The Notorious Scoundrel Read online

  The men struggled over a drowsy Quincy for a moment before William stepped between them and placed his hand on James’s chest.

  “Let him go, James.”

  James glared at William with an immovable expression before he reluctantly released the crumpled fabric of Quincy’s shirt.

  Edmund placed his ill-looking brother’s arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the door. They departed from the room, the tense atmosphere, leaving the older brothers bickering in the study once more.

  “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” said Quincy, wheezing.

  Edmund guided him through the passageway, his features grim. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”

  “But you and James are quarreling.”

  “We’ve been quarreling for a long time, Quincy. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Then why are you so angry with him?”

  As Edmund mounted the steps with his brother, he frowned. “Because James is a bloody despot.”

  Quincy staggered. “I don’t remember it bothering you so much in the past.”

  “Well, it bothers me now,” he said stiffly.

  Chapter 11

  Amy stood beside the tall window, listening to the heavy rain fall. The water pellets beat against the sturdy pane like fists banging on the glass, trying to break into the house. Thunder rumbled, shaking the window, the vibrations chiming in her head.

  The violent sounds captured Amy’s imagination. She parted the fine linen drapery and peered through the wet, streaky glass into the shadowy street. There she observed the masked figures on horseback. The devils raided the lane, instigating panic. Screams filled her head.

  She closed her eyes and shuddered, banished the haunting reflections. A moment later, she parted her lashes and looked through the window once more into the dead, stormy thoroughfare. She battled her own demons, she thought. She empathized with Quincy’s plight.

  The sound of swooshing petticoats played with Amy’s ears. She half listened to the fretful struts of her chaperone as the woman circled the sitting room. Soon the door opened and Captain James Hawkins entered the space, looking bedraggled. He had removed his cravat and black coat, rolled up his sleeves, and the very ungentlemanly appearance of him was disconcerting.

  Sophia demanded, “How’s Quincy?”

  “He’ll live.”

  She sighed. The relief was short-lived, though. “And you?” She was thoughtful. “Are you all right, James?”

  The captain slammed his fist into the nearest piece of furniture: a polished wall clock with a lovely eggshell-enameled face. Amy winced at the sound of splintering wood. The unfortunate timepiece absorbed the man’s savage blow; its hands stopped ticking.

  Amy skulked beside the thick brown curtains flanking the window, unwilling to attract the captain’s notice…however, he soon lighted upon her, his features darkening even more.

  “Pack your bags, Miss Peel.”

  Amy’s blood chilled. The ruthless words thwacked her in the belly with such vicious strength, she was breathless.

  She had anticipated the eviction. James had disliked her from their first meeting. She had prepared herself for the man’s scorn…however, she had not prepared herself for Edmund’s compliance.

  James wanted her ousted from the house; she had sensed that, but she had also believed Edmund more defiant. He had submitted to his brother’s demand, though. He had obeyed the barbarian’s will.

  She was destitute.

  Again.

  “I want you at the front door in twenty minutes,” he said roughly.

  “Twenty minutes!” she cried, pulse rampant as blood pumped in her head. “What about my furnishings? I can’t possibly get everything out of the house in twenty minutes!”

  And what would she do with her belongings? Where would she go? Her old lodgings in St. Giles were likely occupied by a new tenant. She might be able to return to the Pleasure Palace, to Madame Rafaramanjaka…but Amy doubted the queen would welcome her back with cheerfulness. And she would not beg the wretched woman!

  “I’ll fetch the rest of your belongings some other day,” he snapped.

  Amy was rooted to the spot, her fingers twitching, grasping at air. She would survive off her savings for a short time, but then what would she do for money?

  A cold darkness stifled her spirit. She’d anticipated a dramatic shift in her circumstances: she’d expected to become a lady’s maid or companion—not a tramp.

  Amy muzzled the hot tears that welled in her eyes.

  “Fine,” she gritted. “I’ll leave, but before I do, I’d like to say one thing to you, Captain Hawkins.”

  Slowly he lifted a brow, his eyes hard, unmerciful. He possessed the same eyes as his brother, Edmund. The same shape. The same shade of blue. And yet the men possessed such different souls.

  She pointed at him, finger trembling. “You are the greatest cur I have ever met!”

  Amy sniffed and started for the door with shaky steps. The denouncement had eased the smarting in her breast. She had had the pluck to tell the brute what she really thought of him. She was proud of herself for that.

  Sophia quickly skirted across the room and captured Amy’s hand, stroking her clammy palm with tenderness.

  “I’m afraid we’ve offered Miss Peel the wrong impression.” She smiled with chagrin. “We’re not tossing you into the street, my dear.”

  Amy stared at the woman, bemused.

  “Wh-what?” she dithered.

  There was a looming shadow at Amy’s backside: a cold, ominous figure. The man’s voice rumbled like the thunder outside: “I see my wife’s failed to mention the cur’s plan to you.”

  Amy dropped her head and swallowed a groan. The room was suddenly stuffy and she searched for air, feeling faint.

  “Don’t bark at me, James.” Sophia bristled. “I was worried about Quincy, and it’d slipped from my thoughts. You needn’t have behaved like such a barbarian toward the girl.”

