15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter fifteen

E ven in the best circumstances, Hugh was not a patient man. Just ask any of the criminals or mooncalfs he’d walloped in the jaw. And now that he craved Charlotte’s light, the hours until she returned would feel like days. He’d go mad counting the minutes. Or worse, time would stand still.

He could not recall a woman ever having such an effect on him. Perhaps, he was becoming sentimental at the ripe ol’ age of seven and twenty. It had happened to his cousins William and Ethan, and they’d been relationship skittish rogues of the worst sort.

Or maybe it was that the beatings had stripped him of his dignity, making him weak and missish. The loss was a hard lot for any man to accept. He ought to know since he’d been stripped of his at least a dozen punches ago.

Unless it was Charlotte herself with all that sweet innocence wrapped in a beautiful package, caring for him and fighting her longing. That was the thing about intuition, he knew human nature, and she wanted him, deeply and viscerally. The evidence was apparent in the way her breath hitched when she touched him. Every time she met his gaze, she licked her lips, and her eyes glazed over with desire. Confounding indeed, since he was not at his finest, needing a shave, a bath, and clean clothing. But damn, this woman’s reaction to him, even at his worst, was a potent aphrodisiac.

While in Charlotte’s arms, desire overshadowed the agony from his injuries. Most likely because the ache in his cock and balls distracted him from the scratches and bruises. What would it be like to listen to her sweet-as-sugar voice turn raspy, screaming his name while coming apart beneath him? He exhaled his frustration. Now that she was gone, he’d have to combat both the pain from his beatings and the discomfort brought on by yearning.

Enough of this sentimental mush. He would ignore his physical state and focus on the upcoming negotiations with Chesterhill. He needed to be clear-headed if he was to work for the marquess. But, before he investigated anything, he required fresh clothing and a scrub. There was no sense in reeking when in the presence of a woman who smelled like a summer garden.

Hell’s teeth. Why was every one of his thoughts about Charlotte? He was a fool who needed to concentrate . What had he been thinking about?

Ah, yes, negotiations. Chesterhill needed to get his wife under control. She needed to stay away from Hugh and far, far away from Charlotte. Mayhap another country? Another continent would be even better. Hugh could shove rags into the marchioness’ mouth, tie her up, and then toss her onto a ship to the Americas, where she could cohabitate with rats in the bilge. He chuckled at the demented fantasy.

After buttoning his shirt and righting his now grimy garments, Hugh strolled the room’s perimeter a few times. Each step invigorated him. Since he’d always healed quickly, he should have his strength back in approximately two days. For now, he had forty-eight hours to anticipate Charlotte’s visits and nursing.

Lovely, sweet, Charlotte. As bright as a firefly and as sweet as honey. If only he could keep from throttling her family and their staff.

Hugh was drumming his fingers on the table and contemplating his future when Chesterhill arrived with his pair of unsavory miscreants. It was a fortunate thing Charlotte had left quite a bit earlier because the three of them ignored Hugh’s privacy and barged in as if they were welcome visitors. Although, in all fairness, this was the marquess’ property. But still… Unannounced entrances would be a problem during Charlotte’s visits.

“Good day, Mr. Fletcher,” Chesterhill said.

Hugh could not bring himself to mutter a greeting. Instead, he glared as the filthy duo dropped a large trunk on the floor beside him.

“Will that be all ye be requiring of us, me lord?” Mister Mustache asked.

“Yes. Remember our arrangement,” Chesterhill said.

“We remember every word ye says,” Mister Mustache said as Stilts bobbed his head in agreement .

“I know you remember,” Chesterhill said, “But follow the directives this time. No more beating on my guests.”

“But he was fightin’ with us.”

Chesterhill’s glare ended the discussion, and the men hurried from the cottage, leaving their stench behind. That Hugh could smell them over his stale odor proved what lowlifes the marquess had hired. However, employing miscreants had its benefits. Their loyalty came cheap, and they wouldn’t spread gossip within the ton.

Hugh pointed at the trunk. “What in the deuces is that?” Please do not let it be a dead body he was expected to do something about.

Sitting across from Hugh, the marquess steepled his fingers and sighed. “A detailed record of my shame.”

It would take a lot of self-reproach to fill that massive box. Hugh’s curiosity piqued, he bent to lift the lid. A half dozen dusty books were piled inside. At least there was no severed corpse. He chose the volume on top, opened to the first page, and read.

“ The 12th of August 1788.

Lady Mary Ravenforde has agreed to meet me later this evening once her husband is asleep. What a fool Ravenforde is. But since he does not see to his wife’s needs, I shall. She is rather lovely with ebony-colored hair, and her eyes are — ”

Hugh closed the book and grunted. “Were you not married to the first Lady Chesterhill at this time?” he asked.

