A Lady in Disguise Page 11

  “Dear God, James!” Robert’s feet slammed to the floor with a crack. “That is hardly reforming her and seeing her out of the business!”

  “She wouldn’t be ‘in the business.’ And it would be a lot less risky. There would no longer be any worry of her identity being discovered.”

  “Oh no, everyone would know who she was—and that she was your lover,” the other man pointed out.

  “We could be discreet.”

  “Discreet? James, do you hear yourself? Think of Gerald, man!”

  That gave James pause. Gerald, with his sweet stories about his sweet sister. His little Maggie with her sharp mind and pretty face. Gerald had left out mention of her delectable body, he thought bitterly. Perhaps, had he prepared James for—

  “Gerald saved your life.”

  James grimaced at Robert’s condemnation. He could have done without the reminder of what he owed Wentworth.

  “He wouldn’t want his sister to be your mistress.”

  “Not even to get her out of Dubarry’s?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Robert said firmly. “Use your head, Ramsey. You are supposed to be finding a solution to this problem, not becoming a part of it.”

  James accepted that, then glared at the other man. “Well, then I suggest you come up with something, because I am at a loss as to what to do with the woman. All I can think about when she is around is—”

  “Her cinnamon nipples?” Lord Mullin inserted with dry amusement. “I shall give the matter serious consideration.”

  James grunted at the promise, but Robert ignored his pessimism.

  “I will come up with something. In the meantime, it would appear that you are somewhat overly tempted by the girl. Therefore, you should avoid her as much as possible. In fact, why do you not stay for dinner? A little time and distance might help get her out of your system.”

  James hesitated, then nodded in agreement. It certainly sounded a better idea than sitting about gaping at Lady Margaret like some lovestruck pup.

  Chapter Seven

  Maggie stared out over the gardens. It was a lovely day. The sun was shining brightly on the multicolored roses along the path she was walking, but with her mind taken up with thoughts of her irritating host, she hardly noticed. She was beginning to believe another escape attempt would be necessary.

  Unnaturally weary after their encounter in the library, Maggie had asked that her lunch be brought to her room. She’d wanted to avoid another tiring clash. Yet, by the time dinner rolled around, she’d recovered and been all girded for battle. The dratted man had muddled her plan by not showing up. She had eaten the meal alone—if one could call being surrounded by an army of servants, ‘alone’—and, much to her alarm, Maggie had found herself missing the presence of the arrogant ass. Worse, assuring herself that her reaction was only due to restless boredom had not assuaged her fears.

  The way her spirits had fallen this morning, when Annie announced Lord Ramsey would not be down to breakfast, had only exacerbated her annoyance. The maid had imparted, “his lordship returned quite late from Lord Mullin’s estate.” The girl hadn’t said so, but the disapproving look she’d worn had made Maggie suspect the man had returned well sotted, which would explain his absence.

  It did not, however, explain the unnatural attachment she seemed to be acquiring for her captor. She didn’t understand it herself. She found James Huttledon irritating and arrogant. Yet there was no denying he was attractive, and there was a certain spice to sparring with him. Maggie felt alert and on edge whenever she was around him, much as she did during her escapades as G. W. Clark. It was as if she were indulging in something a little risky and dangerous just by being near him, and that sensation was intensely titillating. Which made her worry that her choice of employment was beginning to affect her adversely; perhaps she was becoming addicted to risk.

  Maggie had found herself asking Annie questions about Lord Ramsey as the maid fixed her hair that morning. She’d learned that, much to her relief, the man was not married and never had been. He was the eldest of two children. His younger sister, Sophie, had been married two years earlier to Lord Prescott. Their parents had been lost at sea while both children were quite young, leaving them to be raised by their aunt and uncle. The uncle had died in his sleep while James was away at war, but his aunt Vivian, Lady Barlow, was still alive and well.

  That had been the sum of what she had managed to learn, but the very fact that she had felt moved to ask was troublesome, to say the least. She didn’t wish to like Lord Ramsey. Perhaps if he were not quite so obviously disapproving of her recent choices, if he weren’t so stodgy and traditional, she would not mind so much. But there was really no sense in becoming attached to a man who looked down on her for working for a living. Once she convinced him that she did not need his interference in her life, Maggie doubted she would ever see the man again. They did not move in the same circles. Not anymore at least; she could no longer afford to.

  Maggie wasn’t one to yearn after things she couldn’t have, so there was no sense at all in being the least bit interested in Lord Ramsey—she had repeated that to herself throughout her solitary breakfast. It was also what she was reminding herself of now as she wandered through Ramsey’s gardens. She was a sensible girl and would behave accordingly.

  Now all she needed was to convince the man to return her home so she could get on with her life.

  “Would you care to break your fast now, my lord?”

  James waved Webster’s question away, continuing down the hall and out of the house, pausing only to snatch his hat and cape from the rack as he went. He had no interest in food this morning. All he truly wanted was some fresh air. He needed to clear his head. Avoiding his unhappy houseguest wasn’t a bad idea, either. At least until Lord Mullin arrived with his promised solutions.

