The Reluctant Reformer (9 page)

“Well, then, show me the coins and we'll be off,” the stableman said with obvious amusement.

Maggie ground her teeth with a frustration she tried not to let show. She reiterated: “I
do
have funds. Just not on me. I can pay you once I am returned to my home. My town house. In
London
.” She added the last for good measure, hoping to impress the man, but knew at once that she'd had the opposite effect. His nose wrinkling with distaste, the man let his mean little eyes trail with disdain over her ragged and filthy form, then shook his head.

“Coin up front. 'At's how I do business. No coin, no carriage.”

“But—”

“Margaret!”

That sharp call made Maggie turn in alarm to see whose voice it was. Her alarm did not lessen at the sight of Lord Ramsey striding forward, trailed by the younger Lord Mullin. James looked rather put out, she saw unhappily. As if
she
were the one who had done something wrong.

Silently cursing her luck, Maggie drew herself up and prepared to deal with this new problem. She had not walked, crawled, and fought through the rain and mud all day to be dragged back to Ramsey at its end. She would see herself to London or die trying.
Well, perhaps not die
, she allowed with a frown.

“Timmins!” Much to Maggie's irritation, at James Hattledon's brusque address, the stableman suddenly stood upright, a respectful expression covering his face that had been conspicuously absent throughout the duration of her conversation with him.

“M'lord.” Mr. Timmins nodded at Lord Ramsey.

“My apologies if Maggie was bothering you,” the nobleman said.

“Lady Margaret Wentworth,” Maggie snapped, very aware that by calling her Maggie he was insinuating a lower station than she deserved.

“Oh, is it
that
game today?” Ramsey asked patronizingly.

Maggie whirled on him with dismay. Catching the meaningful glances he was throwing at Timmins, she snapped her mouth closed and turned to Lord Mullin. “I
am
Lady Margaret Wentworth. Tell him,” she entreated, glaring.

When the younger noble hesitated, his gaze going to James, Maggie could have hit him. Any hesitation was enough to cast doubt, she was sure.

“I
am
,” she repeated furiously. Then she added, “And this man has kidnapped me and is holding me against my will at his estate.”

The move was risky. Her reputation would now be in ruins if this tale got out, but Maggie didn't see much choice. Besides, it wasn't as if she had any prospects to
alienate. Frances had been the only man to show any interest in her since her brother's death, and she wouldn't marry him now if he were the last man on earth.

“Yes, and I have been ravishing you at every turn,” Lord Ramsey said good-humoredly.

Maggie gasped. “You have not! He hasn't,” she added for Timmins's and Mullin's benefit.

“Well, not recently, but I am sorry that I have neglected you so, my dear. I did have business to attend in town. I promise I shall be more attentive now that I am back.”

Maggie was so confused by his words that it took a moment for her to realize that he had taken her arm and was leading her away from the livery. She recognized that fact at about the same moment she realized that his words would be construed as those of a man trying to soothe a neglected lover. She immediately tried to pull away from Lord Ramsey, but the arrival of his carriage right then aided him in preventing her escape; the way he bundled her up and thrust her inside could easily have been misconstrued as assistance rather than the brute force it was.

Unfortunately, while Mullin was close enough to tell the difference, his protest at such treatment was mild to say the least. Mentally Maggie named Robert a traitor as he murmured, “I say, Ramsey. Steady on. No need to manhandle her.”

James's only response was to lunge up into the carriage behind Maggie and catch her as she tried to flee out the other door. He pulled her onto his lap, holding her firmly against his chest, trapping her arms with one of his own even as he covered her mouth with his hand
when she opened it to scream. She was so busy struggling, she didn't even notice when Lord Mullin climbed into the carriage and took the opposite bench to glare at James.

“You had best explain this, my friend. I cannot allow you to treat a lady thusly. Especially not Wentworth's sister.”

“I shall explain as soon as we arrive at Ramsey and she is dealt with,” James snapped. He grunted as Maggie landed a healthy kick to his knee and bounced with restrained fury in his lap.

