Ready Set Rogue Page 9

  “There are any number of valuable contributions to the subject, but it is impossible to find them when they are interspersed with inferior scholarship that would better be put to use as kindling.” Not looking up from her position seated on the library floor where she was surrounded by uneven stacks of books, Daphne punctuated her remarks by tossing one rather thin volume in the direction of the fireplace.

  Which was also where Sophia happened to be curled up in a chair before the fire, her sketchbook in hand. “Have a care, Lady Disdain,” the artist said with a frown at the floor where the thrown book had landed. “Ducking from flying objects is not one my best skills while I’m drawing. And I’ll thank you to remain in the same general pose, otherwise your portrait will be a complete failure.” Turning to Ivy, who stood at Lord Kerr’s side, she added, “I’m trying to do a study of each of you, to commemorate our first week in Beauchamp House. Perhaps for use later as a series on the Muses. But perhaps not. I don’t know that I will be able to keep Daphne still for long.”

  The marquess stepped forward to peer down at the sketch. “That’s quite good, Miss Hastings,” he said before he could stop himself. Of course it’s good, he thought. His aunt would hardly have invited Miss Hastings here if she were a mere dabbler.

  “My thanks, Lord Kerr,” Sophia said, sharing an unreadable glance with Ivy. “For the compliment and the invitation. But I believe I’ll stay here and capture Daphne while she is somewhat still. She’s given me to understand that once she begins concentrating on the contents of the books themselves, she’ll be a whirlwind of chalk and slate and calculations. Which does not sound conducive to being captured in pencil.”

  * * *

  Thus far, the subterfuge they’d worked out had proved unnecessary since no one had agreed to come with them.

  “Where is Gemma?” Ivy asked, scanning the chamber as if the second Hastings sister was lying prone on the library floor with a book in her hands. “No, let me guess. She’s searching for fossils on the shore.”

  “Of course she is,” Sophia said, not looking up from where her pencil flew across the page. “She was off almost before she’d finished her breakfast. Apparently the tide is out just now so she will be able to examine the cliffs without drowning. Which I must say is a prudent choice. I am not quite convinced she’d have held back from her quest even if the tide was in. My sister on the trail of a fossil sighting is not someone you’d wish to step in the way of.”

  “I daresay that holds true for any of you and your chosen field of study,” Quill said dryly. “I suppose I’m fortunate that Miss Wareham has agreed to give up her first full day at Beauchamp House to accompany me.” He turned to Ivy. “Perhaps you’d rather remain here and explore the various titles and fragments my aunt gathered during her trips to Greece?”

  Ivy gave him a hard look. “You won’t shake me off that easily, my lord. After the past week of rain, I am quite ready for a long walk.” Her silent glance of rebuke told him that she was not amused at his attempt to leave her behind.

  “Where are you planning to go, Miss Wareham?” inquired Serena from the doorway behind them.

  Of course Serena would choose that moment to come upon them, Quill thought with an inward sigh. Which in the general course of things was perfectly fine. But this particular chaperone had known him from childhood. And Serena had suffered enough of her own tragedy that he wanted to protect her from the knowledge that their beloved aunt might not have died of natural causes. It was bad enough to see her stricken look every time Fanning was mentioned. He would not add to her sorrows with the news that her beloved aunt had been murdered until it was absolutely necessary. He’d sent for his cousin Maitland for precisely this reason. If anyone could distract Serena it was her younger brother.

  “Just a trip to the village to post a letter to my family, Lady Serena,” Ivy said brightly. “I know I could send it from here, but I’d like to get to know the village if I’m to be here for a year. And Lord Kerr has kindly agreed to accompany me.”

  Serena cast a knowing glance at her cousin, and Quill found himself feeling guilty for things he’d not even properly imagined yet. Not that he would, he reminded himself firmly. Whatever spark of attraction he might feel for Miss Wareham and her sharp wit was something that he had no intention of acting on—no matter how tempting her habit of biting her lower lip might be.

