Page 54 of The Return of the Rake

The Mermaid’s Tale, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 6th October 1815.

Repton, who had been busy packing up King’s wardrobe, cleared his throat, gaining his attention. “Must we really leave tomorrow, sir?”

King turned away from the window. It was dark, the last vestiges of light having slipped from the horizon and moonlight glinted on the sea. He shivered, the memory of how damned cold that frigid water truly was coming back to him, making his bones ache and his guts clench as he remembered his desperation to live each time the sea dragged him under and he fought to regain the surface, to see Anne again.

She was something to live for, to strive for. He’d had goals before, the desire to put food in his belly being one of the earliest he could remember. But then there had been the desire to make something of himself, to have a fine house and fine clothes and spit in the eye of anyone who dared to look down upon him. Then the desire to own things that many men could only dream of, art and jewels and books, the marks of a gentleman.

When he had bought those rubies from Mrs Fairway, he’d wanted them badly. When he’d purchased his house and filled it with expensive things, he’d been so proud he could have burst, yet none of it satisfied him. None of it filled the void.

He had never been a man who enjoyed introspection, but he knew enough to realise he had never belonged anywhere, to anyone. No one had believed him worth the scraps from their table, and the motivation to show them they were wrong had fired him his entire life. But the reverend was right. What did he care for their opinion now? Was point was there in more money, more riches, when he looked around him and saw people starving, and everything he did to earn more money only made their lives worse?

Guilt might have come to him late in life, but it had come with a vengeance and a desire to be better. Yet he instinctively knew that his change of heart, his desire to help, still would not fill the emptiness inside him.

Anne would.

It had taken a few brief meetings, a few kisses, but he had recognised at once that Anne Adamson took away that feeling of lack, replacing the emptiness with a different kind of wanting, and a desire far fiercer than anything he had known before.

He still found it hard to put faith in her words, but she was a woman who knew her own mind, that much he believed, and she wanted him. King was no foolish boy and knew when a woman desired him, but he had seen admiration in her eyes, and a desire to know him, the real man, not the one he showed the world. That man changed with the circumstances and the people around him, but he had shown her himself, and she had told him she saw him, the good and the bad.

“Yes,” he said, forcing himself back to the here and now. “Yes, we must. Honeywell has arranged for me to see Tommy’s grandfather after breakfast. He’ll take ten pounds to sign the boy over to me, the mercenary bastard. The reverend has arranged the indenture papers be ready to sign, so then Tommy is in my employ. We need to get him settled with Mrs Keller, who can mother the poor fellow for a bit and help him find his feet.”

Repton nodded, but looked rather morose.

“Why so Friday faced? Do you like it here?” King asked, rather surprised, for Repton had only ever lived in London and had not wanted to spend too long here, only welcoming the trip for the opportunity to polish his role as valet.

“I do, actually,” Repton replied, sounding as astonished as King was. “It’s a pleasant place. I never dreamed such a place could be real, truth be told. Wherever you look is a pretty vista upon which to rest one's eyes, and it's quiet too, so a fellow can think. None of the noise and bustle of London, and so clean! The air is… sweet, somehow.”

“No soot,” King replied with a snort.

Repton pulled a face. “Aye, and no stench of rotting, festering, disease-ridden—”

King raised a hand, not wanting to consider the rookeries any more than Repton did. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

Repton dropped the shirt he’d been carefully folding in a heap on the floor. “We will?” he asked, his eyes wide with delight.

King nodded, wondering if now was the time to include Repton in his plans. The fellow had proven his loyalty too many times to doubt him, and it was his future too that King toyed with.

“We will,” King replied, watching Repton’s expression carefully. “And if things go as I pray they might, we’ll be here to stay.”

Anne paced up and down her office, which was no easy thing to do as there was barely space enough to turn around. Yet she could not keep still, and did not want the breakfast guests nor Mrs Fairway to guess at the depths of her agitation. King was leaving today and despite his words to her last night, words she still did not dare put any faith in, she feared she might never see him again.

A knock upon the door startled her so much she gave a little shriek of surprise, barely smothering it in time by clapping her hand to her mouth.

“For heaven’s sake, get a grip upon your wits, my girl,” she said under her breath, taking a moment to smooth her skirts and her hair before going to the door.

All her efforts at self-mastery were for naught, however.

King, lounging nonchalantly against the doorjamb, grinned at her, a wicked twinkle in his eyes that made her stomach pitch harder than the waves crashing upon the shore.

“Good morning, Mrs Adamson. I believe I must settle my account?”

Though it was all she could do not to blush and stammer like a schoolroom miss, such was her state of mind, Anne gave a regal nod and went to sit behind her desk.

“Here is your bill, Mr King,” she said, with all the outward calm she could muster.

To her mingled delight and consternation, King came in and closed the door, sitting down on the corner of her desk as he plucked the bill from her fingers.

“Tsk, tsk, so much?” he said with mock severity. “Daylight robbery, that’s what it is.”