The Notorious Scoundrel Read online

  William observed him as if he was an oddity, a bloody ape capable of reason. “So what would you have me do?”

  “Take him with us.”

  William wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. “You know I can’t do that in his condition.”

  “He’ll come off the opiate at sea, like last time. He always feels better at sea.”

  “And then he’ll return to it when he comes home.”

  “We’ll deal with that trouble when we return to London.”

  “We will?”

  Edmund set his teeth together, raked his molars. He gritted, “Giving him to James won’t make things better, and you know it.”

  The captain sighed. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “I’ll take care of him aboard ship, Will.”

  “You’re a seaman, not a nursemaid,” he said sternly. “You have other duties to attend aboard ship.”

  “I’ll do both.”

  “And when do you intend to sleep?”

  “Damn it, Will!” He pounded the table with his fist, making the dishes dance. “You know it’s the right thing to do. Why do you always listen to James?”

  The man’s lips firmed. “The decision is mine. I believe it’s the right thing to do, to leave Quincy behind in London. And have you considered I might be right? That keeping him on land might sober him, encourage him to stop smoking the opiate?”

  Edmund countered in a stiff voice, “And leaving him here to fight his demons alone might drive him deeper into the elusive smoke.”

  “Perhaps.” William was thoughtful. “But there’s nothing more I can do for him.”

  Edmund looked away from his brother as the blood in his veins burned. He wasn’t so ready to give up on Quincy.

  The butler stepped inside the room. “A letter, sir.”

  The servant handed the folded missive to Edmund. He recognized the penmanship in the address. The note was from John.

  With swift movements, Edmund rent the red wax seal and scanned the epistle. As he read the words, his hot blood cooled, turned to ice.

  “What’s the matter?” said William.

  Edmund’s visage was stoic, like stone. He quit the dining parlor without answering his brother’s query, and headed for the stairs. He scaled the carpeted steps in methodical strides, two at a time. Strapped for words, he moved through the passageway and paused beside the set of double doors depicting a jungle motif.

  He gathered his errant thoughts and rapped at the door.

  After a few moments of quiet, he knocked again.

  “Amy?”

  But she still refused to respond. He sighed and pushed open one of the doors without a proper invitation. He found the chamber empty.

  “Where are you, Amy?” He inspected the adjoining dressing room. “I have important news.”

  However, the lass wasn’t inside the room.

  He frowned.

  Where the devil was she?

  Edmund next explored the sitting room, then the dining parlor again. He located William, who had regained his appetite and was eating his meal, but there was no proof that Amy had been inside the room, the other chairs and plates still untouched.

  “What the devil is wrong?” demanded William.

  Edmund departed once more without remarking about the situation, though his heart thumped with greater verve. He searched the rest of the house, including the kitchen and even the attic loft.

  Amy was missing.

  No, she wasn’t missing, he thought grimly. She had deserted the house, run off after their unfriendly quarrel.

  The daft girl!

  Edmund scrunched the letter in his hand and shoved it into his pocket before he vacated the town house and strutted through the streets of the St. James district, heading for Covent Garden.

  It was there, amid the bustling traffic, he spotted the unruly minx, toting a leather bag, standing across the street from the Pleasure Palace in an idle manner.

  He watched her for a brief time, observed her lonely figure as pedestrians scampered past her. She seemed fine. No bruises. No scuff marks on her skin. She was wearing a full green skirt with a fine white shirt tucked beneath a deep blue, form-fitted waistcoat with shiny brass buttons. The woman’s long blond hair was un-secured, the wavy tresses falling the full length of her backside. She sported a woolly red cap; it highlighted her rosy lips.

  Edmund warmed at the delightful, eclectic sight of her appearance. She had dressed in a hurry, he suspected. She wasn’t hustling now, though. She seemed in low spirits; it gouged his soul to see her in such a manner. He relinquished his vantage point, crossing the busy thoroughfare.

