Free The Care and Taming of a Rogue by Suzanne Enoch Page B

and publication of his journals. “Call me Bennett, and I’ll consider it.”
    “Bennett, go see him,” she repeated, his name soft on her lips.
    Slowly he nodded. “I will. And then I have a book to return to you,” he said.

    “May I help you?” the tall, hollow-cheeked butler asked as Bennett, Kero on his shoulder, reached the front door of Howard House, the London residence of the Marquis of Fennington and his family.
    “I need to see Fennington,” he said, his jaw already tight. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d sworn to himself that he would never stand on this doorstep. Not for any reason. And then a brown-eyed chit with a nicely curved frame had said his Christian name, and he hadn’t even returned to Clancy House to borrow a new jacket.
    The butler didn’t move. “Is Lord Fennington expecting you?” he asked. “Because I wasn’t informed.”
    He was getting damned tired of being blocked from entering every house in Mayfair. And this one, especially. “No, he isn’t expecting me. He thinks I’m dead.”
    With an abruptly hostile look, the servant took a step forward. “Not another one,” he grumbled, signaling behind him. A pair of footmen joined him in blocking the doorway. “The income from Captain Langley’s book that was granted to Lord Fennington will remain with Lord Fennington, and it will take more than acquiring a monkey to fool anyone in residence into thinking otherwise. Away with you.”
    That answered a large question. Langley had paid the marquis for his silence about the journals. Bennett rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease the tension there. “If you and your two baboons think to intimidate me, then you’d best try harder than that. I’ve been in the jungles of Africa for the past three years, and you’re about as frightening as a kitten.”
    His muscles grew taut, his senses expanding as he readied for possible battle. After nearly dying in the Congo and then returning home to find his work along with his reputation and hope for selection to future expeditions all now in question, he more than welcomed the chance for a fight. He wanted one.
    “The earl is not home to charlatans,” the butler responded, though he took a half step backward. “For your information, you are the fourth Bennett Wolfe to appear asking for a handout since the Season began. I will grant that you have the shabbiest-looking boots of all of them, but I do not find that impressive in the least.”
    Bennett glanced down at his well-worn boots. He’d become a fair cobbler in an attempt to keep himself shod during the expedition, but he could admit that these Hessians had seen better days. He looked up again. “I do not want a handout from anyone,” he said evenly. “I want a word with Lord Fennington. Go fetch him. Now.”
    The man blinked, then swallowed. “Very well, sir. If that is the way you wish to proceed, then so be it.” With a muttered word to the footmen who then moved to stand shoulder to shoulder in the doorway and block Bennett from entering, the butler retreated into the depths of the house.
    There should have been rumors about by now that he’d returned to London, but if Fennington didn’t want him to be alive, or if, as the butler had said, they’d already encountered men claiming to be him, the household might well have disregarded the news. He didn’t much care what the marquis thought of his return. What he wanted was some bloody answers.
    Shifting to balance his weight more evenly over his feet, Bennett regarded the servants. If necessary he could more than likely take them both apart and be inside the house within a minute. He wanted to. At the same time, though, he was grateful that he’d sought out Jack Clancy first, and that he’d had a few days to let his surprise and anger simmer before he broached Fennington. If he hadn’t, someone would have ended up bloody, and he would have been willing to wager good money that it wouldn’t have been