  “Has he indeed?” Serena asked with raised brows. “How kind of you, Kerr. I had no idea you’d developed such a chivalrous streak.”

  “You pain me, cousin,” he retorted with mock dismay. “I hope I have always behaved like a gentleman, which includes rescuing ladies in need. I seem to recall a couple of times in our youth when I came to your aid when you had need of a champion. Particularly when Lord Henry Threadgill snubbed you at the local assembly.”

  At the mention of Threadgill, Serena’s eyes widened with amused shock. “What a heartless rogue you are to bring him up!” she hissed. “I was desperately in love with Lord Henry Threadgill.”

  “For all of two weeks when you were seventeen,” Quill said with a laugh. “Didn’t he throw you over for Miss Madeline Staynes?”

  “Yes, the lout,” she said with a shake of her head. “And she professed to be my friend. It was a particularly dreadful evening for me. But you saved it by diverting the attention of the tabbies by making a cake of yourself over some local widow.”

  A widow whom he’d bedded not too long after, Quill recalled with wry amusement. Not that Serena had known that.

  But somehow Ivy’s knowing glance at him upon the mention of the widow made Quill feel as if the whole of his youthful affair had already been revealed.

  “Never let it be said that I am not loyal to a family member in distress,” he said with a slight bow. “Now, unless you wish to accompany us, Serena, I think Miss Wareham and I had better set off before the day has got away from us. We don’t wish to miss luncheon, do we Miss Wareham?”

  “Perhaps you’d better have the cook pack you a basket just in case your trip takes longer than you anticipate,” Serena said wryly. “It is already gone eleven. And I do know how you hate to miss a meal, cousin.”

  “An excellent idea,” Quill said. “Why don’t you fetch your cloak and hat, Miss Wareham, and I’ll see about provisions.”

  “Very well,” Ivy responded, looking as if she wanted to say something more. But shaking her head a little, she left and headed toward her chamber.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Serena said in a low voice as Quill moved to leave the library.

  “Always, cousin,” he responded. Though in this particular case, he wasn’t as self-assured as he proclaimed himself to be. There was something about Ivy Wareham that set him off-balance.

  And he’d better figure out a way to keep from falling, else they’d both be facing the consequences.

  * * *

  “You seem to be quite close with your cousin,” Ivy said once she and Quill had set out away from the coast and inland toward the village of Little Seaford, a basket of sandwiches and biscuits swinging from Quill’s arm.

  It was impossible not to notice the resemblance between the cousins. Whereas on Quill the strong nose and dimpled chin were utterly masculine, on Serena they were muted, more delicate. And there was something else there. There was the ease that came of kinship. The same sort of bond that Ivy had with her own siblings.

  “We were close when we were younger,” Quill said as he assisted her up and over a stile. The path from Beauchamp House to the village crossed several fields that were sectioned neatly off with rock walls. “Unfortunately, we lost touch when she married Fanning.”

  Ivy noted the troubled look in his blue eyes as she stepped down and let go of his hand. “Was he as bad as I suspect?” she asked quietly. “I could not help but notice that she goes a little pale every time his name comes up. And your jaw hardens.”

  In her work with the women at the home she’d spoken of earlier, Ivy had become all too familiar
with the signs that marked a woman as having endured some kind of abuse. Whether he’d laid hands on her or not, she suspected that the late Lord Fanning had not been kind to his wife.

  “Likely he was worse than you suspect,” Quill said darkly. “He took a vibrant, amusing, lovely young woman and turned her into a shrinking, tentative creature afraid of her own shadow. That he managed to get himself killed before either Dalton or I was able to do anything about it was his good fortune.”

  Despite her suspicions, it was difficult for Ivy to image the calm, poised Lady Serena as Quill described her. She had shadows around her, true, but she must have healed a great deal to reach her current level of self-possession.

  “Aunt Celeste spent a great deal of time bringing her back to life,” Quill said, guessing at her thoughts. “She invited Serena and Jeremy to stay almost as soon as Fanning was in the ground. And since Beauchamp House had always been a haven for us, she came. Thank god, for I don’t think more time in the Fanning dower house, trapped in isolation, would have done her any good.”

