The Reluctant Reformer (14 page)

A knock at the door brought her back to earth with a thump. Stiffening and straightening, Maggie groaned as Ramsey again slid a finger into her. Legs trembling and chest heaving, she grabbed frantically at his head in a desperate bid to warn him, aware that he must not have heard the knock with her thighs pressed tightly to his ears. He ignored her panicked tug and grazed her again with his teeth. A gasp escaped her lips, for her body responded automatically with pleasure though her mind ballooned with horror as a second knock sounded at the door. Tugging viciously at his hair, she spread her legs farther to free his ears and opened her mouth to warn him.

Too late!
She stiffened in horror at the sound of the door opening behind her. Panic like none she had ever before suffered raced through her, and Maggie abruptly released Lord Ramsey's hair. Brushing her skirts down to cover him, she quickly scooped the material of her gown back up over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned to glance over her shoulder to discover who had entered.

“Lady Barlow,” Lord Ramsey's butler announced, then blinked as he espied Maggie, seemingly alone. “I thought I heard voices. I just assumed Lord Ramsey was back from his walk and…in here,” he said uncertainly. An elderly woman stepped into the room behind him.

“Ah…he, er, stepped out for a moment,” Maggie murmured shakily. She straightened off the desk, and Ramsey, seeming finally to get the gist that they were no longer alone, eased away from her. He was still mostly under her skirts, and his position created an odd lump in the front of her gown, but Maggie was pretty sure that was hidden by the desk.

Glancing over to find the woman's eyes had narrowed on her, she raised a hand self-consciously toward her hair, freezing when it reached eye level and she saw that her right hand was completely black. Being a writer, she recognized at once what covered her hand, and her gaze
shot to the desktop in alarm. The overset inkwell and the puddle of black ink surrounded by lighter hand-prints on the desk's surface told their own story. Maggie grimaced, then had a brilliant idea.

“He overset the ink and went to change,” she said brightly, gesturing to the mess on the desk. “No doubt he shall return momentarily,” she added, when Webster and the newly arrived woman continued to stare at her. Then, realizing that she was being extremely rude by keeping her back to them, Maggie eased her leg over Lord Ramsey's head and turned. A flush colored her face as she felt him shift behind her. He was still under her skirts, his body brushing against the backs of her legs, his breath blowing lightly against her bottom. Closing her eyes, Maggie tried to ignore the sensation, to forget that he was under there, with his cheek pressed against one of hers. She managed a strained smile.

“I am—”

“Margaret Wentworth,” the other woman interrupted, and Maggie stiffened in surprise.

“You know who I am?”

“My nephew pointed you out when we rode past in our carriage one day,” the matron explained calmly. “It was your brother, Lord Wentworth, who saved my nephew during that nasty little war we had.”

“Yes.” Maggie yelped, kept by will alone from jumping as Lord Ramsey shifted behind her, his hands sliding up the backs of her thighs, grasping them lightly to help him keep his balance. She was quite positive he had not meant to reawaken the excitement he had been stoking earlier, but it happened anyway. The fires banked but not put entirely out by the arrival of Lady Barlow now
danced once more along her nerve ends. Her nipples tingled.

Cursing her body for its complete indifference to the awkwardness of this situation, Maggie forced a smile, her mind working over the fix she and Ramsey were in. She had to get rid of the woman before James was discovered in this compromising position.

Dear God, what a scandalous discovery that would be! This woman would swoon, should she find her nephew under Maggie's skirts. Stuff it, Maggie felt rather like swooning herself. She could not believe she was in this fix. How had she got here?

“
Only you, Maggie
.” The words echoed through her mind and she groaned inwardly. Then, her face began to redden at the vivid memory of James's head disappearing between her legs. Had she really allowed a man to do such disgraceful things to her?

Oh this was horrible! One visit to a brothel and she began behaving this way? This was too much even for her.

“…and he died in so doing.”

It took Maggie a moment to grasp what the woman was talking about. Oh, yes, her brother. His bravery. Gerald had always been a special…

Her thoughts died as she felt Lord Ramsey nudging at her legs, trying to urge them farther apart. Was the man insane? What the devil did he think he was doing? Surely he didn't think to continue their naughtiness with his aunt right here, crossing the room toward where Maggie stood! Fear of just that made Maggie's heart race in horror. Then her ankles were grasped firmly in two hands, and she gave a startled cry as she found herself slightly lifted, overbalanced, and dumped
into the chair behind her. She caught a flash of Lord Ramsey's gray coat peeking out the front of her skirt; then the chair she sat in was tugged forward and she found herself tightly against the desk. Her skirt, with Ramsey still under it, was firmly under the desk.

