A Baron for Becky Read online

  Aldridge knew, though, that the rough appearance hid an incisive mind. Smite looked for intelligence in his lieutenants, and Tiny’s presence here, who knew how many days from London, and Smite’s control, was evidence of how much Smite trusted him. In this instance, intelligence was all to the good, if Aldridge played his game well.

  One of the other men grunted a question. ‘Shall I take his head off?’ Aldridge translated. Thankfully, Tiny shook his head. “Smite likes ’im.” Useful to know, but not something to count on. Rumour had it, Smite’s rise to the top had been aided by a childhood friend, killed by his own hand when the friend dared to disagree with him.

  The crime lord’s lieutenant turned back to Aldridge. “Whacha doin’ here, m’lord?” he demanded. “And whassat ya got on?”

  Aldridge looked down at his improvised shawl kilt as if he’d never seen it before.

  “This? The piece of perfection in the garden was most insistent. Didn’t want her daughter seeing my...” he waggled his eyebrows and made a graphic gesture with one hand, prompting a guffaw from the man who wanted to decapitate him.

  “A skirt wiv a little un? Where is she?” Tiny wanted to know.

  “Gone. She was in a hurry, said she and the little girl had a ship to catch. She couldn’t tell me where Perry was, either. Bastard. He’ll be sorry when I find him. Drugged me, the lowlife, treacherous cur. Stole my horse and my clothes. Swine. Exquisite female, though. Worth the trip, if she’d have had me. Pity she wouldn’t stop to... chat.”

  Another guffaw from Decapitator, and a pungent comment about a better use for a female than chatting.

  “’ow long?” Tiny was not to be distracted.

  Enough friendliness. Time to remind them of their place again. He trotted out the ducal manner. Nostrils flared, chin lifted, a glare infused with scorn and disdain.

  Tiny flinched, but persisted. “I needs to ask, m’lord; ’ow long since ya seen the skirt? She belongs to Smite. ’Er and the little un.”

  “Really?” said Aldridge. “Dammit, that’s the last straw. I was promised first chance. Perry, damn his cowardly, lying eyes, said he was leaving the country, and she needed a new protector. And all the time... Smite? Really? I say! Do you think he’d consider an offer?”

  “We ’ave to find ’er first, m’lord. ’Ow long since ya seen her?”

  Aldridge sighed. “Really, I don’t know. It was around dusk. How long ago was that? After she left, I... I suppose I passed out again.”

  Tiny let out a string of profanities, some Aldridge had never heard, and several that sounded painful, if not impossible. “Doxy’s got ten hours on us, but we ’ave to search,” he told the others, and began organising his men to search the garden, the house, the nearby village of Niddberrow, and the surrounding countryside.

  He was near Niddberrow? The last Aldridge remembered, he had been just outside of Bath, half a day’s ride away. “If you’re off to search the countryside, perhaps one of you would take a message to my cousin in Longford, the Earl of Chirbury at Longford Court.”

  “No time,” Tiny told him.

  Aldridge sighed. “So much for Smite’s promises,” he said. “Ah well. I daresay I can walk to Longford, though it might alarm the local populace. When I get to London, though, I’ll be having a little talk with our mutual friend. ‘Anything you need, any time,’ he said.” Aldridge made shooing motions with his hands. “Go on, then. Go, if you’re going. I might as well get some more sleep.”

  Tiny looked a little hunted. He’d witnessed Smite’s first meeting with Aldridge. Clearly, Tiny knew no better than Aldridge what the crime lord would expect of him now.

  Aldridge let him stew for a minute, then offered him a way out. “I suppose whoever rides over to Longford could just give my note to a villager. That would do.”

  Tiny agreed, and found a scrap of paper in one pocket and a pencil in the other. Pity. Aldridge had hoped to move the entire meeting up to the house, so Rose and Sarah could release themselves from their prison.

  He wrote quickly and handed the message to Tiny, who read it before giving it to the searcher heading for Longford. Would Rede recognise his writing? He had no idea if his cousin had even seen a letter from him. Well, if no carriage came, Aldridge would have to think of something else.

