Lord Rogue

by Patricia Rice

  When she came upon the statue of the lady with the lovely hat, she studied the detailing of the face and the miniature slipper peeking out from beneath long skirts. She glanced quizzically to Travis. “She is very beautiful. Is she someone you know?”

  A woman’s question, and Travis grinned at the hint of jealousy. “She is now. She’s my good luck charm, but now that I have what I want, you may have her if you wish.”

  Alicia’s startled look was replaced with embarrassment as she understood him. She sat the carving on the bedside table and prepared to remove her pelisse.

  Travis stepped to her aid, folding the heavy material over the desk chair. Although this room had higher ceilings and more space than the boat, Alicia still felt as if his masculine frame filled the room, making it impossible to avoid him. She was almost grateful for the noises below, reminding her civilization was still at hand.

  “Alicia.” Travis touched her cheek.

  The longing in his eyes sent a sea of churning waves crashing against weakened barriers. Alicia could not tear her eyes away.

  “Are there more questions you would ask of me? Is there aught between us now that keeps you from me?”

  Tall and lean, clothed in silk shirt and doeskin breeches, he appeared every inch the elegant gentleman. If she thought of nothing else but the warmth of his hand against her face and the desire in his eyes, she could forget his savagery and her fear.

  “No more questions,” she murmured, meeting his eyes with her own desire naked for him to see.

  Instantly she was in his arms, hard muscles crushing her as Travis spun her around in an ecstatic dance. Alicia laughed, and slid her arms around his neck. The exuberant whirl slowed as Travis bent to kiss her.

  The lamplight danced shadows over the planes of his bronzed face. Wonderingly Alicia smoothed her hand over the hard angles, finding them soft beneath her touch. No tension marred their strong lines as she lifted her lips to be kissed.

  Travis’s mouth came down hard and slanting across hers..She fell into an undertow she could not fight, drowning in the deep current of passion. His hands roamed her body, but she could concentrate on nothing at all as the tumultuous current of his kiss drew her deeper into his carnal world.

  His mouth slid over hers, nipping, caressing, surveying the territory that she offered. His tongue invaded the recesses of her parted lips, and the probing heat proved Alicia’s undoing. She scarcely noticed as he unfastened her ties.

  Her gown and chemise slid to the floor. A draft blew around her stockinged ankles, but Alicia felt only the excitement of strong fingers at her breasts, loosening corset strings. This too soon fell away, and only her under-chemise and his shirt and trousers came between them.

  His hands played along her sides, sliding along her hips and buttocks and drawing her closer while his tongue ravished her lips. She responded with a need to match his own. The clinging materials between them became a barrier to be breached, and her hands fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt. The hardness of his muscular chest frightened her, but only enough to fuel her daring.

  Impatiently, ignoring the rise in noise level in the rooms below, Travis stripped off his shirt and flung it aside, then reached for the prize he had sought so long. One by one he pulled the pins from Alicia’s hair, scattering them far and wide, never to be seen again. With glorious abandon he buried his fingers deep in her thick chestnut curls, spreading them down and around her throat and shoulders, exulting in the rich lengths that entwined about them.

  He stepped back to admire his handiwork, and she stood proudly beneath his stare. The thick, curling cascade of chestnut fell across high, firm breasts scarcely concealed by the thin silk and lace of her chemise. Tendrils curled about a waist so small that Travis marveled over nature’s miraculous impossibility. The full swell of her hips narrowed to slender, graceful thighs silhouetted by the clinging silk, and his heart thumped so loudly he could hear it. Soon, very soon, those thighs would part for him, and the lady would be his.

  Travis circled her waist and pulled her close, giving her time to accept the intimacy of their bodies. His hand explored the fullness of her breasts, teasing the hidden crests to aching points of readiness against the filmy material of her chemise.

  Alicia’s arms circled his shoulders.

