Page 5 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (Tales from the Brotherhood #1)

Five

“W e’ve arrived.”

Jeremy was jolted awake from his uncomfortable sleeping position in the corner of a carriage by Derrek’s voice and the quick touch of Derrek’s hand on his knee. He sucked in a breath, embarrassed to have fallen asleep to begin with, and pushed against the side of the seat to right himself.

The interior of the carriage was dim, which was, perhaps, a blessing, since Jeremy was certain he looked a fright, but there was enough light to see that dawn was breaking across the countryside around them.

Or rather, dawn was seeping through the woods where the carriage gradually pulled to a stop. Jeremy scooted toward one of the small windows and moved the shade aside enough to peer out into a world that was as foreign to him as the South Seas.

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice choppy from his rough sleep.

“Somewhere safe,” Derrek said, shifting this way and that to gather up various things that filled the carriage with them, coats, hats, and Jeremy’s valise of tailoring supplies.

“Could you be a bit more specific about the location of our safety?” Jeremy asked, peeking back to Derrek and trying not to be annoyed. He was not annoyed at all, not really, but his deep uncertainty of anything that was not London had him like a vise and made him short and snappish.

Derrek seemed to know where Jeremy’s sharpness came from and chuckled at it. “We’re at an estate called Maidstone Close in Kent,” he clarified.

The explanation didn’t put Jeremy at ease. “You brought me out of London to a remote estate in Kent?”

The carriage jostled as the driver jumped down and the scraping of the young man unstrapping their things from the back of the vehicle followed.

Derrek shook his head. “I’ve taken you to an estate that has been abandoned for many years now,” he said. “Lord Linton, its owner, and his son removed themselves to the Continent two years ago in an attempt to escape implication in wrongdoing that is long since past and forgotten.”

“You’ve brought me to the estate of a criminal?” Jeremy regretted the way his voice rose to a near screech.

Again, Derrek laughed. “You need to have more trust in me, Jeremy,” he said, eyeing Jeremy hungrily as he moved to open one of the carriage doors. “I would never put you in harm’s way.”

It was not lost on Jeremy that Derrek was attempting to flirt with him either to distract him or comfort him. As Jeremy slipped warily out of the carriage and into the cool, fragrant woods with its dawn sounds of birdsong and rustling, he was undecided as to whether the strategy would work.

“Lord Linton is gone,” Derrek went on, moving to the back of the carriage to help the driver bring their things down, “but his nephew, the Earl of Moreland, is not only a member of The Brotherhood, he is a friend. Ashton and his partner, Billy, happened to be at The Chameleon Club yesterday afternoon when I went there searching for where I might hide you until the Conroy matter is settled. They believe, and I agree, that you will be safe in this cottage and that no one associated with Conroy knows where it is or would think to search here.”

Jeremy turned to glance at a small, tidy cottage tucked into a slight clearing in the trees. It must have been some sort of gamekeeper’s cottage, hidden so far in the woods as it was. Its timber frame bore all the quaint distinctions of a bygone age, and yet, even though the windows were dark and the chimney emitted no smoke, it seemed cozy and in relatively good condition.

“We will be safe here, you mean,” he said, turning back to Derrek. “You’ve not brought me out into the middle of the wilderness so that you might leave me alone, have you?”

Derrek’s answering smile was filled with mirth and, if Jeremy dared name it, affection. “We will be safe here,” he confirmed. “I swore to protect you, and that means that I would not abandon you to the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Jeremy asked in a tight voice, turning this way and that so that he could peer into the lightening shadows between the trees.

Derrek laughed outright. “You truly have never been outside of London?” he asked.

“No, I have not,” Jeremy replied a bit curtly. He covered his anxiety by stepping forward to take one of the larger valises Derrek had removed from the carriage and set in the grass, if only so he could feel like more of a man and less of a mouse. “I have seen etchings and paintings, of course.”

“Oh, yes,” Derrek said, barely containing his amusement. “I’ve seen that painting in your bedchamber.” He winked at the driver, who chuckled and shook his head.

