The Reluctant Reformer (10 page)

“Yes, you did.” She beamed at him, then clasped his hands. “I wish to leave. Surely you will see me rid of this place? You will not let
him
hold me here against my will? He is a madman. He kidnapped me.”

Lord Mullin's obvious discomfort grew; he avoided her eyes and looked everywhere in the room but at her. “Ah…well, as to that, my lady, Lord Ramsey merely wishes to help you. He wants to allow you time to consider your options for a better life.”

“Options?” Margaret Wentworth scowled. “What options? I was doing well enough without his interference. Surely, as a friend of my late brother's, you will not leave me here?”

Robert straightened his shoulders. “It is precisely
because
I was a friend of your brother's that I have to agree with Ramsey. Surely you do not imagine that your brother would approve of your present employment?”

She had the grace to look slightly ashamed at the question, but then her chin lifted defiantly. “He might not approve, but he would understand that under the circumstances—”

“And which circumstances would those be?” James interrupted. His dry words drew her irritated attention.
“Your desire not to give up the excitement of life in town? I suspect your brother expected you to sell his town house, purchase a cottage, and live in the country off the proceeds.”

“Oh?” She turned, her hands resting on her hips. Her pretty face twisted with derision. “So you knew my brother better than I, who knew him all his life, did you?
I
think my brother never expected to die so young. He planned to see me married and settled happily. Unfortunately, such was not the case. Instead he died and left the town house and the responsibility of those servants to me. I could hardly sell the house and leave them all unemployed.”

Robert touched her arm, drawing her gaze back to his amazed face. “Are you saying that you took up as a pr
—that
career to keep your brother's servants employed?”

 

Maggie scowled at Lord Mullin's shock. Writing articles for the
Daily Express
wasn't
that
shameful an occupation. The way these two were acting, one would think she had taken up prostitution! “What else was I to do? Every one of those servants was loyal to Gerald, and to my parents before him. Most of them have been in service to my family all of their lives. I could hardly see them on the street.”

“Dear Lord,” the younger nobleman said under his breath.

“You see?” Maggie smiled. He, too, was obviously horrified at the idea of such loyal men and women being left to fend for themselves. “I realize that it must seem a risky business, but it wasn't. Not really. I was always in disguise, or veiled, or masked—as I was when
he
grabbed me.” She threw a disgusted look in Lord Ramsey's direction.

“Aye, but…I mean…” Lord Mullin gave a nervous laugh, then went on delicately: “Risk aside, surely you do not
enjoy
the work?”

She blinked in surprise at the question, then found herself reluctantly admitting what she had not yet admitted to herself. “Perhaps not always. At times…”

Both men leaned forward expectantly as she considered the matter, so consider it she did, forcing herself to be painfully honest about everything for a change—something she did not do often because she undoubtedly needed the money from her work. But if she were to be honest, she did not always enjoy being G. W. Clark. For instance, she had not liked climbing that ledge at the brothel. Though, now that it was over, it seemed just another adventure, at the time she had been nauseatingly terrified. And, in truth, she found some of the tales the women told her that night distressing. Some had even left her feeling tainted. The things those women did…

“Yes?” Lord Ramsey prompted, and Maggie met his gaze with some difficulty.

“Well, really,” she admitted reluctantly, “sometimes it is frightening and unpleasant. But…”

“But?” Lord Mullin prompted when she hesitated.

Shrugging, she admitted, “But sometimes it is exciting, too.”

“Exciting?” Both men echoed.

“Yes, of course.” She shifted impatiently at their horrified expressions. Likely they were thinking of the gleaning of information for specific articles—such as the one about the gambling hells that cheated their custom
ers, or the Four Horsemen's club, where young knobs went to race. She supposed those exposés had been a bit dangerous to write, but they had also been fun. Besides, both articles were about places these two had surely been a time or two themselves. Why should she be forced to remain ignorant of their particulars just because she was a woman? “Well, why should it be any different for me than for you?” she asked. “By all accounts you men certainly enjoy such pastimes. Why should I not?”