  With a groan of satisfaction Travis swept her up, molding his mouth to hers. He laid her back against the bed covers and joined her on the mattress before she could make her escape. He trapped her legs with his while he explored every inch he’d spent so many nights dreaming of.

  This time, instead of fighting him, Alicia welcomed him, caressing him as her inexperienced body strained against his.

  Wrapped in the woman he craved more than life, Travis refused to acknowledge the intrusion of loud shouts below. He had posted guards at either entrance to this room and knew none could invade their privacy this time. The brawl would soon die down. The surging heat of many months’ denial prevented any thought beyond the welcome haven beneath him. Just a few minutes more, just a little more patience, and she would open to him and sweet possession would be complete.

  The perfume of chestnut tresses filled his nostrils. With Alicia’s pliant mouth pressing into his, her breasts soft and yielding, he was too lost in sensation to absorb any more.

  Not until an ear-piercing shriek cut through their absorption did they wake to the danger.

  Bracing his weight on his hands, Travis turned his head to listen. Alicia tensed. The scream repeated itself from a distance, and they glanced back to each other. Becky.

  Only then did they smell the fumes. Taking a deep breath, Alicia began to cough, and Travis leapt to his feet. Smoke poured beneath the door, stealing the air from the closed room.

  Travis cursed and laid his hand against the door, tearing it away again as the heat seared his skin. Alicia fumbled for her clothes, but she kept coughing. Travis grabbed the quilt to wrap around her and swung her up in his arms. The rear entrance appeared untouched.

  “Wait!” Alicia cried, struggling to see out of the folds of heavy material. “Your carvings! You can’t leave them behind.”

  “They’re not alive,” Travis muttered, carrying her toward the door, “but you are.”

  Extending her arm, she grabbed the lady from the bedside table as he passed by, clutching it even as another spasm of coughing overtook her.

  Travis knew his way up and down the stairs in the dark, but the thick clouds of smoke slowed his progress. The roar of the fire came louder from out here, but he could see no flames. Travis cursed all the way down the stairs. He had told Lacrosse after that last brawl that lamps would have to be nailed securely to the walls. To leave them where those fools could knock them over was the height of idiocy.

  Frustration and anger and fear propelled Travis down the stairway. The slender burden in his arms coughed raggedly, adding to his distress. The sight of a bulky form clambering toward them eased several problems.

  “Auguste! We’re coming down,” Travis warned, sending the big man running back down ahead of them.

  “Becky?” Alicia coughed out.

  As they emerged into the shocking cold of night air, Travis repeated the question for her, sending an inquiring look to his right-hand man. Auguste nodded his shaggy head in the direction of a small figure scurrying toward them, one arm slung awkwardly across her chest.

  “What in hell is she doing here?” Travis asked, as if it mattered at all. The yard was filling with people come to fight the fire or just to watch the flames. Curious glances were already being directed down the alleyway.

  “Get the carriage out,” Travis ordered as several of the crowd peeled from the rest to follow Becky down the alley. Auguste hastened to do as told.

  “Miss Alicia?” Becky gulped for air as her gaze dropped from Travis to the bundle in his arms.

  The fire would not be the only hell in this town tonight if Alicia were caught in her present state outside a tavern in his arms. She shuddered against his ch
est and he realized he was half naked, too. He would have to trust the brat to keep quiet.

  “She’s fine. We’ll have to get her back to the house before—” Travis cursed as the familiar young physician emerged from the alleyway.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  That was twice this night the damned doctor had interfered. Already the conscientious concern in his eyes was changing as he recognized Travis and glanced to the quilt-wrapped figure in his arms. At least Alicia had the sense to keep quiet, although her racking coughs worried him.

  As a stout man dashed down the alley at the same time the carriage rattled into the yard, Travis had to make a choice. Alicia might need a physician, but only after she was tucked into her own bed. And judging by the shape of the man running this way, that bed had better be at Mrs. Clayton’s.