  He joined her on the other side of the lane, approached her quietly. She noted his movements quickly, for her eyes darted in his direction, but she didn’t scuttle away. She remained rooted to the spot, lost amid the noisy streetgoers.

  She looked at him glumly. “I thought it’d be easier to return to my old life.”

  Edmund regarded her thoughtfully, disarmed by the steady stream of emotions that teemed through his head. He had failed to reflect upon the hollow, vast emptiness that had overwhelmed him at her disappearance. It wasn’t until he’d reunited with her that his bones ached from the pressure of his girded muscles.

  He eased the stiffness in his joints with a comfortable sigh. “You don’t really want to go back to your old life, that’s why you can’t set foot inside the Pleasure Palace.”

  She pondered that, it seemed. He noted the lines across her brow.

  “No,” she said with passion in her voice. “That’s not the reason. I just won’t give the mad queen the satisfaction of hearing me beg.”

  Pride. He chuckled at that. She really was…He smoothed his lips and lowered his eyes.

  Amy sighed. “I’m not really sure where I should go now.”

  “How about home?”

  She looked at her brown leather walking boots. “What home?” She made a wry face. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome at the town house, especially after what I said to you last night.”

  “No, not my home.” He was hard again, his muscles taut. “Listen, Amy, I didn’t mean to upset you when I mentioned your parents. I just wanted to prepare you.”

  An inattentive pedestrian bumped into her, and she, in turn, bumped into him, flushing. “Prepare me for what?”

  He circled her arms with his fingers. She stiffened under the bold, public expression of intimacy, yet he maintained his embrace, for he suspected the lass was going to need the added support when he confessed his findings.

  “I had a hunch about you…about your past.”

  Her eyes widened. He noted the shift in her breathing. It was deeper, louder.

  She whispered, “What sort of hunch?”

  “I received a note from a friend this morning. He’s a Bow Street Runner and I had him look into old records, search through missing children reports…for you, Amy.”

  She paled. She dropped the bag at his feet.

  He gripped her tighter. “I think I’ve located your parents; they’ve been looking for you these past fifteen years.”

  She licked her lips. “Fifteen?”

  He teased her cheek, brushed the white flesh, stirring the blood, the life back into her features again. “If you’re their daughter, you’re one-and-twenty years old.”

  She snorted, still looking dazed. “I’m a lot older than I thought I’d be.”

  Her bravado was a distraction; it masked a welter of emotion that welled in her eyes. She wobbled even, and he steered her toward the nearest building’s façade, dragging her bag with him.

  He pressed her against the shop’s stone wall, giving her more support. “I think you should meet them. I don’t want to raise your hopes; I know you don’t want to chase after ghosts from the past, but I’ve looked into the matter, and I believe it’s important you meet the couple. I’ll send word to them about you, set up a reunion.”

  “No!” She jumped. “You can’t tell them I’m still al
ive.” She grabbed his coat. “You can’t let them know.”

  He fingered her wrists, so tight. As he stroked her thumping pulses, he murmured, “Let them know what?”

  “Who I am,” she returned weakly.

  “You might be their daughter.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, then: “I’m Zarsitti.”

  He pulled her rigid fingers away from his coat and hushed her with a few tender strokes across the brow. “You were Zarsitti. No one knows your true identity.”

  “The queen knows.” The lass’s voice quivered. “She’s vindictive. She can tell them my past. And once my parents learn the truth, they’ll regret my coming home. They’ll wish I’d stayed lost…my parents.”

  She wavered as the possible truth fully impacted her thoughts.

  Edmund circled her waist in support, dismissing the noisy snorts of disapproval from the bustling citygoers.

  “Madame Rafaramanjaka won’t betray your past, I assure you. She’ll never get an audience with the couple who might be your parents,” he said firmly. “Not this couple.”

  Amy blinked. “Why? Who are they?”

