Redemption for a Rogue (The Regimental Heroes)

by Jennifer Conner

  Redemption for a Rogue

  Jennifer Conner

  Redemption for a Rogue

  Book 4 The Regimental Heroes

  A Books to Go Now Publication

  Copyright © Jennifer Conner 2012

  Books to Go Now

  For information on the cover illustration and design, contact bookstogonow@gmail.com

  First eBook Edition –September 2012

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  Cupcakes and Cupids

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  Rush of Love

  Fields of Gold

  Christmas Chaos

  The Christmas Horse

  The Music of Christmas

  All I Want for Christmas is You

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  and novel

  Kilt by Love

  Redemption for a Rogue

  Chapter 1

  Lord John Mitchell watched the towering man in front of him pull back his arm to take a swing. John tried to decrease the blow by sidestepping, but the crowd surged forward and pushed him closer. This limited his strategy. In an internal mantra, John told himself this is what I want. He dropped his fists six inches, which in turn lowered his defense, and waited.

  The punch was stronger than he expected. Patrons cheered. The pub walls spun as he stumbled. John tried to reach for the edge of a table, but found only air. He toppled forward and landed face down in a puddle of spilled ale and something… disgusting. The stink of the place was bad when he’d been on his feet. It was worse here. Rotten food, blood and urine. He wouldn’t allow himself to think what else might be down there. He was, after all, in a pub called Cock and Bull.

  He inched to his right, drew his face out of the retched puddle and spit. Bile rose in his throat. If he laid still, possibly the man that hit him would lose interest in the fight, claim victory, and move on. He’d picked the drunkest man in the pub, but with that punch to his chin, John underestimated what strength the man held.

  Maybe the man was only acting drunk. That was ludicrous; surely there couldn’t be two men in the same establishment faking the act. John closed his eyes. He waited, gauging if the fight was over or if the man would pull him to his feet and strike again. A boot kicked at his side, but with a half-hearted effort. John rolled onto his back, let his head loll, and let out a long groan.

  He cracked an eye open as the man above him exclaimed loudly, “It takes all the challenge from the fight if they can’t hit back. He’s drunk as a lord!”

  “He is a lord. Not that anyone would believe me,” Ellis muttered under his breath as he crouched beside John and looked up. “You have won the fight, sir” He tossed the man a shilling. “Now go and buy yourself a drink and let me take him home.”

  “I can take him,” John slurred from the floor.

  “Be quiet,” Ellis said between clenched teeth. He grabbed John by the coat collar and hauled him to a sitting position. “I’m not sure why I even took your offer to venture so far from town. I was afraid the evening would turn out poorly. Why did I let you talk me into coming to this hellhole?”

  John garbled his words. “Thanks… ol… friend.”

  Ellis glared at him. “When you are sober, we will talk. It is not worth the time now.”

  It hurt John to have his best friend speak harshly to him, but this incident would buy him a few more days to think of the next delay he could conjure.

  ***

  Ellis and his carriage driver dragged John up the front steps. The leather toes of his boots scuffed the marble floor of the entryway. Collins, his valet, hurried out to assist. The valet’s nightshirt was tucked in his trousers and disheveled hair contrasted his normal fastidious daytime grooming.

  “I’m sorry sir,” Collins said apologetically taking John under the arm. “At this late hour I was not expecting you and Lord Mitchell to return until morning.”

  “That’s fine, Collins,” Ellis said. “Just help me get him to the chaise.”

  The two men managed to haul him as far as the chair before depositing him unceremoniously into it.

  Ellis drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed the perspiration from his brow. “I am going home to my wife. Make sure the fool doesn’t break his head.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Collins said with a sharp nod.

  John plastered on a grin and gave a half-hearted finger wave. “Thanks, old fre…” He hiccupped. “Friend.”

  “You are lucky we have history to our friendship, or I would not only challenge you to a fight, I think I might challenge you to a duel. In the condition you are in, you would be dead before you hit the floor. Part from alcohol the other from a bullet between the eyes. Sometimes, you can be such an arse.” With that, Ellis spun on his heel and marched from the room.