  Shaking his head in reply to the doctor, Travis loped toward the carriage, Becky at his heels. Travis scarcely noticed the cold, but Alicia continued to cough and shiver. The whole damned town could go up in flames, but he had to carry her out first.

  The fates were against them, as they had been from the start. Chester Stanford was a determined man. Now the new owner of the saloon, Stanford had every right to be here. Travis knew he should never have taken this risk.

  Spying Travis, Stanford hurried down the alley shouting questions. He stumbled in surprise at discovering the bundle in Travis’s arms.

  “You were supposed to be Alicia with tonight!” Stanford shouted. “Where the devil is she?” A smart man, he figured it out quickly and his rage echoed off the walls.

  Travis opened the carriage door and settled Alicia inside before Stanford caught up with him. Defying the older man’s commands, he threw Becky in after her and shouted to Auguste, who whipped the horses into a jerking start.

  There wasn’t time to tell Auguste where to go. By the look on Stanford’s face, it didn’t matter. Travis swung around to meet his fury.

  “If that was my daughter, I’ll have you whipped with chains!” Chester exploded. Although shorter than Travis by some inches, he was not a small man, and in his wrath he seemed physically capable of carrying out his threat.

  Physical punishment was not Travis’s concern, however. More people had followed Chester down the alley, seeking further excitement as the flames died down and word spread that the saloon had just recently changed hands and now belonged to the wealthy Stanfords. Grimly Travis attempted to keep the gossip to a minimum.

  “This is not the place for a discussion, sir,” he growled between clenched teeth. With a nod over Chester’s shoulder, he indicated the crowd closing in. “Name the place and I’ll meet you there.”

  Dr. Farrar was moving among the crowd, dismissing them with calming words, but Chester understood the message. In a lower, if not calmer, tone, he said, “I ought to demand your seconds, but I have a family to consider. I want you in my study in ten minutes. Then I’ll decide whether to shoot you or whip you.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode off.

  Chapter 21

  By the time Travis arrived on the Stanford threshold, he had acquired a shirt and coat from the boat. He still smelled of smoke and his hair hung across his brow, but these things did not tarnish his gentlemanly image so much as the thunderous expression on his face. War paint was all that was needed, thought Chester Stanford as a terrified servant ushered him into his very civilized study.

  Travis paid no heed to the leather-bound books lining the walls or the leather-upholstered Chippendale wing chairs at the hearth. He strolled across the expensive Turkish carpet with the arrogance of one accustomed to wealth. His black gaze met his wrath with an assurance that made Stanford writhe with fury. Standing, Stanford took the offensive.

  “She is upstairs. Letitia is with her.” Brandy and a glass sat on the desk in front of him, but Chester didn’t offer any. His knuckles whitened as he leaned against the desk. “I don’t think there is an explanation you can give me that I will accept.”

  “I would not give you one, in any case,” Travis replied. “Alicia will tell you what she wishes you to know. How is she?”

  The flush of rage deepened. “How is she! You want to tell me how she will be when word of this gets out? How many damned people know where she was?”

  “That depends on how many of your servants saw her. Farrar will keep quiet. My man will say nothing. I’ll not vouch for Alicia’s maid, but I suspect she can be made to keep quiet. Rumors are bound to fly, but they will not be confirmed, if that is all that worries you,” he said with a hint of scorn.

  Every word infuriated Chester. Travis behaved as if no harm had been done, as if a young lady of good reputation had not been ruined forever by a half-Indian keelboat captain. Chester wanted to smack the self-assured expression off that implacable face, but decades of gentlemanly training had taught him not to brawl with his inferiors. By all rights, he should have just ordered the man thrown in the river and not spoken to him at all. That Travis had been a guest in his home, a man with whom he had done business, presented a dilemma.

  “Rumors will fly and Alicia will be ruined. Have you no remorse at all?” he exclaimed incredulously.

