Page 11 of The Return of the Rake

King looked up at Mrs Fairway, amused by the tigerish qualities his sudden appearance had brought out in her. “Settle your feathers. I’m not here for you or for her. I’ve other business in town but I can’t deny I was curious to see the place for myself, and the lady I helped so gallantly.”

Mrs Fairway snorted at that and crossed her arms. “Gallant, is it? Shall I call you Galahad, then? For I don’t remember you handing this place over from the goodness of your heart, supposing you’ve got one.”

King pressed a hand to his chest, wincing as he did so. “And here I was remembering how you kissed by cheek so fondly and told me I was a good fellow.”

Mrs Fairway coloured, her lips pursing. “I might have done at that, and fair’s fair. You did us a kindness, though I know you profited from it well enough, so don’t try acting the martyr, for I weren’t born yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing so,” King replied, picking up his knife and fork and regarding his plate with approval. “This looks wonderful.”

“Aye, and there’s more where that came from, but this is a respectable hotel and if there’s the least bit of trouble—”

“You’ll carve out my black and shrivelled heart with a spoon,” he remarked, spearing a piece of sausage and devouring it with a sigh of contentment.

“And don’t you forget it,” she said with satisfaction, before leaving and closing the door behind her with a precise snap.

“Forgive me for observing it, sir, but I do not think it appropriate for a man of your stature to be spoken to with such a lack of respect by such a creature as that,” Repton said reprovingly, appearing from the adjoining room and regarding King with indignation.

“Do you not?” King said, grinning before he stuffed another piece of sausage in his mouth.

“No, sir.”

“Well, if not for that lady, I would not be sitting here now, and so I shall allow her certain liberties. Do not let all her sharp edges dismay you, Repton, for underneath that brittle exterior beats a heart of pure gold.”

Repton looked singularly unconvinced and even less impressed by this intelligence and, with a disgusted sniff, took himself off to prepare King’s shaving kit.

King applied himself to his breakfast, taking pleasure in the perfectly cooked meal. Though it had been a very long time since he had known what it was to be hungry, good food had never become commonplace to him. Whilst a very long way from the fanciest fare he’d ever eaten, the breakfast was delicious, and he savoured it, taking his time as he stared out of the window at a view that did odd things to his equilibrium.

He had not seen the sea for years. Not, in fact, since the day he had left this town for good. The churning muck of the Thames did not count, for that was a different beast altogether from this expansive stretch of pure blue. Seeing it now, glittering as the sun emerged from behind a bank of low cloud, made him feel at once elated and melancholy. He shook his head, telling himself sternly to get a grip. This was not a stroll down memory lane. Once he had done his duty by Alfie Marwick, he would be on his way.

Except… Except that he could not get the image of Mrs Adamson out of his head. He had gone to sleep thinking wicked thoughts about that too wide mouth, and he was damned if he was leaving without at least having the pleasure of seeing her blush again.

“Well? Is it him?” Anne had been hovering by the kitchen door ever since Mrs Fairway had left it and fairly pounced on the woman the moment she returned.

“It’s him,” Mrs Fairway replied with a nod. “He’s not here for you though, ducks, so there’s no need to fret.”

“Truly?” Anne let out a breath.

“Well, and why should he be after all these years?” Mrs Fairway asked placidly. “We had a deal, and one which he did very nicely out of, lest I miss my guess. He’ll have made a fine profit on those rubies, I reckon. This place is yours, Anne, and no one can take it from you. What would a fellow like that want with a hotel by the sea anyhow?”

“I don’t know,” Anne admitted. “I just don’t like anyone around who knows the truth about me, or at least, who knows my story is not entirely true. There are those who suspect it, but they don’t know, and… and it was the way he looked at me, I-I felt so—”

Mrs Fairway snorted. “Like you wasn’t wearing nowt but your skin. Deary, that had nothing to do with anything but the fact that you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a handsome fellow, and a dangerous one at that. Just you keep clear of Jasper King and let me deal with him.”

Anne nodded, then wondered why on earth she felt rather disappointed at having done so.

Though he told himself he was a damned fool, curiosity had ever been King’s besetting sin, and he found his feet taking him down to the beach with no conscious idea of doing so.

Once there, it seemed natural to walk along it, away from the elegant shops and houses on the promenade, and out of the town to where the fishing boats sat, pulled up high on the sand. Jasper inspected them, reading the names and finding the Lovely Lily alone and apart from the others. It was far from seaworthy, rotted through in places, the paint faded and peeling. With a sense of inevitability, King strode up the beach, through thick clumps of marram grass that rustled in the wind. The house that had once been his father’s had slumped, just like the sotted bastard King remembered from his youth. The roof, never exactly weatherproof, had finally given into gravity and collapsed. It was no recent disaster either, with ivy climbing up the insides of the building and a small tree sprouting from the blackened chimney.

Dead, then.

He raised a hand to touch the diamond in his ear. His father had been a superstitious devil and had worn a gold earring to ward off ill fortune, believing it would protect him from drowning. King had pierced his own ear when he was a boy after sneaking into one of the wealthier residents houses in the town and swiping a small gold hoop. He’d kept it hidden for months until he dared wear it, hoping to gain his father’s approval when he did so. He’d received a clout around the head which had made him see stars, which was all he ought to have expected.

The day he’d exchanged the tiny golden hoop for a large diamond, he’d not done it to honour his father, but to show him and the world that Jasper King was worth something no matter what they thought.

King tried to summon the satisfaction he ought to feel at knowing his vile sire was burning in hell, but he felt nothing. Oddly, he felt less than nothing, an emptiness inside him that made him turn his back on the desolate scene with a muttered curse.

“Well, well, a bad penny always turns up, so they say. And looking like a bloody gold sovereign, too.”