should have just walked up to her straightaway and taken her in his arms instead of standing there like a silent fool.

He followed her as she left the henhouse, her apron flapping in the spring breeze. Michael rushed forward and opened the gate for her and then, fifty yards later, the back door of the cottage. In the small kitchen, she placed the basket on the simple, rustic table and swung a black pot filled with water over the fire.