Page 32 of The Devil’s Waltz

He’d always had enough to at least keep them going, but he’d been counting on the heiress to improve matters, hire some help for Bessie.

She looked at him worriedly. “None of these guests are staying, are they, Master Christian? I might be able to fix up one more bedroom, but beyond that it’s hopeless. Though I suppose we could move our mattress..

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bessie,” he chided her, reaching for a piece of the gammon she was frying. She slapped his hand as usual. “Your comfort comes before a pair of interlopers. In fact, once they leave we’ll have fewer people in the house, because they’ll take Miss Chippie with them.”

Mrs. Browne nodded. “That’s a good thing, then, sir,” she said. Bessie had no qualms about giving him advice, calling him on his failings. “The girl wasn’t right for you. She would have driven you mad in less than a year.”

“She almost drove me mad in a couple of days,” he said. “But her fortune was really quite well suited.”

Bessie shrugged her plump shoulders. “You can’t have everything, sir. I’ll pray for you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, uncomfortable with the notion. “I’m not worth it.”

Bessie gave him her maternal smile, something that should have amused him since she was only two years older than he was.

But she was probably his favorite person in the universe for just that motherly air.

“You’re worth it, Master Christian. You just haven’t figured it out yourself yet.

” She turned back to her cooking. “So how many for breakfast then?”

“I doubt they’ll stay to eat but there are two new visitors, plus their coachman.”

“At least there’s plenty of food,” Bessie said, her main worry comforted. She hadn’t wasted any time in spending some of the large amount of money he’d deposited in their hands.

“And as soon as they can manage it they’ll all be gone, and I expect I’ll be returning to the city.” He could feel Bessie’s silent disapproval, but she said nothing, merely nodded.

“I’m going to change. Don’t wake the lady in the library—she needs a little rest before she has to climb back into a carriage.

” He allowed himself a small smile at the thought of Annelise’s rump.

Too bad she wore such awful clothes—he would have been interested in trying to discern just how she was shaped.

Flat and boylike or plump and rounded? He was never to find out. But he could always ask.

“A lady, sir?” Bessie knew him far too well.

“No one of any importance,” he said airily.

He made only the lightest of noise as he climbed the ancient oak staircase in his stocking feet.

He’d had Harry Browne put his clothes in the Monk’s Cell, or so he thought of it.

It was decorated in dark, gothic splendor, and the narrow bed was better suited to a penitent than a rogue like him.

It was in the opposite wing from the rooms where Hetty was ensconced, and he was suddenly curious, wondering whether she was that querulous with everyone or if young William was immune.

He walked silently down the hallway, pausing outside the door, and then a slow smile crept across his face when he heard the sounds. ..

Miss Hetty might have arrived at Wynche End a virgin, but she wasn’t leaving as one, through no fault of his.

He wondered how she’d managed it. He had no doubt at all that this noisy consummation had been initiated by his bratty abductee—young William looked far too stalwart to take advantage of a young girl, particularly one he was so clearly, desperately in love with.

He was probably much more likely to lay down his life for her than deflower the little baggage.

He looked at the doorknob. He had no particular interest in watching them, though he could easily enough. The door had no lock, and they were so involved they wouldn’t even notice.

But he’d had more than enough chances to watch other couples copulate, and the initial excitement had worn off quite quickly. He seldom joined in the communal revels of the Heavenly Host, preferring to concentrate on his own pleasure rather than someone else’s.

Then again, he’d never seen anyone actually making love, and that would be a novelty.

There was no love, affection or even much past initial acquaintance among the couples he’d watched.

Not just couples, in truth, but threesomes, even foursomes.

It would be interesting to see if it was any different between two young innocents who cared for each other.

No. He would simply count his blessings—with Hetty deflowered by her true love, he was no longer the chief villain in the piece.

Or at least, no longer the one held responsible.

Hetty had sealed her fate by seducing young William, and he had little doubt that she’d done it for that very reason. He wished them joy of each other.

The Monk’s Cell had been dusted and aired, though the mattress was gone from the narrow bed, presumably too mouse-eaten to remain.

He washed and changed quickly, choosing something somber and particularly flattering.

Bastard that he was, he wanted Annelise to pine for him as she drove off with the young lovers.