  He recalled very little of the strategy session they had attempted last night after the fine meal Robert’s staff had served. Most of what he remembered was that Lord Mullin still had the finest port in England. Unfortunately, that was mostly because it was having an unpleasant effect on him this morning. His hangover was the reason he felt a nice walk through the gardens was in order. Such exercise would serve to remove the last of the effects of the port pounding at his head, as well as keep him out of Lady Margaret’s way until reinforcements arrived.

  He would also keep Gerald firmly in mind, James decided as he walked along the garden path. That should help keep him from being tempted to seek out the girl. Satisfied with his strategy, he nodded to himself, then lifted his head just in time to keep from crashing into the back of the very woman he was trying to avoid.

  Damn, was his impotent thought as she turned with a start.

  His second reaction was to reassure himself that he should remain calm. It was broad daylight. They were out in the open. All he had to do was keep Gerald in mind, and he could keep himself restrained. He had not acted on his rather lusty thoughts ere this, and there was no reason to think he might now. Somehow, though, it seemed harder not to act on such thoughts now that he was admitting having them.

  It wasn’t as if there was the usual invisible barrier of the girl being pure and untried, some dark part of his mind pointed out, weakening his resolve. And she did look lovely in that delicate little white gown. It emphasized her false air of innocence. It even almost made James forget how she had looked the night he had swept her from Madame Dubarry’s: her hair had not been piled atop her head then as it was now, but had tumbled about her shoulders in golden disarray as if she were fresh from bed. Which she had been, of course. And her skin had seemed lustrous through the gauzy red material of—

  Damn! He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of such things, James reminded himself. He wouldn’t think of such things!

  Maggie was a bit disconcerted to find the focus of her contemplation appear before her as if conjured by her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and prepared for a continuation of their previous st
ruggles. She had no doubt there would be a continuation, the man was like a dog with a bone when it came to the matter of her career. One would think she were prostituting herself, the way he carried on. However, despite her attraction to him—or perhaps because of it—Maggie was determined that today she would convince him to give up this ridiculous task he had set himself, and make him return her to her life and home.

  She opened her mouth to fire the first salvo, only to pause as she noticed the way the man was staring at her. The oddest expressions were flitting across his face. She was becoming quite uncomfortable in her thin white gown when he seemed to realize that he was gaping. Forcing a smile, he straightened and offered a quiet “Good morning.”

  Gesturing for her to continue walking he fell into step, and they walked in silence for several moments before he attempted to break it. “It is a chill day,” he murmured finally.

  Maggie felt herself relax. It appeared they would discuss the weather and refrain from butting heads. Clearing her throat, she managed a smile and a nod. “Aye. It is a bit chilly today, my lord. It was lovely just a moment ago, but now a cloud seems to have appeared to hide the sun. Thus it is growing a bit chilly.” She realized the truth of it even as she spoke. The sun was hidden behind a large, fluffy cloud and, without it’s warmth, the temperature had dropped several degrees. She began to wish that she had taken the cape Annie had offered her for this walk. Maggie had accepted the hat and gloves, but had thought a cape much too heavy for such a lovely morning. But then, the sun had still been shining.

  “Hmm.”

  The sound drew her attention to her host. Noting the fretful expression on his face, she felt a smile curl her lip. That one comment on the weather appeared to be the extent of conversation that Lord Ramsey could manage this morning. The realization brought her some amusement as silence fell over them again. Crossing her arms and grimacing, she rubbed her hands lightly over her forearms in an effort to brush off the morning chill. It was a wholly unconscious movement, one she became aware of only when Lord Ramsey removed his cloak and draped it about her shoulders.

  Maggie accepted the garment uncomfortably. When she then suggested they turn back to the house, he agreed in silence, taking her arm to lead her. They had nearly reached the doors to his library before he spoke again, the words bursting forth this time as if they simply could not be held in.

  “How can you stand it?”

  “Stand what, my lord?” she asked with bewilderment.

  “What you do,” he explained. “How can you bear it?”

  Maggie turned to peer at him curiously, surprised at his true confusion and the almost pained expression on his face. He awaited her answer. Was he truly so perplexed that she could do what she did? She had to wonder a little impatiently what little lords were taught about women while growing up. Why was it so painful for him to consider that she willingly wrote articles for the Daily Express?

  She forced herself to temper her irritation. After all, most of the ton would be shocked by a male member of the nobility writing such “rubbish.” She supposed it was not so surprising that he would be horrified by the idea that a female member did. Sighing in acknowledgment of that, she turned to continue on toward the house. She had exited the manor via the doors to the salon, but he was steering her to the library, which was closer and more convenient.

  “I can stand it because I quite like it, actually,” she answered.

  “You like it,” he repeated not sounding at all happy. Maggie paused again to glance at him. He had stopped walking once more and was looking as miserable as he sounded. It was an exaggerated reaction, in her opinion, and she scowled before turning to stomp the last few steps to the glass doors.

  “Aye. I enjoy it,” she snapped. Tugging the door open with more force than was warranted, in her irritation, she strode inside and up to his desk. There she whirled to find him entering behind her, his expression verging on disgust. Maggie felt her chin lift defiantly as they faced each other. “I have always had a curious mind, and wondered about such things.”