  That touched a nerve, and a muscle ticked in Travis’s jaw. “I regret any harm I may have done Alicia, but my intentions have always been honorable. If your only fear is for her reputation, then let me assure you that I am fully prepared to marry her. I am not certain that Alicia is of the same mind.”

  That outrageous declaration was more than Chester could handle. He sank into his seat and reached for the brandy, his horrified gaze fastening on Travis.

  “Marry her?” He swallowed a gulp of brandy. “I am quite sure you are, as is every other fortune hunter in town. If that is your game, let me assure you, I will see you hung first.”

  Travis helped himself to a glass and settled into the chair across from the desk. “I am no fortune hunter,” he stated. “I choose to live on what I earn, but there is a sizable fortune sitting in a bank in New York that would provide for Alicia for the rest of her life should anything happen to me. I will give you the name of the bankers if you care to verify it.”

  This proclamation rattled Chester even more, but it was talk he understood. He sipped his drink and glared at Travis.

  “Even if I could verify it, what makes you think I would find you a suitable husband for my daughter? Wealth can be had by many means, but good breeding is essential for a woman like Alicia. She has been brought up as a lady in polite society. Forgive my saying so, but your antecedents are not likely to meet those requirements.”

  A cynical smile turned Travis’s lips. “I might argue several of those points, sir, but my father would quite definitely disagree with the latter. He can scarcely quibble if I choose a colonist for wife since he set the precedent with my mother, but he would find your depiction of his ancestry insulting, if not laughable. We trace our title back to William the Conqueror.”

  Chester choked on his last swallow of brandy and came up sputtering. “Title? Colonist? What in hell do you take me for? Madman?”

  Travis sipped at the brandy, though his pulse raced. He had not dared consider so precipitous a move before, but he had no choice now. If he could not win Alicia’s father, she would be lost to him. He did not fool himself by thinking she would take such a step as marriage without her father’s consent. He would draw the whole damned family tree if necessary to convince this man.

  “No, sir. I respect your concern for your daughter and give you information I have revealed to no one on this side of the world. Again, I will give you the address of my father’s agents in New York, or if you prefer, my father’s direction if you wish to address him. That will involve some months, I fear, but I am prepared to wait whatever time is necessary.”

  Chester shoved his glass aside and glared. “That is very fine,” he declared scathingly, “but what is to be done in the meantime if she shows signs of increasing? Or is that your next strategy?”

  Anger twi
tched a corner of Travis’s mouth. “Your daughter has suffered enough from neglect, Mr. Stanford. You must ask her at whose hands she has suffered, but I can assure you that they were not mine. My only interest is to keep her from harm. That I must go about it in a manner other than normal is through no fault of my own. My references are impeccable. It is only society’s view of me that gives you reason to question my integrity. I resent your insinuations.”

  Stanford sighed and sank back in his chair. “Damned if I don’t almost believe you. You make no sense, but you certainly sound sincere. I would heartily like to accept your explanations, but you must admit, they are a trifle farfetched. There are not too many titled Indians among our ranks.”

  Travis grimaced. “There would be none had my father’s elder brother and his son not died in a smallpox epidemic two years after my birth. My father never thought to inherit the title. Admittedly, it is presumptuous to ask you to take my word, which is why I give you references I would give no other. However, I am willing to prove my integrity in any way that you require. I have been aboveboard in all my dealings with you and every other man in this town. Although I could not acquire a taste for the life my father’s society requires of me, I have been to Oxford and have the education any husband of Alicia’s would require. Perhaps I have lived too long outside the boundaries of civilization, but I am prepared to change my habits for Alicia’s sake.”

  Chester swore under his breath. “It is obvious Alicia favors you as she favors no other. If Alicia is not bearing your brat, there is time to verify your story. A long betrothal would be a requisite.”

  “Naturally,” Travis acknowledged coldly.

  Rising and coming around the desk, Chester offered his hand. “A formal betrothal should put an end to flapping tongues. You understand the marriage cannot be formalized until I have received answers to my letters?”