  It was hardly a surprise that Lady Celeste had been instrumental in her niece’s recovery. Every layer that Ivy managed to uncover of the Lady Celeste enigma seemed to reveal another way that the woman had done good. Not for the first time, she regretted that meeting her benefactor had only become possible after her death, through the recollections of others. And Lady Celeste’s own written words. She had no doubt that had she met Lady Celeste in person, she would have admired her even more than she did posthumously.

  “How difficult it must have been for you to stand by while she was mistreated,” Ivy said, knowing instinctively that Quill would not find it easy to let anyone—even her husband—harm someone he loved.

  “If I’d known half of it while he was still alive, I’d have killed him myself,” Quill said grimly. “That is, I’d have killed him after Serena’s brother, the Duke of Maitland, killed him first. Unfortunately, we knew nothing about it for the first several years of their marriage. He was no fool. He hid her away in Yorkshire where we would see nothing amiss. And Serena’s letters were full of happy nonsense. It was only when Aunt Celeste paid a visit to them on her way to Scotland that she learned how bad things were. And by that time Fanning was on his way to the hunting trip that led to him getting shot.”

  “An accident?” Ivy asked.

  “Only if you think it a coincidence that the bullet came from the gun of a man Fanning was cuckolding.” Quill smiled but there was no joy in it. “I suppose Jackson spared us the trouble of calling him out. And because they were hunting at the time, the magistrate ruled it an accident. Though I have my doubts.”

  “I suppose Lady Serena was lucky to have such concerned family,” Ivy said, reflecting that most of the women she knew in Oxford who suffered at their husband’s hands had no such recourse for escape. “And I hadn’t thought Lady Celeste could rise any higher in my estimation, but every new thing I learn makes me wish again that she had invited us here while she was still alive.”

  “She would certainly have liked you,” Quill said with a fond smile. “Which I suppose she knew, otherwise why leave her home to you. Though I dislike her decision, of course, I can understand it somewhat more after getting to know you a little better.”

  Ivy looked up and saw that he was being entirely serious. “Is it possible that Lord Kerr has decided to stop fighting against his aunt’s wishes?” she asked, with playful astonishment. But though she was mocking him a little, she was surprised that he’d come around so quickly.

  Not looking at her, Quill squinted across the field before them. “Not precisely,” he answered, his eyes serious. “I don’t believe I will ever forgive her for bequeathing the house outside the family.”

  At his words, Ivy felt a pang of disappointment. She’d been foolish to think that he’d change his mind so precipitately.

  “I cannot ignore my aunt’s decision to inform you of her suspicions about being in danger, however,” he said grudgingly. “For some reason, despite the kinship I felt with her thanks to the summers I spent here as a child, she chose to tell you rather than me.” His jaw clenched and Ivy felt a pang of compassion for him. It must have been hard for him to know that in her time of need his aunt had not come to him for help.

  Neither had Serena, come to think of it.

  She suspected he was not a man to take such matters lightly. His next words confirmed it.

  “I may not like what my aunt did in leaving Beauchamp House to you all, but what’s done is done. And since I was unable to help her while she was alive, I must do whatever I can to do so now she’s gone. And if that means working together with her chosen one, then I will do it. I must, if I do not wish to fail her again.”

  Ivy was silent for a moment, the anguish in his eyes making her own burn with emotion. Not only had he failed to protect his own sister from her husband’s abuse, he hadn’t even known that his beloved aunt was in trouble until it was far, far too late. In his position, Ivy would have been wracked with guilt too. And with resentment for the usurper his aunt had chosen in his place.

  It was a wonder he’d agreed to work with her at all.

  “I’m sure she valued your relationship as much as you did,” Ivy said aloud, unable to hold back the impulse to lay a light hand on his arm. At the contact, his eyes flew to hers. She felt her breath catch at the flash of fire there. But just as quickly it was gone, and by the time she’d pulled her hand back he was looking ahead of them again.

