That Despicable Rogue

‘I make money,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I know that is considered a bad thing to confess in this day and age, but it is the truth. I make investments. I speculate—buy and sell. Whatever looks as if it has the potential for a solid profit I will dabble in. I was not born into money, Mrs Preston, so I appreciate its value and its power. And as I spend a great deal of my time poring over ledgers and papers I need a pleasant and light place to work in. This room, quite frankly, is not pleasant. Those ugly paintings need to come down for a start.’

He pointed to the ostentatious family portraits that her father had had painted and scowled.

‘I presume that they are all long-dead members of the Runcorn dynasty?’ They were—her brother, her father, grandfather and great-grandfather stared down at them haughtily from the walls. None of them had been particularly handsome men, she acknowledged. And it was difficult to remember any of them with any great affection.

‘They look like a bunch of pompous arses,’ he said disdainfully.

He took her expression of shock as outrage at his use of bad language, but he was unapologetic.

‘Come on, Mrs Prim and Proper—surely you have heard the word arse before?’

Something about the way she bristled amused Ross. She was so easy to rile he decided there and then to do it often. If nothing else, it would make the days go quicker. He would start this very moment, by peppering his speech with a bit more colourful language and seeing how long it took her to bite back.

‘Make a note to get all this blasted panelling painted a nice cheerful colour, and get those pompous arses shifted to the attic as soon as possible,’ he said dismissively, and watched her scratch his instructions down in obvious irritation.

When she had finished she peered at him over the rims of her spectacles. ‘What colours do you consider “cheerful”, sir? Do you want something light and subtle? Like a pale primrose-yellow? Or would you feel more at home with something bolder—like bordello-red?’

Her blue eyes glared at him defiantly. The woman had spirit. Ross quite admired her cheek, but pretended to ponder. ‘Hmm...perhaps we should save the red for my bedchamber, where it can be properly appreciated? I quite like the idea of pale yellow—but not for in here.’

She could picture the perfect place. ‘The morning room would look lovely in pale yellow. It faces the gardens and catches the early-morning sun—’ Stopping herself abruptly, Hannah stared at her notes. She was being much too presumptuous for a servant.

‘Would you paint it pale yellow?’ he asked, with an obvious interest that she found strangely flattering. The man was actually asking for her opinion on something.

‘I would paint all the dark wood white and mix solid walls of primrose-yellow with some printed wallpapers. Flowers or vines or some such pattern—something that brings the garden into the room.’

Her favourite room would look stunning in such a sunny shade.

For several seconds he just stared at her, and then his face split into a devastating grin that made her pulse flutter in a most disconcerting way. ‘I do believe that you have an eye for decorating, Mrs Prim. That is exactly how the morning room should look. But I want no spindly little chairs. I was not built for puny furniture—I want something more robust. Manly. And comfortable.’

‘There is a lovely big sofa in the drawing room. If we had it reupholstered and found a pair of big wing chairs to go with it I think that might do quite well,’ she answered wistfully as she imagined it, caught up in the vision.

She had always dreamed of changing the interior of the hall but had never, ever been consulted. She caught him watching her. Far from appearing annoyed at her presumptuousness, he looked impressed.

‘Another good idea. Jot it down. I think I will put you in charge of picking out all the colours henceforth.’

This was a great responsibility he was delegating to her and one that she would relish. Hannah forgot herself, and grinned at his unexpected generosity. ‘Shall I make a note of the bordello-red for your bedchamber too?’ she asked cheekily, forgetting herself, and then blushed as his eyes twinkled flirtatiously.

What on earth was she thinking? He really was dangerously charming—and manipulative. Already he had briefly made her forget how much she disliked him.

‘I am keen to get this house shipshape by the end of the summer.’

‘But it is already May! Surely you cannot seriously expect it all to be done in such a short time?’

‘I have quite set my mind to it—and when I set my mind to something, Mrs Prim, I usually get it. And I can be very persuasive.’

He winked at her saucily. In her entire life nobody had ever winked at her, and she felt her lips purse in consternation. If she had not been pretending to be a servant she would have given him a proper set-down. As it was, she had to settle for stony, disapproving silence.

‘You can go through all the catalogues and then show me a selection of the most suitable wallpapers. I shall have to trust you to make a great deal of decisions in my absence, Mrs Prim. In the meantime, I will sort out your household accounts.’

