The Kiss of a Rogue

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Abigail waved her friend away. "It is already forgotten, Charlotte. If you were not truly my friend, you would not worry." Then she gestured to the estate's front lawn just barely visible out the sweeping side window. There she could see several servants already setting up for the day's activities. "Will you join me for bowls later?"

  "Of course." Charlotte gave Abigail a jaunty smile. "I wouldn't miss it for anything." Then she was gone in a cloud of lavender-scented mist, leaving Abigail to watch her depart. Oh, what she wouldn't give to be that confident and self-assured. At least where Society was concerned.

  For a long moment, Abigail simply sat gazing at the other house party guests, wondering for the briefest of moments what it would be like to live in their shoes, if only for a day. To be that confident about one's place in Society must be a heady feeling indeed. For even though Charlotte claimed that she and Abigail were the same, in truth, they were not. Charlotte was a lady. Abigail was a mere miss. And the differences between their stations could not be greater. That included the opportunities for choosing a husband. That was also part of the reason why Abigail did not want a husband. She wasn't certain she could ever be sure her husband was with her because of love or because of money. Not even if he was titled.

  However, it was not in Abigail's nature to brood over what she could not change so she gave herself a good mental shake and prepared to go in search of Miss Cutwright, who had yet to show up for breakfast, when another shadow fell across her small corner of the table. And this time she looked up to see those same slate gray eyes she had admired from across the room. Only this time they were much closer. And far more imposing.

  "The orangery. Fifteen minutes. And damn it all, be careful!"

  That was all he said and then the duke was gone, leaving Abigail wondering how, precisely, she would excuse this particular interaction with the man. Or if she even could.

  Chapter Three

  The early summer sun made the orangery uncomfortably hot and steamy. In fact, the entire blasted place was so warm that Adam could all but see the heat shimmering around him, making him utterly miserable. Which was why it was the perfect place to meet Miss Northrup, since it was doubtful that anyone else would be foolish enough to venture inside. After all, this blasted early summer heatwave had the whole of the English countryside in its tight grasp and left most people desperately longing for a cool fall day. Why would anyone in their right mind seek out someplace that did nothing but retain even more heat?

  "Why indeed?" he asked himself as he paced back and forth.

  For as calm and restrained - and yes, he could admit now, generally chilly and aloof as well - as Adam often appeared, he had surprisingly never been particularly good about waiting. For anything. After all, he was a duke. In general, dukes did not wait. They demanded and whatever they were asking was provided or done post-haste. He hated to think that he was guilty of such boorish behavior, but he knew that he was. In the last few weeks, he had also come to the conclusion that particular attitude was at least part of the problem with his sister. Like just about everyone else in his life, he commanded and expected her to obey. Especially when it was for her own good. When she refused, as she had yesterday, situations could turn...ugly.

  But this meeting was not about Sophia or Selby or the utter mess he had made of his life. No, this meeting was about Miss Northrup - and the mess he hoped to avoid with her.

  That morning in the garden, he had behaved like an utter rogue of the worst sort. A complete cad - if not worse. He had lived up - or down, depending upon one's viewpoint - to the very reputation he was trying to repair. His only excuse was that he had spent the night half-naked and utterly foxed in Enwright's formal gardens. And even that was not a particularly good excuse.

  So while Adam might not truly wish to apologize, for he wasn't really the least bit sorry for kissing the utterly delightful woman, propriety and a wish to begin to redeem his almost completely sullied reputation drove him to make a formal apology.

  Which he was doing. In secret. In an orangery. Alone. With the same woman he had likely offended earlier. And kissed as if she was some common doxy. Oh, Lord. Was it his lot in life to make an absolute muddle of everything? He supposed it was, damn it all, anyway.

  When he heard the subtle click of the lock on the side door, he unconsciously slid a hand through his hair. Even though Jenkins, his valet, had attended to him earlier and set him back to rights, Adam still felt a bit mussed. His shoulder also throbbed like the devil, likely from where he had hit the ground the previous evening. Over breakfast, he had ascertained that the story of him leaping over the balustrade and into the gardens like some sort of renegade pirate was, in fact, unfortunately true. There was also a rather ugly scrape on his cheek that would probably only get worse before it got better.

  An assortment of bruises were also beginning to rise on various parts of his anatomy and for once, he was thankful for the current state of fashion that required almost all of a man's body to be covered. Adam did not wish to explain why he was covered in the green and yellow mottled bruises - especially as he was not quite certain how he had obtained all of them. Or any of them, really.

  In short, he was a physical mess, but then why should his body be any different from the rest of him? It was not as if life had been particular kind to him in recent months.

  Then, Miss Northrup appeared and Adam ceased to feel sorry for himself because all he could see was her.

  She was just as lovely as he had first thought. Perhaps more so in the clearer light of day when his eyes weren't being blinded by the early morning sun. Her hair, which he had at first assumed was all one color was, in fact, a myriad of colors - from honey gold to the richest of browns to a stunning shade of auburn red. She was also delightfully curved in all of the right places, her morning dress of pale rose setting off her flawless skin perfectly. And just then, something in his chest hitched tightly, though for the life of him, Adam could not have said what that peculiar sensation was.