“For now, perhaps, you could just trust me?” he said in a hiss. Then his nose wrinkled and he glanced around with bewilderment. “What the Devil is that stench?”

Maggie paused in her struggles at the question and noted the way Lord Mullin's gaze slid to her.

“Dear God!” Lord Ramsey gasped. Banging on the wall of the carriage, he bellowed, “Home, Crowch, and fast!”

James had rather hoped that Maggie would wear herself out and give up her struggles by the time they reached his estate. Such was not the case. She was still wiggling, kicking, thrashing, and trying to bite his hand when the carriage rolled up before his manor and stopped. He didn't know where she got the energy. For his part, James was exhausted from trying to hold her still and prevent being neutered by her flailing legs and grinding bottom. He was also heartily sick of the stench permeating his carriage, as well as the growing anger and disgust on Lord Mullin's face.

With Maggie still clutched to his chest, James staggered out of the carriage and carted her through the front door that Mullin hurried to open for him. Pausing in the entry, he bellowed for his butler.

“Surely you can let her go now, James,” Robert said
impatiently, his gaze decidedly sympathetic for the hellcat.

“I will, as soon as someone explains how she got away.”

“You could just ask her,” his friend suggested dryly.

James turned to snap something unpleasant at him, but paused, his attention drawn to the top of the stairs by a gasp.

“But she's asleep in her room!” A maid stood, gaping down at them, and cried out, “I have sat outside her door all afternoon.”

“My lord?” Webster rushed up toward them, shock on his face. James Huttledon was not the sort to bellow and stamp about.

He glanced from one servant to the other, then released Maggie, giving her a less-than-gentle push that sent her into the startled butler's arms. “See that she is bathed and given fresh clothes.”

“I do not want to bathe,” Maggie snapped, regaining her balance and pulling away from Webster.

“You enjoy looking like you just crawled out of the stews, do you?” James asked coldly. Her eyes narrowed on him in displeasure.

“What I would
enjoy
,” she answered between gritted teeth, “is to go home. And if you will not take me, then I would appreciate Lord Mullin's assistance in the matter.” She turned a stunning smile tinged with desperation on the other man. “Please, my lord. As a former friend of my brother's—”

“You can ask him after you bathe,” James interrupted. He did not like the way Robert was swelling up in readiness to become the woman's protector. “Surely you
have ruined his carriage seats enough for one day? Besides, you will have to wait for his carriage and driver to be fetched. Both are still in the village.”

Maggie hesitated, obviously shamed by the reminder of what her befouled state had already done to Lord Mullin's seat. Then her shoulders bowed with resignation. James was grateful to see that the hoyden wasn't completely unreasonable.

“Very well. I shall take a bath,” she announced, turning to start up the stairs. Her attempt at dignity was ruined when she suddenly whirled back, transfixing Lord Mullin with her eyes. “Please promise you will still be here when I finish? If not for my sake, then as a favor to my brother?”

“Of course,” Robert said quickly, his shoulders drawn up. “I shall be here when you return, and I shall help you in any way I can.”

Satisfied with that, she delayed only long enough to toss a half-triumphant, half-furious glare in James's direction, then spun away to take her bath.

James watched her go, then glanced at Webster. The butler promptly straightened, a staunch look coming to his face. “Annie was told not to let Lady Margaret out of her sight until she retired. Also, the dogs were released at night as you requested.”

“The dogs released?” Lord Mullin echoed in dismay.

Ignoring him, James rubbed his hands through the back of his hair with frustration. “If Annie was sitting outside her door, Margaret must have climbed off the balcony.”

“The balcony?” Robert was goggling at the idea, but James continued to ignore him.

“Have the dogs released after you arrange for her
bath, Webster. And tell Annie not to let her out of her sight for a minute.”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I arrange a bath for you, as well?”

The butler's question drew James's attention to the fact that a good deal of the mud originally on Lady Margaret had rubbed off on him. He grimaced, but shook his head. “Not right away; I need to talk to Lord Mullin first. We will be in the library. Send Lady Margaret there when she is ready.”