  Chapter Two

  Trapped in the seat, with Sarah’s light weight heavier by the minute, the woman known as the Rose of Frampton listened with growing appreciation as her rescuer played Smite’s men like an orchestra. She’d heard of the Merry Marquis—who hadn’t? The Marquis of Aldridge: one of the richest men in England, and one of the randiest, too, by all accounts.

  Among mistresses and courtesans, his generosity with women of their kind was legendary—and of far more interest to Rose than his rumoured prowess in the act by which she made her living.

  Aldridge talked circles around his audience: cajoling, commanding, teasing, amusing, coaxing; by turns haughty, friendly, and bored. Rose understood very little of the London argot, but the tension eased from the air, the men’s voices changed as they relaxed their battle-ready awareness and fell under Aldridge’s spell.

  By the time he sent them off on their wild goose chase around the countryside, Sarah had fallen asleep. Rose hoped they would all leave, but the leader said he would wait here for his followers’ reports. Rose felt the bench seat shift slightly as someone sat on it, and she heard Aldridge’s voice directly above her, addressing the leader of the heavies.

  “You do not have to keep me company, Tiny. I’m happy to go back to sleep until Rede’s carriage arrives.”

  Tiny muttered something, and Aldridge answered as if he could not care a bean. “Search the garden? Why not. Help yourself, old chap.” His weight shifted above her, and suddenly his voice was only inches above her head. “I’ll just check out the back of my eyelids.”

  Long moments passed before Tiny grunted, and his boots sounded on their way to the door and down the steps.

  Aldridge spoke, his voice a whisper. “Best stay there, ladies. I hope you are not too uncomfortable.”

  She whispered back. “Sarah is asleep. We can stay as long as we must. Thank you.”

  “No talking,” he warned. She was tempted to tell him he had started it, but she stayed silent.

  Sarah slept on as the minutes slowly passed. Rose ignored her increasing discomfort, straining her ears to hear Tiny as he searched the garden, grumbling loudly to himself. He must have a couple of men still here, since she heard him talking to one down by the back gate, and another up near the house. Thank all the powers of Heaven he didn’t think to poke in the low shrubbery around the summerhouse, where Aldridge had stowed their bundles.

  Several times, he came into the summerhouse to talk. Aldridge asked after the woman they were hunting.

  “She, I must suppose,” he said, “is this Rose that Perry spoke of so highly. I must say, if she is as good in bed as she is to look at, she’s worth every penny Perry wanted for her. If your men find her, I would like to make an offer.”

  Tiny made an answer, in which ‘The Rose of Frampton’ was the only familiar phrase, and that only because Rose was accustomed to the label she’d been given, ten years ago, by the abbess who had taken her when her father cast her out.

  After the brothel, she had moved from protector to protector. Perry, may he roast in Hell forever, was to have been her last. He’d promised her the cottage, showered her with jewellery, even let her keep Sarah with her. But when he tied her up, he’d told her the cottage was never hers, that the deeds he’d given her were fake. And he’d sorted through her jewels while she sat cuffed to the bed cursing him, leaving the ones he said were paste, and taking the few good pieces.

  When she had stashed some clothes and jewellery in the bench seat in case she needed to run, she had laughed at her own fears. Why would she wish to escape from her own house? From her last protector, who was a gambler and a drunkard, but not a violent man? But her escape baskets were a habit established
for years, and into the seat they went.

  Now her only question was how much of the hidden jewellery was paste? How many of her previous protectors had played her for a fool? Perry, the belly-crawling sack of slime, had given her one piece of good advice: “You should have hired a solicitor, Rose,” he told her. “All the smart beauties do. Too late now, though. No lawyers in Smite’s world.”

  If she had to find herself another protector, she’d insist on a written contract, and hire someone to check that he not only seemed wealthy, but actually was. She sighed, taking care to stay silent. She had hoped to leave this life behind her, to give Sarah a fresh start, away from this business. Her hopes were dust now. Even if the rest of her jewellery were real, it wouldn’t raise enough for them to survive.

  And what were her other choices—assuming she and Sarah got out of this alive? With her past, no one would give her a respectable job, and what marketable skills did she have? It would be the workhouse, where they would separate her from Sarah, or another protector.

