A Rogue for Miss Prim (Friendship Series) Read online

  “As I said, I shall have a companion with me shortly. If it comes to Mr. Treadwell’s displeasure, I shall take the blame.”

  She rode off at a smart trot with the specific intention of losing the groom should he leap on his mount and try to follow her at a distance. With two objectives to complete this morning, and both requiring concealment from her husband, the last thing she needed was a groom tagging along. It wasn’t easy to resist Gordon when he had a goal in mind and no servant in his employ would last for long should he decide an interrogation was in order.

  On the off chance Josh would follow her, she ducked into a neighbor’s mews entry, turned and backed up Armie to wait. Josh rode by at a smart pace, expression worried and searching the street ahead. Adele waited a moment, left the mews entry and headed in the opposite direction. A few male pedestrians eyed her strangely. A modish lady on a spectacular mount was never without an escort. As she left the fashionable neighborhood and rode down Curzon Street, fewer people took notice. On the corner of Curzon and Bolton, she saw Mr. Morrison waiting. She gestured for him to wait as she directed Armie into the nearest alley, where she withdrew the folded manuscript from under the jacket. After neatening her clothes, she backed Armie out into the street and handed down the sheets.

  “I was beginning to fear that you would never come,” he said, tucking the papers into a folder, “and most disappointed that this is an end to our association.”

  She waited until the folder was securely tied. He tucked it under his arm and used the other to hold it in place.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Morrison, but it cannot be helped. My husband is too inquisitive and his father would be devastated if the author’s name is ever revealed.”

  “That is understandable. There are rumors of its being banned in France. Where shall I send your payments?”

  “I shall send my maid, Miss Enid Barker, to collect them. Again, Mr. Morrison, thank you for your assistance. Without it, the Manse could never have come into being.”

  He touched his hat brim and hurried to cross the street. She headed back down Curzon to Hyde Park Corner. Not yet nine, the morning was still too new for the ton, but servants had been up for hours. She usually made excursions of this nature earlier, but not as early as sunrise. Many balls didn’t end until the sun came up and men caroused all night, as had been her husband’s preference. Not any longer. It would have been easier if he had retained his bachelor ways, but he unexpectedly took on his father’s traits after they married.

  She admired Sir Charles and his influence on her husband more as every day passed, but it would have made things easier if Gordon had held to his old habits for a while longer. This morning he’d set out early with his man of business to visit the house Sir Charles had gifted them in Chilterns Hills. In future, he planned to move the household there throughout the summer months. Perhaps next month, since June was at its end.

  She passed a single carriage and a few riders, but at this time of day and year, the park had none of the traffic of the Little Season at its height. It wasn’t difficult to find Sir Harry. He loped an elegant Arab in circles. Dainty and brilliant white, the mare had blue ribbons in her mane, streaming prettily as she cantered, switching smoothly from one lead to the other. Sir Harry whirled her in a single-heel pivot and set her at a walk toward her. Adele had been content to stand Armie under the sprawling limbs of a great oak and watch the charming, single horse parade.

  Sir Harry tipped his hat as he reined in beside her. “Good morning, Mrs. Treadwell. That’s a neatish hack. I believe he used to belong to Thomas Arbothnot.”

  She glided a gloved palm down Armie’s neck. “A wedding present from Gordon.”

  Sir Harry preceded his reply with a dashing grin. “I may not agree with your husband on politics and other matters, but must concede that the man has excellent taste. Especially in wives.”

  Adele laughed. “Save your flattery, sir, to cool your porridge. What have you to tell me?”

  “Porridge?” He shuddered. “Never want to see another dish of the stuff. Mother made us eat it every morning. Shall we walk them while I give my report?”

  When she nodded, they set off down Rotten Row. She shortened Armie’s stride to match the little mare’s. They rode in companionable silence for a time to savor the morning air, birdcalls, and a boy tossing a ball for his dog, his nurse in attendance.

  His melodious, deep voice broke into her thoughts. “The manner in which you are studying that child leads me to wonder if you are looking forward to motherhood.”