“Are you all right?” Lady Barlow stared at her in amazement, and Maggie forced herself to smile.

“Yes. I, er, stumbled,” she lied, then bit her lip as Lord Ramsey clasped her knees with his hands. She went still, waiting a moment before she was sure he had just been looking for a more comfortable position. No doubt it was crowded under there, and hot, and…She didn't even want to think about it.

“Where did my nephew go?”

Maggie blinked in answer to the question, then peered at Ramsey's aunt, her hands settling nervously on James's hat. “I am not sure, my lady. He did not say.” Picking up the hat, she began to turn it slowly in her hand, then stilled as Ramsey gently pinched her calf. Apparently realizing he had her attention, he clasped her ankles and lifted and lowered her feet one after the other in a parody of walking. Obviously he was trying to tell her something.

Walking?
she thought with a frown.
Walking. Moving
. “Leaving!” she cried.

“What?” Lady Ramsey regarded her blankly.

“I—It occurs to me that you must be weary and thirsty after your journey. Perhaps you would be more comfortable if we moved to the salon to await your nephew? We could have tea.”

“That does sound lovely,” Lady Barlow agreed. She turned toward the butler, who was already heading for the door.

“I shall arrange for it at once, my lady,” Webster said.

Lady Barlow nodded, then turned back to Maggie. “Shall we?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.” Pushing her chair back, Maggie stood, pulling her skirt with her away from Lord Ramsey. She didn't dare glance down at him, but simply started around the desk and across the room as Lady Barlow moved toward the door. The woman paused before opening it and glanced back, looking as if she were going to say something. She spoke then, amusement filling her eyes. “Did you intend to bring that with you?”

Glancing down, Maggie flushed. She still held Lord Ramsey's hat gripped in her hands. She was also still wearing his cloak clasped about her neck—which was probably the only thing that had saved her from being seen earlier tugging the top of her gown into place. “Nay. I shall just put it there on the desk,” she agreed, turning to do so.

Hurrying back across the room, Maggie started to set the hat on the desk, then reached to undo her cloak, only to pause when she caught sight of Ramsey's hand waving from beneath the desk. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw that Lady Barlow was waiting patiently beside the door. She knew the woman couldn't possibly have seen the waving male hand, but Maggie cast her a nervous smile anyway, then turned back toward the desk, “accidentally” knocking the hat as she did. It tumbled off the desk, landing on the floor behind it. Muttering something about being clumsy, Maggie hurried around to retrieve it, and knelt out of sight.

“You mustn't speak of your work to my aunt,” Lord Ramsey whispered to her. “She has no idea what you do.”

Maggie spared him an annoyed glance for thinking she would be foolish enough to mention any such thing. “Of course I won't,” she whispered angrily, then snatched up the hat. Holding it up for Lady Barlow to see, she started to straighten. “Here it is. No harm done,” she called. The last word came out as a gasp, for James had grabbed her hand and tugged her back behind the desk.

“And if she asks what you are doing here, simply tell her that I invited you for some rustication—a thank-you for your brother's sacrifice.”

“That was my intention, my lord.” Maggie seethed, tugging her hand free and raising the hat to set it on the desk. Straightening, she forced one last smile for Lady Barlow and hurried around the desk and across the room to join the other woman. “Shall we?”

She started to urge Lord Ramsey's aunt toward the door, but Lady Barlow stood firm and gave her a narrow look. For a moment Maggie thought the woman had determined something was afoot, but then she merely gestured to the garment Maggie wore around her shoulders.

Glancing down, Maggie gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, my, the cloak. No, I shan't need this indoors, shall I? I shall just leave it on the desk with the hat.”

She turned away, but before she could cross the room, Lady Barlow caught her arm. Then she called out calmly in an overly loud voice, “I shall just wait in the salon.”

Maggie glanced at her sharply, alarm coursing through her at Lady Barlow's crafty expression. Pulling the door open, the woman called out, “Do not be too long, dear.” Then she slammed the door.

Eyes wide, Maggie opened her mouth to say something,
anything
to warn Lord Ramsey of his aunt's trick, but Lady Barlow's hand was suddenly over her mouth. All Maggie could do was watch helplessly as the chair behind the desk screeched its way back across the floor.

