A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset Read online

“Just do as your mother tells you,” Simen told her. “She does not want you causing trouble anymore.”

  Reed came to Orelia’s side and put an arm around her. The mother scowled but made no comment.

  “Who is this man?” Reed demanded. “What will he do with her?”

  Simen glowered at him. “What is it to do with you, gadje?”

  “What will he do?” Reed pressed.

  “He will marry her of course. Make her his wife and put her to good use.”

  Orelia shook her head. “He is a bad, bad man. You know that, Mama. Why would you agree to such a thing?”

  “Because you have caused me trouble since the day your father died. You are a grown woman now. You should be married.”

  “But to Cappie?” Orelia exclaimed.

  Her mother lifted her chin. “He paid a fine amount. You shall be wed tomorrow.”

  Orelia gaped at her mother. Reed glanced between the people, almost unsure how to fathom such behavior. He was used to women bringing along a nice dowry to the marriage agreement but to be sold by her own mother?

  “How much has he offered?”

  The woman moved closer to him and peered at him. “You are very interested in my daughter’s life. Be warned, once she is a wife, you will not be welcome near her.”

  “I’ll give you one hundred pounds for her,” he declared.

  Orelia gasped.

  Chapter Four

  Her mother’s eyes widened. Then she laughed. Orelia continued to gape at them all. Who did they think they were, trying to barter and sell her as if she were no more than a loaf of bread? She should not have been surprised at her mother stooping so low as to sell her to Cappie. Yet, shards of pain ripped at her heart. The man was a brute and would treat her poorly, she knew that much. How could her mother—as uncaring and as useless as she had been—be willing to subject her to such a life for what would likely be very little money?

  And now this man was offering more money than she would see in her lifetime for her? Who was he? An accountant could never have that much money. He had to be lying.

  “A hundred pounds,” he said solemnly.

  “He’ll take you for a fool,” Simen warned.

  Her mother hushed him with a wave of her hand. “Do you have the money now?”

  Noah pressed a hand into his inner pocket and drew out some notes. He thrust out one and her mother snatched it.

  “This is ten.”

  “I am hardly likely to carry around one hundred with me to a place like this, am I? You shall have the rest tomorrow.”

  Orelia watched the exchange numbly. The blood in her ears roared so hard that she almost didn’t hear the rest. Here she stood, as though she did not even exist, while they negotiated her future. Her mother had long ago given up caring for her, particularly when the need for alcohol took over, but she never expect to be bartered away in such a manner.

  And who was this wealthy man really? Why would he wish to buy her? Icy fear swirled about her and made her shudder. Perhaps he was not an accountant. Perhaps he was criminal with some nasty fate in mind for her. She should run perhaps. Flee and hide. Let no one take her. Yet she could not help remain. She wanted to hear the outcome of this and find out who exactly he was.

  She also needed to know if her vision had been true. For the first time in her life, she had held a hand and known something about a person. Goodness knows why he of all people had triggered some hidden ability, but it had to mean something. After years of seeing her mother’s abilities, she knew that much.

  Her mother eyed the note then peered up at Noah.

  “As you will. I’ll expect the rest tomorrow or there’ll be trouble mind.” She wagged a finger at him. “We can cause lots of trouble, you know.”

  “You have my word.”

  Simen snatched the note from her mother. “I’ll be looking after that.”

  Her mother screeched and Simen stalked off, leaving her trailing behind, trying to grab the note from him. Orelia could only shake her head sadly. She would never know if her mother had ever loved her. Perhaps before her father had died, she had, but she could never recall such a moment.

  When the drunken pair were out of sight, she propped her hands on her hips and faced down Noah. He might have bought her, but she would not go easily. She might not go at all. Though curiosity drove her, she would not be a prisoner. The Romani were free people, roaming where they wished, and nothing would change what she was in her heart.

  Certainly not a stranger buying her.

  “Who are you? I know you are not an accountant. No accountant is that rich.”

  Noah stilled a pace away from her. He seemed to be weighing her up, making some sort of a decision. Finally, he removed his cap and slowly eased off his eye patch. She sucked in a breath. His eye was healthy. Just a few red marks lingered where the patch had pressed into his skin. But he focused on her with bold blue eyes.

  Then he went for his moustache. she clamped a hand over her mouth when he ripped it away.

  With his face bare and visible in the light from the windows of the wagon, he was mightily handsome. She’d thought him so before the removal of that ridiculous moustache but now...well, he stole her breath.

  He gave her a slightly ashamed smile and a dimple made itself known in his cheek. Why had she not noticed that before? A dimple of all things. God certainly liked to play tricks when he created man. Devilishly handsome, long lashes that a woman would be jealous of, slightly wavy dark hair that begged for fingers to trail through them and to top it all off a dimple that would be adorable or darling on a child yet was utterly devastating on him.

  Her gaze inevitably fell to his firm lips that were now bare of that awful hairpiece. Now that she could see them better, there was a horrible urge to find out what they would feel like against hers. This man, whoever he was, appealed to her far too much.

  Orelia took a step back, half fearful she might actually act on her desire.

