Rogues Like It Hot Read online

  “Off with you, Abi!” the Duke reprimanded his sister. Penelope heard the humour in his voice, but she also paid heed to his sister’s warning. Penelope knew, all too well, the reputation of the Duke. He was a kind-hearted man, but he was also a well-known womaniser, both in the countryside and in London. His exploits were somewhat discreet, but he was a Duke and people talked about affairs.

  Penelope turned to face him as he continued to stare at her from the doorway. His stare puzzled her. What did he see? She could only imagine. She was certain that her dingy work dress, bedraggled hair, and dirty skin were anything but appealing. She lifted her chin and met his gaze with her own.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I will be off as soon as the sun comes up. I will trouble you no further.”

  The Duke remained in the doorway, but he reached in and took the doorknob, pulling the door partially shut.

  “Please remain until I give you leave to go. I expect to see you in the morning. The servants will see that you know when we break our fast.”

  The colour drained from Penelope’s face, and she curtsied before him.

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Without another word, the Duke shut the door firmly and moved to Lady Abigail’s room. He gently tapped on her door.

  She opened it a moment later.

  “Abi, please see to it that Miss Jameson is bathed and see if she fits one of your old gowns. That rag she is wearing isn’t fit to be called a dress. Also, see that one of your maids helps her get dressed and ready for breakfast in the morning. The girl deserves a little kindness, I think.”

  Lady Abigail rolled her eyes.

  “You should never have brought her here. What would Mother have said?”

  The Duke leaned toward his sister.

  “When did you become so cold, sister?”

  Lady Abigail glared at her brother.

  “I am not cold, Nat. I am practical. And unlike you, I care what your actions could do to tarnish our family name.”

  Nat grabbed Lady Abigail by the arm and pulled her forward until his face was nearly touching hers.

  “Ouch!” she simpered. “You are hurting me!”

  “I am only telling you this once, Abi. I care about our family name as much as you do. However, that is no excuse to be cruel to those who need help.”

  Lady Abigail yanked her arm out of her brother’s grip and sneered up at him.

  “Is that why she is here? She needs help? Did she ask you for help?” Abigail laughed sharply, her voice dripping with venom. “I would wager that she did. What did you do, Nat? Find her in an old barn somewhere? Did you find her in the haystack? Judging from the dirt on her, you found her under a hedge…”

  She never saw it coming, but the loud smack as his open palm crossed her cheek caused her to step back, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. Instantly, Nat regretted letting his hand fly as he saw the emotions play on his sister’s face. First, shock, then fear, then rage lit her eyes.

  “Fine, Nat... keep your little whore. What do I care?”

  Nat stepped toward his sister, but she backed away and slammed the door in his face. He stood with his nose nearly touching the thick wooden planks of the door for a few moments. Then he called out, “Just see that you follow my orders!”

  He heard her muffled yell, “I will!” then he moved further down the hall to his own room. As his valet assisted him to undress and prepare for bed, he worried over his sister’s jaded view of him. Where on earth had she got such ugly notions of him? He had never claimed to be an angel, and he would never deny that he had done his share of philandering, but the images she had conjured up left him in shock.

  He sat on the bed and thought for a while. Maybe it was time for him to be more careful, to actually consider finding a wife and leaving the frivolity of the chase behind.

  While he was deep in thought and worry over his encounter with Abigail, Penelope paced the room she had been given for the night. Lost in thought over the events of the day, and worried about what the next day would bring, she jumped at the knock on her door.

  She moved to open the door, but it opened before she got to it. A maid, younger than she, moved into the room with a bucket of hot water.

  “For your bath, Miss.” The maid moved to a big tub hidden behind a screen and poured the water in. “I’ll be back with a couple more. Can I get you anything else, miss?”

  Penelope shook her head, noting that the maid was frowning at her dress. The girl ducked out of the room, and Penelope sat on the edge of the bed until the girl returned with more water.

  “Thank you. That is all I need…” She paused, not knowing how to address the girl.

  The girl curtsied.

  “You ken call my Fanny, miss. Would you like help undressin’?”

  Penelope shook her head emphatically.

  “No!” She saw the surprise in the girl’s face. “I mean, no, thank you. I can manage.”

  Fanny curtsied again, and muttered something under her breath as she left the room. Penelope rushed to the door and secured the bolt. Then she moved a candlestick closer to the bathtub. She saw a brush and a bar of scented soap on a tray near a thick cloth, which she assumed was for her to dry herself with. She undressed quickly and lowered herself into the hot water, relishing the feel of it on her skin. At Lady Dankerson’s, she was only permitted a bath after everyone else who served the household had bathed, which often meant that the water was cold and putrid after the butler, the housekeeper, the maids, the footmen, and cook had all bathed first. Lady Dankerson did not see the point in allowing her servants any extra luxury, for Viscount Dankerson had never been particularly wealthy, and now that he was gone, Lady Dankerson scrimped on everything, attempting to keep the estate in some sort of order, pending her eldest son coming of age next year. And Penelope was less than a servant in that house. Just because she was an orphan.

