Page 25 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

Even though, try to restrain it as he might, kisses were all he could think of.

Tea dragged on what seemed an interminable time. He had to endure watching Trowbridge with his gaze fastened on Miss Neville like a starving beggar anticipating a feast. Listen to him making her pretty compliments, promising to have his mama call on her as soon as she arrived in town, to all of which she replied with courtesy but not, he thought, anything warmer.

Greville knew he shouldn’t resent the man so much—but with his wealth, title, status and good looks, Trowbridge was just too perfectly placed to carry off the prize Greville was coming to admire much too much for his own good.

Finally the party broke up, Trowbridge and the Williamses setting off in their carriage. At an arched eyebrow and a nod from Miss Neville, Greville left the drawing room and headed for the library.

Chapter Eleven

Greville’s accelerating heartbeat already thudding in his chest, he entered the darkened room, wondering what was so urgent Miss Neville felt compelled to sneak out and discuss it this very night. He tried, he really did try, not to think wicked thoughts…but he just couldn’t help it.

Images of fevered kisses and stolen caresses seemed to shimmer in the dimly lit air around him. Desire rose in a fierce wave, swamping him.

Not at all sure he could control it, he was halfway to the point of leaving when the door opened softly and, bearing a single candle, Miss Neville crept in.

She jumped when his figure materialised out of gloom. ‘Whisper the secret code,’ he joked, trying to set her at ease and rein in the desire that pounded in his ears and pulsed through his body with every rapid heartbeat.

He yearned to draw closer, but he couldn’t risk that now, not with the strong sensual connection sizzling between them. Not when the shadows and the teasing scent of her perfume and her lovely face, gazing up at him, would make leaning down to claim her lips so very easy.

He took a step back from temptation, his hands shaking with the effort to resist touching her. Forcing himself to focus on the reason for this meeting, he said, ‘What has transpired that is so dire you must sneak about in the dark to discuss it?’

Without preamble, she related the troubling news her maid had confided. ‘I fear some altercation is imminent, for George did not appear tonight, though he knew we had guests and that Papa would surely be distressed by his absence. Even my brother is generally not that heedless. Could you ride to the Coastal Brigade station tomorrow and see what you can discover? I know I should confide in Papa, but…he’s been looking so ill these last few days. I hope my fears are only wild imaginings, and don’t wish to add to his anxiety without good cause.’

He wished he could reassure her—or, better still, kiss the worried frown from her brow, but the circumstances she’d just described were so troubling and potentially dangerous, they managed to check even his passion, at least for the moment.

‘I will ride into Salters Bay first thing tomorrow.’

She exhaled a sigh. ‘Thank you! I’m sorry to involve you in troubles that do not concern you, but I had no one else to confide in. And I knew I could count on you.’

His rational mind tried to rein in the ecstatic leap of his heart at that avowal. She counted on her maid to dress her and her cook to prepare a good meal. He was making a great deal too much of out of nothing.

Or was he?

Overriding that speculation was the imperative, now that she was here, to make the most of this rare opportunity. With every atom within him, he ached to kiss her, but since that was nearly certain to send her scurrying to the safety of her room, he’d settle for luring her to remain here so he might savour her presence.

Ease off, he cautioned himself. A direct reference to the incident at dinner should cool his ardour and remind them both of his place. ‘I thought you might want to berate me. If so, prime your weapon.’

He succeeded in part of his mission; the frown smoothed from her brow and she gave him a reproving look. ‘You were rather hard on poor Lord Trowbridge.’

‘Poor’ Lord Trowbridge. Now that was a hopeful sign. Ladies generally did not favour men they referred to as ‘poor’. Though the eventual possession of a powerful title must have a wonderfully strengthening effect, even on a weakling.

‘Surely you see he deliberately provoked my response.’

‘Yes, his attempt to ferret out information was surprisingly ill bred.’

The words trembled on his tongue to ask if she realised Trowbridge’s purpose had been to injure someone he saw as a possible rival. Before he could decide whether such a question was wise, she said, ‘May I ask a terribly ill-bred question?’

