Too Hot For A Rake (13 page)

Still sulking, Waverley said not a word, nor did he deign to assist his grandmother, which infuriated Helena.

She went out of her way to pass him and knocked his wine goblet over, spilling the red wine on his trousers in the process. “Oh dear. How clumsy of me. Beg pardon, sir.” She never looked back as they left the dining room.

Monday, the Twenty-seventh of April, 1818

“Mr. Rupert Cullum, milord.”

“Show him in, Paynter.”

The young man entered and bowed to the marquis. “Good morning, my lord.”

Waverley smiled at the nineteen-year-old lad he’d engaged as his secretary. Cullum was neatly dressed in a fawn-colored vest and buckskin trousers, a starched white shirt and neck cloth, and a dark blue coat. The young man’s brown locks were under control, his eager blue eyes alert.

“I’ll have no formality here, Rupert. Leave off ‘milord’ this or ‘your lordship’ that, and no scraping and bowing, if you please. I give you leave to address me as sir and I shall call you Rupert.”

The young man grinned in approval. “Yes, sir. What have you in mind for me today?”

Waverley waved a hand over his cluttered desk. “As you can see, you have your work cut out for you, Rupert, for I’ve no tolerance for this. Your office is through that door. Spend your first day sorting this dreadful pile on my desk and make a list of questions I may or may not be able to answer.” He rose from his seat. “As for me, I am taking the day off.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to serve you.”

Waverley nodded and wasted no time in leaving his unfinished business to the eager young man’s care.

When he entered his chamber, he said to his valet, “Have you notified Casper?”

“Yes, your lor’sheep. Riding clothes ready, too.”

“You are a prince, Rabu. Help me change.”

“Mornin’, milady.”

Helena shaded her eyes from the sun pouring through her window. She rose from her bed and put on the dressing gown Amy held. “Thank you, dear.”

Her eyes swept the chamber, such a disaster when first she saw it. She gazed at the washstand, noting with approval the clean towels awaiting her morning wash. Next to the stand, her riding dress and undergarments were laid carefully upon a chair, while her boots rested on the floor, all expertly prepared by her abigail. Peace reigned between them after that ill-advised scold she’d given Amy. Helena sat at the small table in front of the fire and sipped her chocolate. “When I return from my ride, I’ll wear the yellow muslin.”

“I’ll have it ready for you, milady.”

When she descended the grand staircase on her way to the stables, the first person she encountered was the under maid named Nell, who was polishing the banister. She wore a clean white apron over her gown and a starched white cap on her head.

Nell stopped to curtsey. “Mornin’, milady.”

“Morning, Nell.” Helena bit her lip to keep from letting out a whoop of joy at this sign of improvement. At the bottom of the staircase, she turned toward the front door, where Paynter was waiting. Two footmen dressed in the Waverley colors held open the heavy oak doors.

She stepped outside expecting to find Casper holding the reins. In his stead, the marquis waited. “Morning, ma’am. Mind if I join you this morning?” Without waiting for an answer, he lifted her into her saddle.

“It appears I have no choice, my lord.”

“If riding with me is not to your liking, I’ll escort you to the stables and you may ride with Casper.”

“No. I’ll ride with you this morning, sir. It wouldn’t do to make a fuss in front of the servants.” She snapped her reins and bent to the wind.

They rode side by side until they reached the narrow lane at the end of the drive. Waverley gave way and allowed her to lead. When the road widened again, he pulled up to her and signaled her to stop.

“What is it, my lord?”

“Can we walk for a bit? I’d like to talk to you.”

“I usually dismount when we reach the stream where the horses may drink. It’s little more than a mile from here.” She rode on ahead.

He followed, a sheepish grin on his face.
I suppose I deserved that set down. She’s giving me back my own. Makes it hard for me to apologize. Makes it even harder for me to win her trust back. If I didn’t know myself better, I’d wager my blunt on the feisty lady. But she doesn’t know I have the advantage of more experience. Interesting. We’ll see who wins this skirmish.

Helena needed no help to dismount. She dismounted, threw her long train over one arm, and walked her horse to the stream. The marquis followed her.

“Casper and I ride to the beach after the horses rest, but if you are in a hurry to return…”

“We’ll take your customary route.”