“It is not what he implies it is,” Jeremy rushed to defend himself. “I would never…I have not…there isn’t….”

“Not to worry, gov’ner,” the driver said in his thick, London accent. “I’m as bent as a crooked board and enjoy being nailed just as much.” He added a saucy wink to prove his point.

Jeremy blew out a breath and forced his shoulders to relax. He supposed the advantage of belonging to an organization like The Brotherhood was that help was available from men who would not only turn a blind eye to the same things that others would have them thrown in gaol for, but that they all shared those traits. That was a comfort in such dark times.

He turned toward the cottage again, forcing himself to replace his fear and uncertainty of the wild unknown with gratitude and perseverance. “It is a pretty place,” he said. “The garden needs a bit of tending and I am certain if the estate has been abandoned for years the interior might need some improvement as well.”

“The estate isn’t entirely abandoned,” Derrek corrected him as he moved their things farther out of the way of the carriage as the driver replaced the straps that held their things. “A vastly reduced staff has continued on at the main house to keep it from falling entirely into disrepair, but they are more loyal to Lord Moreland than to Lord Linton, which Ashton saw to deliberately when his uncle and cousin fled for the Continent. We will be quite safe here.”

Jeremy relaxed even more as Derrek restated he would not abandon him. As unnerving as the prospect of spending time alone in a forest cottage with a man he fancied who could overpower him without any effort at all was, it was better than staying in London for a moment longer.

It had hurt to leave his shop and the necessary repairs to his business in the hands of Artie, Timothy, and Jonty. They were good lads and Jonty in particular showed a great deal of promise as a leader. Lord Wilmore had pledged to oversee anything the lads might need, declaring himself Jeremy’s chief patron, all in the name of The Brotherhood, so Jeremy had faith that all would be well with the premises of his business, its contents, and its people.

He loathed leaving his life and all the things that were familiar and that made him happy behind to flee into the forest, though. The forest intimidated him. Almost as much as the man with whom he would bide his time in said forest.

He just wanted his life back as soon as possible.

“I’ll be heading back to London now,” the driver said, touching the brim of his hat to Derrek. “If you need help, you know where to send for it. I’m sure Lord Moreland will dispatch me to fetch you all in a trice if needed.”

“Thank you, Frank,” Derrek said, moving to shake the young man’s hand and to hand him a few coins.

Jeremy said his goodbyes to the young man as well, then stood by the pile of his and Derrek’s luggage, trying not to feel forlorn, as he watched the carriage pull away until it disappeared around the trees.

“Well then, my dove,” Derrek said, turning to Jeremy with a toothy grin, rubbing his hands together. “Looks as though it is just you and me now.”

He spoke with such a growl in his voice and fire in his eyes that a shiver passed through Jeremy. The energy of that shiver settled hotly in his groin.

“Now,” Derrek said, crossing his arms and eyeing Jeremy as if he were a tasty tart. “Whatever shall the two of us to do fill our time here in this quiet, remote, intimate wood?”

A tiny sound of alarm and arousal escaped from Jeremy before he could stop it. His mind suddenly filled with images of Derrek chasing him and catching him and having his way with him.

Those images were not entirely unwanted.

Before Jeremy could shake himself out of those carnal thoughts and form words, Derrek laughed and shifted to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“No need to look so frightened, dove,” he said, squeezing Jeremy’s shoulder. “I am not a wild animal. I have no intention of forcing myself on you in any way. You are as safe as a newborn babe with me.”

Jeremy let out a breath. He believed Derrek, truly, he did. It was himself that he wasn’t certain he trusted.

“Shall we go inside?” he asked, his voice cracking on the question. “Is the door locked?”

“It is,” Derrek said, picking up two of their bags and losing his teasing demeanor as he marched forward to the cottage. “But Ashton tells me the key is hidden in a small box that has been carved to look like a snail somewhere in the garden.”