  He continued to stare at her with that fascinated yet repulsed expression, and Maggie’s mouth tightened. She would wager all the money she had been paid for her last article that he enjoyed pastimes like gambling and racing and such as well as talking about them afterward as G. W. Clark did in his article. Apparently a female such as herself admitting that she had enjoyed similar escapades was somehow grossly offensive to him however. The hypocrite!

  “Oh, come now, my lord,” she chided, tugging off her gloves with a series of impatient jerks on the fingertips. “I have heard a lot of puritanical types harp on about this, but I would never have taken you for a puritan or a prude. Surely you will not tell me that you have not had your own curiosities about such things? That you have secretly enjoyed—”

  “I will not deny it,” James interrupted quickly, unwilling to hear Maggie actually voice what she had done in that brothel. He was already alarmingly excited at this vague discussion; should she start to describe the things she enjoyed in detail . . .

  His gaze slipped over her figure in the soft white gown she wore beneath his open cloak. He had thought it very demure when his sister wore it. Unfortunately, on his guest it seemed subtly seductive. Or maybe that was the fault of the recurring images he kept having of her from the night he’d kidnapped her. It was hard to forget the curves he’d held in his arms, the breasts the gown had seemed only to emphasize in the gloom of the carriage. Even Margaret’s innocent face had seemed seductive behind the red mask, framed as it was by her mussed flaxen hair. One’s eyes had been forced to her sweet, swollen lips. While every single one of the borrowed gowns this woman had worn had only hinted at those charms, his mind filled in the blanks repeatedly and often, torturing him with that image and the knowledge of her lost virtue.

  Feeling his sex harden at the thought, he straightened, his lips compressed. He forced out the words: “I realize that there is great pleasure to be found in such endeavors, but—”

  “There, you see.” She turned from setting her gloves on his desktop to beam at him. Her delight in eliciting such a confession from him was obvious. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in admitting to it, my lord,” she went on gently, turning to move behind his desk. “My brother enjoyed it a great deal, too. I begin to think there may be a bit of the adventurer in our family blood. He was quite taken with the entire thing. I know.”

  James was shocked, and he asked carefully, “You mean with the brothel?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, he was quite well acquainted with Madame Dubarry,” she admitted. “It was through him, indirectly, that I met her.”

  “Through him?” James repeated in horror as he followed her around the desk.

  Maggie turned, startled when she found him standing directly behind her. She frowned. “Well, yes. Not directly, you understand. But she came to see me after he died. They had been friends and she—”

  “Suggested you go to her brothel?”

  “No.” Maggie’s expression grew distracted as her eyes focused on his mouth. He felt her gaze there as an almost physical touch. They were only inches apart, and James became aware that he was crowding her, that she was leaning back slightly because of it, but he couldn’t seem to move away. Her chest was rising and falling at an accelerated rate. Her mouth parted, and he nearly groaned when her tongue slid out to wet her lips. It appeared a wholly unconscious action, but knowing her career, James found that difficult to credit. She was a skilled seductress, and there was no question in his mind that he would be easily seduced.

  “Uh . . .” Maggie cleared her throat suddenly, and gave a little shake of her head as if to clear it. Then she said, “Nay. She did not wish me to visit the brothel. She thought it was terribly risky.”

  “The woman has more sense than I thought,” James muttered as the tension eased between them.

  Maggie rolled her eyes before rushing on, “But I assured her it would be fine, that I would wear a disg
uise. No one would ever find out.”

  “But they did,” James argued.

  “Yes, well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” she admitted with obvious resignation.

  Taking a deep breath, Maggie forced a smile, then shrugged philosophically and raised her hands to remove the silly little feathered hat that matched her gown.

  Lord Ramsey still stood distressingly close, and showed no desire to move away as he asked, “And that is all you have to say? There is no shame?”

  Maggie stiffened at the question, the hat half-off her head. “Why should I be ashamed? I realize that earning one’s way in the world is frowned on by the ton, but then few of them have to earn their livelihoods. And many of them don’t care what happens to their servants. Besides, I assure you my brother would not have been ashamed. I suspect the only reason he kept his own behavior secret was to protect me from any taint.”

  Lord Ramsey waved away her comment impatiently as he removed his hat and reached around to set it on the desk behind her. “It is different for a man,” he said.

  “Oh?” she asked archly. She drew her hands down between them, her hat clutched in her tense fingers. “How so?” Lord Ramsey frowned, but she continued, “You disappoint me, my lord. I hoped you would be different. That you would not hold men up to one standard and women to another. I thought you an intelligent man.”

  He squirmed at the rebuke, and Maggie was pleased to see indecision in his eyes, but then he gave a small shake of the head. “I am sorry, Margaret. I guess I find it hard to believe that you actually enjoyed your foray into the brothel.”

  Maggie caught her breath in surprise. This was the first time that Lord Ramsey had called her by her given name and the tone he had used while addressing her was almost gentle. Biting her lip, she confessed what she would have refused to before. “I didn’t. Well, perhaps I did at first. But by the end, I just wanted to get out.”