  The party traveled along Brook Street, making their way toward Grosvenor Square. Servants fussed with the knockers and cleaned the front steps with brooms in preparation for the arrival of their wealthy masters and mistresses, who were making their way into Town for the start of the Season.

  Edmund was seated beside Amy in the coach, James and Sophia positioned on the opposite squabs. The journey into the heart of Mayfair was a silent one in deference to Amy’s comfort. The lass still looked bemused at the possible turn in her fortune. It was quiet inside the vehicle for another reason, too: the brothers were still at odds.

  Edmund regarded Amy’s profile; sleek, prim. He remembered her haughty manners in the rookeries, her distaste for the lower classes, her desire to better herself, and as he studied her aristocratic contours, he wondered how he’d overlooked her likely heritage…or perhaps he’d not wanted to see the blue-blooded indicators; perhaps he’d willfully ignored them.

  She was covered in rich, honey yellow linen taffeta. The fine fabric fit her figure in snug fashion; it was especially designed for her shape. The piece was part of the new wardrobe Quincy had ordered for her. He had instructed the seamstress to create the dress from the best material—and had forwarded the bill to Edmund.

  Edmund had lost his temper upon first reading the outrageous amount, but as soon as he’d witnessed Amy in the handsome garment, his dander had cooled. Now he admired her. He memorized the sight of her pristine features and meticulous coiffure, the locks styled and pinned in the current, smart manner with small butterfly hairpins.

  She was lovely.

  So lovely.

  And she might part from him forever today, he reflected in a dour mood.

  The vehicle rolled to a steady halt before the imperial dwelling. The magnificent structure boasted architectural artistry with its robust Ionic pilasters and proud, tall windows. Hand-crafted, wrought-iron gates and a marvelous lintel with an ancient coat of arms bedecked the main entrance.

  Amy stared at the towering structure.

  Edmund observed her fixed features; he noted her slightly trembling lips. The desire welled inside him to ease her anxiety. He wanted to take her mouth in a soft kiss. He wanted to hear her sigh in contentment, moan in arousal. He wanted to taste her one last, miserable time.

  But he tamped down the unruly feeling. If she was a lady, she wasn’t to be touched. Not by him. Not ever.

  “Are you ready, Amy?” said Sophia.

  She licked her lips and nodded.

  Edmund and James exited the stationed coach first, assisting the ladies.

  As soon as Amy’s foot, sheathed in a sparkling, heeled shoe, stepped onto the pavement and clicked, she winced. She pulled away from them, and Edmund pinched her wrist, keeping her from fluttering off.

  She looked at him with a beseeching expression to let her go, but she belonged at the town house in Mayfair; he sensed it. She belonged with her family.

  Not with him.

  “Come.” Edmund tugged at her hand. “We’re expected.”

  He sensed her fingers fold into fists. She desired to strike him; the intent welled in her eyes. But he firmly yanked her wrist, disabusing her of the unladylike gesture. She would have to fight with her words and her wiles, not with her fists. She would have to learn better decorum, adapt to her new way of life. The expectations placed upon her would be great, but she would survive the rigorous vetting. He knew it in his soul. She was a fighter.

  “It’s time to confront your past,” he whispered.

  She eyed him, willful, but the defiance in her soft green eyes soon gave way to submission. She had always wanted to be a lady. If the couple within the luxurious dwelling weren’t her parents, her dream would be shattered; however, the dread in her heart didn’t warrant an end to the investigation. There was no sense in turning away from the door now. She might be home.

  Edmund steered her toward the front steps and rapped on the imposing entranceway with the decorative brass knocker.

  It wasn’t long before the couples were escorted inside the main parlor, the furnishings in sensuous, pastel shades, the wall hangings and draperies in splendor. A large woodland scene on canvas with a thick, ornate frame stood above the white marble fireplace, the polished stone gleaming in the sunlight as the focal point of the room.

  Edmund was unimpressed with the lavish surroundings, accustomed to the pomp, but Amy seemed awed. Moreover, she touched the fine woodwork and upholstery, her lips forming a small “ooh.”

