The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 17

17

“ A h, Smallwood, it is good to see you taking John Jackson’s training to heart,” Martin said as he strode into the steward’s quarters.

Red in the face, Jules blew out a breath as he worked the dumbbell up and down from his shoulder to his waist. “I’ve realized that you were right, Your Grace. I’m in need of toughening up—especially if we are to frequent taverns on the east end of Town.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Martin paced, pushing aside the reason for his visit. Instead, he took two pillows from a settee and held them up. “Show me your jabs.”

Smallwood placed the dumbbell by the wall. “Fists up?”

“That’s right.” Martin held up the right pillow. “Give it your best shot.”

The little man danced in place before he threw a punch, hitting the pillow square. “After the tavern and spending the past two nights at the tables in the East End with Lord Gibb, I’ve gained an appreciation for Mr. Jackson’s advice.”

“Agreed, no matter how highborn a man can be, he must gain proficiency in weapons as well as gaining a keen knowledge of how to defend himself. Now show me your left.” Martin interchanged pillows while Jules repeatedly pummeled them, twisting his lower lip into a vicious scowl. “Och aye, you have been practicing.”

“Thank you, sir.” As he straightened, the little fellow’s features relaxed until he once again looked like the mild-mannered steward Martin had come to know. “The exercise is invigorating.”

“I’m glad of it. Perhaps we ought to return to the saloon for another bout with the champion?”

Smallwood brushed a sheen of perspiration from his forehead. “Perhaps, but I’m certain you are far better at sparring with Mr. Jackson than I can ever hope to be.”

“I dunna ken about that. If you keep working, I’ll wager you’ll surprise yourself.” Martin picked up the dumbbell and did a few curls with each arm, though the weight was far lighter than the one he practiced with in his chambers. “Giles informed me that you have received a missive from Huntly Manor.”

“I did?” Jules squeaked, as he dropped his fists and turned toward his writing table. “I mean, yes, I did.”

“And did the butler indicate where we might find Lady Julia?” he asked, pumping the dumbbells faster.

“Ah…he wasn’t quite forthright about the…um…exact location. I…ah…Willaby said Lady Julia was somewhat embarrassed about her accommodations—a—an attic chamber is all…a-and?—”

“Come now, I am not a snob. Though I do understand if she is uncomfortable with her boarding house. Perhaps we ought to extend an invitation to visit my mother or, say, Lady Charity?”

“That would be proper, though either Her Grace or Her Ladyship would need to author the invitation, if one of them would be willing.”

“Of course, they would be willing, especially my mother.” Martin placed the dumbbells along the wall. “On second thought, Mama might overreact and start sending out wedding invitations. I believe Charity would be the best option. Indeed. I’ll have my sister invite Lady Julia for tea, and then I might happen past, at which time we could be properly introduced. After all, Aphrodite meeting Mark Antony at a masquerade will not suffice in the eyes of society.”

“No.” As Smallwood turned from the desk, his coloring appeared a tad green. “Willaby also mentioned that Her Ladyship is expected to return home soon. In fact, she mightn’t be in London as we speak.”

“Not here? Preposterous!” Every muscle in Martin’s body tensed. She couldn’t have left. Not now. He’d spent the past several nights without sleep, fixating on Aphrodite. He’d taken Jules and Gibb to not only the horse races but to every other gambling hell in town and had consumed copious amounts of spirits in his efforts to wait and put the woman out of his mind. But nothing had helped. He must see her simply to allay his curiosity.

Martin thrust his finger under Jules’ nose. “You are her second cousin. Find out. God forbid we have to make a trip to Brixham when Gibb is in port and we are in the process of negotiating the purchase of a merchant ship.”

Smallwood beamed, grasping his lapels. “ The Prosperity is quite an impressive barque, I’ll say. His Lordship certainly has a critical eye.”