  As Penelope leaned back in the hot water and let the heat soak into her skin, she closed her eyes and tried to remember life before Lady Dankerson took her in. She remembered a pretty woman who she thought had been her mother. She remembered a shop with beautiful pictures, bottles, boxes, and fabrics of brilliant colours, but she could not remember why she was in that shop or who it belonged to, and Lady Dankerson refused to tell her anything. Penelope had been just four years old when she first entered Lady Dankerson’s house and she knew, even at that age, that she was not wanted.

  From that point on, she was called names, had things thrown at her, was cursed at, and clearly was hated above all things. She did not understand why. Then, once Lord Dankerson died, with the oldest boy being only six, life became even harder for Penelope, because Lord Dankerson had been the only one who ever kept the hitting and name-calling from going too far.

  As she continued to soak, she started when she heard footsteps outside her door. She sat up in the tub and peered around the screen. She heard the knob squeak as it turned, and she was suddenly thankful that the door was bolted. She strained to hear, but the footsteps moved away from her door, and she relaxed back into the water.

  Had that been the Duke? Would he have tried to seduce her? She shook her head. She should not even entertain thoughts like that. He was completely out of her realm. She grabbed the soap and scrubbed her skin and hair. Finally, the water starting to turn cold, she got out of the tub, dried off, and put on the nightgown that Lady Abigail had provided. As she fingered the lace that trimmed the neckline, she wondered why Lady Abigail hated her. She pondered that as she climbed into the bed and plaited her hair. With Lady Abigail on her mind, shadowed by images of the Duke, Penelope fell asleep before she hit the pillow.

  Chapter Two

  The morning meal was strained. Lady Abigail kept glaring at Penelope, while the Duke ignored both young women entirely as he looked through the newssheets. Penelope tried her best to pay no mind to Lady Abigail even as she tried to ignore the overpowering presence of the Duke, but she could not get her heart to slow down, or her br
eathing to even out. She was certain that she was going to faint at any moment, so she was relieved when the Duke stood up and abruptly left the room.

  “Did he visit you last night?” Lady Abigail barked at her as soon as the door shut behind her brother.

  “What…?” Penelope stammered.

  “Never mind. I know he did. Every time he brings a woman home that is the room that he puts her in. I never thought he would stoop so low…”

  Penelope flushed. She pushed her plate away from her and forced herself to meet Lady Abigail’s glare.

  “He did not come into my room.”

  Lady Abigail opened her mouth, then shut it. She smirked at Penelope, “So you followed my advice.”

  Penelope said nothing, she just stared at Lady Abigail.

  “Well. Good for you. You would be the first. Most women think that, if they are bedded by my brother, it means that they will have a chance at our name and fortune.”

  “I don’t want…”

  Lady Abigail leaned forward and sneered, “Save your breath. You are infatuated with my brother. It's as plain as the nose on your face.”

  Penelope lowered her eyes. She could not deny that fact, even though she knew it was a fanciful infatuation. With her eyes lowered, she took in the lavender gown that Lady Abigail had given her. She had watched with fascination as Lady Abigail’s maid helped her put her thick hair up, curling it into tight ringlets that touched the sides of her face. She did not know her own reflection, and she could not help that she wondered if the Duke would be pleased with her transformation. She had been crushed when he had not even muttered a good morning to her. She smoothed the fabric of the skirt and decided to change the subject.

  She looked up at Lady Abigail.

  “Thank you for the dress. I have never worn anything so beautiful…”

  Lady Abigail snorted.

  “Of course you haven’t. I know full well your situation. My advice to you is that you sell it as soon as you can and don’t tell Lady Dankerson where you got it. That old witch…” She stopped, realising that she was about to have a civil conversation with the young woman opposite her. She bit her lip and rose to her feet. “Are you finished? My brother told me he wanted to discuss something with you in the study after you were finished eating.”

  Penelope looked at her plate. She had barely touched the food on it, but her nerves were still on edge, and now they were raw. What did he want to talk to her about? Was he going to send her back? Lady Abigail clearly thought so. Could she make a break for it and leave without seeing him?

  Lady Abigail saw the struggles run across Penelope’s face and she felt a moment of pity for the woman. She knew that Penelope had no status, no choice about her life, so she was puzzled and angered by her brother’s interest in her. Still, he was the head of the household now.

  “Come on, then,” she said, in a sharper tone than she had intended. Penelope fell into step behind her, and Lady Abigail led the way to the study. She opened the door and found Nat sitting at their father’s old desk, papers scattered everywhere, just like when their father had been alive. She could not help but smile for a moment.

  “Nat. I have brought her.”

  The Duke looked up and smiled.

  “Thank you. Come in, Miss Jameson. Have a seat.”

  Penelope moved around Lady Abigail and took a seat in a wooden straight-backed chair facing the desk. She heard a rustle of fabric behind her and looked back to see that Lady Abigail had left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  The Duke stood up and moved to sit on the chair next to Penelope’s. His brows knit together and he leaned forward with his hands clasped on his knees.

  “Miss Jameson, I have a proposition for you. I know you have no credentials for a life beyond servitude. Lady Dankerson has made no secret of her loathing for you and how she felt about giving you any sort of education. From what I have seen, although you were taken into that house as a ward of sorts, you have always been treated as the lowest of servants. However, others in the community have seen how you work, and they all have a high opinion of you.”

