Always a Scoundrel (25 page)

“Yes, Mama.” Rose finished fastening on her necklace and wished that her mother would stop hovering in her bedchamber doorway. The idea that she was somehow getting her own way in this was ridiculous—though if she had any say in the matter, she intended to do just that. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t marry Cosgrove, and she wouldn’t have to flee to the countryside.

Except that she wasn’t entirely certain this world was anywhere near to perfection. And she did have one reason still to marry the marquis, and that was to protect Bram. She’d meant it when she’d said that she wouldn’t flee without him—whether the robberies had anything to do with her or not. He’d been hurt, and he’d reacted very, very badly to it. Surely the hope and the help he’d given her outweighed a handful of petty thefts.

“Come along, Rose,” Beatrice called from halfway down the stairs. “When Fiona says we should arrive at seven o’clock, you know she means half six.”

“Yes, Bea.” Fiona, Lady Thwayne, did like to pretend that her dinner parties were far more important than they were. And for the first time Rose hadn’t changed anyone’s clocks, so her mother had been ready for an hour, Bea was still changing hats in the foyer, and James was dozing in the billiards room. And she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about any of it.

Her mother and Bea continued chattering away as they waited in the foyer for her father to drag James down the stairs. Thankfully the two of them didn’t allow a space for anyone else to interject, because Rose was far too distracted with her own thoughts to pay much attention to their conversation.

Only a very thin barrier of hope and faith lay between her and absolute panic. She believed that Bram would do everything possible to set things right. She still had to wonder, though, whether he could accomplish it in three days, and whether he could do so without destroying himself.

His well-being seemed to consume her now. As much as she’d wanted to do the right thing and remain to see her own family protected, she’d ultimately decided to save herself. And now she’d turned around and put herself back into harm’s way again in order to give him the chance to prove himself—and to keep
him
safe. Life was a blasted, twisted muddle.

And because she’d begun to feel unaccountably optimistic and happy at moments when she least expected either feeling, something was bound to go horribly wrong.

At that moment she paused halfway into the coach. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a shadowed form at the side of the house. He shifted a little, motioning her toward the stable yard.
Bram
.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, returning to the house. “I want my other wrap.”

“Hurry, Rose, for goodness’ sake. I don’t wish to be late.”

“Yes, Bea.”

She rushed through the house. Had something gone wrong? Had he come to tell her they’d run out of time and needed to flee after all? Had he decided to join her? She almost hoped so. A lifetime with Bram, even in hiding and in sin, seemed so much better than the future her parents had planned for her.

Just outside the kitchen door, Bram grabbed her arm
and turned her to face him. Before she could draw a breath, he closed his mouth over hers in a delirious, heart-stopping kiss.

Rose leaned up into him, wrapping one hand into his lapel and tangling the other into his hair. When had it happened, that no matter what lay around her, touching Bram Johns made her heart soar?

“Hello,” he murmured after a moment, nipping breath-stealing kisses against her lips.

“Hello.” Oh, she didn’t want to ask if something had gone badly. “What brings you here?” she settled for.

He kissed her again. “You do. I want you, Rosamund.”

She shivered deliciously. “I’m expected at the coach.”

“Yes, I saw that.” He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Good thing, since I was about to climb through your window again. Where are you off to?”

“One of Beatrice’s friends is holding a dinner. They’re terribly pretentious, but she insisted that I come. I think Bea told her I’m to marry Cosgrove, and now Fiona feels threatened because I’ve netted a marquis, and she only managed a viscount.”

“You are not about to marry a marquis.”

He said it so…possessively. Coming from someone—anyone—else it would have alarmed her, but several times now she’d argued against what he wanted, and he’d given in. She didn’t think anyone had ever chosen her wants and needs over their own before. For a long moment she simply looked at him, his intelligent black eyes, lean, handsome features, the excitement and growing amusement in his gaze. Rose furrowed her brow. “What’s happened?”

“I have the money.”

