C onvincing Peggy that he was not going to be a threat would likely be impossible.
She was still tense against him, like a cat who’d been thrown into a bath of water, and yet he didn’t exactly smell fear. No. She was like a combatant ready to fight. He admired it in her. He liked her. He liked her feisty nature, her unwillingness to give up. To fight for her freedom.
But there was an element of fear to this that he hated, and somehow, he had to put that part of her at ease.
He wasn’t going to harm her. Quite the opposite. But he also understood, given her experience in life, why she did not or would not believe him. Logic would not assist him in this. He could explain from now until sunup why he had no intention of putting her in jeopardy, but she would not believe him because her life had showed her that men like him, the world, and society meant to hurt people like her.
She had grown up in the East End, if he understood correctly, and she’d made her way high enough that she could convince most of society that she was a lady, which meant that she was a woman of incredible resources. And his family loved people with incredible resources, but he wasn’t going to risk being kicked in the shin again.
So, he considered as he held her, taking in her scent of soap, drinking in its simplicity. It was the first time in a long time that he had felt real desire. Not lust, but a sort of powerful feeling which encompassed him. A wanting of the whole person, not just the body.
Oh, at every turn, ladies threw themselves at him. Perhaps it was an arrogant thing to think, but it was true. But with this young woman? She was different. At least, she was now. Now that her ruse was up.
She was herself, fully and totally, and, by God, he loved it. And as he held her in his arms, making sure she could not writhe away, then run, throw herself out the window, and disappear into the night, he felt more himself than he had in a long time.
She wanted him to let her go. It was never going to happen.
Because whether or not Peggy realized it, she was standing on the edge of something. If she was caught again, the next person who caught her would not be benevolent. No. This was an opportunity, and he had to somehow make her see that. And there was only one thing to do. He was a big man. She had her advantages, including pointed shoes. But he had his as well.
“You’re not going to like this,” he warned.
“Like what?” she gritted through her teeth.
And then, without warning, he turned her around, hauled her up, and tossed her over his shoulder.
She let out an exclamation of horror as he began striding down the long hallway, his arms securing her legs tightly to make sure she could not kick at him.
“Put me down,” she ordered, “at once.”
“I cannot do that,” he countered, able to move quite quickly now. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
“I have met enough people this evening, and I wish to depart.”
“You think that, but I assure you, you want to stay.” He turned towards the stairs at the back of the house. “All you have to do is behave until I take you to see—”
“I don’t want to see anyone,” she said, and she began hammering her fists quite willfully against his back.
He let out a groan. He was no stranger to combat. He had daily sessions with his instructor, Hartigan Mulvaney, who had also been in the army and taught street fighting.
He could take an endless round of blows. Still, he was surprised by her force. She was actually quite good at it. There was no silly batting of fists here. She was delivering quite powerful blows.
“That’s really not necessary,” he said.
“It is,” she retorted. “You are taking me somewhere I do not want to go.”
“You are in my house, stealing my things.”
She was silent for a moment. “You make a point, sir.”
“Good. Now, if I promise you that I’m not going to have you thrown into jail, will you cease?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.
And then he took the first flight of stairs that led up to his grandmother’s rooms, grateful he was in such excellent shape.
As he took those stairs, he was certain that he had triumphed, but then he felt her teeth sink towards his skin through his black evening coat.
A yelp of surprise escaped his lips.
No doubt she would have cut said skin, except for the fact that he was wearing quite exceptional material, and it was made exceedingly well.
He let out a growl of frustration and swiftly toppled them both to the ground.
“Will you stop it, woman?” he ground out, rolling her onto the stairs, grabbing her arms and putting them above her head.
Her cheeks were ablaze with color. Her hair now tumbled about her face and she panted, her breasts pressing against the cut of her ball gown. “No, I shall not. You are taking me against my will further and further into this house. Perhaps you are a mad person. Perhaps you are going to lock me up. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,” he countered. “Perhaps you never should have come here and perhaps you never should have tried stealing from us.”
“You steal from people every day,” she ground out.
“I do not,” he said, appalled.
“Your family does.”
“They do not,” he replied forcefully. He prided himself on the honorable nature of his family. Unlike most, they did not make their money of the backs of slaves across the Atlantic or off of women and children in the North.
She curled her lip. “People like you are always taking from us.”
Her disgust was so palpable he almost winced.
“I am sure that you can clarify that, and I shall be happy to listen to you, but right now I am trying to help you.”
“I don’t want help,” she snapped.
He leaned his body into hers as they sprawled across the stairs.
“Are you going to be like every man?” she spat out. “To get your way.”
He eased his grip then, realizing what she might have assumed. “I am not like other men.”
“Prove it,” she said, arching against him, her eyes flashing.
“Fine,” he said, and then he slowly stood and offered her his hand.
She eyed it as if he were a plague victim.
“Take it,” he demanded softly.
A muscle in her cheek tightened as if she was considering whether or not she dared take a chance and trust him.
“You are coming with me. So it would be better if you said yes. I’m going to hold your hand.”
Her eyes flared at that. “Why in God’s name would you insist upon that?”
“Because,” he said simply, as he dared her silently in his mind to take it. He willed her to abandon any mad plan. Perhaps, for a few moments, she could act with good sense.