  “Who are you?” she demanded again.

  “Well, I suppose I should not have expected you to recognize me.”

  She shook her head and searched for more words. None came. Her voice had fled, her common sense vanished.

  “I am the Duke of Keswick.”

  A laugh burst from her. “Of course you are. Silly me! How could I not have known? Why I imagine the duchess is currently dressed in maid’s clothes and enjoying a nice game of cards and an ale with my people.”

  “It is true.” He pressed a hand into his pocket and drew out a golden pocket watch that glinted in the torchlight. “See here.” He flipped it over and she saw it was engraved with a crest and his name.

  “You’re a thief!” She backed away again. Perhaps he was a dangerous man after all. Her initial instincts of liking him had been utterly wrong and he meant her harm.

  “Not at all. I am the duke. I live not two miles down the road in Keswick Abbey.”

  Orelia shook her head and edged away until her back struck the side of another wagon. He came closer until he bore over her.

  “I’m not lying, Orelia. At least not anymore. I am not Noah nor am I an accountant. I’m the seventh richest man in England and tomorrow I shall pay a mighty sum for your freedom.”

  “For my freedom or my body?”

  A wicked grin crossed his face. “That is up to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “So you would pay for me, then let me free?”

  “I have no need to hold women prisoner.”

  Noah—no the duke, no... “What is your name?” He came closer and the scent of soap curled around her. She tilted her head to eye him. “Or should I call you ‘Your Grace.’”

  “I think we have no need for formalities.” Closer still. “My name is Reed Albinus St. Vincent.”

  His warm breath touched her face. Her own breaths grew shallow. Firm lips filled her vision and she clamped her hands at her side lest they fist into his jacket and pull him close.

  She lifted a brow. “Reed Alb
inus St. Vincent. And that is not formal?”

  He chuckled. “Less formal than Your Grace, anyway.”

  “Why lie? Why the charade?”

  “I am here on an investigation.” His gaze grew serious and he eased away, leaving her feeling cold. “You must not utter a word of this.”

  She nodded, hardly sure where this conversation would be going anyway.

  “Swear it, Orelia. Swear you will not utter a word or I shall leave you to that brute.”

  “I swear it.”

  “I work for the Secret Service. Well, I did. But I do again, if briefly. My ability to move in most social circles with ease made me indispensable to them during the war. Now, they wish to use my services again.”

  “Move in social circles?”

  He waved the now rather floppy moustache at her.

  “I am, Orelia, rather good at disguises and an incredibly good liar.”

  “So why should I believe you’re the duke?”

  “Come home with me and you’ll believe it.”

  She pondered him for a moment, folding her arms across her chest. “Will you really give Mama one hundred pounds for me?”

  “Well, it’s ninety now.”

  A brow arched, she waited.

  He relented. “Yes, I will.”

  “You think that I will let you just buy me?”

  Noah—no, Reed—chuckled. “I think nothing of the sort. I would, however, like to buy your services.”

  “My services?” She shook her head. Had she given him the wrong impression? “I am not that sort of woman, whatever you think of the Romani people, I can assure you of that.”

  “No, no, no I did not mean that. Christ, I don’t need to pay for that.”

  Orelia tried not to consider how many women this ‘duke’ might have bedded. He was handsome and if he was as good a liar as he said he was, he would have little trouble swaying women into bed. Goodness, even with that silly moustache, she’d been attracted to him and found him quite charming.

  “I hope you do not intend to purchase my gift of sight, because I am afraid to say it is next to useless.”

  A grin slipped across his face. “Yes, I sort of guessed that.”

  “You made quite a fool of me, did you not?” She jerked her chin up. “I imagine it was terribly amusing when I claimed to know your occupation.”

  “I had little intention of fooling you. If it makes any difference, I quite enjoyed my first fortune telling experience.”

  “So if you do not want me for my lack of fortune-telling skills, nor my body, what do you want me for? Because I tell you, I have little intention of being a servant.”

  Both brows rose. “I have enough of those too.” He came toward her again, making her feel as hot and slightly itchy, as though she needed to strip off her clothes. “No, Orelia. I want you to help me with my mission.”

  A laugh escaped her. “You make it sound so serious, as if you are a spy or something.”

  “That’s exactly what I am. Or was.” He scowled. “Or am, at least for a little while longer.” He pressed the moustache into his pocket. “During the war, I worked in France as a spy, tracking down French spies and gathering information on Napoleon.”

  It all seemed so fantastical to her. As a gypsy, she had roamed all over the country, meeting many interesting and not so interesting people, but never a spy.

  “The war is over,” she pointed out and immediately felt silly for saying as much.

  “Yes, but Napoleon is in exile. We are still in a precarious position.”

  “You believe he will try to raise an army again?”

  “I think he is too old and tired to do such a thing but there are those who still see him as a risk.” He paused. “Can we talk about this someplace else?” He took her arm before she could suggest anything. “Come, you want to know if I am who I say I am. I’ll show you and we can discuss this on the way.

