Free That Despicable Rogue by Virginia Heath

his humble beginnings.
    He certainly had more friends than she did. You could count hers on one finger—Cook. Or perhaps two now that she had Reggie.
    Hannah sighed in exasperation. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stick to her purpose. She simply had to expose him as a fraud and a cheat, yet at times he was so... honourable . He had even been gracious when he had seen through her disguise. The only real proof she had that he was not a hard-working, generous and admirable fellow was the nefarious details about his antics that had been printed in the newspapers and the one scandalous experience she had had of seeing him with his mistress.
    On that score she accepted that most gentlemen had mistresses. Her brother and father certainly had. George had been a hedonist, so she expected that his mistresses would have been as abundant in their charms as Jameson’s. Her own attributes were nothing compared to that woman’s, although why that had started to bother her she could not say.
    The thought of him with such an obvious floozy rankled.
    He deserved better.
    That thought really irritated her, and she groaned in annoyance. What in heaven’s name was the matter with her even to think so benevolently about that man? His manipulative charm was truly dangerous.
    A noise in the hallway alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone downstairs and she quickly closed the lid of the chest and hurried from the study. Jameson stood at the foot of the stairs, looking the worse for wear, but he had not yet noticed her.
    ‘Mr Jameson,’ she said calmly. ‘Welcome back, sir. I trust you had a good trip?’
    He stared back at her with slightly bleary eyes and grunted in response. ‘Hello, Prim.’ Then he rubbed his forehead and briefly closed his eyes.
    He had clearly been drinking. And probably gambling and enjoying the company of loose women as well, she realised with disappointment. Images of his shameless buxom mistress sprawled across his tangled bedcovers sprang immediately to mind and she pursed her lips in annoyance.
    ‘I suggest you go to bed, sir. You are obviously completely foxed.’
    He was carrying his coat and his waistcoat was undone. His shirt looked decidedly rumpled. He looked at her for several moments before shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘How like you to think that, Prim,’ he said flatly. ‘But I will take your advice. Could you send me up some hot tea? It might help me feel a little better.’
    ‘Certainly sir,’ she muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Tea is well known as the perfect antidote to a night’s debauchery.’
    Hannah turned on her heel and headed towards the kitchen herself. It was hardly fair to wake up one of the maids to furnish his unreasonable request. It was hardly their fault that he had chosen to come home in the small hours in such a state.
    After setting the kettle to boil, she arranged crockery on a tray and poured fresh milk into a jug—he liked his tea very pale and very sweet. Occasionally she had even seen him sneak a third spoonful of sugar into his drink. The man really did have a ridiculously sweet tooth. As an afterthought she added a plate of biscuits to the tray, in case he was hungry, and waited for the kettle to boil.
    Ross started up the stairs wearily. With his head still pounding he carefully made his way towards his bedchamber, massaging his temples. He really should not have spent his entire journey from London reading reports and writing letters, especially after the light had started to fade. Close work like that always gave him dreadful headaches, but he rarely took heed of the warning signs until it was too late.
    Of course, typically, she had assumed he was drunk and that had got her dander up—although why she felt she had the right to be quite so sanctimonious towards him when he had been so understanding about her ridiculous disguise, he had no idea. In fact he found her attitude two-faced and frankly outrageous. How dared she treat him as