Scandal And Miss Markham. Janice Preston
‘But I, you see, am a gentleman. And I therefore stand when a lady does. Whether she considers herself a lady or no. And...’ he added, tweaking his neckcloth and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, merely to irritate her and to see those remarkably fine eyes flash fire again ‘...as for taking affront, I quite see that particular emotion is alien to your sunny nature.’
He smiled at her scowl and her muttered imprecation. Fortunately, perhaps, he could not make out her exact sentiments. She was indeed a little hothead, hardly surprising with that head of hair. His own hair had reddish tones, but it was more of a dark chestnut colour than the fiery hue of Miss Markham’s. He would warrant his temperament was less fiery than hers, too.
‘Have you made enquiries as to your brother’s whereabouts?’
‘Yes... That is, I sent the grooms out to search the countryside around, but I instructed them not to make enquiries. Not yet. I did not want to raise a fuss only to find there was a simple explanation for his absence.’ She sucked in a deep breath and his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts. ‘They found no trace of Daniel or his horse. And so I waited. I kept hoping he would return. Or that he would write to me.’
‘In other words, you have done nothing to find your brother. You shut your eyes to reality and simply hoped for the best.’
She flashed a look of daggers at him. ‘I did not wish to stir up a wasps’ nest of trouble for him if there was no need for it.’
‘Trouble? Why should you suspect he was in trouble?’
She stared down at the desk, fingering the stack of papers in front of her. Then she subsided into the chair.
‘He was preoccupied...upset...in the days before he went missing.’
Her voice was low and husky with a hint of vulnerability and it stirred within him a peculiar urge to protect her. To help. She was nibbling at her full lower lip, her tawny brows creased in a frown as she stared past Vernon, into the distance. Vernon tore his gaze from her mouth, disconcerted by the slow but undeniable tightening in his loins.
‘I knew he was worried,’ she said, ‘and yet I did not make him tell me what was amiss. I allowed him to fob me off.’
‘I doubt you could have compelled him to confide in you.’
Her gaze met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could, had I tried. I should have forced him to tell me where he was going.’
Vernon felt his lips twitch. ‘You have piqued my interest, Miss Markham. How, pray, do you imagine you could have forced your brother to tell you?’
‘I could have threatened to follow him.’
‘And he would have believed you?’
‘Of course.’ She tilted her chin. ‘He knows I never make empty threats.’
His lips twitched again, but he held back his grin. ‘I shall have to remember that,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you are older than your brother?’
‘Yes. By three years.’
‘That explains much.’
Her brows snapped together. ‘This—’ Her lips tightened. ‘I am doing it again. Allowing myself to be diverted, because I am scared... I fear...’ She bent her head.
Vernon waited.
‘You were right... I have been waiting. And hoping. But no more.’ She pierced him with a fierce gaze. ‘You have spurred me into seeing what I must do. I shall go myself and I shall make enquiries. I shall find out where he went, all those days when he was out for hours upon end, returning home to eat and sleep and then leaving again at first light. He must have left a trail. He would have been seen. He had to eat.’ She was on her feet again, pacing. ‘Oh! Why did I not go out that first day? Immediately? What a fool I have been, waiting at home like a...like a...ninny...when Daniel had need of me.’
‘And where do you intend to make your enquiries?’
‘Oh! I do not know.’ She waved her arm as she paced, brushing aside his query as though it were an irritating fly. ‘His usual haunts. The Nag’s Head, in Stourbridge, for a start. He often went there for a drink in the evening. Someone there might know where he went. And they will know of other places he frequented.’
‘The Nag’s Head? A public house?’
She slammed to a halt, staring at him. ‘Do not—’ her voice throbbed with warning ‘—tell me I cannot go there because I am a woman.’
Vernon felt his eyes narrow. ‘That is precisely what I am telling you. Such scandalous behaviour is completely unacceptable. Your reputation would be ruined.’
‘Scandal! What do I care for scandal? My brother is missing and I must—’
‘You should care about scandal. Your good name, once lost, will not be easily recovered.’
‘We are not in your overprotected and rarefied world now, my lord. As I said before, I am not—’
‘Not one of my fine ladies. Yes, you have already made that point.’
Her mouth set in a mulish line and the dogged determination upon her face reminded Vernon of his niece, Olivia, when told she could not do something she had set her heart upon. But Olivia was eighteen years of age. Miss Markham should...must, surely...have more sense.
He’d had enough of this, she was not thinking rationally. She must realise how dangerous such places might be and not only to her good name. He changed tack. Demanding her obedience would not work, that much he had already learned.
‘Promise me you will not go haring off on such an ill-advised crusade.’
‘But I must, for if I do not, who will?’
‘Your father?’
She turned her head aside, but not before he recognised her anguish. ‘He is not well. He must not be upset.’
‘Other male relatives?’
She shook her head, freeing even more of those fascinating curls to bounce around her face. Her hair appeared to have a life of its own, the curls like flaming corkscrews.
‘I am not a fool,’ she said. ‘I would not go alone. I would take a groom. Or even two. For protection. So, you see, there is no need for you to be concerned, or even to stay here any longer.’ She tilted her chin. ‘You said yourself you do not know Daniel and neither do you know the area. You would not know where to begin looking.’
Vernon eyed her with exasperation as he pondered the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance and how, if at all, it was connected to Henry. He should, probably, return to town and wait for Markham to make further contact. But...he considered that option. What was there to return to? Leo would be fully occupied with his new bride and, soon, most everyone would be leaving London to spend summer on their estates or in the seaside resorts.
There was little enticement there to lure him home in a hurry.
And here, in Worcestershire...his blood stirred. All kinds of emotions swirled within him and chief amongst them was intrigue. Not only was there a mystery to solve, but he was needed, whether Miss Markham admitted it or not. That thought gave way to another as he realised, with a sense of shock, that to be needed was a rare feeling in his life thus far. The Beauchamps were a close family, but he was not needed...he was just there.
The spare, of the ‘heir and a spare’ fame.
He had learned the lesson that he would always play second fiddle to his older brother as a young man on the town for the first time. He had fallen in love—or so he had thought—with the Incomparable of the day, but although Lady Pamela had happily flirted with him and even encouraged his attentions, she had made it perfectly clear she wanted a man with a peerage, not a duke’s second son with a mere courtesy title. Had Leo not been married to his first wife at that time, she would doubtless have set her cap at him.