  He scanned Penelope’s face, taking note of her clear complexion after all of the dirt and grime had been scrubbed off. He noted the lustre to her hair, and the rose colour on her cheeks from the attention he was giving her. He could not help but think to himself, once again, that she was really a beautiful young woman. He shook his head to focus.

  “I was not at all surprised to find you running away yesterday, but it was clear you had no plan at all. Am I right?”

  Penelope nodded.

  “I thought that I would get to Mirkshire and plan something from there.”

  “With no money? No references? No education?”

  “Well… Your Grace, I can read, and I can do basic sums.”

  The Duke sat back in his chair.

  “Really?” He pulled a document off his desk. “Here. Read as much as you can from this.”

  Penelope took the document.

  “It says: Ned Lud’s Proclamation. I do hereby discharge all manner of persons who have been…”

  “Bravo! That is enough. This is a wonderful surprise. But tell me, Miss Jameson, how did you learn to read?”

  Penelope handed the paper back to the Duke.

  “Lord Dankerson taught me a little, before he died, and after he died, I kept practicing every chance I got. And sums, I more or less taught myself, sometimes with Cook’s help, so I could help him better in the kitchen.”

  The Duke grinned at Penelope and her breath caught in her throat. She felt the blood rushing to her face, and she hated that he had that effect on her.

  He noted her blush and he was amused by her clear attraction to him. He watched her for a minute. He found a great deal of joy in helping others, but usually he helped from afar. The proposal he had for Penelope would mean that he would see her on a personal level, several times a year, for extended periods. The thought excited him and worried him. Still, he was resolved to make sure that she did not end up back at Lady Dankerson’s, or worse yet, in a brothel somewhere, or as a fishwife.

  “I know that you are eager to be on your way, but that you have no idea of exactly where you might go. So please let me share an idea with you. I have been looking for someone to manage my home in London. It often sits empty, except for the minimum staff, which consists of a butler, a few maids, a cook, a few grooms, a few footmen, and a gardener. I had a housekeeper, but she recently married and her husband took her to the Americas. With your experience under Lady Dankerson – for I am aware that she expected you to do a great deal of management of things in that house, with no thanks for it - and now this knowledge that you can read and do sums, I think that you are exactly the person I am looking for.”

  Penelope raised her hand to stop him.

  “But Your Grace, I can read, but I cannot write. I have never truly managed a house. I would have no idea where to start.”

  The Duke smiled warmly at her.

  “The servants there have been there for years, so they know the ropes, and I have no fear that they would take to you right away. You will have a home to live in, weekly wages, an allowance to run the home, and I would insist on paying for a tutor to assist you in continuing to learn how to read, write, and further your general education to better fit the role I am offering you.”

  Penelope sat back, her thoughts spinning. She had never imagined doing anything more than serving as a maid, if she could do that without references, and here she was, being offered a position as a housekeeper.

  The Duke watched the emotions play across her face. He suddenly wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her, but he clenched his hands and stilled himself.

  “Well, can I send word to the house that you will soon be on your way?”

  Penelope searched the Duke’s face. She saw genuine kindness in his expression and something else that she could not place, but she knew that he was being sincere in his offer. She nodded in agreement, the smile o
n her face spreading from ear to ear. The Duke rose to his feet and clapped his hands.

  “Excellent! I will have my solicitor draw up the proper documents, and get you prepared to go with me to London the day after tomorrow.”

  He reached into his pocket, then handed her several pound notes, and rang a bell on his desk. His housekeeper appeared.

  “Your Grace?” the older woman asked.

  “Ah, yes, Mrs. Killen. Miss Jameson will need your assistance today. Would you take her into town and help her find appropriate attire for managing a household, as well as give her a quick rundown of what your daily duties require of you here? Compare the duties she had under Lady Dankerson to the ones you have here, and train her on the finer points of those tasks.”

  Mrs. Killen’s face showed alarm.

  “Your Grace?”

  The Duke laughed out loud.

  “My dear Mrs. Killen. Have no fear. I have helped Miss Jameson find a position elsewhere and am simply helping her to get a good start.”

  Mrs. Killen visibly relaxed and she turned to Penelope. She knew who Penelope was, and like the Duke, she felt sad over the years of hardship she must have faced under the cruel Lady Dankerson.

  “It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

  “Splendid. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have a great deal of work here.”

  Without another word, he moved to the chair behind his desk and took a seat. Penelope stared at him for a moment, wanting to say something, but not sure where to start. At Mrs. Killen’s nod, she silently turned to follow her out. She did not see the Duke watch her leave, a bemused and curious look on his face.

  Chapter Three

  The carriage slowed as they neared the outskirts of London. Penelope and the Duke had been sitting in silence for the latter part of the ride. Penelope was content to dwell in her thoughts, fears, doubts, and hopes. She had not dared to refuse the Duke’s generous offer of a new position, but lingering doubts due to her lack of training and polish made her fear that she was being set up for failure. Still, she had to admit to herself, even a temporary position in his household offered her a better chance for survival than her simply running away had.