“I was.” At least Chesterhill had the sense to color up.

“Was your first wife Alexander and Charlotte’s mother?” He was positive she was, but Hugh had learned the hard way never to assume anything in an investigation.

“Yes,” Chesterhill said.

Hugh thumbed to a page toward the back of the book .

The 4 th of September 1791. I have finally won over Mademoiselle Francesca. All it took was a ruby necklace. Tonight, we shall meet after her show. She has a small but lovely room right around the corner…

Hugh skimmed over paragraphs of salacious details. At the end of the entry, in neat script, someone had recorded: The 10 th of November 1791. Francesca was given two hundred pounds to pay a woman who assists with secret births. She is also to forget she ever knew me.

Hugh was far from innocent. Still, the rather scandalous details shocked him. If only he could unsee the things he’d just read.

“You kept records of your indiscretions?” he asked.

“Yes. I also saved some of the correspondences.”

Hugh was no stranger to bedding women, but there was something disturbing about recording the assignations, paying off the women, and denying one’s children and responsibilities.

“Why record? And why in such detail?” he asked.

Moaning, the marquess dropped his head onto the table.

For a long while, Hugh simply glared at Chesterhill’s wiry gray hair. “Why?” he eventually asked again since there was a chance the information was pertinent to his investigation.

The marquess sat tall and stared at the far wall.

“Did you mean to blackmail these women?” Hugh had no time for blackmailers.

“No.”

“Their husbands and lovers?”

The marquess’s brow furrowed. “No.”

“Then why?” Hugh asked .

Chesterhill stood, then paced the room. Meanwhile, Hugh remained silent, giving the marquess the time and space to build his courage and confess.

At length, Chesterhill lowered himself back onto the chair and met Hugh’s gaze. “I was raised to believe that I could bed any woman I wanted with no repercussions. Most men of my class have been taught this.”

Most men, in general, had been taught this, including Hugh.

“My assignations piled up. I started to lose track and forget who I had tupped and who I had paid to leave me alone. I had no recollection of which of my by-blows were alive and which had passed. And then women I had no memory of, claimed to have lain with me. I believe they lied, were paid off, and got away with it because I could no longer remember who was who. Can you see how this would be a problem when I am a wealthy man with a title and numerous holdings? These records became my protection.”

Unimpressed, Hugh snorted.

“I would not have cared about public knowledge except the first Lady Chesterhill was quite sweet and innocent and she did love me. I did not want to break her heart.”

“How noble of you,” Hugh said.

The marquess nodded, apparently missing Hugh’s sarcasm. “She was taken by lung disease when she was still young and beautiful. I have mourned her every day for the past decade.”

The marquess might currently be vulnerable and pathetic, but Hugh felt no sympathy for him. “Men with secrets are quite easy to blackmail,” he said, changing the conversation back to Chesterhill’s arseholery.

“Precisely.”

“You should have used a male sheath,” Hugh said .

“You can cease with the morality lectures, Fletcher. Remember, I have looked into your background extensively. You have not exactly been a saint.”

Hugh would concede that point. “What if someone untrustworthy finds these?” He inclined his chin toward the trunk. “And uses them against you?”

“I am entrusting my secrets to you.” Chesterhill stared into Hugh’s soul. “I have chosen you for your ability to show discretion. I am quite certain you will not allow that to happen.”

How unfair to play on Hugh’s conscience. Now he would have to guard the bloody volumes with his life.

“What am I to do when I find these by-blows?” Hugh asked.

“You are to bring them to me at once, unharmed. My wife and children are not to know. At least not for now.”

“And what if they do not wish to come with me?”

“Persuade them, Fletcher. That is one of your special talents.”

Persuasion was easier when Hugh had the law on his side. So much for that since he was supposed to “ ponder his priorities and get his shite together. ” Whenever the law was not at his disposal, he was much more persuasive giving a bloke a bloody nose. However, Chesterhill probably didn’t want his bruised bastards stumbling about his fancy estate.

“As I said before, Curly and Stilts can assist with whatever you require,” Chesterhill added.

Hugh did not want those two clodpolls anywhere near him.

“For now, I require a bath and clean clothing, and I do not care for their assistance with either of these things. I also need notetaking supplies, another lantern, tooth polish, a clean towel, daily newspapers from London and the surrounding cities, and a stocked cupboard. ”

“I will see everything is delivered immediately,” Chesterhill said.

“And brandy. A couple of decanters full, if you please?”

“’Tis the least I can do,” Chesterhill said.

Indeed. Hugh harrumphed. “I will need some privacy. You and your men can not barge in whenever you please.”