His words took a heartbeat or two to sink in. “You have…you have the money,” she whispered, her voice suddenly shaking.

Bram nodded, grinning. The unaccustomed expression lit up his face, lifting him from handsome to—to something that pulled at her heart. “Not all to hand, or I would have called at your front door with it. But August’s agreed to lend me eight thousand quid in the morning. With the blunt I already have, it’s enough to repay Cosgrove and whatever interest he’s likely to demand.”

“You have the money,” she said again, more strongly. A hundred pounds of sand lifted from her shoulders. She pulled him down to kiss him over and over, the heat, the fire, rising in her.

He’d done it. He’d saved her. Abruptly realizing what her sudden affection must seem like to a hardened rake like him, though, she pulled back.

“I’m not kissing you because you have the money,” she stammered, flushing. “I mean, I am, but it’s not—well, it is, of course, but—”

“You’re relieved,” he broke in, still smiling. “And you’re happy. There’s no fault in that. And frankly, Rosamund, I just enjoy kissing you.”

Something else abruptly began to pinch at her insides.
It didn’t matter
, she told herself. And she didn’t need to know why. Except that apparently she did. “Why do you like kissing me?”

One dark eyebrow arched. “Beg pardon?”

Rose hesitated. “I am so, so grateful to you, and I will do everything I can to see that you’re repaid, but—”

“Nonsense,” he broke in, his smile fading. “But what?”

“I’m tall, Bram. I’m flat-chested. I have freckles. I’m not a great beauty. You’ve known a great many women more attractive than I am. And if you feel some obligation to show me affection, you absolutely need not. Or if it’s because you see the similarity in our relations with our parents or something, a kinship, you know, that doesn’t mean you have to—”

“To what?” he interrupted, scowling now.

“To say you love me. I have no expecta—”

“Oh, that is enough of that.” Bram put his hands on her shoulders, meeting and holding her gaze as if by sheer willpower, because she truly wanted to look away. “As you said, I’m no virgin, Rosamund. I’ve seen the world, and I’ve cut quite a swath through the middle of it. I’ve bedded more women than I care to remember. Do you think my heart is swayed by obligation or pity?”

Slowly she shook her head. “No. But—”

“You are the most interesting, beautiful, and truehearted woman I have ever—
ever
—encountered. I like just chatting with you, and I never chat with females. You’ve been a…a candle in my darkness. And if I should ever be so lucky as to win your affection as you’ve won mine, I will…” He trailed off. “Please don’t ever belittle yourself in my presence again.”

Goodness
. “Thank you, Bram,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Yes, well, thank you. And all this sincerity has made me light-headed, so unless you wish to join me in the stable for a bit of naked frolicking, you should return to your family. At once.”

Ah, but she did want to frolic naked with him. And she wished he would propose again, because after his speech she felt very much as though she wouldn’t mind
spending the remainder of her life with him, scoundrel or not. She actually liked the scoundrel bits, as a matter of fact.

Only when she’d taken her seat in the coach with her annoyed and impatient family did it occur to her—he had the funds to help her, but he hadn’t said anything about what he meant to do to aid himself.

Bram went out riding at first light, taking pains to avoid the usual parks and pathways he’d frequented in the past. Since Isabel Waring had been with Rosamund to hear Cosgrove’s latest threats, Sullivan and Phin would know of them now, as well. They would be plotting some sort of clever rescue for him, and frankly he didn’t want one.

Yes, ideally this would end with Cosgrove falling into a bog or being satisfied to have his money. Bram would propose to Rosamund and she would accept, and the duke would grant him permanent use of Lowry House. Flowers and children would bloom, no one would ever confront him about his notorious past, and he would be a good lad forevermore.

The trouble was, he felt fairly close to being the same scoundrel he’d always been. His friends had broken
the law for reasons that he considered righteous. He’d done it because he found it exciting in a life growing ever more dull. The mere fact that he’d fallen in love while trying to commit a single good act hardly made up for all the ill he’d done. And Rosamund had been very correct when she’d called him trouble.

