Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) by Christina Skye Read Free Book Online Page B

another time and another place.
    No, to another man, Morland thought grimly, brushing a fleck of grime from his immaculate doeskin morning gloves and studying the sheen of his polished Hessian boots.
    And Dorrington Street was a universe away from the pristine white sand beaches of the South China Sea.
    His face hard, the earl hammered at the knocker. When no answer came he tried again, then retreated down the steps to the street.
    Damn, what was Cameron playing at now?
    Muttering harshly, Morland strode to the corner and followed a narrow alley to the mews at the back of the house. With every step he grew more irritated, and the catcalls of a passing pair of street urchins did nothing to relieve his ill humor.
    When he came to the rear of the townhouse he judged to be number 27, Morland heard the sound of angry voices. Shoving open the unpainted gate, he walked into the yard.
    Two beefy workmen were hauling bags of coal out of a low wooden shed, while a thin man in a black coat issued sharp orders.
    Another figure emerged from the rear of the townhouse, wielding a broom as if it were a cat-o’-nine-tails. A battered straw hat rode ajar on the girl’s head, while the rest of her body was hidden beneath a baggy, soot-stained gown. Probably Cameron’s scullery maid, Morland thought.
    “Take that, you scoundrel!” The girl’s broom cracked soundly off one of the workmen’s legs. “Thought to trick me, did you?” The fellow’s companion received similar treatment. “Let me see what you think of that, you brute!”
    The man in black darted past. With a sharp command, he sent his men staggering toward the street with their bundles.
    “You can’t do that! We had an agreement! Come back here!”
    The tradesman smirked. “Agreement bedamned! Just see if I can’t, wench! And tell that mistress of yers there’ll be no more coal neither,” he bellowed. “Not a single piece until she pays her last reckoning. I got a business ter run, after all!”
    Morland stepped forward, resplendent in buff breeches and crimson waistcoat, blocking the path of the two brawny assistants.
    The tradesman stiffened.
    He tried to shove his way past, only to find his elbow caught in a tight grip. “Ere now! What’s the bleedin’ problem?”
    “Why don’t you tell me?” Morland asked lazily. His voice was low and soft—but more than one man who’d fought beside him at Badajoz would have known it meant trouble.
    “Nothing yer need ter concern yerself with, guv. Now I got ter—”
    “I’ll have an answer, man! Where are you taking that coal?”
    “Back to the ware’ouse, o’ course. ‘Send around another load,’ she says. ‘I’ll pay you tomorrow,’ she says.” The man’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Well, she don’t, and I hain’t! So no more credit! So let go o’ my bleedin’ sleeve.”
    “This is number twenty-seven, I take it?”
    “Bloody right it is!” the tradesman snapped.
    “And your order was placed for a James Cameron?”
    “For Mistress Cameron, it were,” the man corrected peevishly. He squirmed as Morland’s fingers tightened. “But why would the likes o’ yer lordship be—” Abruptly the tradesman’s eyes narrowed. A look of cunning sharpened his features. “Oww, like that, is it?”
    “Return the coal.” Morland’s voice was icy. “Send the bill to me. Lord Morland, number twelve, Half Moon Street.”
    A gold guinea found its way into the man’s grimy pocket.
    Suddenly the tradesman was all bows and good grace as he motioned his men to redeposit their order.
    The kitchen maid came charging down the walkway. “Thirty pounds, indeed! For two miserable bags of coal? And low-grade coal it was, at that! All shale, if you ask me. Just what sort of a Sammy-soft do you take me for?”
    The tradesman began to back toward the open gate. “No offense meant, miss. All a mistake, yer understand. Only too glad ter be of assistance. I didn’t understand the nature of things, ye see. With yer