  Without thinking, she replied, “Yes, it appears I will know soon enough.” Startled by what she had just let slip, she stopped Armie and tucked a hand under the hat brim’s gossamer veil to grip her brow. “How could I have blurted that to you? I have yet to tell Gordon.”

  Sir Harry gently laughed. She had the impression he would have shrugged had not his coat been so strictly tailored to fit him like a second skin. “Ah, well. Women tend to tell me everything.”

  She started her horse forward. “Which could be beneficial in some instances, or potentially disastrous, as in this case.”

  “Not at all. I shall never tell.”

  After a while, she murmured, “It strikes me again how well you have succeeded in masking your true self so completely. I expect I see it, when others do not, because I have always done the same. Hidden myself behind an alternate personality, I should say. May I ask why a man with so many talents, a wealth of compassion and astuteness, presents the opposite to the polite world?”

  “I am not precisely sure. That is a mystery yet to be disassembled. When I do get it sorted out, I believe you will be one of the few people I talk to about it.”

  “Now that you have thoroughly humbled me with that confidence, what have you learned? You see, unlike you, I actually am more tuned to my own interests.”

  He laughed. “Shall we turn back as I tell you?”

  After they wheeled their mounts, Sir Harry said, “First off, you’ll be delighted to hear that a new, more effectively constructed bill is being developed as we ride.”

  “Oh, what excellent news, Sir Harry! There’s more?”

  “Certainement! How could you doubt me?”

  She waved at him to continue, so he did. “I am sure you are aware of earlier bills that attempted to provide reprieve for disadvantaged workers, but this specifically addresses the issues of chimneysweep apprenticeship.

  “Secondly, while the backing and support of this idea is lackluster, I have been exerting my will over the spouses of men whose influence could greatly enhance the passing of the bill.”

  “Sir Harry, you are not only outrageously gorgeous, you have substance in the brain box. I can tell there is more.”

  He didn’t immediately reply and when he did, turned in the saddle to look directly into her face. “The third part does not please me, in the knowing and telling.”

  “I am prepared for any challenge this endeavor may throw my way.”

  He reined in the mare. “No, Mrs. Treadwell. What I am about to say is nothing you should take lightly.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “There is a man, a chimneysweep by the name of Beadle. This fellow carries a grudge against the persons who have been disrupting his business and spreading bad reports of his character and business. Are you aware of this?”

  “Yes. I do not choose to validate such behavior.”

  “Which is to say that you’re going to ignore him.”

  She rode on in silence, not knowing how to answer. However she replied, it wasn’t going to sit well with Sir Harry. She needed his support, and if not that, his good opinion. A sterling nature resided underneath the impressive dash and smart talk. A glance across revealed a grim set to the square jaw that was so at odds with the rest of his angelic features. He wasn’t someone to tolerate prevarication, and part of her desperately wanted his acceptance, not as a female, but as a friend.

  “I must give you the only answer available to me at t
his time. I am fully aware of this man’s threats. I shall be exceedingly careful and plan accordingly. I am curious to know how you gathered so much information so quickly.”

  “In a word, Lizzie, my brother’s wife.”

  “This has come to the attention of Lady Asterly?”

  “Not precisely. I asked her butler, Crimm. He is her ferret. He has a network of informants. Some paid and others members of the household.”

  “Lady Asterly is well known for her political interests. How wise to have a source behind the wings to verify gossip.”

  Sir Harry drew his mare to a halt again. “Mrs. Treadwell, may I call you Adele?”

  “Certainly.”

  His gloved hand curled over her arm. “I beg you to be careful. Everything Crimm uncovered about your works in Spitalfields and involvement with this Beadle person is quite unsettling. All of it is a powder keg waiting to explode.”

  They turned to the clatter of a galloping horse. Adele felt her eyes widen when she saw Gordon tearing down the Row toward them. He rode a sturdy iron-colored hunter, once pointed out by the head groom as his favorite. Her husband’s glare spewed fire when he pulled up beside them. Sir Harry slowly withdrew his hand from her arm.