The moment of intense flirtation passed as Jeremy carried his valise to the cottage’s front stoop, then joined Derrek in searching the garden for the snail. Even more of Jeremy’s fears and reservations melted away during the search as his mind focused on other things. The garden truly was in desperate need of attention. Part of him was eager to take care of it, but the other part had no idea how one tended a garden. He truly had spent his entire life surrounded by stone and dirt, and though his mother had had a garden in his youth, it had been her pride and joy and he had never been allowed to touch it.

“Found it,” Derrek said after nearly ten minutes of searching. He’d been leaning over, running his hands through the grass.

Jeremy had been admiring his backside.

He blinked and blushed as Derrek straightened and carried the small snail statue over to him. He clearly knew Jeremy had been staring at him, but the only teasing Jeremy got for it was a cheeky wink.

Derrek turned the palm-sized, stone snail over, revealing a tiny, metal panel that had been built into its underside. It was a bit rusted, but with some effort, Derrek was able to slide it aside to take out a key.

“That is clever,” Jeremy said, following him to the cottage door, which opened easily once unlocked.

“Never underestimate the ingenious tricks of a stone mason who likes to keep secrets,” Derrek said, tapping the side of his nose then nodding to Jeremy.

Derrek’s easy manner and larger than life confidence worked well to settle Jeremy as the two of them entered the cottage. It was amazing to Jeremy how Derrek could be so comfortable in nearly every situation Jeremy had seen him in. He radiated certainty and command at all times. If anyone was able to keep Sir John Conroy and his accomplice from finding him and killing him, it was Derrek.

Those thoughts, and the dreamy smile Jeremy directed at Derrek’s back, shifted to take in the interior of the cottage once they were through the door. As he’d suspected from viewing the outside, the interior of the cottage was in good order for a place that had been empty for a long time.

Jeremy was certain it had been empty and that no one had attempted to secretly live there or make use of the space in the absence of Lord Linton and his son. The chairs were still upturned and placed on the table on one side of the room, near a curtained window that must have had a lovely view. The stove in the corner was covered in dust, as were most bits of furniture and the floor and rag rug. There was a bed through an open doorway in the cottage’s other room, but it had been stripped and the mattress covered in muslin. Indeed, everything that wasn’t covered in dust was covered in muslin.

“It seems as if we have our work cut out for us today,” Derrek said with a smirk, walking the bags he carried into the bedroom and setting them down. He turned a circle, looking at things in the bedroom that Jeremy couldn’t see, then nodded. “The structure is sound and I don’t feel any draughts.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Jeremy said, putting his bag on the edge of the table that wasn’t taken up by the chairs. “With a little work, this could be a fine, temporary home.”

“We’d best get to work, then,” Derrek said, striding back out into the main room, then on toward the open, outer door. “It’s a good thing Maurice thought to supply us with victuals from The Chameleon Club’s kitchen,” he said as he passed Jeremy. “There’s a small village an hour’s walk from here or so where we can purchase the things we need, but I’m glad not to have to make the trek today.”

Jeremy was glad, too. There were far too many things to do at the cottage to make it habitable, and he didn’t fancy stepping into a society of strangers when he still felt as though every shadow might have a knife. And that was without considering the ways people might talk if they saw him and Derrek arrive at the market together.

As Derrek brought in the rest of their supplies, Jeremy removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work removing muslin from the cottage’s furnishings so that he could assess just how much scrubbing needed to be done. The answer was quite a bit. Not only had dust gathered, a few creatures had attempted to make their home in the cottage, even if no humans had.

“What do I do about this cushion?” he asked Derrek, his lip curled in distaste as he gingerly picked up a cushion from the main room’s small settee that had been some woodland thing’s nest for the winter.

Derrek laughed. “Haven’t you ever cleaned up after rats and mice in the city?” he asked.

“I have,” Jeremy said flatly, pinching one corner of the cushion in his fingers and carrying it swiftly outside. “But I have no idea whether the leavings of woodland rats and mice require different handling than city ones.”

