Ransom Redeemed Read online

  Lady Stanbury's features, briefly amused by Mary Ashford's plight, snapped back into rigid hauteur. "I came to see you at Damon's insistence, but I desire no further connection with your family. Keep your brother away from me. For his own good."

  Ah, one more unsavory task dropped into his hands. Why not?

  Eager to see the back of her as soon as possible, he rang for Smith to show her out and then poured himself a large glass of brandy. Something to warm him up.

  If only Miss Ashford had stayed. Her wry honesty would have been a very welcome respite, something to make him smile— better even than brandy. But no, she wouldn't stay. Now he was alone with his demons until he got to the club later tonight.

  Just how was he going to break this news to Damon?

  It seemed to have been a year of trouble for the Deverell men when it came to women and he, for one, would be glad to see it draw to an end. Perhaps, in the new year, he could make a resolution to fast, giving up his favorite pastime.

  Hmph. He swigged his glass of brandy. Sudden chastity? Good luck with that.

  Besides, any such effort on his behalf —unlikely as it was to meet success—would not keep his brothers out of similar turmoil.

  This past summer, Damon's elder brother, Naval Captain Justify Deverell, who was usually the epitome of good sense and propriety— at least by the standards of their family— had, for some god-forsaken reason, purchased an Indian woman at an illegal "Wife Sale". Although Justify would never admit it, Ransom suspected his half-brother had been as drunk as any self-respecting sailor on shore leave should be. But since Justify was required to sail off again soon after the sale, this pretty purchase had been left in Ransom's hands to manage too.

  Of course, their father had yet to be informed of the curious acquisition, for if there was one thing he wanted it was for his sons to choose a bride wisely. It was highly unlikely that, even with his dark sense of humor, True Deverell would consider a woman purchased from her previous husband for six pounds, and who could neither speak nor understand English, to be a wise choice.

  Ransom had been called upon to help find lodgings and respectable employment for the newest Mrs. Deverell, while Justify returned to his command at sea. Meanwhile, he was expected to keep all this a secret from the rest of the family, until Justify found— as he called it— "a perfect opportunity to break the news gently to our father".

  "Best of fortune in that endeavor," Ransom had said to his brother when they parted company.

  Best of fortune in that endeavor. It might as well be the Deverell motto when it came to women.

  Distracted by these troubles that had been put into his hands, he found he had no appetite for dinner after all. No desire to eat all alone at that long table. Instead he decided to leave early for the club. Perhaps he'd send for Damon tonight and break the news. The sooner he got it over with, the better, as a certain lady would advise.

  He rode at his usual clip, his thoughts finally settling on the pleasing image of Miss Ashford without her bonnet. How could he explain his desire to have her remain in his company? She would roll her eyes and say he needed a dose of gripe water. But her portrait on his bedchamber wall had looked down on him for eight years, solemnly waiting for something, and on Wednesday it had tried to tell him that the "something" was about to happen.

  Since then he'd looked at his world through new eyes. He couldn't be sure it was all due to her, but it seemed more than likely. Why else would he find himself smiling whenever he thought of her? He raised a hand to his lip. She'd drawn first blood. That ought to be warning enough.

  Ought to be. But Ransom Deverell, in common with most of his family, had always taken issue with the word "ought".

  * * * *

  When Mary arrived back at the bookshop that evening, she found Thaddeus Speedwell in a very jolly mood. Even her sister was laughing giddily as she stuck mistletoe in her hair. There was a large fire in the hearth tonight, extra candles lit and bunches of holly decorating the mantle.

  "Your sister thinks she must have a secret admirer, Mary," said Thaddeus, gripping her arm in his excitement, "for somebody sent us a large hamper this evening, full of Yuletide cheer. Look!"

  It had come from Fortnum and Mason— a big, heavy wicker hamper filled with an abundance of Christmas delights, including savory pies, bottles of wine, fruit, nuts, smoked salmon, cheeses, marzipan and plum cake.

  She knew at once who had done this. Who else? It was perhaps what he had been up to while he waited for her to leave his mother's suite.

  What if I was to tell you that your sister will eat very well this evening and manage perfectly without you?

  "You look very pale, Mary," her sister exclaimed. "I hope you're not going to be peevish and say we should send it back to the shop."

  She took a deep breath. "No. Of course not. It is a wonderful gift. It would be ungracious to refuse it. And impractical."

  Violet wrinkled her nose. "You're not going to weep, are you? You look odd."

  "Really, Violet! When was the last time you saw me shed a tear?"

  "When you climbed that tree on a dare and got stung by a wasps' nest."

  Yes, fifteen years ago or thereabouts. "I'm surprised you remember," she muttered. "You couldn't have been more than five or six at the time."

  "Naturally I remember," her sister replied pertly, the little clump of mistletoe nodding above her ear. "I remember because it is such a rare occurrence and hasn't happened since."

  It had happened since, of course, but only when she was alone and nobody would know. Tears, like regrets, were ineffectual. Unless one was lucky enough to look endearing when sobbing copious tears, and Mary was not. She merely looked moist and droopy, as if she had a very bad cold, which had the effect of making people back away from her in alarm, rather than offer a hug of reassurance and comfort.