  John was good at this charade. Ellis hadn’t noticed he’d only drunk a half a glass of ale the entire night.

  “Come along, sir,” Collins said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “No,” John threw out his arm. “I will sleep here. Right here, on the chaise.”

  “But Lord Mitchell.”

  “Get me a blanket and take off my boots.” If he stayed sprawled in the parlor, it would make more of an impact when his father came down for breakfast. His father would hate these actions.

  John sat to allow Collins who pulled his boots free and then placed them against the hearth and then cover him with a blanket.

  “Goodnight, sir.” Collins said as he blew out the lamp and headed back to bed.

  John stared into the orange flickering flames of the fire in the hearth. He tried to stretch out, but his long body extended past the length of the small chaise. Making sure Collins was nowhere to be seen, he gathered the blanket and stood. He had to think for a minute to walk straight after he spent the evening falling all over himself. John strode to the oversized leather settee that would suit his tall frame slightly better. He sniffed at his clothes. Before the ride home, Ellis dunked his head in the town’s fountain to wash off some of the stink of the pub. For that, he was actually grateful.

  He stretched out, wiggled his toes, and put his forearm over his eyes. Pretending to be pissed drunk was much easier than his expected duties as Lord Mitchell’s son. His father pushed him daily to partake in the running of the family’s paper mill and the estate. How could he run a factory or grounds when he could barely read? Why couldn’t his father continue to do it all as he had in the past?

  He was embarrassed to be around his nephew, Graeme. The boy was only
six years of age but could understand more written words than he. It was terrible his brother and his wife had expired in a boating accident, but why on earth would they leave their child in his care? John spent every waking moment trying to think of ways to avoid his father; he did not have time for a rambunctious child in the mix.

  John tried to reason with his father that he was no good for the boy, but his father only said, ‘you are his family now.’ Maybe this orphan would grow into the man his father wished he was, and the old man would leave him be. John knew he was ‘stupid and slow’ as his father put it. This drunken episode tonight might push his father to send him away to France… or Spain. Hopefully, somewhere not as rainy as England. He needed to make a change soon or he would have no teeth. He rubbed his chin where he’d taken the blow.

  Between the mill and acquiring the guardianship of the boy, John was at the end of his rope. This was much more responsibility then a dunce like him could handle.

  He needed a cold steak for the swelling in his jaw and a guardian angel to give him the answers to his problems.

  Preferably in that order.

  Chapter 2

  “So,” Lord Mitchell said, his voice booming across the small room. “Now that the arrangements have been agreed upon, you will start your governess position tomorrow.”

  Vivienne Ravenhill smiled as relief filled her veins. She hadn’t had any fortune finding a governess placement in the past three months. She desperately needed a secure house and position to raise her son, Charles. Nothing was stable since she’d received the notice of her husband’s death, Lucas, in the Crimean War, but this was a beginning. “Yes Lord Mitchell, but I will need a few days to travel to Nottingham to retrieve the remainder of our belongings.”

  He tutted and waved a hand. “Your belongings have already been sent for and a room is put aside for your residence in the East wing with the house staff.”

  “Thank you.” Since she hadn’t given her answer to the position until that moment, Vivienne hid her surprise at the Lord’s assumption. But she knew better than bring up the point. There were a thousand ways to accidently overstep one’s boundaries in society. She carried no placement in society but Lord Mitchell did, and she needed to be careful with her words. She and Charlie were fortunate with this opportunity and a roof over their heads.

  “I have complete confidence in your skills. My grandson, Graeme, stands as the only hope for this family. I am in charge of this house, but for some unknown reason my younger son, God rest his soul, did not name me as the boy’s guardian. I know Thomas and John were close, but why he would choose…” Lord Mitchell stopped in mid sentence. “I don’t have much patience for children. I feel the boy needed guidance and a governess rather than the house staff will help. I need to make it clear that any decisions past the hiring of you today are to be run through my son… John,” he said the name as if he just bit into a rotten apple and found half a worm in the uneaten side.