“I can walk on my own.”
“I do not think you’re a toddler,” he replied. “I am not concerned about you walking on your own. I am concerned about you trying to fly off again. So either you’ll go over my shoulder or take my hand.”
She winced at that. “Fine,” she said and slipped her hand into his. “I don’t like any of this.”
“Nor should you,” he said. “It is a consequence for thievery.”
“This? This is not the consequence for thievery. This is something else,” she said.
He leaned towards her. “I know it well,” he said, “but there are consequences to every action.”
Her eyes darkened then…with fear.
“I’m not going to have you thrown into jail, Peggy,” he said.
“There are worse things than jail,” she said. “Sometimes. Though jails are terrible places for women.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. He did know that. He’d read enough accounts to know that jails were horrible for women. Nor was he going to cast Peggy out to some unknown fate. He couldn’t do that because he knew that life was very strange. His grandmother had been born in Peggy’s world, and it had been chance that had taken her out of it. And Maximus wasn’t about to let Peggy escape. Not now. He didn’t know why, but he had to help her.
He pulled her along then. “Come on.”
And she went. She rushed alongside him, as if she could get this all over with if she but committed to it. “You are very strange,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied without arguing.
“Is your whole family strange?” she demanded.
“Yes,” he said. “Surely you’ve heard of us. You dared to come here.”
“Oh, I do know about your grandmother. And yes, I have read enough about the Briarwoods. And you, actually. Maximus, the rake.”
He sighed. Yes. He was a rake. And he wasn’t going to apologize for it.
“Then you know we don’t do things like other people. That we aren’t grasping and power mad. And yet you singled us out for thievery.”
“You have a particularly fine house with particularly fine things in it,” she said. But then she paused. “I thought perhaps…”
“Yes?” he said.
“I wanted to see how she, Sylvia, lived.”
“Why?” he asked, suddenly stunned. Her comment was so very specific.
She stared straight ahead, unwilling to be vulnerable. “Because everybody in my part of town wonders about your grandmother. How she got out and maybe, just maybe, how they could get out too.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I see,” he said.
“Do you?” she queried dryly.
“Probably not, but I can understand a little bit, and I’m going to take you to her now.”
“What?” she gasped.
“You can meet the lady who you are so curious about.”
With that, he stopped before his grandmother’s chamber door.
His grandmother used to stay out every night until the sun shone its first rays, but now it was more difficult for her, and she would often go to bed around midnight. The party had long been going on, though she had departed early.
He knocked softly.
“Come in,” her voice called, that deep, rich, vibrant voice, which was so often full of laughter.
“I have a guest, Grandmama,” he called as he opened the door.
Suddenly, Peggy tugged against his hand and shook her head, as if she was now afraid of the woman she had been so fascinated by.
“What?” he said. “Perhaps this is what you actually came for and not the French clock still in your pocket.”
She winced.
He guided her inside.
“I brought someone for you to meet,” he said.
His grandmother was beautiful still. Her hair, once blonde, was silvery under the moonlight, and it glowed gold in places from where the fire lit it.
She had changed into a lush green silk dressing gown. It was draped about her grandly, and she sat reading before the fire, her book open.
Shakespeare’s sonnets.
His grandmother never tired of the Bard. Even now. His grandmother had a deep love of Shakespeare and had passed it down to them, to all the grandchildren and her children too, of course.
His own mother loved Shakespeare dearly. He could still remember listening to her voice reading him Shakespeare’s plays as he drifted off to sleep. His dreams would forever float to Titania and Oberon and merry wars of words.
“And who is this, my dear? Are you getting married?” his grandmother queried excitedly as she closed her book with weathered hands.
“No, Grandmama,” he replied indulgently. For she did dearly love weddings. “Not married.”
Peggy tensed. “Why would she ask that?”
“Oh, my dear,” his grandmother gushed, her eyes dancing with delight. “How very bold of you. I said that because I am always hoping that my grandsons are getting married, especially to interesting young ladies like yourself. And you are certainly interesting.”
“Why would you say that?” Peggy whispered, her hand still entwined with his.
Much to his shock, he loved the feel of her hand in his, and even though it was shocking, he did not pull back.
And he knew his grandmother had not missed that.
“Because,” his grandmother began wisely, mischievously even, “he’s brought you here in the middle of the night.” Then his grandmother’s mouth formed an o and she leaned forward. “My dear. Are you with child? If you are, do not worry. I promise nothing shall befall you. We shall take excellent care of you and the child. And there shall be a wedding.”
His grandmother tsked, arched a brow, and turned on him. “I didn’t know you were keeping a mistress. You don’t seem to enjoy doing those kinds of things, Maximus.”
Maximus frowned. He did not keep women. He enjoyed them. It was true. But he never did that sort of contractual thing. He didn’t find it to be fair to either the lady or himself. It always ended badly.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Grandmama,” he assured. Then he added teasingly, “For once.”
“Then do explain,” his grandmother replied.
“This, Grandmama, is a thief.”
“Oh really?” his grandmother queried, her eyebrow shooting up as a smile turned her lips. “How fascinating. Do tell me more.”
And then she turned the brightness of her smile upon Peggy and said, “Welcome, my dear. I do love a good tale. Tell it.”