  "Where's your bonnet?" her sister demanded.

  Oh no. She had abandoned it to Deverell's clutches! What wickedness would befall her bonnet in his house?

  Although she had tried to pretend his kisses did nothing to her, they had left her in a state of intoxication so that she could barely put one foot before the other. Hopefully he had not noticed. But now she was no better than those women who left dancing slippers— and probably a great many other things— behind in his house.

  She licked her lips. They felt somewhat bruised, but warm too, despite the weather.

  "I must have left it somewhere," she managed eventually, one hand checking that her hair was not in too great a disorder. "Never mind. It was a rather old and sad bonnet. If some beggar in the street has found it, they are welcome to keep it."

  "Soon you shall be able to buy another, Mary my dear," Thaddeus exclaimed, "for I have more good news." He had fetched the ledger from under the counter. "A great many of our debtors have paid their bills today, quite suddenly. I wonder if it is the Christmas spirit we have to thank for all this."

  Mary studied the ledger and saw that a handful of "PAST DUE"s were scratched out and "PAID IN FULL" written in, along with the amount.

  "We shall have a very merry Christmas indeed," he added, eyes gleaming up at her through his spectacles.

  She thought of Ransom Deverell reading that ledger upside down. the calculating light apparent under his lowered lashes. His gaze had scanned the lines in a matter of seconds, far less than a minute, as far as she knew. Yet he must have memorized the names and addresses of all those debtors.

  Again there was no doubt in her mind that he was behind this change of fortune, however it was achieved. She was not certain she wanted to know how.

  Why had he done all this? Of all the things she'd ever overheard or read about that man, she would never guess him to be generous.

  On the other hand, Mary already knew how gossip favored bad news and scandal. Good deeds were far less likely to be mentioned.

  As her Uncle Hugo would remark airily, "The loudest critics are always those who have nothing good to say." Of course, being a
man who liked to raise questions, tempers and eyebrows, Hugo always turned it to his advantage. "One must remember, a bad review often provides an artiste with their best exposure. A very bad review will make others curious to see for themselves. To be liked all the time would be a dreadful bore."

  What she did know about Ransom Deverell for certain was that he always got what he wanted. Even Raven had told her that. He was outspoken and straightforward. And seldom still for long. She had seen for herself that he did not hide his attraction for a woman. On Wednesday she thought it was simply a habit of his, to flirt. But was this his method of seduction— to overcome her protests with gifts and favors?

  Whatever he was up to, it would last only until another woman caught his eager eye.

  Perhaps he merely felt pity for her. That idea rattled her Ashford Pride.

  "Mary! You're pulling all the berries off that sprig of holly!"

  She hastily dropped the partially massacred clump of seasonal cheer and left her sister to finish decorating the mantle.

  Again she thought of Elizabeth Stanbury in his doorway that evening. And of the French whirlwind who had chased him down the street only a few days before. Of the other woman whose scent had clung to him when he came to her shop.

  If I had a good woman, Mary Ashford, to put me to rights, I might become a worthier man. In time. Don't you think?

  Such a man was impossible to trust or take seriously. But he was not— so she had discovered— difficult to smile at, or even to forgive for his blunders.

  And it was certainly not at all challenging to become enchanted by that man. It was all too easy. Even to fall a little bit in love. Just a little. Not with her "whole being" this time.

  Just a little in love. Nonsensical as it was for her to feel that way about Ransom Deverell.

  He'd probably forgotten all about her already.

  But when she glanced down, Mary realized she'd made a little arrangement of scarlet berries on the table, forming a dramatic letter R.

  She allowed herself to look at it for just a moment, feeling rather naughty, and then, before anyone else might see, she quickly swept the berries into her palm and tossed them into the fire.

  Whatever might happen to her bonnet in his custody, she almost envied the damnable thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lady Charlotte had expressed an interest in meeting Violet, so Mary took her sister to Mivart's Hotel on her next visit. As she could have predicted— knowing her ladyship's penchant for pretty things— the introduction was a success.

  "Violette is a charming, sweet little thing, and it is time I took on a new project," she told Mary. "I will chaperone her in society this winter, for I know how desperately frugal you are, Mary! No expense should be spared, and I shall see to it that it is not."

  Many of Lady Charlotte's old connections in society no longer existed, since her scandalous marriage to True Deverell and then her even more scandalous divorce. However, she still clung bitterly to the few remaining "friends" and, since Raven married the Earl of Southerton, her circle had begun to enlarge again. Not liked by many, they considered her a necessary evil to remain on her influential son-in-law's good side, and she knew this. But she was not a woman to let dignity get in her way. She made the most of her daughter’s advancement.

  "Do not look at me with that fearful expression, Mary. I have funds of my own and since my one and only daughter declines my assistance at present, why should I not find another protégée? Lord knows, I have tried with you, Mary, and you simply have no care for fashion. It is most frustrating for a woman of my tastes and sensitivities to be faced with you in that burgundy day gown that has been out of fashion for five years and has a visible darn at the elbow."

  Violet beamed happily. "My sister prefers to be dowdy so that she is not smiled at in the street by gentlemen who are not respectable."