  “I—” She glanced back at her mother’s wagon. She wouldn’t be welcome there. Perhaps she was a fool but whoever this man was, she doubted he would harm her, not when he had just paid ten pounds to save her from that brutish beast of a man. “Very well then.”

  Reed put on the eyepatch and cap but left off the moustache. She imagined it was dark enough that no one would recognize him—that was, if he really was the duke.

  Though she had little idea what he looked like, he was known as the main landowner in the area. The fact was, they were likely on his land. but while her people would not know what the duke looked like, the locals visiting the camp would.

  He led the way, slipping between the wagons and avoiding most of the visitors until they came to the edge of a field. He climbed over a sty and held out his hand to her. Hitching her skirts, she stepped over, ignoring his offered hand. She jumped down with ease and gave him a smug smile. He might be used to prim little ladies, but she was certainly no wallflower or prissy little miss.

  “So what is this mission of yours then?”

  He cleared his throat. “I cannot stress to you how much you must keep silent on this matter.”

  They began their way around the field, following the line of the fence. A deep groove was etched into the ground where countless other feet had followed the path. Crops were beginning to spring up in the field. She glanced up at the starlit sky and was thankful for the clear night. Without the light of the half-moon and stars, she would likely be needing his hand to navigate the uneven terrain.

  “I will not say a word,” she vowed. She meant it. While men like Simen had little honor, most of her people were good, hard-working people, dedicated to preserving their way of life. For their sake, she would never break a promise.

  “There was an attempt on Napoleon’s life last month.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Arsenic was slipped into his wine. A specific wine that only he consumes, Vin de Constance. We believe the poison was placed into the bottle before it was shipped to the island.”

  “So how did you find out there was poison in it?”

  “One of his servants decided to steal the wine. Lucky for Napoleon but not so lucky for the lad. He died.”

  “But surely if Napoleon is dead, that will solve many problems? Whoever tried to kill him did the country a favor!”

  Reed shook his head. “Our relationship with France hangs on a knife’s edge. One slip and we shall fall into a state of war again. If it is thought that we killed Napoleon whilst he was under our care, we shall be shipping our boys out to die once more. That’s the last thing we need.”

  Orelia nodded in understanding. She did not follow the war very closely but she had seen the injured soldiers returning and even a few of their own men had joined the fight. The war with France had been too long and too bloody.

  “So what is your role in this?”

  “The supplies to Saint Helena—the island to which Napoleon has been banished—are taken over by ship from Portsmouth. Several deckhands have since gone missing, so we’ve been unable to question them. I became involved in this when your people arrived in Hampshire.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the deckhands who have gone missing were gypsies.”

  Orelia paused, her hand to the fence lining the field. “You think my people were involved?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why should the Romani wish Napoleon dead? We have little enough involvement in this country as it is. We should hardly wish to make ourselves further hated.”

  “That may be so, but it seems likely that they were the culprits. Everyone else has been accounted for but the gypsies and they were the only men unknown to the captain.”

  “If they were unknown, why did he take them on? This is so very typical. If something goes wrong, why not blame the Romani? The wine could have gone through many hands. It could have been anyone!”

  He took in an audible breath and ignored her comment. As they came over the brow of the field, a grand house came into view. He gestured to the large sq
uare building.

  “My home.”

  Chapter Five

  From the top of the field, they looked down upon Keswick Abbey. Reed glanced at Orelia to try to gauge her reaction. Disbelief perhaps? Awe?

  “You live there?”

  “Yes.”

  Entirely square in shape, the abbey was not the largest house in England, but it was one of the finest. With tall arched windows that nearly reached the ceilings on the bottom floor and set in a garden his father had prided as being the best in Britain, when Reed looked at it through Orelia’s eyes, he found himself taking a certain amount of pride in the old place.

  “And it’s only you who lives there?”

  He offered a hand to help her over the next sty, but she ignored him again.

  “And my brother. My mother on occasion too but she likes to travel a lot. And of course all the servants.”

  Orelia kept her skirts lifted and jumped down into the mud. She seemed to care little if her hems were now mud-splattered, which they likely were, though he could not tell in the dark. What a fascinating woman she was. All questions and curiosity. Most women would be bowing and scraping or praying for an offer of marriage by now, then using the stys as a fine excuse to jump into his arms, much like Lady Edith.

  “Why do you not move to a smaller house?”

  He laughed. “Why would I wish to do such a thing?”

  “It must seem so empty. I imagine it gets lonely.”

  “No, of course not.” He paused to consider this. “Well, I suppose...”

  “And it’s so costly to run.”

  Of course, running a place like Keswick Abbey cost a fortune. Were it not for his father’s savvy investments, little of the family wealth would be left after so many years of upkeep. Thanks to his financial advisors, he kept a healthy flow of income coming in but while he was hardly stupid, he could not claim to know all the ins and outs of investing well. After all, he had spent his best years knee-deep in French society. Noah could be thanked for most of the money flowing in.

  As for being lonely...well, he supposed there had been times...and those times had certainly fed his hunger for excitement. His brother tended to keep his head in the books and what with Noah being deaf, it meant things could be a little on the quiet side.