  Perhaps she should try her luck in London, where rich men were more plentiful, or so she had heard. Perhaps Aldridge would help her. Perhaps...

  Her heart, her breathing; everything stopped for a moment while she considered the thought that crept up on her. Perhaps Aldridge meant it when he claimed to be attracted to her, perhaps even when he said he wished to make an offer. Was he in the market for a mistress? And could a provincial whore hope to win his interest?

  She was so busy remembering everything she had heard about the Merry Marquis that she almost missed the crunch of footsteps outside.

  “Are you ‘Tiny’?” Another upper-class voice, consonants so crisp they could cut.

  “Rede?” Aldridge said, the boards creaking as he shifted his weight. “Rede, you came yourself?”

  The cousin replied, “With a message like that? ‘Stuck at Perringworth’s cottage just outside Niddberrow. No clothes, no horse, no money. Send closed carriage to the summerhouse, urgently. Your loving cousin, Aldridge.’ Fetching kilt, cousin. Pink roses on a green field. Setting a new fashion?”

  Aldridge laughed. “I’ll bet you a gold guinea, at least a dozen people would imitate me, were I to walk through Hyde Park dressed like this. I did think it rather better than the alternative, especially if I had to walk all the way to the Court.”

  “I have not been introduced to your friend,” the cousin said.

  “Ah. A friend of a friend, shall we say. Tiny, aide-de-camp to Smite, of Seven Dials in London. He’s here on a debt-collecting mission. Our Mr. Perringworth has been a naughty, naughty boy.”

  “Run orf, ’e as,” Tiny said. “An’ the skirt too. Smite, ’e’s not gonna be ’appy. ’Ad a buyer for the little ’un, ’e did.”

  “We are talking, I take it, of The Rose of Frampton and her child?” the cousin asked.

  “Perringworth left them as payment for his debt, but they seem to have disappeared. I don’t suppose I could borrow your jacket, cousin?”

  “We can do better, I think.” Something was placed on the bench with a thump.

  “You’ve brought clothes? Ah, good chap. I say, Tiny, if you could just wait outside while I change?”

  The bully’s steps retreated down the stairs, and then up the path towards the house. Suddenly, the seat lid was opened. Rose was dazzled for a moment by the sudden light.

  When her eyes cleared, two men were leaning over her. The sun had risen while she was hiding, and was shining directly into the summerhouse, giving both fair heads a halo of gold.

  Aldridge was everything she’d heard. If Sarah hadn’t been asleep on top of her, she wasn’t sure she could have resisted poking his bare chest to see if his muscles were as hard as they looked. Or perhaps just shaping them with her hands... What on earth did Aldridge do for exercise?

  She met his amused brown eyes, and he winked as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She turned her head and met vivid blue, instead. If Aldridge were handsome, then his cousin was beautiful—classic high cheekbones, a firm mouth currently in a stern line, but with a lower lip that suggested a passionate temperament, and golden hair tousled from being trapped under his hat. He could have sat as a model for the archangel Michael. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if he slew dragons in his spare time.

  “The Rose of Frampton, I presume,” he said. The voice was bland, non-committal, not a hint of judgement. Still, she blushed.

  “We have no time for introductions,” Aldridge said. “My dear, is there another way out of the garden? Tiny has men on the front gate and the back.”

  “We can get through the hedge,” said Sarah with a yawn, as she responded to Rose’s hand gently shaking her shoulder.

  “Where will that take you?” As he spoke, Aldridge was dressing: stepping into a pair of pantaloons and pulling them up before he unwound the shawl, turning his back to don and tuck in a shirt. “We’ll bring the carriage as close as we can to pick you up.”

  “The lane. It takes a turn past the house and runs beside the hedge for a short way,” Rose said. The angel man had helped Sarah from the cavity, and was now holding out a hand for her. Unaccountably shy, Rose held her dress at the knee as she climbed out.

  Aldridge was sitting on the floor, pulling on boots. “Over the side with you, and hide. We’ll draw Tiny off. Don’t run for the hedge until we clear the corner of the house.”