Gesturing for his friend to follow, James led the way into the study, heading first for the sideboard and the liquor that waited there; he had little doubt that this was going to be at least a two-drink conversation. Fortunately, Robert followed him in silence, accepting the drink James poured and taking a seat to patiently await an explanation.

James paced between the chair Robert had chosen and the fireplace, searching for a way to begin his exposition, but nothing came to mind. At last he paused, turned to face his friend, and blurted, “Gerald's sister is Lady X.”

The silence that followed was complete. Robert gaped at him and James waited, silently counting to twenty-three before the other man blurted, “
Lady X?
”

He certainly understood his friend's horrified disbelief, for he had felt much the same way when Johnstone had revealed the information to him. It was unbelievable. Gerald's innocent little sister, a prostitute? If James were to be entirely honest, he hadn't even believed the runner until he had actually captured Margaret leaving that room in the brothel in a mask—and then he'd had to see her without the mask to be fully convinced it was the right woman. The idea of Gerald's
sainted sister behaving so scandalously was untenable.

And yet he had seen the proof with his own eyes. Lady Margaret Wentworth, the sister of their late friend, was none other than Lady X. He doubted Lord Mullin would believe him out of hand any more than he himself had believed Johnstone.

“But—”

James raised a hand to interrupt his friend. “Let me explain before you start speaking your doubts—and I know you doubt me. I doubted this myself.” Much to his relief the other lord fell silent and took a drink. Tugging at his cravat, James settled into the seat across from Robert, his gaze moving to the cold hearth before them. He supposed he should light a fire, or at least call a servant to do so, but he was feeling too weary at the moment to be bothered. Besides, the servants would be busy preparing Margaret's bath, not to mention preparing the evening meal. It was growing late in the day.

“As you know, Gerald's last request was that I watch after his sister,” he finally began.

Lord Mullin nodded solemnly. “I was there both when he saved your life and when he gasped those words.”

“Yes, well…as you remember, we were not released from service right away.”

Robert nodded. Just because Gerald had died did not mean the whole unit was released; they had continued to fight old Boney until just a month ago.

“Well, by the time I returned, Wentworth's estate had been settled. The title and castle are going to some cousin or other who went off to make his way in America. At the time of my return they had not yet found the fellow, though they probably have by now. At any
rate, while the estate's solicitors could tell me that much, no one seemed able, or at least willing, to give me Gerald's sister's whereabouts since leaving Clarendon—the seat of the Wentworth title—or in aiding me to find her. I had to hire a Bow Street runner named Johnstone to locate the girl.”

“And you found her at Dubarry's?” Robert interrupted in outrage. “My God, lawyers are such cold-hearted bastards! To dump the woman out on the road without a second thought, leaving her to take up—”

“Nay,” James interjected before Lord Mullin got too carried away. “Johnstone, the Bow Street runner I hired, did not find her at Dubarry's. Well, not at first.” He heaved a sigh and shifted in his seat. “He found her at Gerald's town house in London. It seems that while he could not leave her the title and castle, he could and did leave her his personal property: his town house, a few small investments, his servants.” James shifted again and took another drink. It gave Robert the opportunity to speak.

“But if she has the town house in London and money, why take up—”

“Greed, I suppose,” James answered, staring into the swirling liquid in his glass with a morose expression. “Gerald's investments weren't enough to run the household for any length of time without the funds that are now going to Margaret's cousin. Had she sold the town house and purchased a small cottage in the country, then invested the money left over from the sale, she most likely would have been fine. But it seems such…rural living is not to her taste. Or at least that is what I must presume from the choices she has made. She settled in the London town house and, apparently, set to
work at Madame Dubarry's to supplement her income.”

“Good Lord,” Robert murmured with consternation. “Who would have believed it of Gerald's sister? He always made her sound so sweet and naive.”

“Yes, well, I could hardly believe it when Johnstone came to me with the news.”

Robert's eyebrows rose slightly. “How did
he
find out?”