“Of course he does.” Not happy with the change in subject, Martin grabbed the man’s hat off the hook by the door and handed him. “Now go. Do whatever you must to find out if Lady Julia is in Town, then we shall have my sister write to her forthwith. I want you to hand-deliver the missive yourself. I fully expect Her Ladyship to arrive for tea on the morrow.”

“The morrow, sir?” Jules squeaked as if he truly were a mouse.

“Aye, I must see her again before she leaves London. I need to determine for myself if those eyes actually do sparkle like polished mahogany—if her lips were painted or if her mouth indeed was shaped like Cupid’s bow. The woman captivated my attention and it all seems so surreal, I canna decide if my imagination got the better of me.”

Smallwood clapped a hand over his gob, using his pointer finger and thumb to pull down a dour frown. “I’ll wager you were taken by the romance of the evening, Your Grace. After all, masquerades are fantastical events, are they not?”

“I’ve asked myself the same dozens of times. But it appears I’ll have no rest until I know for certain. The lass truly was a vision—petite, exquisite, ethereal, extraordinary...” Martin strode to the door. “I’ll leave you with it. And do not disappoint me on this, Smallwood.”

Hat in hand, Julia stared at the door through which Dunscaby had just marched. What was she to do now? What if she did disappoint him? And what was it he’d said about traveling to Brixham?

Good glory, such a thing would be an unmitigated disaster.

His Grace was behaving as if meeting her was more important than purchasing a ship or the acquiring of the property on the Tay. Thus far, over the course of Julia’s employment, he had never pointedly told Smallwood not to disappoint him when it came to matters that were actually part of the steward’s scope of duties. She was quite certain finding a woman was nowhere in the contract she’d signed in Mr. MacCutcheon’s offices before she’d traveled to Newhailes.

However, the clause containing the words “… and carry out such duties as His Grace deems fit …” certainly covered the locating of a reticent “faux” second cousin.

Julia’s head swam as she added this conundrum to the mounting list of untenable predicaments she’d managed to get herself into since arriving in London. And she couldn’t sit idle while Silas Skinner was out there threatening to expose her secret.

“ Or should I say, my lady? By the by, I shall require payment for my silence ,” he’d whispered.

She couldn’t believe he’d had the gall to call her out and threaten her in front of the duke. Of all the lowlife scoundrels in London, he had to be the one of the foulest and most unpleasant.

And he needs to be silenced!

The time had come to be assertive. If he truly wanted Papa’s debt to be repaid, he would heed her.

After opening the secret compartment of her trunk and pulling out her blue day dress and everything she’d need to change, Julia cracked her door open and peered into the courtyard. Against everything she had promised herself, she must slip into the mews and dress as a woman once again.

Fortunately, the coast was clear and she made her way to the sedan chair, managing to dress without being noticed. Afterward, she all but ran until she was a few streets away from Dunscaby’s Mayfair town house. But that did nothing to allay the sickly churning in her stomach. Ever since Mr. Skinner had whispered in her ear, she hadn’t been able to eat. She couldn’t sleep. Goodness, breathing had become a chore.

And what was she to do with Martin’s seemingly insatiable desire to find her? If only there was a way to both be Julia St. Vincent as well as Jules Smallwood. Why could their paths not have crossed during her one and only Season? Of course, at the time the heir to the dukedom was occupied with establishing the reputation of being a notorious rake. Nonetheless, the past was over and now she absolutely must find a way to dissuade him. If the Duke of Dunscaby ever realized that Jules and Julia were one in the same, she’d never again be able to show her face anywhere in all of Britain.

At a corner, a carriage cut the gutter too close and splashed muddy water down her skirts.

“Watch yourself!” Julia cried, doing her best to brush away the dirt, only managing to smear it into the wool. “Drat, drat, drat!” she cursed, plodding across the street. It was bad enough to have to meet the scoundrel, let alone face him with a mud-soaked hem.

