Page 52 of Lady Controversial
‘Henry is here and someone will feed the chickens and collect eggs daily,’ he flapped a hand. ‘Don’t concern yourself. Everything has been taken care of.’
‘Evidently,’ she replied, wondering why she felt more agitated than grateful for the earl’s thoughtfulness. She simply wasn’t herself when in Ellery’s distracting presence, she decided, and could not therefore be blamed for her inattention to detail. ‘I shall not know what to do with myself.’
‘Concentrate upon recovering your strength,’ Ellery advised, calling to his brother and turning to leave the cottage. ‘The doctor will return today to dress your wound afresh.’
‘There is no need.’
‘There is every need,’ Ellery replied, raising a hand to cut off her protest. ‘Allow me to worry about Brooke. I will call again this afternoon. May I tell my mother that she can anticipate the pleasure of your company this evening?’
Isolda dipped her head, acquiescing with good grace. If she did not, she wouldn’t put it past him to personally frogmarch her into his drawing room, ill-prepared and inadequately dressed. Just as he wouldn’t listen to her objections about the unnecessary expense of a doctor. ‘I doubt that she will find it a pleasure, but since you insist and since I have never been one to back away from a challenge, then by all means you may.’
‘Thank you,’ he said softly, as his brother joined him and the two of them left the cottage.
Marcus stopped walking the moment he was out of Barker’s sight, barely conscious of the torrential rain dripping from the brim of his hat or the wind tearing at his clothing. Who the devil had distracted the girl? Barker knew, Marcus was absolutely sure of it, but he wasn’t about to share the information. The girl was too good at what she did to allow the rumblings of a raucous crowd to unsettle her, so it must have been a specific person who disapproved of the risks she took. A member of her family perhaps. Certainly it must have been someone powerful enough to spirit her away from directly under Barker’s nose without that man’s brawny guards trying to prevent it.
A gentleman, in other words.
Marcus hadn’t seen anyone of that ilk, but then he had deliberately arrived late and remained at the back of the crowd, having little desire to be recognised himself. It was the type of rough gathering that excluded the presence of gentlemen. Those unwise enough to encroach upon the sporting activities of the lower classes were likely to end up with their pockets picked or worse, and Marcus had deliberately dressed down. Presumably, whoever had taken the young woman had done so as well, but he had stood close and his disguise had not been sufficient to fool the girl. Presumably it was her father, brother or guardian. That would explain why the person hadn’t looked the part of a gentleman, since the girl was clearly no lady.
Ladies simply did not dress like men and learn to fight with a sword. No self-respecting gentleman would permit a daughter of his to behave so inappropriately. Recollections of the lady he had just watched had a predictable effect upon Marcus, and he decided that nothing would prevent him from getting his hands on her. She would be the perfect attraction for the type of men he hoped to lure onto his pleasure vessel, where he would be pleased to relieve them of as much of their blunt as they could be persuaded to part with.
When the girl’s skills with a sword lost their novelty value then she could earn her keep in a more traditional manner, on her back. Marcus thought of her slim thighs and pert backside and his discomfort increased. He would test her out himself before he sold her off to the highest bidder. It was the least she could expect for the inconvenience she had caused him.
His two underlings flanked him, talking quietly between themselves. Marcus clicked his fingers and they instantly fell silent and attentive.
‘Follow Barker and bring him to me,’ he said.
‘He won’t come willingly,’ one of them replied.
‘Use whatever force you have to, but keep him alive.’
The two men shared an evil smile and melted away, leaving Marcus to claim his horse and ride back unescorted. A modicum of fear trickled through him but he shook it off, fingering the pistol that he kept in his pocket, dry in spite of the heavy rain.
He swung into his wet saddle and turned his miserable excuse for a horse in the direction of his lodgings. Lodgings that were little better than Rose Cottage and not nearly good enough for a man of his stature. But they were temporary, he reminded himself, as he pushed the reluctant nag into a trot, conscious of rain seeping into the top of his boots and soaking his feet. When he had Barker back there, it would only be a matter of moments before he tortured the identity of the lass out of him.
Then, finally, his star would be in the ascendency.
Chapter Seventeen
‘There is no specific mention of Rose Cottage or any other extraneous properties in that vowel,’ Lawson told Ellery, waving a duplicate of the document under his nose. Ellery examined it, not bothering to ask how his man had got hold of it so quickly. Nor did he doubt its validity. Lawson was nothing if not resourceful. ‘It refers only to Crawley Place which, as we know, is shut up right now.’
‘Which presumably is why Brooke is not insisting upon ownership of Rose Cottage,’ Ellery replied. ‘He is aware that Miss Crawley will not accept his word at face value and probably doesn’t want to draw attention to his desire for the place.’
‘Very sensible of her.’ Lawson paused. ‘Presumably she has consulted her father’s lawyers and settled the matter of ownership.’
‘I asked her when we first met, but she avoided giving me a direct answer.’
Lawson rubbed his neck. ‘Do you really think Brooke is going to create a floating cathouse right here on your doorstep?’
‘It seems highly probable. If we’re right and he defrauded Crawley out of his estate, he undoubtedly did so with that purpose in mind. It’s the sort of behaviour that would be right up his street, and to be frank there are plenty of well-heeled coves who will jump at the chance to frequent such a novel place.’
‘True enough. It will give the wealthy middle classes an opportunity to rub shoulders with the aristocracy.’
‘Let me know the moment he shows his face and we discover where he’s hiding himself away.’ Ellery leaned back in his chair, threw his head back and stretched his arms above his head. ‘He should be lording it about in Crawley Place, behaving like a man of substance. His not taking up occupation lends credence to the rumours that he acquired the place by disreputable means and cannot afford to run it. He has dismissed the long-standing steward—but then I suppose if he is planning to turn the place into a house of ill repute, he will have no requirement for a land manager.’
‘And the fewer people who know of his plans, the more likely he is to succeed.’
Ellery nodded. ‘Quite so. I gather that Miss Crawley and the steward were on friendly terms. Brooke couldn’t risk him running to her, or anyone else for that matter, the moment he got wind of Brooke’s plans.’
