That Despicable Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page A

now,’ she responded happily, keen to change the subject away from her banishment. ‘And I have no intention of ever leaving again. But if my deception is going to work you really must stop calling me “my lady”. From now on I am Mrs Preston.’
    The two women caught up on years of gossip over the course of several cups of tea. By the time Hannah finally hauled herself into her new bed she was feeling decidedly uneasy. She had not realised how dire things at Barchester Hall had become. There was a rag-tag group of four young maids and two very fresh-faced footmen. None of the old staff remained, apart from Cook. That was fortunate. The fewer people who knew her true identity the better—however, the village was still filled with familiar faces so she would have to avoid it at all costs. That would be a challenge, but not impossible.
    It had grown too late for her to take a proper tour of the house, but Cook had painted a very grim picture as they had wandered around the ground floor. The gardens were decidedly unkempt and the pastures were long empty. All the tenants were now gone—largely because her brother had neglected the upkeep of their cottages and had then doubled their rents as a way to get more money.
    George had also sold most of their valuable antiques, one by one, in a desperate attempt to keep the wolves from the door. However, any money he had raised had not been invested in the house but used to pay off his ever-rising gambling debts. Hannah had Jameson to thank for that. Now all that was left was a hotchpotch of old and dilapidated furniture that was barely fit for purpose and the shell of a once great house in bad need of some care.
    The situation was dire. The way George had neglected the house was criminal and, had he still been alive, Hannah would have given him a piece of her mind—not that he would have listened.
    Nobody apart from Cook and those few scattered maids and footmen had lived in the house since George’s death, so the decline had continued unabated. A sad fact that was hardly their fault. None of them had known what was going to happen. Everybody had assumed that the house would be sold by its new owner, and the servants had received no clear direction. Then, out of the blue, Jameson had turned up a month ago and declared that he intended to live in it after all. Since then, as Cook had acknowledged, there had been some improvement.
    He had already procured labourers to fix the leaking roof, and hired a head gardener and a gamekeeper who were both due to start work within the week to fix the grounds. The fact that he had also employed her as his housekeeper suggested that he meant business.
    Her biggest concern was how she would react around him without giving herself away. How, exactly, did one conceal so much hatred and disgust? When she had first met him she had wanted to slap his face. She still did. Her brother had always admonished her for her sharp words and forthright opinions. Now she was to all intents and purposes a servant, so she would have to watch her wayward tongue with Jameson or risk the sack.
    With any luck they would have little to do with one another. Masters tended to stay well away from the help unless absolutely necessary. Surely she could manage under those circumstances? Especially as she was certain that it would not take long to find conclusive evidence of his crimes and take her rightful place as mistress of the house.
    * * *
    Ross tried to get some much-needed blood into his long legs by stretching them. This was no easy feat in the confines of the carriage, with Reggie taking up most of the space.
    ‘How much longer?’ the big man asked, without taking his eyes off the scenery rushing by. Poor Reggie was sometimes like a child, with the attention span of a puppy. He had asked the same question at least twenty times already and the journey from London was less than an hour.
    ‘We should be there in a few minutes, Reggie,’ he said, smiling. ‘When