  The captain glowered at his wife, folded his robust arms across his strapping chest, but otherwise refrained from making one more comment.

  Sophia humphed. With less heat in her brilliant brown eyes, she looked at Amy again and offered her another, slightly wicked, smile. “We’d like you to come and live with us in Mayfair.”

  Amy’s ears tingled with warmth. The dreadful prospects that had smothered her with despair a moment ago slowly lifted from her soul, making it easier for her to breathe…but she had just accused the captain of being a cur. How was she going to live with him?

  She glanced at the brooding barbarian, and suspected he disliked the arrangement of her residing with him and his wife entirely, but was being browbeaten into caring for her.

  “Why?” said Amy in a weak voice.

  Sophia squeezed her hand. “It’s best if you stay with us, so I can look after you.”

  Amy was befuddled. It was a sound idea, that she stay with Sophia; it was safer for her reputation. But how could Edmund just toss her aside like that? And without even asking her if she’d consent to the change in address? Whatever happened to his vow of protection?

  Amy gathered her wits and headed for the door. “Excuse me, please. I need to speak with Edmund.”

  “Wait,” said Sophia.

  But Amy departed from the room. In quick strides, she searched the lower level, but the elusive scoundrel wasn’t on the ground floor. As she made her way toward the second level, she heard an unpleasant retching sound coming from his bedchamber.

  Her footfalls swift, she skirted toward the door and knocked on the wood.

  There was no response.

  She munched on her bottom lip. It was rude to enter the man’s private quarters without an invitation, however, the noises stemming from inside the room were too distressing for her to follow good manners.

  Quickly she opened the bedchamber door.

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  She witnessed Quincy, not Edmund, vomiting into a ch
amber pot. The stench was foul and she wrinkled her nose in affront before she crossed the wool runner and tossed aside the wispy drapery, pushing apart the panes of glass.

  The rain pummeled the lintel. A fierce wind howled and burst through the window, swirling inside the room, chasing away the rank odor, the wretched sounds coming from Quincy as he coughed and heaved into the bowl.

  She shut the glass, trapping the fresh air inside the space. The lamplight that had danced in a dizzying fashion hushed. The flickering shadows in the room stilled once more.

  Edmund was seated beside his brother. He guided Quincy’s head toward the dish, keeping the feeble scamp from tumbling out of the bed.

  She hastily moved across the room, where the wash-stand was located, and immersed a white towel in the ceramic basin. After wringing the water from the moist linen, she approached the bed.

  The distress in the scoundrel’s eyes alarmed her, for she had never detected that level of concern in his expression, not even when he had lost his memory and was homeless and alone in the world.

  She handed him the towel. “Is Quincy all right?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Why is he in your room?”

  “We didn’t make it to his.”

  Amy nodded and moved off.

  “No.” Quincy wiped his mouth and rolled back onto the bed with a loud sigh. “I want her to be nursemaid.”

  Edmund frowned. “Why?”

  “I have a feeling her touch is gentler than yours.”

  He snorted and rubbed his chin. “You’d be wrong.”

  Amy twisted her lips as he walked away from the bed. She retrieved the moist towel from his firm grip before she settled onto the feather tick.

  She sensed the man’s thoughtful gaze on her backside as he crossed the room and settled into a comfortable chair. A shiver touched her spine. She ignored the sensation and placed the cool compress over the young man’s sweating brow.

  His features sallow, she stroked Quincy’s gaunt cheek with the back of her hand, stimulating the blood flow, bringing the color back into his pale face.

  The scamp smiled, his pupils sluggish. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She pressed the blanket over his chest, rumpled during the bout with nausea. “But now I have to make you feel uncomfortable…I have to box your brother’s ears.”

  Quincy, so weak, still chortled at that. “I won’t be uncomfortable, I assure you.”

  She bobbed her head. “Good.”

  She turned her sharp regard on Edmund. He was watching her intently from the chair, heat in his handsome eyes. He had rested his square chin between his thumb and forefinger, spread his long legs apart in a lazy manner.

  She sensed the concentration, the focus in his brow. She was accustomed to leers and other unscrupulous stares. The patrons at the Pleasure Palace had always observed her, studied her, coveted her, but the scoundrel’s hard gaze rattled her poise.

  He looked past her outfit, her features. He looked right into her soul, it seemed, and she wasn’t prepared to share herself with anyone. It disarmed her to think he could make his way inside her heart without much effort, that one piercing look was all it took to connect with her on an intimate level.

  Amy gathered her composure and said tartly, “I’m not a piece of furniture, you know? You can’t shuffle me about Town without inquiring after my wishes.”

  “I heartily agree,” quipped Quincy.

  “Quiet, pup,” from Edmund. He then looked at her with fierce regard. “What are you talking about, Amy?”

  She huffed. “I’m talking about you sending me off to Mayfair to live with your brother and sister-in-law.”

  Slowly Edmund dropped his hand from his face, and rasped, “What?”

  Quincy hooted with laughter, choked on the laughter and phlegm in his breast, then rolled over and went to sleep.