  Gordon said through his teeth. “I should have known you’d take advantage as soon as you heard I was away from town.”

  Sir Harry lifted his blond brows. A cynical smile curved his well-defined lips. “Good morrow to you, Treadwell. I see you outbid Byng for Larrimore’s stud and got Arbothnot to sell you one of his favorites, making you quite the downy one. Earlier I was telling Adele how I admired your taste in many things.”

  The personal use of her name sent a visible quiver through Gordon. The horse he rode sidled and huffed a snort, and Sir Harry, drat the man for his mischief, actually chortled. Before they came to blows, she nudged Armie forward to separate them. While Gordon’s stallion shook his bridle at the territorial intrusion, the little mare pawed and flicked her pretty ears back and forth. Bless him, Armie stood firm as she readied to take both men to task.

  Chapter 18

  Gordon spoke up before Adele, knowing she’d interfere, and his patience was whittled down to a splintering thread. “Let’s change that appointment at Jackson’s for this afternoon.”

  He yearned to smash the smirk from Collyns’s pretty face. The darkness that snaked through the family bloodline revealed itself in his hot temper. It often got the better of him when he drank too much, not in a show of violence, but in belligerence, a bullheaded streak that got him married to what he had thought a plain old maid. His Adele was anything, and everything, but that.

  This morning she wore a habit he’d never seen before, military in style, dark emerald, lush velour, tightly fitted. On top of her curls, she wore a jaunty abbreviated shako of blackened beaver with a barely there veil swathed across her eyes and looped around the hat brim. The jacket’s snug fit emphasized her trim figure and excellent bosom, all accentuated by her straight-backed, perfect seat. No wonder Collyns came sniffing around when his back was turned.

  He was so caught up in striving to not plant his fist in the smirking bastard’s face that he didn’t absorb what Adele was hissing at his head. He pried his stare from Collyns and looked at her. Her lips were pinched in a line, eyes squinting. He tamped down some of the rage, not all, because he liked directing it at Collyns.

  “You listen to me, Gordon Treadwell. There will be no stupid masculine posturing, do you hear me, sir? No childish duels. No beating on each other like schoolyard brats.”

  Gordon turned his attention back to Collyns. “There’s nothing childish about the pugilistic arts, my dear. What do you say, Collyns? Four o’clock?”

  Sharp pain streaked up his calf when the toe of Adele’s boot cracked into his leg. He tightened the reins when the stud under him flinched.

  Bristling, Adele leaned slightly toward him. “Sir, you will not engage in fisticuffs! I prefer your nose and head unbroken, and that is an end to it.”

  “Keep shouting at my head and I’ll take you over my knee.”

  She backed up the chestnut, her warning congested and low. “You dare to try that and I’ll make you dearly wish you hadn’t!”

  Gordon nudged the stud to follow her. “And I’m willing to bet you’ll like it!”

  Fury choked off her reply as they engaged in a staring standoff until Sir Harry’s laughter broke through the tense silence.

  “I perceive that I am de trop.” He touched his hat brim to her. “A decided pleasure riding with you this morning, Mrs. Treadwell. I do hope we encounter each other soon.”

  The little mare pivoted and trotted away. Gordon shouted at his back, “We’ll be seeing each other at four, Collyns!”

  “The devil you will,” his wife said and wheeled her horse.

  The chestnut took off, tearing up the Row at a forbidden all-out gallop. He followed, praying she’d slow when she got to the street, but she veered off in another direction. She’d told him that she liked to ride, but he had no idea she could hold her own with a Hussar. When he caught up with her, she slowed to a lope then to a walk. His rage evaporated when he saw the shining wet on her cheeks. When she felt his gaze, she used a cuff to angrily wipe away the evidence. He felt lower than a worm.

  “Adele, please, let us talk about this.”

  “What happened to your plans for visiting the Chilterns?”

  He exhaled a sigh and allowed his horse to pace quietly along the lane, enjoying the restful gait and return to calm. He’d gotten up before first light to make the journey there and back in one day. As usual, they’d spent half the night making love. He hadn’t minded getting up after only a few hours of sleep.