He met a rain-soaked Harry Browne as he came downstairs.

Harry shook his head, spraying water like a large dog.

“That carriage is going nowhere, Master Christian. I had young Jeremy help the coachman take the horses into town, but the carriage is pretty well banged up. Cheap thing it was, and old. From the looks of it, it can’t be easily fixed. ”

“How unfortunate,” Christian said. “Good thing that the coach I hired hasn’t been returned—though I’m afraid it’s built for speed but not for crowds. It will only hold two besides the driver. And we have three guests.”

“You’ll get rid of the two newcomers?” Harry asked.

A slow smile spread across Christian’s face. Wickedness shouldn’t be rewarded but his was about to be. “No, I’ll send Miss Hetty off with her fiancé. The Honorable Miss Kempton will simply have to remain until we can make other arrangements.”

“What other arrangements? If the hired one can be repaired it will take days, even weeks. Perhaps Dickon at the Royal Oak would be willing to hire his out. It’s not much but it would serve as transportation if someone wasn’t too choosy.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t want to do that,” he murmured.

“You needn’t bother to ask. Have your good wife make something substantial to eat and I’ll rouse our guests and explain the unwelcome situation.

I’m sure they’ll be practical enough to accept it.

Miss Hetty’s chaperon will simply have to content herself with a week or two in the remote countryside until the coach is mended. ”

“We’ve got extra horses, Master Christian. The young man could ride beside the carriage...” He looked at Christian as realization began to dawn. “Ah, but then, I forgot—only the carriage horses are in any condition. The others are lame. All of them.”

“I rather thought so,” Christian said. “Such an unfortunate situation, we’ll have no choice but to make the best of it. You might put the two...er...lame horses in a separate area of the stables in case someone decides to snoop. They need peace and quiet for recovery.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll see to everything.”

Christian was humming under his breath as he walked back into the library.

The fire had died down a bit but Annelise slept on, the pistol still by her side.

It was tempting to leave it and see whether she’d actually try to use it but in the end he simply scooped it up.

Strange-looking pistol for a lady to carry.

He wondered how she’d managed to acquire it on such short notice.

It couldn’t have belonged to her late father—it was far too serviceable and lethal a weapon.

In truth, this was a firearm made to kill a man with no prettiness about it. It must belong to Josiah Chippie.

The old man was going to be very angry, Christian thought, hiding the gun under the cushions of one of the sofas.

His daughter would be married to a country bumpkin, his houseguest had failed him and run off at the same time.

Annelise was smart enough to wonder why Josiah would have such a menacing-looking pistol in his house, though she might reasonably assume it was due to his less-than-stellar ancestry.

Or she might begin to realize that Josiah Chippie wasn’t a benevolent, nouveau riche shipping magnate but someone very nasty indeed.

Just as well she wasn’t going anywhere. Otherwise she would probably deem it her duty, once she got the two lovebirds safely married, to go back and face the old man. Not a good idea.

When he was through with her, which might be a few days or even up to a few weeks, she probably wouldn’t want to look Chippie in the eye. He meant it with no malice—Christian simply wanted her, and he wasn’t going to stop until she wanted it as much as he did.

He didn’t expect it to have any other deleterious effect. She was facing an empty life of visits and spinsterhood, and he could show her the kind of pleasure she probably had no idea even existed. Give her something to look back on as she declined into old age.

Or perhaps she’d marry some solid widower, one who would look the other way at slightly soiled goods, and raise his children and even some of her own, and when she lay beneath the old man’s sweating body she’d close her eyes and imagine it was Christian.

No, that fantasy was somehow far from pleasing. He didn’t want her marrying, didn’t want her lying beneath. or on top of, anyone else. Selfish bastard that he was, he wanted her to pine for him the rest of her life.

Well, he’d never made the mistake of thinking he was in any way a decent human being. And he’d take care not to impregnate her—it would be too cruel an act. But as his mind danced over the sudden image of her with a rounded belly it was absurdly enchanting.

He took the seat opposite her again. He was going to have to handle this very delicately—if he was indiscreet she’d probably try to walk back to London, soaked, muddy and with one shoe.

No, she needed to have no idea what delights he had in store for her. Until it was too late for her to run.