The Rebel Heir (12 page)

He threw the ball of paper across the room. It hit the wall with a disappointing tap and rolled under the bed as he turned, walking to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. He'd never before lost his sense of commitment to his work, his sense of when to speak and when to listen.

It was Evie. Or rather, the effect she had on him. He lost all sense when she was around. And now, with her assistance and clearly that of Stapleton as well, his brother knew where he slept at night. Damn. By now, the lot of his brothers would know his whereabouts. The walls of his bedchamber seemed to be closing in around him. They would try to stop him. The number of days he had remaining in London had, in an instant, been cut in half.

“That look right there is why I didn't want to give it to you,” Stapleton said, still lingering near the door as if unsure whether to stay or leave.

“How did his man find you, Stapleton?” Ash asked through clenched teeth. He knew how his brother had learned he was in London—that blame was clearly on Evie's shoulders. That didn't explain how he'd had the note delivered to Stapleton in the mews behind headquarters. Ash had told no one about this place, because that was nearly the Spares' only rule.

Stapleton didn't answer, but only winced as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. It was a look Ash knew too well after years of living with the man.

“Lady Evangeline is to blame for telling him I'm in town.” Ash moved back across the room and kicked the door closed so they wouldn't be heard in the hall. “But Stapleton, he had this letter delivered to you—here at headquarters. How exactly did my brother know where to find me?”

Stapleton hesitated for only a second before he admitted the truth. “You know that maid I mentioned from the kitchens back home?”

“You told one of the maids?” Had he learned nothing from his years with Ash?

Stapleton shifted on his feet and stared at the floor. “I only mentioned that we might be back on the isle soon, once we're finished with things here. She's always been sweet on me, and I thought…”

Ash exhaled a harsh breath and turned away from the man before he did something he would regret. “You let my brothers know where I am so that you could have a woman waiting for you when you return?”

“Of course it sounds bad when you say it like that,” Stapleton muttered. “You already said that lady of yours told him you were in London. Surely after that, my actions—”

“I will deal with that bit of misfortune later,” Ash cut in as he turned back to face Stapleton. “She only said I was in town. You led my brother's footman to our doorstep.” Ash ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Do you know what trouble that could have caused if someone like St. James had heard of it?”

“I meant no harm.”

“I know you didn't, but…” Ash let out a stream of curses that in no way relieved his distress.

“We can leave, return here some other time,” Stapleton offered. “There are plenty of towns in Scotland we haven't visited.”

“No,” Ash said a bit too quickly. “We stay.”

“Truly? I think this job is getting to you. Or maybe it's that lady you've been spending time with.”

“She has nothing to do with this.” But Ash knew Evie had complicated his thoughts on almost every subject since he'd seen her that night in the Dillsworth library.

“Listen, Mr. Claughbane, I've known you nearly all my life. My father was your father's valet. I've served you since you left the Isle.”

“Then you should know why I can't leave,” Ash returned.

“Aye. I do. But taking from Lord Rightworth won't bring back your father,” Stapleton said, echoing Ash's brother's words.

“It will return to my family what is rightfully theirs. You've always known my intentions for all of this.” Ash raised his arms to encompass the entirety of their lives before letting them fall back to his sides. “We've had an adventure and it's lined both our pockets quite well, but this job, Rightworth, has always been my focus. You know that. You've always known that. Don't tell me now that we're here, you're siding with my brothers.”

Over the years Ash had forgotten that Stapleton had once been a footman in his family's home. Before he'd left with Ash that night, he'd had a young lifetime of loyalty to the Claughbane family. It was a fact Ash would have done well to remember.

“I made a promise seven years ago to keep you from harm,” Stapleton said without apology, for once looking the part of footman and not the swindler's assistant he'd become.

Ash moved to the bedpost and leaned a hip against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “I made a promise to my mother as she withered away into dust and heartbreak that I would aid this family. That is all I have ever tried to do.”