“Of course.” Chesterhill placed a paper on the table. “Our contract.”

Hugh perused the document. Discretion and doing what he did best—locating people—for an exceedingly prodigious amount of money, a temporary roof over his head, and a chance to remain near Charlotte. He exhaled and scratched his name at the bottom of the paper. Who knew if the damn thing was legal, however, Hugh’s word was binding. Hopefully, the same could be said of the marquess. Now, how to bring up Lady Chesterhill’s visits and threats? A knock on the door interrupted Hugh’s musings.

Chesterhill folded the contract and shoved it into his waistcoat. He grabbed the book, tossed it into the trunk, and slammed the lid closed. “That will be the doctor. Although, you seem quite well. Slightly bruised, but otherwise no worse for wear. You are as robust as I predicted.”

Tell that to Hugh’s aching body.

The door opened, and a man in his middle years peeked in.

“Doctor Wellington. Come in. Come in. Thank you for coming again today. I do believe our patient is on the mend.”

Chesterhill stood and peered down at Hugh. “Please excuse me. I still have guests I must attend to. I dare say, Coldpepper and his clan have taken up residency. I shall return tomorrow evening. Study the papers I have entrusted you with until then.”

The marquess hobbled past the physician and out the door .

Obviously, the man was in poor health. What would happen to Charlotte when he passed? Would Alexander do right by her? Would her stepmother’s abuse increase? Would she be married off to some arrogant prick such as Nash?

Upon picturing Charlotte in Nash’s arms, Hugh formed a fist. God almighty, he wanted to smash something.

“Mr. Fletcher, do let me check to see how scrambled your brains might be,” Doctor Wellington said as he approached.

True to his word, Chesterhill’s apes delivered everything Hugh requested. They even lugged buckets of water from a nearby stream and poured them into an old copper tub. The cold bath eased Hugh’s aches and filled him with vigor.

He donned a fresh linen shirt and clean trousers and poured a glass of brandy. Then, he dug into Chesterhill’s journals. As unpalatable as he found his task, he did enjoy sorting through clues in order to solve puzzles, and the marquess had given him quite a case.

After taking methodical notes, Hugh set down his quill and retrieved his glass. A few swallows should help him think.

Lady Ravenforde, the first recorded assignation, had become pregnant soon after her affair with Chesterhill. If his memory was correct, Viscount Ravenforde had a hellion of a son. Theodore, a complete drunkard, had been two years older than Hugh and had barely graduated from Cambridge. The spoiled bloke seemed intent on self-destruction.

Was there a chance that Theodore, the heir to the Ravenforde Viscountcy, was the Marquess of Chesterhill’s by-blow? If so, the scandal would shock the ton. The discovery would throw the Ravenforde inheritance and title into question. And for what? A humiliated Theodore would be united with a biological father who could not legally claim him because Chesterhill’s title would be passed to Alexander, his legitimate son.

Hugh needed to be certain about Theodore if he approached him.

“ Hey mate ,” he could say, “ I do believe you are a bastard, not the legitimate Ravenforde heir. You see, your mother had an affair with Lord Chesterhill. So, no worries, you still have aristocratic blood in your veins. And your real father is quite wealthy, you just no longer have a title. In all probability, it will resort to your cousin, Michael .”

Bloody hell. What had Hugh gotten himself into? This was a messy business. He needed to find proof. Perchance there was something in the stack of letters lying at the bottom of the trunk.

After digging for them, Hugh carefully untied the twine, taking care with the delicate papers. Some appeared to have been folded and unfolded dozens of times. The years had yellowed the edges. As if by divine intervention, the second letter he read held the information he sought.

My Darling Alexander,

My heart has broken into a million sharp shards and yet I know you are correct. I fear Cornelius will become suspicious about our affair. Do not worry, I will keep our indiscretion a secret in my heart. Only you and I will ever know of our precious moments. That being said, I do intend to do everything in my power to make Cornelius believe that our child is his. God, forgive me. My darling, forgive me.

Your forever devoted,

Mar y

At last, the proof he required since Cornelius and Mary Ravenforde were Theodore’s parents.

Hugh stretched his arms above his head and then rubbed his tired eyes. Exhaling long and hard, he dropped his gaze to his notes. He’d been so preoccupied he had not realized the sun had set. He would need to light the lantern if he meant to continue reading and writing. But why would he do that when Charlotte would be there soon and set the room ablaze?

Whistling a happy tune, he dropped his notes and the books into the trunk. He dragged the trunk across the room. Pushing the bed over a few inches, he hid the box in the corner beside it. After pouring himself another drink, he leaned against the headboard, and waited for his glowworm—nay, his magnificent firefly—to light up the cottage.