“Oh, dear.” Lord Mullin tossed back the last of his brandy and set the glass down with a
thunk
, then he straightened and eyed Lord Ramsey meaningfully. “I wish you luck, my friend, but I fear you shall have a rough time rehabilitating her. Keep me posted on how you do.” And with that the young noble rose to leave.

Maggie was horrified. Glancing at Lord Ramsey, she noted a similarly displeased look on his face. Why was
he
looking so resigned?
He
wasn't the one being left alone to deal with a situation with no way out!

“Surely you will not leave me here?” she cried, following Lord Mullin to the door. “I really do have to return to London. And you promised to help me.”

“Yes, I did,” the young man agreed. “But that was before I understood all the particulars. Now I realize that James is only trying to help. You will not come to any harm in his care.”

“Perhaps not,” Maggie allowed, then shook her head miserably. “But I
do
have to return. If for no other reason than that my servants have no idea where I am. They must be greatly distressed by my disappearance.”

Lord Mullin took her hands briefly, then dropped them as though they were hot. “It is my considered opinion,
my lady, that you exert far too much energy on your servants' behalf,” he said stiffly. At her bemused expression, he added, “Really, this is for the best, my lady. Let Ramsey aid you in this matter.”

Then he walked out, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving her standing alone and bereft in the house of her captor.

Lord Ramsey was silent for a moment, watching her obvious unhappiness; then he downed his drink and stood. The movement drew her wary gaze to him. As she watched suspiciously, the man gave an expansive sigh. She didn't trust him, and she never would. Kidnapping her had not been a propitious start, no matter his oath to her brother. He didn't try to explain himself, though. Instead, he paused several feet away and gave a slight bow.

“Please make yourself comfortable in my home, my lady. As Robert said, you are perfectly safe here. I have only the best intentions toward you.” He spoke sincerely, but what was that glinting in the depths of his dark eyes? Maggie was taken off guard by his next words. “And you really have nothing to be concerned about when it comes to your servants. I had a letter delivered to them the night I brought you here, stating that you were coming to my country home for several days' relaxation. If you are concerned, however, you are welcome to write a letter to them and I will see it delivered on the morrow.”

Before Maggie could answer yea or nay to that, he gestured to his muddy person and went on. “In the meantime, I am going to clean up, then will most likely retire. It has been a rather wearying couple of days. You may take dinner in your room or the dining room—as
you wish. I shall join you to break fast on the morrow, and we shall discuss then your situation and various ideas on how to improve it.”

If he had hoped she would be seduced by his politeness, he was sadly mistaken. Maggie remained just as cold to him as before. She watched as he fought back an obviously annoyed expression; then she watched nonchalantly as he murmured good-night and left the room.

As he pulled the door shut behind him, Maggie felt frustration surge up within her like a fire. She could hardly believe this situation. Even more unbelievable was the fact that Lord Mullin had just left her here! Both of these men seemed to be of the opinion that they knew what was best for her.
Well, stuff that!

Stomping to the library door, she tugged it open and stormed across the hall to the front entrance of the house. No one tried to stop her. No one even appeared. She should have taken it as a warning, but she was too swept up in her emotions. Pulling the front door open, Maggie stepped out on the front step with a feeling of triumph.

It died abruptly at the sound of barking. Turning her head, she glanced warily about until she spotted a pair of enormous dark-furred dogs racing toward her as if she were the fox in a hunt.

For a moment, Maggie couldn't move; then she gathered herself enough to whirl back into the house. She slammed the door just as the beasts raced up the steps, and there was no mistaking the way the wood shuddered a moment later from the impact of the excited dogs' bodies. Now she knew why Annie was no longer trailing
her about, why Ramsey felt comfortable leaving her unattended. He had released the dogs.

Surely they were not trained to attack just anyone on the grounds, she thought unhappily. Unfortunately, she wasn't about to pop outside to discover if they had been racing up eager for petting and attention, or eager to bite her.

Mouth tightening, she listened to the animals bark and leap at the door for a moment, then eased slowly away, half afraid that they would somehow work the door open and come after her. Maggie had backed all the way to the stairs before they began to quiet. Swallowing, she spun about and hurried up the steps to her room. Once in that chamber, she looked frantically around, then rushed to the archway to the balcony. Bursting outside, she immediately heard the barking start up again.