At precisely ten o’clock he arrived at Marsten House, half surprised when he didn’t see the duke attempting to block him from the entrance. August actually had the eight thousand pounds in cash, sitting on his desk.

“How did you manage that?” Bram asked. “I thought I would have to take your note and raid half the banks in London.”

“I have my ways. Not as mysterious or exciting as yours, but I do have them.”

“I’m not about to argue with that, this morning.”

They added the blunt to the satchel where Bram already had the six thousand he’d raised. It was a damned fortune, and part of him was still tempted to snatch up Rosamund and make a run for it.

“Now, about this Black Cat mess,” August said, settling a haunch onto one corner of his desk, which had the good manners not to creak. “Do you think—”

“I think that you have a family and an inheritance, and that it’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”

“Bram, you can’t mean to—”

“I’m a scoundrel, August, as you’ve experienced firsthand. Thankfully everyone knows that I’m fairly estranged from the entire family, so any gossip or scandal shouldn’t affect you overly much. I’ll see that it doesn’t.” He climbed to his feet, slinging the strap of the satchel over his head and across one shoulder so he wouldn’t lose it. Then he stuck out
his hand. “Thank you. I’ll repay you if it’s the last thing I do.”

August shook hands with him. “I know you will. And for what it’s worth, you and Father may have your differences, but there’s no reason you and I can’t continue as we have these past few weeks.”

No reason except a hanging or a transportation to Australia
. Bram nodded. “I would like that.”

“Be careful.”

“Not for years.”

By eleven o’clock he’d reached Davies House. His heartbeat increased—not because he was about to gift a large sum of money to a very proud and likely suspicious man, but because he had a chance to see Rosamund again. His Rosamund, at least for the moment.

There was no way around the fact that he’d gone mad. And what would happen when he asked for her hand for the second and last time—if he wasn’t dead before then—he didn’t want to contemplate. Perhaps an arrest would be the lesser of two evils. At least then he could imagine that she would have accepted him.

He rapped the brass knocker against the solid oak of the front door. Silence. For a pained moment he worried that the family had trotted off to present Cosgrove with his bride early. As he was beginning to consider kicking open the door, it opened.

“My lord,” the butler said, managing to look aloof and displeased at the same time. Quite a skill, that.

“Is Lord Abernathy in this morning?”

“If you’d care to wait in the foyer, I shall inquire.”

Ah. Stuck into the foyer again. With a short nod
Bram entered, leaning back against the interior wall and folding his arms across his chest. Leaving him to stand there was fairly presumptuous of a family about to unite themselves with a dog like Cosgrove. But perhaps after this, barring his arrest for theft, of course, he would be invited into a room with a chair.

“What is it you want?” Abernathy asked, emerging from his office, the butler on his heels.

“Just a word with you, my lord.”

“I’m quite busy this morning. Perhaps you could leave your calling card and return tomorrow.”

Bram rolled his shoulders and stepped forward. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”

Scowling, the earl moved aside to allow Bram into his office. “Make it quick, will you? I’m on my way to Parliament.”

“Certainly. The door, if you please.”

Once Abernathy closed it, Bram pulled the satchel off his shoulder. Then he dumped the contents onto the earl’s desk. “That’s fourteen thousand pounds,” he said. “Cosgrove will more than likely demand twelve thousand, but you’ll be able to meet whatever he asks for.”

The earl stared at the money. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? Pay off Cosgrove, and distance your family from his influence.”

“And be indebted to you instead? I fail to see how this improves anything. Rose’s marriage will erase a debt. This”—and he gestured at the mound of money—“only burdens me to a different devil.”

Whatever had happened to the old adage of not looking a gift horse in the mouth? Much less throwing shit at him? “It’s not a loan. It’s a gift.”

“A gift.”

“Yes.”