She could tell by the way his eyes drifted to a pile of papers stacked haphazardly on the desk that his attention was already elsewhere, so she inclined her head and went to walk away.

‘By the way, sir,’ she said as an afterthought, ‘my name is Mrs Preston—not Mrs Prim.’

A slow smile crept over his face. ‘I am well aware of that, madam.’

Chapter Four (#ulink_2e3d08d6-9d7d-5316-8492-e96b7b4cad2f)

Ross was awoken by the spring sunshine streaming through his bedchamber window and decided that he needed to add thicker curtains to his growing list of things to buy. At the best of times he was not a morning person, but the sun in the countryside was definitely more invasive than it was in the city. It had a piercing quality that could not be ignored, no matter how hard he tried to.

To make matters worse, he could hear too many noises outside in the hallway again. In the fortnight during which he had intermittently lived at Barchester Hall, the sounds of Mrs Prim and her battalion of maids had woken him on a number of occasions, with their rattling buckets and clattering brooms.

Irritated, he threw the bedcovers back, dragged himself out of bed and trudged heavily towards the door. Clearly, if he was ever going to get some rest, it was time he made them understand that he really did not like being awake this early.

‘What is all this blasted noise?’ he barked as he threw open the door.

Two young maids and his prickly housekeeper dropped the linens they were carrying and stared at him open-mouthed. Only then did he remember that he was only wearing his drawers. Now that he no longer lived in bachelor lodgings he should probably purchase a dressing gown, he realised as the two maids giggled shyly behind their hands at the sight of his bare chest. Out of habit, he grinned wolfishly at them, well aware that he looked pretty good in his birthday suit. The maids happily grinned back.

‘Mr Jameson!’

He could not help but notice that Mrs Prim-and-Proper was not giggling at the spectacle. She turned towards the two maids angrily, her face glowing beetroot-red, and pointed at the pile of sheets on the floor.

‘Take those downstairs at once.’

They nodded in unison and scurried away, leaving Ross alone with the woman on the landing. To rile her, he braced his arms on the doorframe above his head and smiled innocently while she did her level best not to meet his eyes. Those same eyes kept flicking to his bare chest, though, he noticed, and he was prepared to bet money that she liked what she saw.

‘Good morning, Mrs Prim. How are you today?’ he asked cheerfully, still braced against the door to show his biceps off to their best effect.

‘Mr Jameson.’

She was all pink, outraged and flustered, and the spectacle made him smile.

‘It is not proper for you to wander around so freely in your underclothes.’

‘Is it not?’ Ross responded as he idly scratched his stomach and watched her eyes lock on to that spot. ‘I do apologise. But seeing as I was rudely awoken by all the noise you were making I do think that I should be excused. I am never fully compos mentis at the crack of dawn.’

Immediately, her gaze shot back to his face and she stared at him accusingly over the rim of her glasses. She did that a lot, he realised—and always over the rims of her thick lenses, never through them. If she did not need the awful spectacles for distance he had no idea why she would wear them. They were an abomination on her face.

‘Mr Jameson, this house is, as you have rightly pointed out, in a shabby and neglected state. We are presently doing our best to clean out the bedchambers, ready for the tradesmen to begin their renovations. That requires the maids to work in them. Already it is past midday—not the crack of dawn, as you claim—and we waste several hours every day waiting for you to be awake. Perhaps if you kept more regular hours then you would not be so tired in the mornings.’

For emphasis, Hannah folded her arms across her chest and stoically held her ground. She would not allow the sight of his naked body to distract her.

Although it was quite distracting... He had interesting muscles all over the place. And hair. Fine dark hair dusted his chest, and a thin trail of it bisected his navel and disappeared into his drawers. To make matters worse he had crossed his own arms, mirroring her posture, and this caused the muscles in his upper arms to bulge significantly in a way that made her breath hitch.

‘You dare to lecture me on my bedtime, Mrs Prim? Have you been keeping track of the hours I keep? I did not know that you cared.’

He raised his dark eyebrows suggestively and she felt a hot, guilty blush stain her cheeks. She had become a little preoccupied with his nocturnal activities.

His voice dropped to a silky whisper. ‘Do you disapprove?’