  “Aldridge,” said the angel man, “what am I assisting with here?”

  “A rescue, dear cousin. You heard what they said about the child.”

  The angel man smiled at Sarah with a sweetness Rose did not expect from such a stern man. “A rescue we can manage. Come. Let me lift you over the wall.” Sarah went willingly to his arms, and he swung her between the trellises into the garden beyond. Aldridge lifted Rose and did the same, the strength in his arms fulfilling the promise of the muscles now hidden beneath a gentleman’s waistcoat and jacket.

  “Tiny!” Aldridge’s voice moved away from her as he spoke. “Tiny, the Earl of Chirbury and I would like you to take a message for us to Smite.”

  Aldridge continued talking, and the steps of all three men retreated up the path. Rose waited impatiently until they sounded distant before daring to peek over the bush that was her hiding place. As soon as they disappeared around the corner of the house, she stood cautiously, checking all around her.

  No one was in sight.

  “Sarah, run for the hedge and hide under it until the carriage comes,” she said, before scurrying along the edge of the summerhouse, picking up the bundle, box, and basket.

  She checked both ways again before running to join her daughter. Just in time. Tiny rounded the house and started down the path, calling for the man at the back gate.

  Moments later, the carriage came slowly up the lane. Aldridge opened the door and leapt down to toss first Sarah, then Rose, then all of their baggage, up into the carriage. He swung in behind them, swiftly shutting the door.

  “Stay down,” his cousin said to Rose, who was trying to pull herself up from the floor. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  Rose sat at the earl’s feet, propping herself against the seat, taking Sarah into her arms.

  The coachman must have had instructions to spring the horses once all the passengers were aboard, for the coach suddenly lurched forward, and Rose had to brace herself with her feet and one arm.

  Aldridge, from the seat opposite his cousin, said, “I expect them to check on us, but they won’t follow us to the Court. You’ll soon be safe, ladies.”

  “We have perhaps fifteen minutes until we are on my land,” the earl told her, “and then a further ten to the Court.” He raised his brows at Aldridge. “Time enough to tell me your story, cousin.”

  The brief explanation they gave, all they were prepared to say in front of the child, clearly didn’t satisfy Rede. But he said nothing, even after they were met at the Court by Rede’s countess, the lovely Anne. But as soon as Aldridge delivered Mrs Rose Darling—a wo
rking name if ever he heard one—and Miss Sarah Darling into Lady Chirbury’s hands, Aldridge heard the command he’d expected.

  “Aldridge, I’ll see you in my study.”

  The courtesan had been subdued in the carriage, but he’d caught a speculative look in her eyes from time to time. Eyes of cornflower blue, in a face that fulfilled the promise he’d glimpsed in the night’s shadows. And her body brought his to instant, quivering attention.

  He hoped her mind was drifting in the same direction as his. Rede’s house had many inviting nooks and crannies to provide cover for a couple in search of privacy.

  “Aldridge!” Rede’s voice cut through Aldridge’s lazy speculation about Mrs Darling’s treasures.

  Aldridge followed Rede, who went straight to a row of decanters in the spacious study. “Brandy? It’s early, but you look like hell, old chap.”

  “Please.”

  Now that the crisis was over, Aldridge’s headache had returned full force, and he was having trouble focusing his thoughts. Perhaps his lies about being drugged were closer to the truth than he’d thought.

  Rede waved him to a chair. “You are planning to offer Mrs Darling carte blanche, I assume. Very well. The lady has to make a living. But while she is a guest under my roof, you will not bed her—or tup her anywhere else. Nor will you offend my wife with lewd talk or innuendo. I’ll have your promise before you leave this room.”

  Aldridge didn’t have the energy to be offended at Rede’s poor opinion of his manners. Besides, he had intended all of those things. Except for lewd talk in front of Rede’s countess, obviously.

  “I didn’t come down to see her,” he said. “I didn’t even know she existed. How does it happen that you’ve heard of The Rose of Frampton, and I haven’t?”

  A two-pronged distraction, and thankfully, Rede picked up one of the lures. “If you didn’t come for Mrs Darling, what were you doing in her garden?”