“Your wealth in this game almost exceeds what your father lost. Do you need Rightworth's coin as well? We could walk away. Your brother says so in his letter—you don't need to go through with this scheme. Things on the isle have changed…”

“I should have known you broke the seal and read the letter for yourself. You always did have your ear to the door when you were a footman.”

Stapleton grinned. “A quality you've always admired.”

“Only when you use it to my gain,” Ash corrected. “You read that drivel from my brother and let him get to you.”

“He was convincing.”

“That's enough to change your mind?” Ash pointed to the spot where the letter had landed, shadowed by the edge of the bed. “You shouldn't have written to the damn maid, Stapleton.”

“You would understand if you'd seen her in recent years. You weren't with me when I paid that visit last fall.” The man shook the wistful look from his eyes and had the grace to appear apologetic for what he'd done.

“If you wish to return home, then go.” Ash had the Spares to assist him, he supposed, although he constantly struggled with involving them. He worked alone with Stapleton at his side, and always had. But he wouldn't force anyone to stay where they had no wish to be.

“I don't wish it. I was only…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Haven't you given a thought to what we'll do with ourselves after this job is over?”

It was true that he'd always dreamed of the next village, the next scheme. But the road he'd traveled had been leading him here. Beyond this job, beyond Rightworth, was further than he'd ever considered before. It was due to the high expectation of his work here in London—that was all. To dwell on anything beyond this scheme would be a complication, not to mention break his two rules: he couldn't stay, and he couldn't become attached to anyone.

Ash put that last rule out of his mind and looked back at Stapleton. “We'll do the same as we always do.”

“Move to the next town over and attempt it all again?”

“No, make the decision after we leave.” This was the perfect plan. This way Ash didn't have to consider his life beyond London. He tossed out a casual grin. “Only this time, we're going inside when an inn smells of sausages. I've been dreaming of breakfast meats ever since we left that place in Berkshire.”

“You'll walk away from this Lady Evangeline?” Stapleton asked, eyeing him in a way that made Ash aware of just how much time they'd spent together over the years.

“I have to, don't I?” he said, his voice sounding flat and lifeless even to his own ears. “She's Rightworth's daughter.”

“Suppose so,” his man replied, but the sentiment didn't seem to reach his eyes.

“I've only called on her to get close to Rightworth,” Ash said with confidence even as the lie caused him to flinch inwardly.

“As you've done before,” Stapleton agreed.

“Precisely. Just like every time before. And I'll leave just like every time before.” But thinking of it made him slightly ill. The truth was, Evie wasn't like every other lady in every other town. She was special. Perhaps he did need to keep her distracted to protect his identity from her father. And perhaps courting her was a good excuse to see Rightworth and keep the man interested in investing in Crosby Steam Works. But his plan allowed him to see a great deal of Evie at the same time. And that desire was
not
just like every time before—not in the least.

“Apologies for opening the door for your brothers to intrude on things here. I need to go see to the horses…and see if I can get back into the card game that I left to come find you.” He flashed a smile, but the look slipped into thoughtful concern as he regarded Ash. “Just so you know, this is the first time I've ever heard you talk about leaving as if it's a chore and not a pleasure. You might want to think on that.” He walked out before Ash could reply—a damn trick Ash had taught him.

Ash rolled his eyes and went to the bed to pick up the letter he'd thrown across the room. Dropping into the chair in the corner, he unfolded the paper from the wad he'd formed and ironed it flat on the top of his thigh.

He read it three times through before rising to his feet. He should be concerned about his oldest brother and self-appointed patriarch of the family. Would Brennen make waves for Ash here in town? It was possible, but his family was so far removed from city life that it wasn't likely. As long as Brennen stayed on the island, all would be fine. Evie, on the other hand, had the potential for making more waves than he could navigate.

She wanted to make a piece of needlepoint about his family, did she? She should make a tapestry that covered an entire wall—his family history was quite the sordid tale. He tossed the letter into the fire, watching it shrink into black as it burned, taking the truth with it.

How long could he keep Evie from going to her father with what she knew of him? Another week? Two if he was careful. Now that she knew his full name, it was just a matter of time. Or perhaps if she only knew a portion of the truth, he could gain her trust and keep her in his life a bit longer.