James shrugged. “He found her at the same time he learned the contents of the will. Which should have been the end of his investigation, I suppose, but it did not go unnoticed by me that financially she should be in a bad way and yet she had retained all the servants. I was…curious as to how she was managing, so I asked Johnstone to look into the matter.”

“And he discovered she was Lady X,” Lord Mullin finished.

“Aye.” James took another drink. “I hadn't heard from him for a week or so; then he came to me the other night and announced, rather proudly, that he had sorted it all out. He'd had a man watching her, but the fellow hadn't come up with anything. Suspecting his comrade was slacking on the job, he had watched her himself and followed her to Dubarry's. I am ashamed to admit it was already his supposition that Margaret is Lady X, though he had no proof of it. Of course, the only way to find out if it was true was to unmask Lady X.”

Robert stiffened. “You
didn't!
”

“What? Sample her favors and unmask her that way?” James asked sardonically, then shook his head. “Nay. I arranged a…er…meeting. But I never intended to sample anything, just to get her out of there and unmask
her. Which I did. We smuggled her out of Dubarry's, got her in my carriage, and brought her here. Unfortunately, they convened the House of Lords this morning, so I had to turn around and head right back to London. I left Margaret here while I did. I headed back again directly after.”

“No wonder you look exhausted,” his friend commented.

“Yes.”

They were both quiet for a moment; then Robert asked, “Did you hire someone to guard her?”

James shook his head. “I didn't think it was necessary. I told the staff that no one was to aid her in leaving, and that I would return as soon as possible. I ordered Webster to have Annie stick with Margaret all day, not to let her out of her sight until she retired. And I assumed the dogs loosed at night would discourage her from trying anything then. I even wrote her a note explaining that no one would abet her escape, and that we would discuss alternate career choices when I returned. I thought such a note would assure her she would not be harmed. I never imagined for a moment that she would still run.”

“No. Most ladies would simply have awaited your return,” Robert sympathized. Then he added, “Of course, most women in her situation would never have taken up the career she did.”

Ramsey frowned. “You sound almost admiring.”

“Well…” The fellow shrugged and smiled slightly. “I guess I do admire her a bit. You have to give her credit for at least attempting to take care of matters rather than sit about and cry.”

James was scandalized. “Taking up as Lady X is
hardly an honorable way of ‘taking care of matters,' he snapped. He scowled at the other man for even suggesting the thought, but Lord Mullin merely shrugged.

“Well, it is better than the poorhouse perhaps. Anyway, what was she supposed to do—marry? Most marriages these days are a form of prostitution, anyway. At least she is honest about it.” Robert laughed.

Though James shook his head at his friend's argument, he had to admit he'd indulged a thought or two along those lines himself. Certainly every mistress he'd ever had had been like a wife: he'd paid for her home, her clothes, her entertainment, and her servants—at least for as long as they'd been involved. He supposed the only difference was that his mistresses were short-term. Of course, Lady X's customers did not bother with manors or servants; they had only to hand over cold, hard coin for services rendered.

He didn't admit any of this to Robert, though. He would never allude to anything but dismay at her profession. This was Gerald Wentworth's sister, after all!

“So? What do you plan to do with her?”

James glanced up at that question and grimaced. He had been pondering little else since smuggling her out of the brothel. What
was
he to do with her? His promise to her brother would not allow him simply to let her go about her business as a notorious demimondaine. At the very least he had to offer her options, to attempt to talk Margaret into giving up this life of shattered morals. But how?

He was saved from admitting his bafflement by the crash of the study door slamming open and banging against the wall. Both men glanced with startled surprise at the woman now standing in the doorway glaring at
them. She was a sight to behold. Bathed, powdered, and dressed in a fresh gown that almost fit, her fiery eyes snapped from James to Lord Mullin and settled on the latter with relief. She promptly pushed away from the door and rushed to Robert as he stood.

“Thank God you are still here, my lord! I was so afraid that you might leave.”

“Of course I am still here,” Lord Mullin assured her, looking terribly uncomfortable as he did. “I said I would wait.”