  "I was not followed, your grace," she all but snapped before he could even say a word, though she had clearly anticipated his first question. "So I will trust that after this meeting, such secrecy shan't be necessary again. Or a private meeting of any sort with you. Despite the fact that I am a merchant's daughter, I do have a reputation to protect." Then she sniffed haughtily. "Also, I do not take kindly to being ordered about like some common trollop."

  Abigail was more than a little miffed after her brief breakfast encounter with this man. Even if he was a duke. And sinfully handsome. However, that was all beside the point. After his behavior earlier, the man was turning out to be the monster he was reputed resemble. And worse. How dare he command her life and actions as if she was one of his servants? She was a merchant's daughter but she was no man's object to control. Especially not this man's! Perhaps Charlotte had been right about him after all.

  No matter how delightfully he kissed.

  Adam was stunned into momentary silence. No one spoke to him in such a manner. In fact, other than Sophia, who didn't exactly count, no woman spoke to him so plainly. Or harshly. In fact, they pretty much all simpered and fluttered about him as if he was a god. Strangely, he found that he preferred this woman's rather blunt manner, even though her words left a little something to be desired.

  And he certainly preferred her features to those of any woman he had seen recently. But that was not why she was here. She was here to - hopefully, anyway - accept his apology. So it was, he decided, best that he get started. Apologizing was not something he did often and he feared that he might be rather bad at it.

  "Please," Adam began with what he hoped was his best courtly bow, "accept my apology. For everything. It seems that, as usual, I have mucked up nearly everything I have come in contact with. I only asked you here so that I might apologize to you in private, and so that any future meetings between us will not be so awkward. And I now realize that I didn't ask as nicely as I should have. The failing is mine and not
yours."

  When she frowned instead of immediately accepting his apology, he discovered that he wasn't as enamored of that expression as he was of her smile. He also really did not care for the way her lips twisted in what looked like a grimace as she began to speak. "I had rather hoped an apology wasn't necessary, your grace. What happened this morning is past and it cannot be undone. Please. Let that be the end of things. We both indulged in actions we should not have."

  The words cut straight to Adam's gut. She seemed so sincere, as if that wonderful, magical kiss had meant nothing to her. And perhaps it had not. Then again, it had meant nothing to him, either. At least not really. So why did her reaction annoy him so much?

  "Good. Very good." He managed to get the words out, though they were more difficult to speak than he had imagined they would be. "Just so then." What else could he say, really? She clearly wanted to be rid of him. And he was beginning to wish that he was rid of her, as well. He had simply been attempting to do the right and proper thing. And it had backfired. Again. "Still, I am sorry and I do not wish there to be any awkwardness between us, especially since we will likely meet again."

  To his surprise, she laughed, though he could find nothing humorous in what he had just said. "You truly do not know who I am, do you?"

  "Should I?" She had mentioned that she was a merchant's daughter. Was there something brewing with Prinny and his finances that Adam was unaware of? He did not think so, but then, he had not exactly been welcomed at Carlton House as of late.

  This time when she smiled, it seemed one of pleasure, which confused him even further. "My father is Henry Northrup of Plymouth. I believe you may have heard of him."

  Adam gave a small start. Indeed, who had not heard of the infamous Henry Northrup, of the esteemed Henry and Sons Company of Plymouth? It was his ships, rumored to be the fastest in all the world, that had helped send the Corsican Monster packing to Saint Helena for good.

  "I have," Adam finally replied. "Though I thought the man only had sons."

  Abigail shrugged as if she did not care, though the dark look in her eyes betrayed something of an inner hurt. "I am the youngest of four children and there is a great gap in our ages so we were never particularly close. My older brothers are the sons mentioned in the business name. I, however, was sent to London several years ago in hopes of making a decent match, one that might finally garner my family the one thing all of my father's coin has, thus far, been unable to buy."

  "A title," Adam guessed and he watched her expression sour. He did not think she was acting. She truly was a remarkable woman, his garden goddess. Despite her reasons for being in London and obvious pressure to marry well, she did not seem to be in the market for a husband. That was good news indeed.

  He liked her, this Miss Abigail Northrup. Even with her sharp tongue. He also owed her something more than continuing to behave like the arse he had been as of late. She deserved a glimpse of the old Adam. Of the man he had been before the scandal with Lady Diana. She deserved it. After all, she had saved him from a hedgehog.

  "And, as you can plainly see, I have failed in my task, likely because my flaws, both social and otherwise, are numerous. This house party is to be my last event out in Society." She brushed absently at the folds of her skirt, though he sensed it was more to keep her hands occupied than anything else. "After this, I shall retire to another property my father owns in Wales and be done with things. I have, for my own reasons, chosen to remain a spinster. Still, rumors of any indiscretion will follow me, and I shouldn't really care for that. I wish to simply fade into obscurity, perhaps with some charity work to occupy my time."