  He regarded the celebrated dancer from the city’s underworld as she traversed her potential new residence. The posh abode suited her, he reckoned. She might soon settle into her new life as a proper lady…and forget about him.

  Footfalls encroached. Hard steps and quick, lighter taps. Edmund eyed the parlor door just as the Duke and Duchess of Estabrooke entered the spacious room.

  The older couple remained still for a time, silent. They looked between Amy and Sophia, and at last settled their thoughts on Amy. She had fair hair and green eyes that matched those of the duchess: a woman in her late fifties. It was she who first stepped toward Amy, her lips, her chin quivering.

  Amy curtsied with aplomb; she had practiced the greeting myriad times with Quincy. Edmund still detected the fretful glimmer in her eyes, though, the uncertainty, the mistrust. He sensed her vulnerability, too. He suffered it with her.

  “Your Grace,” Amy said in deference to the woman who might be her mother.

  “None of that.” The duchess’s words clipped as she struggled with her tears. She rasped, “Come here, my dear.”

  Amy stepped toward the matron with obvious restraint, but the duchess was quick to do away with formality. She embraced Amy in a warm, hearty hug.

  The duke eyed their reunion with a blank expression. “The physician is waiting in the salon,” he said tightly.

  Amy glanced at the man. “A doctor? I’m feeling fine.”

  “My daughter possesses a distinguishing mark.”

  The kiss.

  The duke regarded her with an inscrutable air. “We’ve had many young ladies come forward, claiming to be our lost child. However, there is only one way to be sure. You, of course, will not refuse the examination.”

  Amy’s lips firmed. “No, of course not.”

  “Very well, then.” The duke offered a curt nod. “Off with you both.”

  The duchess simpered. It was clear from her mannerisms she had recognized and acknowledged Amy as her missing daughter. The duke needed more tangible proof, however.

  “Come, Amy,” said the duchess in a shaky voice.

  The ladies headed toward the door.

  Amy furtively glanced at Edmund. The intensity, the vividness in her eyes captured his breath. He was tempted to snatch her away from the duchess and carry her off. He firmed his muscles instead, keeping his hands secured at his backside
.

  He smiled at her.

  Good-bye, Amy.

  As soon as she passed through the doorway, Edmund looked at the floor, his head smarting.

  “Where did you find her?” the duke questioned James, his features stony. “What has she been doing all these years?”

  “I understand she was raised in a foundling asylum,” the captain returned. “After that, she worked as a maid for various respectable families.”

  “I see.”

  The stiffness in the duke’s voice betrayed his displeasure. He had anticipated an unseemly upbringing. He had expected a garish tale about thievery or prostitution perhaps. But the Hawkins brothers had vowed to keep her occupation at the gentlemen’s club a secret. Edmund wasn’t sure how much of the falsehood the duke had believed, though.

  “A maid?” he said primly. “And why do you believe she’s my daughter?”

  James said in an even manner, “She resembles you and the duchess.”

  The duke remained stoic. “And you associate with maids, Captain Hawkins?”

  Sophia lowered her brow and intervened with “I associate with maids, Your Grace. As you might know, the captain and I are recently wed.” She looped her hand through her husband’s arm. “I’m in the process of acquiring staff for my household here in Duke Street—we are neighbors, you and I—and I was prepared to offer the young lady a position.”

  “I see,” he said again.

  “Why was the girl kidnapped all those years ago?” wondered Sophia.

  The duke bristled. “As a man of great wealth and importance, I suspected it a case of avarice, however, the kidnappers never contacted us with a ransom demand.”

  “As she evaded her kidnappers,” from James, “the bounders had no cause to contact you for the ransom. She was lost to them.”

  “She was lost to us all,” he returned.

  Until now, thought Edmund.

  A few minutes later, a servant appeared with a note card from the physician. The footman handed the paper to the austere duke, who quickly parted the folds and scanned the missive.