The dogs had heard the slight squeak of the doors opening, and they were racing to position themselves beneath her balcony. Pacing back and forth beneath her, the beasts were leaping and barking excitedly. Maggie watched unhappily for a moment, then moved back into her room. Escape had been a foolish idea, anyway. She already knew she would never be able to rent a carriage to London; Timmins had proved less than helpful. And the chances of her coming across anyone willing to take her there themselves were slim. It appeared she was stuck.

As much as it galled her, she would have to see what her host had to say for himself at breakfast in the morning; then she would decide on her next move.

Closing the balcony doors on the still-barking dogs, she moved to the bed and lay down to rest until dinner was brought up.

“My lady, first I wish to say that I do understand the necessity that drove you to this career choice. Truly, I do.”

Maggie set her tea aside and raised her gaze politely to Lord Ramsey, her eyes taking in his chiseled face. He really was a handsome man. It was a shame they hadn't met under different circumstances. She would be interested in knowing if the arrogance he had shown her was his normal attitude, or if it was merely a result of the unusual situation that had brought them together.

She had spent the better part of the night before reconsidering that situation—partially due to the reaction of Lord Mullin. After she calmed down, it had been obvious to her, from the short time she had spent with him, that young Robert was a good man, and that he had considered her brother a friend whom he'd held in much esteem. She found that reassuring. After all, he
would hardly leave the young, innocent sister of his friend in the care of a man who might possibly put her in danger. She had also decided that Ramsey's motives were likely just what he had stated; to look out for her, as Gerald had asked. Which meant that James Huttledon was misguided, but well-meaning, and also that she was perfectly safe.

Most important to her decision to tolerate Lord Ramsey was her brother's judgment; Gerald had written a lot about James in his letters, all of it good. He had considered him one of the most honorable men he had ever met and had given many examples: Tales of Lord Ramsey giving away his own food to starving women and children from destroyed villages they marched past, of risking his life to save others, of refusing advancement when it wasn't earned, but was offered because of his title. Gerald had admired, respected, and looked up to this man and—reading those letters—Maggie had come to feel much the same way. He was a good and honorable man trying to do his best for the sister of the man who had died saving his life. She would be patient with him and help him see that there was really very little he could do to help her.

Which didn't mean she didn't wish to get home. She had to get back eventually, and preferably sooner rather than later. She had things to do; she needed to return Maisey's horrid gown, and, more important, she had to finish her article on Madame Dubarry's brothel. Mr. Hartwick wouldn't pay her if she didn't get the article in soon. She had worked on it last night, and planned to finish it as quickly as possible.

She supposed that if she wasn't home by the time the article was done, she could always send it with her letter
to Banks and have him turn it in. It wasn't imperative she be there; Banks turned her pieces in as he had done for her brother. She was rather hoping, though, that she could convince Lord Ramsey to return her before the article was finished.

Maggie very much suspected that the only way to convince her captor to return her to London was first to listen to what he had to say, then to explain in a logical, unemotional manner that while being G. W. Clark was risky, it was her only choice. He would be reasonable if she was reasonable; of that she was sure. After all, Gerald had never been one to suffer fools gladly. He wouldn't have considered James such a good friend or respected him nearly as much if he was as stupid as that ridiculous abduction of her from Madame Dubarry's had indicated.

Having decided all of this during the last restless night, Maggie had come down to breakfast fully expecting her host to start in at once. However, he had apparently thought it tactically preferable to wait until they finished eating. She could not say that it had been a poor choice. The delay had left her increasingly tense and unsettled as she had toyed with her food, waiting on pins and needles for just this subject to come up. Now she assumed an attentive pose, waiting to hear what Lord Ramsey had to say, prepared then to explain why he was wrong, in a calm and reasonable manner.

“I realize that there is very little for a woman, especially a lady of noble birth, to do to earn her way in the world,” he continued, sounding quite reasonable. “But surely you see that what you are doing is not the answer? This profession will eat at your soul, steal your youth and your beauty. I have seen it many times.”