After presenting herself at the rear entry to Deuce’s, Julia didn’t have long to wait. The moneylender greeted her with ice-cold fingers, applying an unwelcomed kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m surprised it took you this long to pay me a visit, my lady.”

“This in no way is a social call.” Julia pulled her hand away and rubbed it. “I have come to let you know that you will not receive another farthing from me unless you agree to keep my secret. You know as well as I that pursing my father in debtor’s court will not only end in folly, Huntly Manor is worth far more than the amount of money he owes you. On top of that, you are charging extortionist terms, taking advantage of an earl and a peer of the realm when he is too ill to manage his own affairs. Such uncaring ruthlessness will undoubtedly be unfavorable for you, and I firmly believe your claim will be dismissed altogether.”

Though she had done enough research to speak with a vague amount of authority, she prayed she sounded a great deal more self-assured than she felt. Julia had not had the convenience of discussing the matter with a solicitor. What with all the money she was paying this man, she couldn’t afford to walk in a solicitor’s door, and God forbid she should have to pay one if the matter actually were presented before a judge.

“Hmm.” The lout raked his licentious gaze down her body as he’d done the last time she had stood in this spot. “You make some valid points, ’owever, you ’ave not thought everything through. I ’ave been lendin’ money to wayward gentlemen for a very long time, and I have a number of ’igh-rankin’ judges in me pocket.”

He stepped nearer, far too near for Julia’s comfort. “’ere me now, my lady ,” he spat as if the courtesy was an oath. “If I see fit to ruin you and your worthless father, I am quite certain doing so will not cause me an iota of inconvenience.”

No matter how much Julia wanted to cower, she balled her fists and straightened to her full height. “Sir, you have my word that payments will continue to come in as long as my employment remains unchanged.”

“Tsk, tsk,” he said, tapping his finger to the scar on his face. “I’m afraid I am very bad at keeping secrets.”

“Please. Everything has been working quite smoothly until?—”

“Perhaps…we can come to an arrangement.” Skinner’s gaze flickered to her breasts once again as he ran his tongue across his lips. “Must I remind you ’ow valuable a woman of your stature would be in my employ?”

“N-no.” Gulping, Julia slid a hand to her throat. She had put forth a very solid argument and he’d called her bluff, the cur. Regardless of her reasons, she had in fact lied and proffered herself as a man, accepting a post that she was qualified to perform. However, pretending to be Jules Smallwood was necessary. Julia wasn’t a liar or a thief or an unprincipled villainess of any sort. She would not and would never become a woman of easy virtue or allow this vulture to lay a single finger upon her person. “I-I would rather jump off London Bridge than submit to…to… that .”

A sardonic chuckle erupted from the man’s throat. “Such a shame, luv. I could clothe you in better style and ye’d never step out with mud on your skirts again. But since you are not a willing bed partner, I do believe I could use a well-bred woman such as yourself to do my biddin’ on occasion.”

Lord, no. She couldn’t very well slip into the sedan car and change her clothes every time Silas Skinner beckoned. “What sort of bidding?”

“Deliveries.”

“A courier?”

“Precisely.”

“What would I be delivering? Pray tell, nothing illegal…”

“Letters mostly—in places where I’d prefer not to be seen.”

“Places like Mayfair?” she whispered, her mind whirring. If she were to courier a letter or two, she could do so as Jules Smallwood and avoid the sedan chair.

“Yes.” He took her hand and kissed it, but he didn’t stop there. Pushing up her sleeve, he ran his lips from her wrist all the way to her elbow. “Ah, Lady Julia, so delectable. You have no idea what you are missing.”

Leaning away from him, she tried to pull away. “Please stop.”

“Very well.” Mr. Skinner held her arm in a vice-like grip as he regarded her with an expression filled with malice. “But ye cannot deny me this request, my lady, else your secret will be exposed. Make no bones about it, if I am not satisfied, I will exercise all means to take Huntly Manor and leave the penniless earl to his disgraceful demise.”