“Are you sure?” she challenged. “That’s where I first met the earl. Suppose we meet him again? What then, my lord?”

Waverley understood he was being tested. “I won’t embarrass you with any untoward behavior, Helena. Nor will I disrupt your morning ride more than I already have. I want to apologize to you. You could not have known how I felt about Glynhaven. I cannot trust him, but that’s another matter. In spite of my feelings, I do intend to escort you and Grandmother to his dinner. I’ll behave like a gentleman. You have my word.”

He dropped to one knee. “Though I don’t deserve it, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“You have a hot temper, my lord. You may rise, for I accept your apology. Perhaps some day you might tell me why you despise the earl.”

He caught her hand in his. “My name is Desmond,” he said softly. “Have I forfeited the right to hear it on your lips once more?”

“Let go of my hand, Desmond.”

He laughed and let her go. “Friends again?”

“Friends,” she agreed, smiling for the first time that morning. “Can you satisfy my curiosity?”

“Anything in my power, friend.” He took his coat off and spread it on the ground. “Won’t you sit?”

She settled herself and leaned against the tree behind her. “What caused such a rift between you and Glynhaven?”

He paused. “I told you that I bedded a country lass from Sennen Cove. When she found herself with child, she knew it could not have been me, for we had long since ceased our dalliance. She was seeing Glynhaven, but he denied it, pointing the finger at me instead. My father believed his story over mine and bought off the farmer to avoid scandal. It caused a rift between my father and me—one past healing now that he is dead.”

“Unfortunate for you that it is beyond healing.”

“That wound shall never heal, which is why I cannot let go of my anger toward Glynhaven.”

She could not bear the pain she saw in his eyes and changed the subject. “I overheard something quite by accident. It concerns the Traskers.”

“What has that odious pair done now?”

She launched into a brief description of the conversation she’d heard.

“I suspected they were up to no good. This merely confirms it. I can well defend myself, but I can’t guarantee your safety. Perhaps you ought to return home to London.”

“Not on your life! If you think those two can scare me off, you’re wrong. Each day that I correct the work Mrs. Trasker has neglected is a victory for me. I’ll return to London in time for my sister Georgiana’s debut, by which time I shall have finished what I set out to do. We Fairchilds do not give up, sir.”

He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “All right, but you must be careful what you are about. Perhaps I should engage a bodyguard to watch over you.”

“Don’t you dare! I’m not a weakling.”

“As you wish.”

In the hope of finding some information that would lead to ridding himself of the Traskers, the next day the marquis stole away at dawn and rode into Sennen Cove. He threw the reins of his horse to the stable boy at the Ship Inn, strolled into the taproom and ordered breakfast. A good thing, too, as it turned out, for the men eating in the taproom were full of talk about the latest shipwreck.

Waverley’s dress—buckskins, a woolen shirt any craftsman might wear, a warm country vest and scuffed boots—gave no clue to his identity, which made it easy to listen without raising suspicion.

“That warn’t no natural shipwreck, I say. No survivors? Hah! Means smugglers from outside are back at it again doin’ their dirty deeds so none are alive to point the finger at ’em.”

“Right you are, Ned. No decent Cornishman would kill for cargo.”

“Black Bart never did. He was a gennelman, he was.”

“Had an eye for pretty lassies, too. Ask any Cornish maiden hereabouts.”

The raucous guffaws this provoked gave Waverley time to pay his shot and slip out of the inn without notice. He began his trek toward the beach, his hobnailed boots clicking on the stones. He’d taken a pick and an ordinance map in his rucksack, though he fancied he remembered every cliff by heart. He’d instructed Rabu to say he was going to look for fossils.

In truth, he needed to get away for a time. He needed to sort out his feelings about Helena. He needed to think about the inescapable duties that stretched before him like a death sentence.

It was Helena who invaded his thoughts most. She had become a thorn in his side. What was she to him? His judge? His conscience? His love? He was angry with her for forcing him to meet Glynhaven, the man who had driven him into exile.

He reached the end of the lane where shops gave way to white cottages with thatched roofs. Yellow daffodils and lavender irises colored the paths inside white picket fences leading to red front doors. Beyond the cottages the lane wound its way toward a footpath down to the sea.