“To what purpose?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Not waiting for an invitation he wasn’t likely to receive anyway, Bram went to the liquor tantalus and poured himself a glass of port. “Consider it to be my way of easing my own conscience. I did help to lead your son astray, so I must be partly responsible for his debts.”

“Yes, but what do you want from me in return?”

Your daughter. The same deal that Cosgrove negotiated would be nice
. “Nothing.”

“No one gives a gift of this magnitude without expecting something in return. Especially not someone like you.”

Bram narrowed his eyes, considering. He disliked the notion of putting all his cards on the table, as it were, without first knowing what they were. But if Abernathy decided that selling off Rosamund was easier than a possible entanglement with him, this would all be for nothing. He’d have to put together a midnight run to Gretna Green, after all. “Very well. I have one request in exchange for the gift of the money.”

“I knew it. Your father always said you couldn’t be trusted to look out for anything but yourself.”

“My lord, considering what I’m attempting to do, you might wish to keep a tighter rein on your insults.” He took a breath. Fighting with his potential future father-in-law wasn’t all that wise, either. “All I ask is your permission to court your daughter.”

“Rose?”

“Yes, Rosamund.” He would stick a billiards cue through his head before he would voluntarily spend time with the chirpy fish woman.

“So you want to steal her out from under Cosgrove, do you? I still see no difference between what you offer and what he does.”

“I’m not demanding Rosamund’s hand in marriage. I want the chance to see her. Whatever she ultimately decides, whomever she wishes to marry—or not—the money is yours. The debt is erased.
That
is the difference.”

“What if I say no to your…courting of Rose?”

“The money is still yours, as long as you give it to Cosgrove and remove your daughter from the bargaining table.” He swallowed half his glass. “And if you accept, you won’t have to dine with Cosgrove, stand with him at soirees, or holiday with him about. You won’t have to suffer the humiliation of seeing him publicly flaunt his mistresses in front of your daughter, and no one will know that you sold her to cover a gambling debt.”

“No one knows that now.”

“They will, if you don’t agree to free your daughter from this mess. I’ll see to it. I am doing a good deed, but I never claimed to be a good man.”

Finally Abernathy sagged into a chair, as though all the air and pomposity had fled his body. That was it, Bram realized. Care and concern for his daughter wouldn’t sway him, but pride and fear of embarrassment would. Hm. Perhaps Rosamund had an even worse father than he did, after all. It was a rather stunning idea.

“Why don’t you present him with the money yourself?” the earl finally asked, the last blustering of a defeated man.

“He wouldn’t accept it from me. We’re not on speaking terms. And I don’t owe him the blunt. You do.”

“Very well. But I won’t be grateful to you or thank you, because I know you’ve arranged this to gain yourself something. The details can’t elude me forever.”

“All I’m attempting to gain is a chance at salvation.” Bram set the glass aside. “Be certain Cosgrove withdraws the betrothal announcement from the newspapers.”

Abernathy bristled a little at the order, but with another look at the money on his desk, he subsided. That was that, then.

“Good day, my lord.”

Bram left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Only then did he close his eyes to send up a quick prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening. He hadn’t won the lady, he was now eight thousand quid in debt to his brother, and he’d made an enemy of a very dangerous man. And he still felt like shouting and dancing a jig.

The hair on his arms lifted, and he opened his eyes again to see Rosamund looking down at him from the stair landing. He put a finger to his lips, indicating the office behind him. All he needed was for Abernathy to overhear them and think there was indeed a conspiracy afoot.

With a nod she descended to the second step. A glance at the foyer showed the butler to be elsewhere. Bram reached up, putting a hand at the nape of her neck, and
drew her face down to kiss her. Soft as a sigh, it sank into his soul.

“Thank you,” she whispered, lifting her head to look down at him, one hand touching his cheek.

“You are exceedingly welcome.”

“And now we need to rescue you.”

Bram broke away from her. “I’ll deal with it.”

