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Chapter Fifteen

Rafferty had had better nights. The Mannings were cantankerous as they finished their interrupted meal—Georgie kept casting dagger eyes at the beauty, who remained supremely confident despite the look of worry in her fine eyes.

Sir Elston grumbled and grouched and made the occasional dark, enigmatic statement, while his wife fluttered and tried to engage everyone in civil conversation. It was an abject failure.

Neddy drank. When it came time for the ladies to depart, his head was down on the table, and Sir Elston faced his family with disgust on his florid face.

“Bring the brandy into my library, Rafferty,” he ordered, pushing back from the table. “I’ve had enough time with this lot.”

Georgie’s head jerked up, hurt in her eyes, and he wanted to rap Sir Elston over the head. Of all the irksome Mannings, Georgie was an innocent, and she didn’t need to be tarred with the same brush as the rest of her family.

“I’m going up to bed!” Norah announced in a strident tone, glaring at Rafferty.

“Good idea,” her father said.

“I’m going up too,” Georgie announced, but he controlled himself and didn’t look her way. It would just lead to trouble.

“Goodness, what’s wrong with all of you?” Lady Manning demanded. “Rollo is giving a poetry reading tonight at the Pettigrews—we should all go.”

“I’ve heard your protégé’s poetry before,” Norah said nastily. “I can happily skip this time.”

“And don’t bring him back to the house,” Manning thundered on the way out the door, “or I’ll have Rafferty throw him out.”

Lady Manning burst into noisy tears, but her husband had already left, and no one else seemed interested in her plight.

Neddy moaned and shifted his head on the snowy white damask, and Rafferty sincerely hoped he wouldn’t spew all over it.

It was going to be another night of putting him to bed once he got the rest of them sorted out.

But they sorted themselves well enough, the women, including Lady Manning, departing to their various rooms in a huff, while Neddy snored on, oblivious to the family drama.

It was late when he finished in the kitchen.

There was no way he was leaving Bertha with such a huge amount to clean up, and the new scullery maid could only do so much.

He didn’t mind the work—in fact, there was something almost soothing about seeing to the running of this house, carrying the firewood and the hot water and such, but it couldn’t go on for long.

Stiles’s reappearance had changed everything.

If he didn’t find Belding’s cache soon, then Billy was going to take a hand, and God knew what brutality the man was capable of.

He’d promised Stiles he’d find it, but it was taking far too long, and Rafferty was beginning to think the money didn’t exist. At least, not in this house.

He headed back out to the now-stripped dining room. He’d managed to remove the tablecloth from beneath Neddy’s head, all without waking him, and he still lay there, snoring softly, drunk as an owl. To his surprise, Martina was there, leaning over the young man.

“He’s a mess,” she said, looking up at him.

“Indeed.” He sighed. “After I get him in bed, I’m done for the day.”

“You’re done for the day now,” Martina said firmly. “I heard about the raid on your room. You didn’t take her bloody diamonds, did you?”

“Do you have to ask?” he said, affronted.

“Well, you are a thief,” she said apologetically. “It wouldn’t be that unusual.”

“I’m trying to save this family, not ruin them further.”

“Which reminds me. Why?”

“I feel like it,” he said in a dampening tone.

“I know what you feel like, Rafferty. You aren’t fooling me,” Martina said. “She’s too young for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And too innocent, and well-bred, and sweet, and?—”

“I’m not interested. I came here to find Belding’s treasure and nothing more. Now I’ve got Stiles threatening them if I don’t move faster, and I’ve got Georgie mooning after me with puppy dog eyes and...” He stopped talking as frustration overwhelmed him.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Damned if I know,” he said wearily.

“Go to bed. I’ll take care of Master Neddy,” Martina said, flexing her not inconsiderable muscles. The dress had been made especially for her, to take her muscular frame and flat chest into account.

Rafferty hesitated. “He’s heavy when he’s dead drunk.”

“He’s just a boy,” Martina replied serenely.

“He needs someone to look after him.” There was a fondness in her voice that was unusual, and he looked at her closely, but the face she turned to him was bland.

“Go to bed, Rafferty, and figure a way out of this mess. I won’t have you breaking that young woman’s heart. ”

He gave in, leaving her with her task for the night. In truth, he was just tired enough to know he could count on a good night’s sleep. Maybe by tomorrow he’d know how to deal with Georgie’s inconvenient crush.