As he climbed down, he breathed in the sharp smell of salt air, sweet to his nostrils. When he reached the bottom, he stopped to examine a blowhole, one of the favorite haunts of his boyhood. When the tide rolled in, he and his friends would ride the water spouting up, pretending they rode on the back of a giant whale. The lads played until it was time for them to return home, where chores awaited his friends, while Waverley trudged home to his solitary dinner in the schoolroom. The tide was out today and the hole a gaping pit as empty as his troubled soul.

How could he have been such a fool? He had no cause to berate Helena for accepting Glynhaven’s invitation, for she could not possibly have known of the bad blood between them.

Waverley took the blame for Glynhaven’s misdeed as a matter of honor. Waverley’s father had told often enough how necessary that trait was for a man who would one day be marquis. Yet his father chose to believe Glynhaven rather than his only son. Waverley had expected Glynhaven to come forward and admit he had impregnated the farmer’s daughter. Apparently, the earl had no conscience then, perhaps not now as well.

He pushed these thoughts out of his mind and trained his eyes on the shoreline. Nothing seemed to have changed. The wind kicked up from the sea and turned the air frigid, but breathing in the salt air seemed to cleanse that dark place inside him. A seagull swooped down for its prey. Petrels dove into the water for their supper as well, then soared back into the air in a graceful ballet.

Waverley climbed up and began to edge along the narrow cliffs, his eyes searching the ground for signs of traffic beyond the ordinary, hoping to find a clue to the shipwreck he’d heard talk of at the inn. The marquis suspected the Traskers of having their hand in the nasty business. He would find the proof in these cliffs if he was right. He came to the yawning mouth of one of the caves where contraband had often been stored until it was safe to sell it free of taxation.

He and his mates knew where the smugglers hid the cargo after a shipwreck. His father knew also but had turned a blind eye to it, for he enjoyed as well as the next man the gift of wine and brandy from France and tea from India that somehow found its way into his cellars—in exchange for keeping his mouth shut. His grandfather had also enjoyed such gifts. Where was their honor?

He came upon a familiar cave whose mouth was narrow. He knew it led to an underground harbor deep enough for a rowboat when the tide was high. Contraband had been stored here when he was a lad. Perhaps it still was. Waverley removed a candle from his sack and lit it with his flint.

When he crawled in, he searched deep inside only to be disappointed. There was no evidence of hidden cargo. Unfortunate, but there were hundreds of caves hidden along the coast.

When Casper rode up to the front door with milady’s horse, Helena’s heart fell, for she had been expecting Waverley. She changed her mind and decided against riding at all that morning. “Looks like rain, Casper. Stable the horses, will you? I won’t ride today after all.”

She turned and smiled at the butler, who held the door open for her. “Rain,” she apologized, feeling foolish. She would have ridden in a downpour if Waverley had ridden up instead of Casper.

“She handed Paynter her whip and her hat, threw her train over her arm, and made her way to the kitchen.

Cook looked up from trussing her chickens and wiped her hands on her apron. “Milady?”

“Morning, Cook. Looks like rain. I won’t ride this morning after all.”

“Would you like some hot chocolate, milady? I’ve fresh scones just out of the oven.”

Helena laughed. “How did you guess? You know, I have a little sister who would adore you, ma’am. Jane loves to eat scones and you bake the best I’ve ever tasted. Yes to the chocolate, but no to the scones, dear. I shan’t be able to fit into my gowns if you persist in feeding me too well.”

“Sit yourself down, milady, whilst I run down to the cellar and get some more cocoa powder.”

“Cellar? One of the few areas I haven’t visited. I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure, milady? It’s terrible drafty down there, and full of dust. Haven’t enough hands to give it a thorough cleaning, which it needs, heaven knows.”

Helena smiled to herself. Cook’s remark was a sly request for more kitchen help. “Then we must hire more help as soon as we can, Cook. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Cook took the cellar key from its hook, lit a candle, and beckoned Helena to follow. “Careful on the steps, milady. They’re worn thin and cracked in places.”

Helena made a mental note to have them repaired. When she reached the bottom step, she sneezed from the dust.

“P’raps you ought to return, milady. I’ll get the cocoa and…”

“No. I’m fine.” She took the candle from Cook and inspected the huge cellar. “Where does that door lead?” Helena pointed to a door on the left.