  “I know she did,” he said tightly as they neared another stile. “And I daresay she chose not to tell either Dalton or me about her fears because she didn’t wish us to do something rash. As you might have guessed, we can be a little ferocious when someone we care about is endangered.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Ivy said with a wink as she glanced down from atop the stile. He stood on the other side, waiting for her to descend, and for a moment she wondered if he would catch her if she jumped. He must have read the thought in her eyes, for he extended his arms at the ready.

  Before she could check herself, Ivy leapt, and found herself pulled up close against a hard male body. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his intoxicating scent of sandalwood, grass, and fresh sea air. Opening her eyes, she saw his face only inches from hers. And noted those tiny details only this sort of closeness revealed: the shadow of his beard, which was dark despite the lighter hints in his windswept hair, and the tiny lines that fanned out from the outer corners of his eyes. Eyes as blue as the sky above them, and looking at her with what she knew instinctively was not simple friendship.

  “Easy,” he said, his breath soft on the skin of her cheek as he pulled her closer infinitesimally before just as quickly setting her firmly back onto her own two feet. “You shouldn’t take risks like that. What if I hadn’t caught you?”

  But she knew from the way his eyes twinkled that he would have sooner cut off a limb than let her fall. This man, for all his faults, took his role of protector quite seriously. For whatever reason, he’d decided it was his duty to protect her. And despite her innate sense of self-sufficiency, Ivy found it a little intoxicating.

  “But you did,” she said with a cheeky grin.

  And stepping out ahead of him, she followed the path forward, able to see the village just over the next rise.

  Chapter 12

  The village of Little Seaford was situated to the east of Beauchamp House, farther inland. The office of Dr. Henry Vance was indeed near the blacksmith, and as they passed that establishment, they could hear the sound of metal striking metal.

  “It does not look as if the good doctor is hurting for business,” Quinn said dryly as he noted the newly painted exterior of the row house where the physician’s office made its home. In addition, a shiny new plaque hung by the door, informing them that they were in the right spot.

  A brisk knock on the door produced a mobcapped maid, who upon learning Quinn’s identity informed them that the doctor was indeed in and invited them
inside. If the exterior was impressive, that was nothing when compared to the interior, which boasted carpets at least as fine as those in Beauchamp House and, if Quill wasn’t mistaken, a small seascape by Turner hanging prominently in the little parlor where he and Ivy were shown.

  “I’m not sure what I expected,” Ivy said, holding her hands before the fire burning merrily in the hearth, “but I had thought a village doctor so near the coast would be used to a more democratic clientele. I cannot imagine the local fisherman find all this finery comforting.”

  “I daresay he has another space for seeing patients,” Quill said, examining what looked to be a primitive medical instrument hanging on the wall. “And of course his more-elevated patients he doubtless sees in their own homes, as he did with Aunt Celeste.”

  The walk had left Ivy with pink cheeks, and her russet hair, which had been neatly coiled around her head when they set out, was desperately trying to escape its pins. He watched, transfixed, as she rose from the fire and attempted to tidy herself, smoothing a hand over her hair, pulling down the cuffs of her hunter green pelisse.

  Sensing his scrutiny, she glanced up, and they locked eyes for a moment. If possible, her cheeks turned even redder, and to Quill’s anguish and delight, she bit down on her lower lip before she seemed to snap out of it and looked away. “I must look a fright,” she said tersely, turning away from him to look out the window that overlooked the street below.

  He opened his mouth to correct her, but was forestalled by the opening of the door to reveal the maid with a tea tray. “Dr. Vance will just be a few minutes longer, my lord,” she said, curtsying once she’d set down the heavy tray. “He asked me to bring up some refreshments for you and the lady while you wait.”

  “How lovely,” Ivy said with a warm smile. “It was a bit cooler out today than I’d anticipated and a hot cup of tea is just what I was wishing for. Thank you so much … I’m sorry but I don’t know your name?”

  Dropping a slightly shallower curtsy, the maid said, “You’re very welcome, miss. And it’s Daisy.”