“That was a close one,” Ramsey murmured, brushing his suit jacket down as he straightened. Then he turned to look about for Maggie. He froze when he spied her and his aunt by the door. Maggie tried to convey her apologies with her eyes—just in case his aunt's hand over her mouth was not enough assurance that she had wished to warn him.

There was a bare moment of silence, then Lady Barlow removed her hand from Maggie's mouth. The woman propped both hands firmly on her hips and her disapproving eyes settled on her nephew. “I am shocked, James! Just shocked! And ashamed. How could you possibly take advantage of an innocent in your care? And she's the very sister of the man who saved your life then asked, with his dying breath, that you look after her. Is this how you repay his valiant act?”

“Oh, really, my lady, this is not all his fault,” Maggie exclaimed, rushing to defend him. Lord Ramsey was presently squirming with guilt under his aunt's righteous indignation. Maggie's attempted defense obviously helped him past his finer feelings. Straightening, he nodded and said, “She's is right. This isn't as bad as it appears. She isn't as innocent as you may think.”

Maggie's gasp was matched by Lady Barlow's. Both women gaped at Ramsey in horror at his unchivalrous words. He immediately attempted to soothe them. “I just mean that Maggie—er, Margaret—is not some young child who needs protecting,” he said to his aunt,
then started around the desk toward them. “She is a full grown—” He paused uncertainly when his aunt made a strangled sound.

Maggie glanced at the woman with concern, then followed her attention to James's fawn-colored trousers—mostly fawn-colored trousers, she corrected with mounting horror. Dear God! There was a very distinct handprint on his groin.

Glancing down, himself, James gave a choked gasp and promptly covered the spot with both hands. “I, er…” His gaze shot to Maggie, then away. “I spilled the ink,” he excused himself, backing around the desk until it hid that portion of his body from view. Clearing his voice then, he asked, “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Maggie. She is a full…er…grown, red-blooded woman.

“Blue-blooded!” Lady Barlow snapped, apparently recovered from her shock. “She is a full grown lady of nobility. She deserves more respect than this. In fact, she
deserves
a proposal.”

Maggie supposed she shouldn't have been stunned by those unexpected words, but she was. And James appeared to be, too. He also looked horrified. The man had turned a sickly shade of gray-green she had never seen before, and Maggie felt her heart slip down into the vicinity of her borrowed shoes. She had told herself not be attracted to him. She had known that there could be no future with a man who thought so poorly of her career choice. But that was before their shared passion here in the library. To see him cringe now in such blatant aversion at the very suggestion of marriage to her…She felt shame overwhelm her.

“Oh, now…” James held up his hands and gave an
extremely nervous laugh. “There is no need to, er…You cannot expect me to…” He paused and turned to the door with relief as another knock sounded. “Yes?”

Lady Barlow's tug on her arm was the only thing that kept Maggie from being hit by the opening door. The older woman moved to the side, taking Maggie with her, then the butler addressed James from behind the door now hiding them from view.

“Oh, you are back, my lord. There is a man here to see you. He says it is quite urgent.”

“Aye. It is,” another voice interrupted shortly. “Very urgent, and very private.”

“Johnstone!” James was shocked to see the man. And not entirely happy, either, Maggie noted with disinterest. He glanced from the visitor to Margaret and his aunt.

“Aye, m'lord,” the other man said, then addressed Webster. “Ye see, he does know me, and he really needs to hear what I have to say, so ye can be back about yer business. A short, stout man's back appeared; apparently Johnstone was being forced to slide past the butler to get into the room.

“Very well,” Webster said slowly, not sounding entirely sure of himself.

Sighing in relief as the door closed behind the butler, the other man turned to Lord Ramsey and promptly crossed the room. He obviously didn't see Maggie and Lady Barlow, and blurted, “We've made a terrible mistake, my lord. Just terrible.”

“Johnstone, I do not think this is the time—” James began, furtively looking to where his aunt and Maggie still stood by the door, but the man didn't let him finish.

“You will when you hear this. Lady Margaret isn't Lady X after all!”

“What?” Lord Ramsey's startled yelp evidently covered the gasps of both women, and Mr. Johnstone didn't hear them. The man stopped before the desk, nodding his head. “It's true. She isn't. Lady X is still at the brothel, working. Lady Margaret wasn't there to ‘ply the trade.' She was—”