“But you’ve helped me. I want to return the gesture.”

“You
were an innocent party in this,” he whispered, clenching his hands to keep from pulling her over the railing and into his arms. Self-discipline. He’d never been much good at it, and he’d chosen the devil of a time to attempt to master it. “I am not innocent. I want—I want to declare myself to you, and in front of everyone. But if I need to pay for some of my sins, I’ll do it without dragging you down with me.”

“There’s a chance Cosgrove was bluffing about having proof, don’t you think? That he was only trying to force your hand?”

With a half grin, Bram rose up and kissed her again, openmouthed. “You are becoming quite the expert with the wagering terminology. And yes, he could be bluffing. I suppose we’ll find that out after your father calls on him.” He glanced over to see the butler returning to his post. “I need to leave.”

She reached out to grab his sleeve. “Are you attending the Clement soiree tonight?” she asked.

Smiling, he backed toward the front door. “I am now.”

“Any sign of him?” Sullivan asked, reining in his big black, Achilles, brother to Bram’s Titan.

Phin shook his head. “You know he’s dodging us on purpose.”

“And unfortunately he knows London better than you and I combined.”

In the middle of Haymarket Street they were fairly damned obvious, but clearly the plan of scouting places Bram was otherwise unlikely to be wasn’t working. Uttering a curse, Sullivan swung Achilles in a tight circle.

“The least likely place I can imagine him going is to Johns House,” Phineas said after a moment, scowling.

“Levonzy? Not even if it snowed in Hades.” Sullivan glanced around them again. “Let’s give it a try then, shall we?”

“You lead. I don’t even know the damned address.”

Bram sat on a barrel behind the duke’s stable. Munching on a peach, he paged through the Roman history book he’d borrowed from August earlier in the day. It had cost him five pounds, but the grooms and stable boys had sworn not to reveal his location to anyone, least of all Levonzy. And Titan seemed to be enjoying grazing on the grass in the shade.

Hiding from friends probably wasn’t very heroic, but it was the surest way he could think of to keep them out of this muddle. It was amazing the way one good deed had so irrevocably knocked his entire way of thinking, his entire life, on its arse. Now he wanted everyone to be safe and happy—and the best way to see to that seemed to be by keeping away from them.

“You owe me a quid,” Phin’s voice came from the corner of the stable.

“He’s actually not inside the house,” Sullivan’s low drawl returned, “so I’m not certain you’ve won the wager.”

Rolling his eyes, Bram snapped his book closed. “You two louts are more clever than I expected,” he grunted, taking another bite of peach. “Huzzah, you’ve found me. Now go away.”

“We’ve been to see Lord Haithe,” Sullivan continued, dragging another barrel over and taking a seat on it. “Have you given the blunt to Abernathy yet?”

“August is a damned wag. Yes. I gave the money to Abernathy.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Phin leaned against the tree trunk opposite. “Nice weather we’re having. A good day for a duke’s son to be arrested as a burglar, don’t you think, Sullivan?”

“No, the wind’s a bit too easterly,” Sullivan took up. “A better day for fleeing to Scotland, say, until this mess gets cleaned up.”

“Hm. You may be right. What do you think, Bram?”

“I think I’m attending the Clement soiree tonight and dancing with Lady Rosamund Davies. You can go holiday wherever you like.”

“So you’re not going to attempt to find a way around this?” Sullivan picked up a stone and hurled it toward the garden. “You know damned well you didn’t keep anything you took. It more than likely went for a better cause than it ever would have been used for, otherwise.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the bloody point?” Phin snapped.

“The bloody point, Phin, is that I want to clean my slate. I’m finished with being a fool for no damned good reason. I don’t want to evade this. I want to face it head-on. And the only reason I’m in hiding at the
moment, other than to avoid you two, is because I want one more chance to see, to dance with, Rosamund before Bow Street comes to collect me. There. I’m sentimental and maudlin, now. Hardly worth the effort of rescuing.”