Derrek’s rich, pealing laughter followed him through the windows they’d opened to let air into their new home. “City boys are so delightfully fussy,” he said.

Jeremy disposed of the ruined cushion on what looked like a midden heap at the edge of the garden then paused to fill a bucket from the pump they’d discovered hallway between the cottage and the trees.

“You yourself are from the city, are you not?” he asked as he brought the bucket inside and over to the stove. He intended to clean that first and build a fire both to take the chill out of the cottage, though Derrek had already lit a fire in the fireplace, and so that he could make tea. No escape into the forest could possibly be complete without tea.

Derrek still stood by the fireplace, bent awkwardly as he tried to stare up the chimney, likely to determine why the fire was smoking more than it should have. “I was born and raised in Wiltshire, actually,” he said.

“Wiltshire!” Jeremy brightened. “That’s lovely country, or so I’m told.”

“It is,” Derrek said, coughing a bit, then pulling away from the fireplace. “Though not if you’re caught buggering the neighboring farmer’s son when the both of you are barely fifteen.”

“Oh, er, I see,” Jeremy said, heating with embarrassment.

Derrek merely shrugged. “It spurred me to run away to London,” he said. “I was restless at any rate. The move was good for me. No one knew me in London, they just saw a strong, strapping country lad who was useful at throwing unruly patrons out of pubs.”

“Is that the means by which you became a police officer?” Jeremy asked as he scrubbed the stove.

“It is,” Derrek said with a nod. “I gained a good reputation working at those pubs. I was taken on by more and more respectable establishments. Then, when I was about two-and-twenty, I assisted the police in an operation. The superior was so impressed with me that he offered to hire me. It was just as the Metropolitan Police Department was truly coming to prominence. I was not keen on it at first, but Joseph—” He paused to clear his throat, a suddenly sad look coming over him. It only lasted a moment before he shook it off and finished with, “I was able to rise quickly in their ranks.”

Jeremy blinked and turned away from the stove. He wanted to know more about Joseph, but he did not feel as though he had a right to ask. “How do your superiors at the Met feel about you running off to protect me?” he asked instead.

Derrek sent him a wry grin as he used the large cloth he’d just cleaned his hands off with to wipe dust off the mantel and nearby windowsill. “I could not say. I let one of my colleagues know I was leaving London for a time on important business, but I did not speak directly to my superior.”

“You did what?” Jeremy straightened in surprise. “You just left? How? There wasn’t any time to speak to your colleagues. We went straight from the shop to The Chameleon Club, and then to the carriage. We only paused at your rooms long enough for you to pack a trunk. I waited in the carriage.”

“I sent a note with one of the runners from the club,” Derrek said, shrugging as if he didn’t care that he’d ended a long and illustrious career by note. “I explained as much as I could without saying too much.”

“You should not have done that,” Jeremy said, shaking his head as he washed the kettle that he’d found packed in a box with straw, along with other cooking paraphernalia. “You should have waited a day and spoken to your superior face to face, informed him of the situation and your plans to protect me.”

“And risk giving Conroy and his accomplice another go at you?” Derrek huffed a laugh. “Not a chance. You’re far more important.”

As if Jeremy’s face and body weren’t already hot enough, Derrek’s sweet words made him flush even hotter. Derrek had put far too much on the line simply to protect him. They barely knew each other, although that didn’t seem to matter. The two of them were the same in a great many ways, though they were radically different in most others, and danger often formed fast friendships.

“I shall endeavor to make this all worth your while,” Jeremy said, not really thinking about the words before they were said.

“I am most certain you will,” Derrek replied in the low, growly voice he used when he deliberately provoked Jeremy.

Jeremy stiffened and peeked over his shoulder. Derrek was still cleaning and not currently looking at him, but Jeremy felt observed all the same. He was so deeply out of his depth that he could not even get his bearings, definitely not where Derrek was concerned. He was safe from one predator for the time being, but he felt very much like he had fallen firmly into the clutches of a wicked man of an entirely different color. Whatever their time in Kent held, it would be an adventure.