Maggie felt her calm slip a bit and rolled her eyes at his dramatics. While it was true that researching her stories for the G. W. Clark articles sometimes saw her digging about in the underbelly of the beast that was society, the work was not as bad as all that. She didn't wish to argue, however, so she merely pointed out, “My lord, such worries are long past being a concern for me. I am five-and-twenty. What beauty and youth I had fled some time ago.”

That put a frown on his face and had him observing her more carefully, at least what he could see of her from his position across the table. His eyes took in her golden hair in its prim style, then her face, her neck, and her breasts, covered as they were by her slightly oversized gown. The garment tended to sag a bit around her smallish bosom, Maggie saw with discomfort, and revealed more than she wished to display. She had to grit her teeth to keep from self-consciously tugging the neckline upward. When his eyes finally made their way back up to her face, she released a relieved breath.

“Why have you never married?” he asked abruptly.

“No one has asked me,” she admitted through her teeth, feeling defensive. But her irritation immediately softened at his expression of patent disbelief. It was somewhat flattering that he did not believe her. “I am sure it is very kind of you to show yourself to be such a gentleman, but—”

“I will not allow you to return to your previous employment.”

Maggie stiffened, the previous days' irritation at this pompous man returning in full force. “Unless you plan to hold me captive here forever, you really have no choice. You are not my father, brother, or guardian.”

“Oh, but I am something of a guardian,” he argued. “Your brother asked me to look out for you.”

“I hardly think he meant for you to take me against my will and hold me captive in your home, my lord,” she snapped with some asperity. The bolt struck home, and guilt covered his expression for a moment. She pressed her attack. “This is all really a dreadful mistake and waste of time. Please return me to my home and—”

“No.” Lord Ramsey's discomfiture was gone at once, replaced with steely determination. “There are alternatives.”

“Fine.” She gave in gracefully. “Let us hear these alternatives.”

“Well…” His expression showed that he had not expected her to be so open to discussion. Maggie waited patiently until the man had gathered himself together enough to plunge forward. She was not terribly surprised when he drew a piece of folded paper from an inner pocket of his morning coat, unfolded it carefully, then smoothed it out on the table. He looked over whatever he had written, then glanced up at her with a nod of apparent satisfaction. “I have taken the liberty of doing some figures, and, according to my inquiries, were you to sell the town house and add the proceeds to the monies you inherited from both your mother and the smaller sum from your brother, you should be able to purchase a good-sized house in the country and live quite comfortably for the rest of your days. That is, if you do not marry, of course. Should you marry, your investments will make a nice little nest egg, or be a supplement to your husband's income.”

He glanced up from his notes, his pleased expression fading somewhat at the narrow-eyed look Maggie was
giving him. Shifting uncomfortably under her cold stare, he asked cautiously, “Is there something amiss?”

“The money I inherited from both my brother and mother?”

“Aye.” He frowned slightly, not understanding her displeasure.

“I suppose you have the exact sums there?”

“Well, yes. As far as I know. Are these not correct?”

He slid the piece of paper along the table until Maggie could reach it. She turned the sheet and scanned the figures. “Yes. These are correct. Might I ask how exactly you came by these numbers?”

“Johnstone—a runner—got them. Wills are a public record, you see.”

“I do. Well, my lord. I am flattered beyond compare that you would take such trouble to dig out all my little secrets—my finances, my employment. My goodness, is there anything you do not know about me?” Folding the sheet of paper, she tossed it at him with an angry snap of her wrist.

Lord Ramsey caught the paper and set it carefully back on the tabletop, silent for a spell before carefully admitting, “I realize that you are not pleased by my having this knowledge, but your brother asked me to look after you. I did want to be sure you were doing all right financially.”

Maggie felt herself soften again. As pompous as he could be, the man really was only trying to repay his debt to Gerald. “Yes, well,” she allowed. “If you were able to find all this out, my lord, no doubt you also found that I am doing perfectly well on my own now. There is no need for your intervention.”

