The Vagabond Duchess

Most of all, he enjoyed the way she challenged him at every turn. She was very different from the women who tried to win his favour at Court. He could not imagine Temperance heaping him with false flattery or pretending to trip up at his feet to catch his attention. She’d thanked him for his help with Tredgold, but she clearly wasn’t the woman to gush her undying gratitude. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him to discover she believed she’d been capable of dealing with the contretemps in the tavern on her own.

As he drew closer he saw the shutters of the draper’s shop were open and goods were laid out on the board, but Temperance wasn’t sitting in the doorway. Mildly surprised by her absence, Jack lengthened his stride.

‘Go back to bed, Isaac,’ said Temperance.

‘But, mistress, I must not shirk my work,’ he protested.

‘You are not shirking,’ she replied. ‘You spent all yesterday afternoon and most of the night groaning about the pain in your head or throwing up. You know when these headaches come upon you, you are fit for nothing the next day. Go upstairs and rest. I will expect you to work doubly hard on Monday.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ Even though he tried to hide it, she saw the relief in his face.

He was turning to the stairs when the light from the open doorway at the front was suddenly blocked. They both looked towards the customer.

The newcomer had his back to the light, and his appearance had changed in one, very startling way since she’d last seen him, but Temperance recognised Jack Bow immediately.

‘What have you done to your hair?’ The disconcerted question escaped before she had time to think better of it.

He grinned. ‘I traded it for someone else’s,’ he replied, stepping into the shop. ‘No doubt a buxom country lass was glad to sell these locks for a profit.’

He was wearing a black periwig. The hair was as black as his own but, instead of the wild, shaggy mane of the previous night, it fell in thick, graceful curls around his shoulders. It was longer than his own hair, and changed his appearance considerably. He was smooth shaven as well, and Temperance caught the faint scent of orange flower water when he moved. Today he looked far less like a rogue and a lot more like a gentleman. But he still wore the same travel-creased coat, and his lute case was slung across his back just as it had been when she’d last seen him. His hawklike nose and piercing eyes were those of a vagabond.

Her heart began to beat triple time. She was nervous and excited all at once. She wanted to invite him in. She wanted to send him on his way before he turned her life upside down. She was conscious of Isaac staring at her. For pride’s sake she wanted to treat Jack Bow like any other customer, but for several long seconds she couldn’t think of anything to say. All she could do was look at him.

He returned her gaze just as intently. She wasn’t used to such concentrated scrutiny from a man—not unless he was bargaining with her. But Jack Bow wasn’t looking at her like a tradesman. He was just…looking at her. Heat rolled over her body.

‘Mistress?’ Isaac said uncertainly.

With an effort Temperance wrenched her gaze from Jack’s face. She could see from Isaac’s expression that he was worried, unsure what he should do.

‘Go to bed,’ she said. Her voice didn’t sound as if it belonged to her.

‘Bed?’ said Jack. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon.’

‘He is not well,’ Temperance defended her apprentice.

‘Ah.’ Jack’s shrewd gaze rested on Isaac for a few moments. He nodded as if accepting the accuracy of her claim. ‘You may safely obey your mistress, lad. I’ll not do her any harm.’

‘No, you won’t!’ Temperance retorted. ‘And I’ll thank you not to make so free with your orders in my shop, sir!’

Jack grinned. ‘Why don’t we step outside so you can keep an eye on your goods?’ he suggested.

Temperance followed him to the door as Isaac went upstairs. She looked across the width of board, automatically checking nothing had gone missing while her attention was elsewhere. She smoothed a piece of linsey-wolsey beneath her hands, then glanced up to see he was watching her with a half-smile on his lips.

‘Why were you so extravagant?’ she burst out. ‘There was nothing wrong with your hair. If you’d only combed and dressed it properly—’

‘Don’t you admire my new locks?’ His long fingers briefly caressed one of the black curls that lay against his shoulder. The gesture reminded her of the preening fops she sometimes saw strolling past her shop, but there was nothing remotely foppish about the wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

‘I suppose you’re bald underneath,’ she said, feeling disgruntled and not sure why.

‘Not quite. Are you regretting the lost opportunity to run your fingers through my hair? You should have mentioned your preference last night.’

‘Keep your voice down!’ Temperance ordered, alarmed at his indiscretion. She glanced around to see if anyone had heard him. Fortunately, Agnes Cruikshank, her neighbour to the left, was engaged with a customer.

‘Yes, Madam Tempest.’ Jack grinned.

‘All my cloth is of the finest quality,’ she declared. ‘Are you thinking of a new coat, sir? Something to do honour to your fine new hair. This pink would go nicely with the sweet little curls.’

‘Black or blue might be more appropriate,’ he mused, testing the quality of the fabric between his fingers and thumb. ‘To match my bruises when you pull out the stick banging against your thigh.’

‘I never beat my customers—’

‘Unless they refuse to pay,’ he reminded her.

‘I didn’t! I just kicked his chair. It was you who—’ She broke off. How on earth had he lured her into this ridiculous argument? But all he had to do was look at her with that exasperating, disturbing gleam in his eyes and she forgot all proper reticence.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

‘I came to make sure you’re none the worse for your adventure last night.’

‘Thank you. As you can see, I am very well,’ Temperance replied, trying for a note of sedate formality.

‘Very well indeed,’ he said. ‘Your eyes are as clear as the summer sky…’

‘Blue,’ she said weakly.

‘Obviously, otherwise I’d have compared them to something else. And your hair…’

‘Brown,’ she said.

‘Are you determined to destroy the poetry of the moment?’ He frowned at her. ‘I am famous for my sonnets, you know.’

‘You are?’

‘Humorous, witty or romantic, as the occasion requires.’

‘I’ll bear you in mind, should I ever find myself in need of a rhyming couplet,’ Temperance said.

‘Excellent. Would you, perchance, accept a sonnet in praise of your beautiful eyes in exchange for a length of this nearly as fine blue broadcloth?’

‘No.’

Jack put one hand over his heart and assumed a pained expression. ‘You’re a hard woman to do business with, Mistress Tempest.’

‘I can’t buy coal with pretty compliments,’ she said, feeling flustered.

‘Have you ever tried? The coal merchant might be susceptible to cornflower blue.’

‘I don’t think so. He… You do talk nonsense!’ She pulled herself together.