A sinking sensation spiralled in his belly. Though he feared he knew where this was headed, he replied, ‘Of course.’

‘How did you come to join the Navy?’

After the look she’d given him in the dining room, he wasn’t surprised by her enquiry. He was her guest, imposing upon the hospitality of her family. She must be as curious as Trowbridge had been…and though revealing the arrogance and folly that had led him on to the deck of the Illustrious might well lower him in her estimation, she deserved the truth.

‘It’s rather a long story.’

‘I should like to hear it, if you don’t mind the telling,’ she replied, motioning him to the sofa.

He followed, thinking ruefully that once his tale was done, he’d not have to worry about tempting her with kisses. She’d probably bolt from the room and take care to stay far away until she could put the distance from Ashton Grove to London between them.

‘As I expect you know, my family is a junior branch of the Stanhope tree, without land of our own. When I returned home from the army after Waterloo, I approached my cousin Lord Englemere, who offered me a position managing an estate near Nottingham. Knowing little about running a property, I intended to turn it down, but Sergeant Barksdale, my assistant in the Quartermaster’s Corps who’d returned to England with me, persuaded me to accept. He’d grown up in the country, he said; hire him as my foreman and he would show me how to manage the estate.

‘I trusted him, unwisely as it turned out. Instead of taking me in hand, he urged me to leave the details of running the estate to him…and I did.’

With a bitter curl of his lip, Greville recalled how completely Barksdale had gulled him. And he’d been perfectly content to be so gulled, he thought with brutal self-appraisal, as long as he could fancy himself ‘lord of the manor’ on his occasional rides around the property, his vanity stoked by his assistant’s assurances that supervising the work of manual labourers and common clerks was beneath the dignity of a gentleman’s son. It had been all too easy for Barksdale to lull him with wine and loose women into ignoring what was happening under his very nose on the estate given into his charge.

‘It shames me to confess that even after my time in the army, I was still indolent, arrogant and far too sure of my own worth. Not until I’d been more than a year at Blenhem Hill did I discover how badly wrong things had gone. One of the farmers came to me demanding justice, claiming Barksdale was overcharging for rents, delivering less than promised of seed, tools and equipment, and refusing to make repairs, even the most essential. At his insistence, instead of a cursory ride about the estate, I made a more thorough inspection of the farms.’

Greville shook his head, the shock and dismay of what he’d uncovered that day still painful to recall. ‘Even to one of my inexperience, conditions looked grim. I returned to the estate office and inspected the books, discovering entries that showed far less rent recorded than had actually been paid. That same day, a message arrived from my cousin. The former estate agent, now retired, had written him about the state of affairs at Blenhem Hill. Englemere’s letter informed me I’d been relieved of my position.’

Greville felt the burn of humiliation that had scorched him that day, reading Englemere’s dismissal. ‘My cousin was right; I’d let him down; I’d failed the people who’d depended on me. However, though Barksdale’s guilt in no way relieved me of responsibility for the situation, before I informed Lord Englemere of his crime, I wanted to give my confederate the chance to make retribution.’

Greville laughed bitterly. ‘Even then, I didn’t have his true measure. Once he saw I could be misled no longer, he begged for some time to consider how he might repay what he’d stolen. The last thing I remember before waking up with a pounding headache on some low back street in Portsmouth was turning away to pour him a glass of wine.’

‘He attacked you?’ Miss Neville asked with gasp.

‘With the fireplace poker, I suspect. Since I have almost no memory of what would have been several days’ journey, he must have drugged me as well, then turned me over to some disreputable associate. With the threat of prosecution hanging over him, I expect Barksdale paid his confederate well to make sure I was sent off to sea, hopefully never to return. Delivered to the press gang stripped of my clothing and everything else of value, I didn’t much resemble a gentleman, and despite my seemingly drunken state, they judged me otherwise in good health. Anxious to return the ship as quickly as possible, they hauled me into a wagon and set off. By time I was fully conscious, I found myself aboard a prison hulk off Portsmouth, under guard and awaiting transport to the Illustrious.’

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