  Something sharp and hard twisted in Adam's gut, though he could not give the odd sensation a name. It was something akin to disappointment mixed with anger, though he could not say why he felt thus. "Surely there is another solution," he replied, even though he had no idea why what this woman did with the rest of her life mattered to him in the least. "You cannot be more than five and twenty at the oldest. While I realize that it is not ideal, it is not so old either. There are plenty of wealthy, titled men available that you might wed."

  This time when Abigail laughed, it was a hollow sound. "It is little wonder that you are an outcast from Society, your grace, at least if that is your way of thinking. No, I fear that my time to snare a husband has come and gone. If it was ever here at all, for I am not exactly the most biddable of females, I can assure you. If you have not already deduced that for yourself, of course. That dream, for me anyway, is dead, and I must be realistic, particularly about my future. That includes guarding my reputation, such as it is, against rakes of all sorts."

  Since she had no desire to marry, Abigail did not see the harm in giving the duke the raw, brutal truth. Not that he was likely to have any ideas about courting her, certainly. However, they had been nothing but honest with each other from the first and she saw no reason to change that course now.

  She had also changed her opinion of the man standing stiffly before her. He was not a monster. Or likely a rake or a rogue, either. He was simply honest, and in a world were the art of false words and promises ruled, he was just not very good at playing by those rules. He was a duke. He took what he wanted. He did what he wanted. He said what he wanted. He was also likely not comfortable around women - who for the most part she had to admit, did not take honesty very well. Which likely only made his bluntness and manner seem even worse than it truly was.

  However, that simply made her admire him a little more. Lord Adam Reynolds did not play by other people's rules and dictates. Not even Society's. Given her own lot in life, Abigail could appreciate that.

  "I..." For the first time that he could remember, Adam was at a loss for words. In his social circle, even the older debutantes could still wed if they were so inclined. It might not be a love match, but they were good, solid marriages. He had never considered that other women might not have that particular luxury, and again, he wondered if he had done the correct thing where Sophia was concerned.

  "I am...sorry?" he tried again. "Forgive me, my lady. I was unaware."

  "Yes, well, I would not expect you to be. It is not as if we travel in the same circles after all." With that, she raised an eyebrow in his direction. "If that is all, then, your grace? I really must be getting back before I am missed. I have taken quite enough chances with my reputation today. I would, indeed, be daft, to take another one. And while I do not now believe you to be the monster the gossip rags portray you to be, I also know that you are a man. And that alone is enough to damage my reputation beyond repair."

  That comment cut Adam to the quick. She was, as she had said, a merchant's daughter. And while he might not be in favor at the moment, he was still a duke. The thought that she could dismiss him so easily did not precisely sit well. Then again, he suspected that it had little to do with the fact that he was a duke and more to do with the fact that he enjoyed this woman's company. And he wanted her to enjoy his company, too. Even though he didn't have the slightest idea why.

  "Really?" He knew that his tone was slightly imperious but he didn't care. He needed some way to get her to stay and provoking her seemed the best option at the moment. "Are you aware, my lady, of the differences in our stations?" Then it was his turn to raise an eyebrow in her direction, though he did conceded that she performed the act much more effectively than he ever could.

  "I am, your grace, though what that has to do with anything is beyond me." The woman crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I believe that we have already covered your current lack of standing in Society, have we not? And I am certain we just covered mine as well. As well as my, shall we say, less than biddable nature. You have apologized. I have," she waved a hand in the air, "accepted. What more is left to say?"

  Really, the man was impossible, Abigail thought to herself as she stood there glaring at him once more, the heat of the orangery making her gown cling and stick to her skin. Why she had ever felt sorry for him was beyond
her. The gossips had been right after all, it seemed. He was nothing but a bore - even if he had acted in good faith where his sister was concerned.

  He seemed about to say something more, but then he snapped his mouth shut and nodded imperiously. "Again, my apologies for kissing you this morning, my lady. I can assure you that it will not happen again. I did not mean to harm your person or reputation. Or to offend you in any way."

  Abigail was incredulous now. "The kiss is what you are apologizing for? Truly? Did you not understand anything that I just said? That kiss is the least of my worries." Actually, the fact that he was apologizing for kissing her cut her to the quick. Oddly enough, she had wanted him to mean that part of their early morning exchange. Not that she could say such a thing.

  "I did and I am! In fact, if you recall, I attempted to apologize for my actions the moment they happened, but you would not allow it. I should not have kissed you and it was wrong of me. We both know that." Adam took a step closer to the infuriating woman, all of his warm and rather fuzzy feelings towards her from that morning vanishing quickly. He was trying to be nice. He was apologizing, as she had more or less asked him to do. What was wrong with the chit? This was why he did not understand women at all. "So I felt compelled to apologize again, which is why I asked you here. Nothing more nefarious than that, I can assure you. Because despite my current reputation, I am a gentleman." He had no idea why he was becoming so worked up over such a small issue. He had apologized and really should just let the matter rest, whether she accepted his apology or not.