“You're breaking your own rules, Ash Claughbane,” he murmured into the flames as a reluctant smile spread across his face. Rules were meant to be bent until they lay warped on the ground behind him. And he knew exactly who he wanted to coax into bending a few rules with him.

“I hear you write a lovely letter. Quite the penmanship,” Ash accused in lieu of a greeting as he strode across the empty parlor toward Evie early the next morning.

He'd been up half the night considering why he didn't want another secret added to the pile between them, and he still didn't know what to make of it. Until recently his life had been devoted to the prospect of revenge…and it was still, wasn't it? It needed to be. He'd made a promise to his dying mother, and that wasn't something that should be easily forgotten.

Certainly he'd had an enjoyable time on the road—the freedom, the thrill of the sale, and the fresh start of a new town where no one knew him. But revenge on Rightworth had always been his driving force. Now, after years of work, he was closer than he'd ever been before to his goal.

But then there was Evie, the lady he should be using to have his revenge on her father.

Instead, every day he looked forward to Evie's company, even glimpses of her at a ball. Any thrill he gained from his life as a con man paled in comparison to how his heart raced when he was near her. And for the first time, he wasn't looking forward to a fresh start where no one knew him.

Instead, he wanted Evie to know him further. He wanted to spread the ugly truth of his life out on the table for her to examine, and then perhaps she would do the same for him. He had to pull himself together. A small serving of the truth—that was all he could offer her now. He must remember that. But when he saw her look up from her embroidery and meet his gaze here in the parlor, all of his complicated thoughts of last night faded away.

“The letter! I found your family, then?” Evie exclaimed as she stood from her usual seat in the front parlor in front of the windows, not looking ashamed by her correspondence in the least.

“Shhh! Do you mind?” He spun on his heel to see if anyone was about, but thankfully found the hall behind him empty other than the young maid who was slipping back to her usual corner of the room. She already knew far too many of their secrets, but Evie seemed to trust the girl. He prowled closer, reaching Evie in only a few strides.

“Claughbane… That's your true name? Ash Claughbane?” she asked in just above a whisper.

“I'm Crosby to everyone in London, and I would like to keep it as such,” he murmured in a low voice with a finger to his lips.

“Apologies.” Without warning, she hit him hard on the arm with her small fist.

“Ouch!” He drew back from her reach. “What the devil was that for?”

“I'm sure I have no idea, Lord Barnish. I mean, Lord Crosby.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glare that might have melted flesh if her rosy cheeks and pouty lips hadn't made the look more adorable than frightening.

He'd longed to be honest with her. He could tell her all—it's what he wanted. But she wouldn't easily dismiss what he was doing to her father, her family. Telling her everything would seal his own fate. However, sometimes schemes had to change and adapt. He would simply have to find a balance between complete honesty and what he was accustomed to—a life of lies.

“Very well, I suppose I deserve your beatings,” he finally said with a grin, his gaze still on her lips. She was perhaps more beautiful today than she'd been in his thoughts last night, if that was possible. “If you must hit me, I'm at least grateful that this time you avoided my face,” he added, intending to tease her over her continuing abuse. Even as he spoke, his smile slipped away and the air around them grew warm. The memory of their kiss in the servants' hall surrounded them as if he'd described every second of it in great detail.

Clearly, she was thinking the same, because a silence fell between them and her gaze dropped to his mouth. If he kissed her again, would she hit him? Would the young maid finally sound the alarm? Kissing Evie again would be worth the risk. It might be too soon to not get slapped again, but he was never one to shy from a challenge. He shifted forward a fraction, closing the gap between them.

“My lord,” a footman muttered from the open door, making Evie jump beyond his reach and the maid leap to her feet.

“Pardon my interruption,” the man said, with eyebrows creeping toward his receding hairline. “Your phaeton seems to be blocking the street.”

