When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,20
Whispers House?”
Once again Reggie’s brow folded into deep wrinkles as he consulted the ceiling for an answer. “Must be nigh on five months now? Aye, that’s right, cause ’e took it in payment for Lord Spinnet’s debt to ’im.” He smiled happily at Messalina. “Spinnet wouldn’t give th’ house up until the guv threatened to break both ’is nose and…” Reggie suddenly seemed to become aware of what he was saying. “That is…the guv’s been living ’ere ’bout five months. Ma’am.”
Messalina wrinkled her nose distastefully. “Naturally he did. Does the guv frequently resort to violence to get his way?”
Reggie tilted his head and said gently, “Sometimes ’e does. When ’e works for th’ duke or when ’e’s collecting on the debts others owe ’im.”
“He’s a moneylender?” She asked in as neutral a voice as possible. Reggie was obviously loyal to Hawthorne.
“That’s some of what th’ guv does,” the big man said, leading them down the stairs. “But not all.”
“What else does he do?” she asked before she could contain her curiosity.
“’E ’as a proper business now,” Reggie said with pride. “Lets others do the rough work if there’s need.”
“Indeed?” Somehow she was doubtful that Hawthorne no longer did the rough work. “What is his business?”
“Oh, it’s somethin’ way up north,” Reggie replied vaguely. “I don’t have any ’and in that.”
“Then what do you do for my husband?”
Reggie smiled benevolently down at her. “Oh, anything the guv wants.”
Messalina sighed. Obviously she’d get no straight answers from Reggie. “I’m afraid I’ve lost our subject: the state of the house. Have you shown me all the rooms?”
The big man screwed up his face, squinting. “There’s the top floor—attics and servants’ quarters—and the lower with the kitchens and storerooms, but I’m supposin’ you’re not that interested ’bout those?”
Messalina rather wished that were the case. She glanced at Bartlett.
The maid looked apologetic. “Best you see for yourself, ma’am.”
“I suppose I should if we’re ever to have a decent meal,” Messalina muttered. Lunch had been more bread and butter and the regrettable tea. “Very well. Reggie, if you’d show us the way?”
They tramped along a corridor to the back of the house where the kitchens lay. Messalina frowned as she paused at a door she didn’t remember seeing before. “Good Lord, this house is a maze. What room is this?”
She reached for the doorknob but was stopped by a male voice.
“Don’t.”
The word was growled from behind her, and Messalina turned to meet Hawthorne’s demonic gaze.
Her pulse leaped nervously at the sight of him. How had he sneaked up behind them in the passageway?
“That room is mine,” her husband said. “You do not have my permission to enter it.”
She stiffened, hurt at his brusque tone. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.” His glance at Reggie was unfriendly, and the big man shuffled his feet as if he’d been caught out in some wrong. “I’m surprised that Reggie brought you here—he’s supposed to be guarding you, not serving as tour guide.”
Reggie went a deep red. “Won’t ’appen again, guv.”
“No, it won’t,” Hawthorne replied. “Off with you.” He nodded to Bartlett. “And you.”
Bartlett bobbed a curtsy and handed her notebook over to Messalina before leaving.
Messalina waited, lips pursed, the notebook clenched in her hand, until both servants were out of earshot before saying, “Do you plan to keep me locked up forever?”
His wicked eyebrows winged up as he took her arm. “Locked up? What are you talking about?”
“You set Reggie to guard me,” Messalina replied sweetly.
He shook his head as he guided her back down the hall. “Reggie isn’t here to keep you from leaving Whispers. He’s here to keep you from harm.”
Messalina let him take her to the main staircase. “What sort of harm?”
“Your uncle, for one,” he said as they mounted the stairs.
She glanced at him swiftly. His upper lip was curled in a sneer.
“My uncle has already married me off,” she said slowly. “What else could he do to me?”
“I have no idea,” Hawthorne said grimly. “That’s what worries me. You’re my wife now. I’ll not let him set one finger on you.”
She eyed him with surprise. “You don’t like him.”
“I’ve worked for him for over a decade.” He slanted an ironic look at her. “Did you think I had any fondness for him?”
“Well, no,” she said, thinking it over. “But you’ve stayed with him.”
He halted on the upper hall, watching her almost with pity. “It’s not easy to leave the employ of the rich and powerful.”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t consider yourself powerful?”