  They both laughed and shook their heads at Mary, as if she was a little girl standing there with cake crumbs on her face and in her hair.

  But she did not mind it. Putting up with Lady Charlotte's less than flattering remarks would be worthwhile if it gave Violet something to be happy about at last. It was also true, of course, that supervising this "debut" would give her ladyship something to occupy her mind, and keep her from thinking about Oxfordshire and her daughter. In addition, Mary's knowledge and interest in fashion could, in no way, satisfy her sister's thirst for that subject. All things considered it seemed an advantageous connection from both sides.

  A few days later, a trip to the haberdashers was organized and soon Lady Charlotte and "Violette" were lost among the rolls of fabric, while Mary — with no book in her possession at that moment— was obliged to occupy her mind by reading an advertisement for Beecham's Pills and another beside it for French corsets and petticoat frames. She was just wondering whose idea it was to put women into cages, be they French or of any other origin, when she was aware of a warm movement of air behind her and then a deep male voice muttered,

  "I do hope you're not thinking of purchasing one of those contraptions, Miss Ashford. Disguising the natural female shape in such an unwieldy manner, so that a man cannot admire it, is deplorable and vastly unfair. Disguising yours would be an abomination."

  She turned quickly and found Deverell very close. It was almost a week since he had her brought to his house. By now she had expected him to forget about her entirely. But his eyes were just as heated and demanding today as they had been then. As if no time at all had elapsed since he kissed her, and as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

  "You have no idea what my legs look like." Alas, that was the best she could do, too startled by his sudden appearance to prepare any better, more ladylike retort.

  A devilish grin meandered across his mouth, as if it had all the time in the world. and she, equally lazy, watched it. "As I told you, there is nothing amiss with my imagination."

  "What are you doing here?" Another remark blurted out. She felt sixteen again, light in the head and feet, capricious and scatter-brained.

  "I like to keep an eye on the enemy."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "If one wants to know what women are up to, a haberdashery is the ideal place. Here one learns all manner of secrets and tricks of the trade." He tapped the handle of his walking cane at the corset advertisement. "And be prepared for whatever devilry one might encounter. Under a lady’s clothes."

  The man was exceedingly improper. He was also despicably handsome— and unavoidable in such close quarters. If he had the limbs of an octopus Mary could not have felt more surrounded. Anxiously glancing over his shoulder, to be sure no other customer in the shop was looking their way, she said, "Your mother is here. I'm certain she'll be pleased to see you."

  "Is she, by Jove?" But he didn't turn to look. His dark gaze remained fixed upon Mary.

  "Thank you, sir," she managed finally, "for the hamper of Yuletide cheer. I wish you had not gone to such trouble and expense. I cannot think why you did."

  "Don't be unduly modest, Miss Ashford. It's very tiresome. You know why I did it. I am, if nothing else, straightforward in my purpose when I take pursuit."

  Yes, but had she not made her position clear? She took a deep breath, which only succeeded in letting his scent invade her lungs, his presence filling her senses completely yet again. No floral undertones today, thank goodness.

  Had he swayed toward her another half inch? She could have sworn she felt a sigh of breath against her temple, and the sly stroke of his finger moved the pleats of her skirt.

  "You left your bonnet behind," he said, not even bothering to lower his voice.

  "It does not matter. It is old and frayed. Burn it for all I care." That came out with more insolence than she'd meant, but his proximity and the powerful feelings he evoked, triumphed mercilessly over Mary's ability to remain unruffled and civil.

  "As you desire. I prefer you without it in any case."

  She looked up and found his gaze questing
over her hair with the sort of blatant, lusty admiration a proper gentleman ought to hide. Her fingers itched to pull the hood of her cloak up again, just to keep him from looking. But her brain issued no approving command and so her hands remained at her sides, flapping about uselessly, as if they had turned into two ham slices.

  Suddenly, much to her abject horror, he slid his hand through the opening in her cloak and settled his hand on her waist. It was heavy, warm, the fingers spread, the thumb stroking the material of her bodice.

  "Mary," he whispered. "I could get you out of that corset as easily as I once got you free of that knotted string. Then I would show you exactly how imaginative I can be. I would tell you a story you won't find in one of your books, and I would do it all without a word spoken."

  She urged her feet to move, but they were as helpless as her hands. He drew her closer still and his mouth...oh, his mouth touched her hair.

  "You deserve much more than this. Never limit yourself."

  In the next aching breath, he was gone again, striding out of the shop without another word. The door slammed loudly shut, and several folk looked over, curious.

  Lady Charlotte was one whose attention had been caught, and she immediately gestured Mary over to the counter. "Was that my son? I thought it was him. The surly boy would not bother to greet me, would he?"

  Mary gave no answer and pretended to peruse the fabric samples with her sister, although she could not touch them because her hands were trembling. What did he mean by saying she deserved more? More than what?

  "I told him we were coming here today. One would think he'd take the time to stop and speak to his own mama. But I suppose I expect too much. He was here, no doubt, to buy some common slattern a trinket. Probably that actress hussy he's been running about with. What did he say to you, Mary?"