  It still amused and amazed that the novelty of sex with Adele never diminished. If anything, it became more intense with each day, and he noticed a recent change in her, a tension he couldn’t identify. It was possible the secrets she kept were wearing her down. He hoped so. He didn’t think it unreasonable to want his wife to trust and confide in him.

  The suspicion that she might be nourishing a relationship with Collyns or another man, any notion along those lines, sent logic flying out the window. The display of his angry fit of jealousy was rooted in another man attempting to poach on his wife. Nothing and no one would ever convince him that Adele would cuckold him. Such an act directly opposed her moral code. She had a weakness for sex with her husband, but there were no codes against that, thank heavens.

  Keeping his attention between his horse’s ears, Gordon answered her earlier question. “After much discussion, Loring and I had elected to ride to Chilterns Hills. Much faster than driving. His house is on the road that way, so we agreed that I’d meet him at his residence. His entire household came down with chest inflammations. His wife met me at the door. Poor thing looked wretched and claimed Loring too weak to rise from his sickbed.”

  “How dreadful. Shall we have provisions sent?”

  Her voice sounded rough and weary. No doubt from trying to quell her tears. He pretended not to notice. “Good of you to think of helping them, but Showers is taking care of it.”

  “You were right about him. He’s rather marvelously efficient.”

  They rode in silence, he leading back to South Audley Street in slow increments, giving them time to cool off and think. Marriage was a tricky thing. There was so much to learn, about each other, how it worked, where not to tread. She’d always given the impression that she didn’t care what was said about her, didn’t care that she’d been made a figure of fun. It hadn’t taken him long to see through her façade. She did care but she set it aside, prioritizing her reasons and projects. Being treated as an unwanted boarder her entire life by her cousins had caused the child and woman to secure protection with an invisible wall of indifference. She wasn’t indifferent or oblivious, merely protective of the fragility underneath with a tough outer coat, which caused him more shame from the drunken wager. At the same time, he couldn’t feel sorry about it. In this
one instance, irresponsibility won him Adele.

  The sticking point for many marriages had to do with the careful dance around the marital bed. They certainly had no difficulty there but would have to be careful not to use it as a substitute for avoiding problems they couldn’t handle via discussion. And that’s where this day was headed, an uncomfortable conversation. It had to be done.

  He directed his horse out onto South Audley Street, relieved when he heard the clopping sounds of her following. When she came up beside him, he said, “This morning’s incident in the park can’t be swept under a carpet corner. We should talk about it.”

  She didn’t answer as they rode into the mews, perhaps relieved that they couldn’t as Josh came to take the horses. When he wrapped his hands around her waist to lift her down, she stiffened, resisting. He took her arm, and instead of going into the house, he led her to the back garden gate, opened it, and gestured for her to enter before him. Taking her elbow again, he headed for the fountain. He recollected that they’d been honest—well, candid—with each other there when they met to talk about marriage arrangements. Perhaps they could be honest again. He was tired of not knowing, the subterfuge. It was beneath them and her.

  Her step faltered when they neared her secret spot in the flowerbed. He stopped her in front of it and pointed at the disturbed soil around a flat, oatmeal-colored stone. “Why do you need so much money and feel the need to hide it from me?”

  She started to turn away, and he grabbed her wrist. She twisted for freedom but he held firm. He did allow her to protectively press the riding crop across her chest. She clutched it with a curious desperation. She avoided looking directly at him, her features taut with what he hoped wasn’t fear of him. That he couldn’t bear.

  Frustrated with her silence, he studied her as confusion flooded his mind. He suffered no return of the fury he felt earlier at the park. Hurt that she refused to trust him spread through his chest. And bewilderment. What had he done to cause her to turn to Collyns instead of her husband? Deep inside he knew that was her aim and reason for meeting him—to ask his help. But why apply to a libertine, a dandy with no interest in anything but pursuing his own pleasures and Society’s favor? What could a man like that offer that he could not?