He lit the lamp in his sitting room and sank into his chair.

He had a copy of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management on the table beside him, but he was too tired to open it again.

It had proven useful, but right then he had other things to think about, such as what he was going to do with the priceless diamonds that had been hidden under his mattress by that clumsy vixen.

She’d assumed he wouldn’t notice she’d been sneaking around in the servants’ quarters, or that Bertha wouldn’t report back to him.

It had been simple enough to find where she stashed them, but not time enough to hide them elsewhere.

It was a good thing no one had thought to search him.

The meeting with Stiles had been a royal cock-up as well. He didn’t need to have Billy peering over his shoulder and threatening Georgie. He should kill him for even looking at her.

But for now, all he wanted was his nice soft bed without the lumpy jewelry beneath it.

Kicking off his proper shoes, he stripped off his coat and neckcloth, unbuttoning the buttons that trailed halfway down his shirt.

He picked up the lamp and headed into his bedroom and set it down on the dresser before turning to his rumpled bed.

The bed had been remade, though badly, and in the middle lay Georgiana Manning in one of those schoolgirl nightgowns, her hair loose around her sleeping face.

“Shit!” he said, and she opened her eyes, greeting him with a drowsy smile.

“What did you say?” she murmured sleepily.

“Never mind. What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

She sat up, drawing her legs underneath the thin white gown. Too damned thin—why hadn’t he seen about getting her proper nightclothes, with layers and layers of cloth to hide her body?

“I came to see you,” she said.

“I gather that. Why?”

“Because we’re friends. And because they accused you of stealing Norah’s jewels and searched your room, and I wanted to apologize.”

“How do you know I didn’t steal the necklace?” that was burning a hole in his pocket at that very moment.

“Did you?” she asked. “If you did, it would serve Norah right, but knowing her, she probably lost it and needed someone to blame. Don’t you think?”

“Something like that,” he agreed. She still hadn’t moved from the center of his bed, and he wanted to groan. “You need to go back to your room.”

“Why? I suppose you think that because you’re a man and I’m a woman that we aren’t allowed to talk, but that’s ridiculous. You’re my protégé—I have to make sure you’re all right. Besides, I had a nightmare. About that man with the teeth.”

Stiles, he thought. “Martina can sit up with you,” he said gruffly. “Are you going to get off my bed?”

“Are you going to make me?” She stretched out her legs, wiggling her toes. “I thought you’d be glad I was here.”

“How could you possibly think that?” he said harshly, and a shadow appeared in her laughing eyes.

“We kissed.”

“We did not kiss!” His voice rose, and he quickly quieted. “You kissed me.”

“It’s the same thing. I kiss all my friends.”

“Not your male friends. But I forgot, I’m not a man, I’m your butler.”

Her disbelieving expression suddenly reminded him that she was older than she looked. “Oh, really?”

He wasn’t going to get involved in a discussion of his manhood. “You don’t kiss servants,” he said sternly.

“But you’re not my servant, you’re my protégé. And I don’t see why I can’t sleep in your bed. Norah says that’s what real protégées and patrons do.”

God help him, was this torture ever to end? “You know why not.”

She grimaced, then sighed. “Can’t we just cuddle for a little while?”

“No. You’re going back to your room and staying there, and you’re not coming down here again unless I specifically invite you. This may be your father’s house but these are my rooms and I don’t want you here.”

“But—”

The last bit of his temper shredded. “Georgie, you know perfectly well what men and women do in bed together.”

“We don’t have to do that ,” she said. “You could just kiss me again....”

“I didn’t kiss you in the first place, and it’s a lucky thing I didn’t. You need to kiss someone of your own class.”

“I have. Several times. They weren’t as good as you.”

For a moment, he was completely silenced. She was innocent, not stupid, but she was being deliberately obtuse. And he was going to kill whoever it was she’d kissed.

“For the last time, I didn’t kiss you,” he snapped. “Now get off the damned bed and go find your own.”

To his surprise and relief, she did, climbing down and landing on the floor, her bare toes just peeping beneath the thin nightdress. “It’s too dark,” she said.

“I’ll light your way.” He turned and picked up the lamp, anything rather than look at the enticing shadows beneath the threadbare cloth.