“It would appear that you are handling your finances
well enough,” he agreed reluctantly. “The money you invested is paying well, and you have not withdrawn any large sums to buy extravagances. In fact, you appear to be making steady deposits while at the same time paying your living expenses. But you
must
agree that the way you are earning this money is of some concern.” When Maggie's only response was a thinning of her lips, Lord Ramsey frowned and looked down at his notes. “If you would just sell the town house and purchase a less expensive country home—”

“I am not moving to the country, my lord,” she insisted. “Perhaps you cannot understand this, still having family, but I have nobody left. Therefore, I depend rather heavily on the few friends I have in town. I will not deprive myself of them simply to satisfy your desire to see me live a more traditional lifestyle.”

On that note Maggie stood, slapped her napkin onto the table, and turned to sail out of the room before she did something silly like get emotional.
So much for logic and reason
, she mourned as she left the room.

 

James watched lady Margaret leave, his gaze dropping to the sway of her skirts as she went. She looked lovely in the deep green gown she wore today. The hue set off her coloring so nicely. Of course, the gown didn't fit as well as it might. His sister, Sophie, had left several garments behind when she'd married and moved away.

He had never noticed how generous Sophie's bosom was, but she was obviously larger in that area than Maggie. Overlarge, he decided, since Maggie's breasts had appeared perfect to him when he'd held her in his arms, the sheer, red gown of that first encounter revealing them fully to his startled eyes. Yes, they had appeared
the perfect size and shape to him in that moment, so Sophie must be rather overendowed.

Grimacing at his less-than-gentlemanly thoughts, he peered down at the paper in his hand and the figures on it. He hadn't really expected her to agree to trading her brother's home for a less expensive life in the country. If that were an option, she would have done so long ago rather than resort to selling her body. He'd mentioned it only as the first of several ideas. Yet he hadn't considered the reason she was unwilling might be that she wished to stay near friends. He had rather assumed her reluctance was due to a wish to remain close to the excitement of city life. She had revealed a rather softer side of herself than he had expected. It was true, Gerald had been the last of her family. She had no one now but friends in the city. How could anyone expect her to give them up?

His eyes went to his notes, and he frowned slightly. He had one other option here that he would bring up at lunch. In the meantime, he really needed to try to come up with more. Which meant a visit to his library. James always found it easier to think surrounded by his beloved books. The very smell of the leather-bound volumes seemed to help him cogitate. Some time in the library, surrounded by the brilliance of countless ages, should help him find a solution that would please Margaret.

 

Maggie had just settled in a cozy corner chair in the library when her attention was caught by the sound of the door opening. Lifting her gaze from the book she had opened, she watched Lord Ramsey enter and close the door. The moment he did so, a change came over
him. His very body language seemed to alter. The stiff, upright posture he generally practiced eased somewhat, allowing more graceful movement. His facial expression lost some of its severity, making him appear younger and more attractive.

Fascinated by this transition, Maggie was reluctant to make her presence known. She found herself shrinking into her chair in an effort to avoid detection as he walked to the far wall and ran his hands lightly over the volumes there. He picked one off the shelf, leafed through it, then set it back and chose another. After a quick perusal through this book, he let the hand holding it drop and—now clasping it behind his back with both hands—moved to the glass doors to peer outside. He stood there a good while, staring—blindly, she suspected—out over the gardens. He was rocking lightly on his feet, still holding that book, and Maggie found herself unable to look away. The pose was one she recognized as a common stance she herself took. She often stood, gazing out of the window of her own library in just such a manner, a favorite book clasped behind her back—more for its comforting presence than any other real purpose—as she wrangled with some problem or other.

Maggie had no doubt the conundrum he was pondering. Hers, of course, and what to do with her. She found it rather sweet. Not since Gerald's death had anyone been so concerned about her. Despite grieving the loss of her brother, part of her had enjoyed her new autonomy—few women knew what it was like to be truly free of male intervention in their life. Another part, however, had not. It could be terribly wearying to bear the weight of so many livelihoods, and extremely
lonely knowing that ultimately there was no loved-one to care. In truth, Maggie mattered only to her servants now.