The blasted phaeton. And Brice had said it would be a good idea to bring the contraption. “Ladies like being seen in the park,” he'd suggested. Idiot. He'd cost Ash that moment with Evie and what it could have promised. Ash nodded his thanks to the footman nonetheless as the man turned to leave the parlor.

“You drove a phaeton here?” Evie asked, looking around him and out the front window. “A phaeton that makes red apples look dull?”

“Yes, it's quite red. I borrowed it from my friend, Mr. Brice,” he muttered, as he tried to force the bitter thoughts from his head. He could still have time with Evie today. “I thought you might like to enjoy the weather. I know you're a supporter of such things.”

“I talk of the weather. Experiencing it is another matter altogether.” There was a sadness about her expression as she spoke in the soft voice she always seemed to use when others were about. “I might freckle in Mr. Brice's conveyance.”

Ash paused, watching her and trying to understand her hesitation. “This means you're not willing to take a ride in the park with me? Due to the threat of sunshine.”

“I'm told it's perilous,” she replied, but the strain around her eyes seemed to diminish a fraction.

“There's only one way to know for certain.” He extended his arm to her and waited. Would she come with him? A thrill of uncertainty sent a chill down his spine.

Evie turned and looked at the young maid in the corner. “Jane?”

“Go. I'll say you're in your bedchamber with a headache if need be,” the maid replied with an encouraging smile. “You have no social engagement until this afternoon.”

“If you're certain,” Evie said before turning back to him. “But we must hurry before anyone notices I've gone. If rides in open carriages at a fashionable hour are frowned upon, I certainly don't want to have to explain this.” She took his arm and let him lead her back to the hall. Her eyes darted about in search of some threat he couldn't see.

What was she afraid of? He'd only wanted to speak with her for a few minutes without interruption, and this seemed the best tactic. At least if his friends in the Spare Heirs could be believed. “Am I causing you trouble?”

“Always.” She looked up at him with a tentative smile. “I've heard Mr. Brice's phaeton is quite the conveyance.”

“You know of it?”

“I know of the man who owns it,” she corrected.

“How do you know Brice?” Ash asked with an unexpected pang of jealousy.

“I know someone who speaks of little else,” she said, taking a shawl from her faithful maid who'd followed them into the hall. “He drives a bright-red phaeton, wears only the best waistcoats, and apparently is quite the dancer.”

“Ah, I should warn the poor man,” Ash replied, watching a wordless exchange between Evie and her maid that ended with the woman giving her a nod of encouragement.

“He should be so fortunate.” Evie stuffed a hat onto her head and turned toward him. “I didn't realize you were friends with him.”

“We're members of the same club,” Ash said, distracted by the strain on Evie's face as she shot one last look at her maid.

The maid mouthed “I won't tell,” and gave Evie another nod.

“Oh? Which one is that?” Evie asked.

Which what? He blinked, realizing she was asking about the Spares—one of the many topics he couldn't discuss with her. Ash was spared having to find an answer by the butler's murmured “My lord,” as he opened the door for them to leave.

They were almost to the garden gate when he noticed she was watching him. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “My lord… You aren't a lord of anything, Ash.”

“That is true,” he admitted, holding the gate open for her.

“You don't seem troubled by the distinction.”

“I'm attempting honesty. It's a rare occurrence for me. One would think you might appreciate it a bit more.” He stepped close to her, closing his hands around her small waist. He lifted her from the ground and into the high perch of the phaeton. It hardly seemed like a private place for a conversation, but Brice had insisted it was. Ash shrugged and moved to the opposite side, taking the reins from Stapleton with a nod.

Stapleton gave him a knowing grin when Ash told him to take a walk until they returned. Ash knew he would hear about it later, but for now he would be alone with Evie. Climbing onto the seat beside her, Ash waited until they were well out of view from her home before he shifted closer to her and relaxed a bit for the drive.

“You have family on the Isle of Man,” she said, peering over at him as if he were a riddle in great need of solving. “A brother?”

“Several, actually,” he corrected. He shouldn't provide her with information that could lead to his downfall if she turned him over to her father, but that bridge had been crossed some time ago, hadn't it? Or was it merely the faint, flowered scent of her as she sat beside him that forced him to speak? Whatever the reason, his normally guarded words tumbled from his mouth with her, reeking of truth. He sighed.

