That Despicable Rogue by Virginia Heath Read Free Book Online Page B

always, Mrs Prim. I am still working to town hours. Now that I am intent on rusticating for the summer I should make more of an effort to get up in the morning. Add a cockerel to the list of things I need to buy. I shall endeavour to drag myself from my pit the moment that he crows.’
    Hannah nodded curtly, refusing to be amused by his roguish charm. The man was a snake, after all. She needed to remember that. ‘As you wish, sir. I shall also add a dressing gown to the list.’
    Clearly the woman was a mind-reader. ‘Does the sight of my near nude body bother you, Mrs Prim?’
    He was laughing at her—she could hear it in his voice despite her resolutely avoiding his eyes. Of course the sight of his naked body bothered her. Hannah had never actually seen a man without his clothes on—not that she could admit that as a supposed widow. Nor could she admit that the sight of his fascinated her far too much—although she suspected he knew that already.
    ‘On the contrary, Mr Jameson.’ Her eyes locked with his defiantly. ‘I find your shameless displaying of it to all and sundry crass. A gentleman would never behave in such a manner. He would have more respect for the impressionable young maids in his employ.’
    He sighed and pretended to be contrite. ‘You are quite right again, Prim. Thank goodness I have you here to correct my errant ways. Sometimes I can be a very naughty boy.’
    Hannah glared back at him, unfazed. ‘So I have read, Mr Jameson. In fact there is another story about you in the newspapers this morning. Something about a vicar’s daughter, I believe, although I could not be bothered to read it all. I suppose we should be thankful that your indiscretions are kept in London and that none of the maids can read.’
    Then she turned and scurried down the hallway before he could use his abundant charm again. That was the problem, she conceded. He was charming—and surprisingly affable. So far none of the servants had a bad word to say about him. He had already memorised all their names, knew about their families and backgrounds, and happily chatted away to them in a manner that made them feel comfortable around him.
    And she found his cheeky humour entertaining. More than once she had been tempted to laugh at his irreverence or a witty turn of phrase, especially as his comments so often mirrored exactly what she was thinking. The fact that he was also very pleasant to look at did not help. More than once she had found her traitorous eyes flicking towards him in admiration. At times, the only way she could stop herself was to list silently all the reasons why she disliked him in her head, like a mantra.
    Of course she had been keeping a close eye on his routines and whereabouts. Most days he disappeared in his carriage, allegedly headed back into London or to Kent to visit his family, and did not return until late. Then he usually worked in the study for several hours, scratching in big ledgers by candlelight or writing lists of things to attend to. His handwriting was an abomination. It was legible, but it lacked the form and discipline that came from a proper education. In actual fact it looked as if he had dipped a nest of spiders into his inkpot and then allowed them to walk unchecked all over the paper.
    She had been searching through his private papers while he was away, although so far she had found nothing of any use. Even his post was disappointingly mundane. As soon as it was collected every day she carefully sliced through the wax seals and read his correspondence. It was all either genuine business letters, outlining investments, profits and speculations, or surprisingly jocular missives from people from all levels of society, usually thanking him for investing money on their behalf.
    All she really knew about the man, so far, was that he was apparently well-liked and was in possession of an impressive fortune. Once read, she meticulously resealed the letters with a small blob of wax, so that to