  Amy patted the young man’s back to help clear the congestion before she demanded: “Why did you assume I’d be agreeable to the new arrangement?”

  I don’t even like your brother and sister-in-law.

  Feelings aside, though, the ghastly confrontation she’d just had with the couple made the move to Mayfair impossible. She had denounced the captain as a cur!

  Edmund bounded from the chair. “That insolent devil! I didn’t give him leave to take you away, Amy.”

  “Well, I’m expected downstairs with my baggage in twenty minutes.”

  He started for the door with purposeful strides.

  At the man’s hardened movements, she anticipated his intentions and quickly rushed toward the door, blocking the exit with her figure.

  “You will not fight him, Edmund.”

  “Move, Amy.”

  Heart thumping, she cried, “You will not come to blows with your brother over me!”

  “I don’t intend to fight with James over you.”

  “Oh.” She eased her muscles, feeling somewhat foolish, yet she still maintained her position at the door. “Then what do you intend to do?”

  “I told James you’re not leaving the house.” The man’s eyes burned. “He had no right to go against my wishes in secret.”

  The possessiveness in his voice was strangely warming, for she had no one in her life to look after her interests or well-being. However, she sensed there was a deeper conflict transpiring between the brothers—all the brothers—and she was relieved to know she wasn’t the source of their rift.

  “Don’t fight with your brother,” she beseeched.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s your brother!”

  Amy had lived alone for most of her life, but over the past sennight, she had witnessed the discord and camaraderie that made up a traditional family—and she liked it. The underlining comfort, the knowledge that one was never alone in the world, pressed upon her in the most profound way, reminding her that she was apart from everyone else.

  She took in a shaky breath at the lonely thought. She soon dismissed the longing, the pang. There was still a peeved-looking scoundrel towering over her, and she had to convince him it wasn’t right to quarrel with kinfolk.

  “I understand you’re angry, Edmund, but I don’t intend to live with your brother and his wife, so there’s no harm done. And so long as I can stay…”

  He lifted a black brow. “Here?”

  “That’s right.”

  “With me?”

  He queried her softly—too softly—making her pulse patter.

  She returned swiftly, “And the rest of your brothers.”

  “They’re in the way.”

  The skin at her brow puckered as she frowned. “I need Quincy’s help, his tutelage to become a lady.”

  “I will assist you.” As the smoldering expression in his handsome eyes burned away, a sadness entered the pools. He glanced over his shoulder at his slumbering brother. “I don’t think Quincy can help you anymore.”

  Amy followed his gaze to the bed and the restless figure curled under the covers. She whispered, “What’s the matter with him?”

  “It’s the opium.” He sighed. “It numbs his senses and offers him a feeling of euphoria, but over time, he needs more and more of it just to feel anything a’tall.”

  “How did he survive aboard the Nemesis without it?”

  “It was difficult at first, but over the weeks, he came off the opiate. He was fine for a while…now he’s home and he’s dependent on it again.”

  She nodded. “Killing demons.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “That’s right.”

  Quincy tossed between the linens and murmured in his sleep: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I killed her. Forgive me.”

  A spasm gripped Amy’s heart, clenched it tight. She said, breathless, “Who did he kill?”

  “No one.” Edmund was curt, angry even. “He’s dreaming, is all. Ignore him and his blathering.” With more tenderness in his voice, he suggested, “Why don’t you get some rest, Amy? I’ll go and talk with James.”
>
  She glared at him.

  “No fighting, I promise.”

  She sighed and moved away from the door. “I think I’ll stay here with Quincy until you return.”

  “All right.” He bobbed his head. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Edmund departed from the bedchamber. She listened to his heavy footfalls until they drifted away before she returned, a bit wary, to the bedside.

  She settled onto the feather tick again and mopped the sweat glistening from the man’s pale brow, listened to his incoherent ramblings, wondering who “she” was who tormented him.

  Edmund entered the sitting room. He observed his brother in the low light standing beside the window, watching the tempest, meditating.

  As he regarded his kin, his muscles firmed. He balled his fists…then flexed his fingers. He had promised Amy he wouldn’t fight with James—however much he deserved a sound thrashing.

  Edmund closed the sitting room door.

  “How’s Quincy?” said the captain, still peering through the window.

  “Amy’s looking after him.”

  The muscles in his jaw stiffened. “You’ve taken a shining to the wench, admit it.”

  “Why do you dislike her, James?” He leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Because I didn’t ask your permission before I brought her here?”

  “I dislike her because I’m going to have to look after the wench once you’re bored with her.”

  Edmund bristled. Irresponsible. That was his lot in life, his epithet. He wasn’t saddled with important duties or trusted with confidence because he was…Edmund. The middle brother. The inscrutable brother. The incompatible member of the family—the one James wasn’t able to control.

  “Then let me put your mind at rest, James. I will look after Amy.”

  The pirate lord maintained his vigil beside the tall glass as lightning sparked and filled the room. “I suppose you’ve come to tell me she won’t be living with us in Mayfair? Well, you needn’t waste your breath. I suspected as much as soon as she’d called me a cur.”

  Edmund’s lips twitched with mirth; the sentiment slowly seeped into his blood and warmed his heart.