“Several. Truly?”

“I'm the youngest of four.”

She studied him, nodding as if he indeed looked like the young, reckless little brother his family claimed he was. He suppressed an irritated growl and guided the horses around a corner into the park. Then he glanced back to her, almost amused that she was still watching him in an attempt to assemble the pieces of his life.

“And they live on the Isle of Man—which you claim as home,” she mused.

Was that home? He had no home any longer. It had been emptied of all memories and sold years ago. A shell of a building didn't equate to a home. “I haven't been back there in quite some time.”

“Why are you in London? It's not to enjoy the season like so many other gentlemen, is it? Is it even business, as you claimed?” she finally asked, dancing terribly close to the central truth that stood like a wall between them.

“What, no lengthy commentary on the state of the weather today?” he asked, glancing up into the sunlight that slipped through the leaves of the trees overhead.

“You use a false name. You spend your spare time ingratiating yourself with the gentlemen in town. You stole a document from poor Lord Dillsworth, and then there was the way you slipped away last year.”

“Ash Claughbane truly is my name,” he said, sounding rather lame in the face of those damning facts.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Crosby, however, is not.”

Damn. This was normally the point at which he would either redirect the conversation to safer territory or escape town, regroup, and try again in the next town down the road. Yet, here when it mattered most, he was considering other options, even though he knew how horribly this conversation could end. What would happen if he told her? He could hardly tell her everything, but perhaps a bit of it.

What was wrong with him? It was rule two of only two. Could he not even follow his own regulations? But then, he couldn't stop himself. Like powerful waves pulling him into uncharted waters, he couldn't fight against the current with her.

“If you would rather discuss the clouds in the sky…”

“God, no.” He chuckled and sank back a fraction on the seat. “I am originally from the Isle of Man. As I said, I'm the youngest of four brothers, though I haven't returned home in years. I've made my own path since my school days.”

“You would have to, as the youngest boy in the family.”

“Hmmm,” he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He needn't mention his oldest brother's recent acquisition of a title, did he? It didn't affect Ash's life, although from the sound of that letter he'd received, it had made a difference on the island.

“What does one do as the youngest of four?”

“I am in the business of sales. At the moment I'm gathering investments in personal steam machines.” He guided them onto a more secluded path. There was no way of knowing where it led, much like their time together. That seemed fitting. All he knew was that Evie sat tucked close beside him and no one was able to interrupt their conversation.

“And before this moment?”

“It depends on the town and the people—what they need, what I have, what they desire.” He glanced at her, the word
desire
filling the air between them.

She pulled her gaze away from his with a jerk of her head and stared ahead. “And you change what you sell, just like that. From town to town, always moving.”

“I do.” He wanted to look at her. Having this discussion would be difficult enough with…anyone at all, but especially Evie, without having to steer horses at the same time. He needed to look at her, to see the effect his words were having. Just ahead there was clear ground where the path curved around a grouping of trees. Pulling the horses to a stop, he shifted until he had one arm resting on the back of the seat. His forearm grazed the back of her shoulder, and his legs were stretched closer to hers as he searched her face.

She almost moved away to keep a proper distance between them. He watched as she glanced down at the crossed ankles of his boots that brushed against the bottom of her dress. He'd been so focused on weaving the vehicle down the path that only now did he notice how she sat impossibly straight and maintained a tight grip on the seat on either side of her legs. Was she frightened of their height, being alone in the park with him, or the turn of topics between them? He didn't know, but he scooped up the hand that clenched the seat between them in an attempt to push the troubled thoughts from her mind.

She stifled a small gasp and looked down at their joined hands. Would she pull away? For a second he held his breath, as if in the presence of a wild animal that might run from him. But when she tangled her fingers with his and looked up at him, she appeared more thoughtful than afraid. Part of him was glad his attempt at reassurance had succeeded, while the other part wondered what the blazes he was about with this lady.