A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan. Ann Lethbridge
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have known, if Merry wasn’t related to the Purtefoys. Now Charlie wasn’t quite so sure if he could bring this off without the betrothal becoming common knowledge. He’d been well and truly caught. Just as Robert had. An ironic smile formed on his lips. ‘Good.’
‘How is Mrs Broadoaks?’ Merry asked a little breathlessly. Fearing his wrath now she’d been found out, no doubt. ‘Well, I hope?’
Broadoaks’s eyes twinkled a little. ‘My missus doesn’t change, Miss Draycott, but she is well, thank you for asking.’
Merry grinned.
Charlie glared at her and then at Broadoaks. ‘I still want to know who is behind the threat to Miss Draycott’s life.’
The old man closed his eyes briefly. ‘I know nowt about it. Nor do any of the other owners, I’d vouch my life on it. Aye, no good looking down your nose at me, my lord. Why would we be involved? We had her set to rights. No. You look elsewhere. I’ve not heard any gossip neither.’ He looked at Merry. ‘Only you know who might want thee feeding t’worms.’
Right now Charlie wanted to do a bit of worm feeding himself. ‘Who would know?’
‘Beyond me, my lord.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d try talking to the innkeeper at t’Muddy Duck. He might know what set them off.’
‘The Muddy Duck is in the Skepton Town Square,’ Merry said.
‘Not a place for a woman,’ Broadoaks said heavily. ‘You know, lass,’ Broadoaks went on, ‘if you’d put that house of yours on t’other side of town, people might not have been so fratched by the idea.’
Apparently, Merry didn’t care who she angered, as long as she got her own way. Damn her. ‘Do you have a suggestion, Mr Broadoaks?’
Merry gasped. Charlie shot her a warning glance.
She pressed her lips together. At least sometimes she showed a little sense, because he was in no mood to tolerate an argument.
The elderly gentleman pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow. ‘There is a house, a small one, over on west side of town. Regular folks live there. It would do for two or three women.’
‘To keep the numbers down,’ Merry said with a marshal light in her eyes.
‘Within reason, I’d say,’ Broadoaks said.
‘I—’
‘We will think about it, Mr Broadoaks,’ Charlie said. He smiled at Merry. ‘Won’t we, my dear? Advice is always appreciated.’
‘Well—’
‘We won’t take up more of your valuable time, Mr Broadoaks. I believe I have business at the Muddy Duck.’
Broadoaks rose to his feet. ‘Tell t’innkeeper I said for him to tell you all he knows.’
In those few words, the old man had admitted Charlie to the inner sanctum. The local gentlemen’s club. He knew it from the chagrin on Merry’s face. He shook hands with the fellow. ‘It has been a great pleasure, sir. I hope we meet again soon.’
‘Ah, and good luck to you, my lord.’ He darted a glance at Merry. ‘Needs a strong hand on the bridle, a woman like her do.’
So she might, but that hand wasn’t going to be Charlie’s. Finally he’d seen right through the scheming little wench and he felt more than a little foolish. Not to mention angry.
He ushered her out of the office and down the steps.
She turned to him. ‘I—’
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along, not hard enough that anyone would notice, but firmly enough so that she knew he meant business. ‘We will talk in the carriage.’
Several times in the past few days, Merry’s escort had looked less than pleased. Now he’d withdrawn into a cool remoteness that put the distance of miles between them.
The distance of a duke-to-be from a lesser mortal. She had no trouble recognising it, since she’d seen the same kind of look on her fellow students’ faces at school when she was intemperate or bold enough to express her opinions or join their conversations. The reason she’d sought solace with Jeremy.
She lifted her chin as she’d done in those long-ago days. ‘What bee’s bustling in tha’s bonnet then, lad?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, you don’t think I’m fooled by that rubbishy accent, do you?’
She stiffened. ‘There is nothing wrong with the way I speak.’
‘Isn’t there? Perhaps the names of Purtefoy and Chepstow might give you a hint as to why it doesn’t ring true.’
She shrugged.
Anger flared in his eyes. Anger she could deal with. Better that than indifference. ‘My mother’s family has nothing whatsoever to do with me.’
A muscle flickered in his jaw. His lip curled in derision. ‘I’m not green, Miss Draycott. Or wet behind the ears. Nor do I have my mother’s milk still on my lips, my dear. I know exactly what you are up to. And it won’t wash.’
Inside she shrank from the bitterness in his quiet voice; on the outside she kept her back straight and her expression disdainful. ‘Doing it rather brown, Charlie. You forced your way into my business uninvited, you know.’
‘You asked me to pretend to be your fiancé.’ He said the words as if they tasted of poison.
‘For a few days,’ she said warily.
‘Let us hope Broadoaks is good to his word and keeps a still tongue in his head or Chepstow will be on my father’s doorstep tomorrow morning. And won’t that stir up an ant’s nest?’
What on earth was he raving about? ‘The Earl of Chepstow barely acknowledges my existence.’
‘Believe me, that will change if this betrothal comes to his ears. He’ll care enough to learn I have been living at your house. A house full of prostitutes, no less.’
‘They are not prostitutes.’
He raised a cynical brow. ‘I know when I am being propositioned.’
She gave him a slit-eyed look. Did he mean her?
‘I’m talking about Jane,’ he said.
‘I told you, I don’t think she is going to stay. In fact, I had already decided to talk to Caro about her leaving as soon as we get back.’
‘Stop avoiding the issue at hand.’ He leaned against the seat back, a hard smile thinning his lips. ‘Oh, Merry, I’ll admit you are good. Chepstow’s niece, for God’s sake. All that straightforward honest stuff really had me fooled. But I’m wise to you now. So let’s just deal with the business at hand and we can end this farce and go our separate ways.’
It was if a hive of bees had stung her all over. The hot and itchy feeling was swiftly followed by a sweep of cold. She inhaled a few deep breaths through her nose and the cynical twist to his mouth became more pronounced. She wanted to hit him. Scratch his face. She curled her hands inside her muff and bit down on her tongue. The old hurt and misery boiled in her chest, the memory of things she’d never told Grandfather, knowing he would be cut to the quick. Not for himself, but for her.
A burning sensation scoured the backs of her eyes and bile rose in her throat. Damn him. She would not let him make her cry the same tears she had shed as a lonely schoolgirl in the gardener’s shed.
There, someone had cared to offer comfort. Here