  “Is your son here today, Lord Mitchell? I would very much like to meet him before tomorrow’s lessons begin.” Vivienne smoothed hands over her thick dark blue satin skirt.

  “Now that I have your word you have taken the position, follow me.”Lord Mitchell pulled his large girth from the gilded chair. “If you wish to meet my son, I will take you to him.”

  Vivienne trailed after the lord as they moved down the great hall. House staff nodded and curtsied as the lord passed. They entered a cheery sunroom decorated in yellow and gold brocade walled in ancient tapestries.

  Lord Mitchell strode across the room before stopping in front of a settee. He jabbed the shoulder of the sleeping man with his cane. The man rolled their direction and opened his eyes.

  “Father?” the man asked and rubbed bleary eyes.

  “Look at you… get up.”

  The man began to pull the blanket off his legs. Vivienne felt heat flush her cheeks as she said a silent prayer of thanks when she saw he wore his pants. What kind of a game were this father and son playing? Her excitement over the position hire faded quickly into uncertainty.

  “This is my son, John,” Lord Mitchell announced. “John, this is Vivienne Ravenhill, Graeme’s new governess.”

  Vivienne wasn’t sure what she should do in a situation such as this. The younger Lord Mitchell held his face placid, as one did in social settings, but the man was obviously as embarrassed as she. He ran a hand through his dark hair and cleared his throat as he stood.

  “Miss Ravenhill, I… did not know we were expecting company this morning. Much less that my father had taken it upon himself to hire a governess for Graeme.” His large hands and long fingers lay quite against his thighs.

  “It’s Mrs. Ravenhill. I am a widow. My son Charles and I will be moving into our room in the east wing this afternoon.” She paused. “Am I to understand that decisions regarding Graeme will be brought up to you?” When he nodded, she added, “I feel I must allow for your additional approval of my position.

  Lord John watched her for a moment. “Of course. Graeme needs… someone. I am sure you will be a fine choice as governess and that my father has screened your credentials thoroughly.”

  Vivienne nodded. “I would like to discuss any guidance or suggestions you have for Graeme’s. There is no rush. If you have suffered a difficult night, continue your rest and have the staff call for me when there is a more convenient time later today. Are you ill, Lord Mitchell?”

  His father grumbled, “Ill? Ha, just another night’s drinking bout. Worthless.”

  The hurt from his father’s words reflected clearly in John’s eyes. He looked from his father back to her. “I insist you call me John. I have never been concerned with titles.” His eyes were the color of rolling hills near the farm where she grew up, a bright, deep green, but the filled with sorrow. Vivienne thought of her son. She hoped she never put that look in her son’s eyes.

  “I will call you Lord John if you do not mind.” She extended her hand and said lightly, “If I am dismissed, I really must find Charles and begin to unpack our belongings.”

  The men dipped their head as she left the room.

  John followed Vivienne to the doorway and closed the door after she entered the hall. As she walked away, she heard the elevated voices of Lord John and his father. She was desperate to find a governess position, but at what price? What was going on with this father and son, and why did she sense such animosity between the two? Lord John might be slightly bold, but why had his father called him feeble-minded? She expected to meet a man much more challenged. Lord John seemed to have all his wits about him. Why had his father said this?

  Vivienne would unpack, but not all their belongings. Only a few things. Even if there were more problems, Lord Mitchell would cut her free with some kind of severance package, wouldn’t he? At least this would buy Vivienne time to look elsewhere.

  If this turned into a volatile household, she would move away without a second’s thought. No matter how desperate finances were, she would make the best decision for Charles.

  He was always her first priority and all she had.

  Chapter 3

  Vivienne was pleased to see how fast Charlie and Graeme became friends. It worked out well that the boys were within a year in age. They also held similar tastes in activities. They tolerated her daily lessons, but both boys would much rather chase pheasants in the field or climb trees. As soon as they finished their lessons, off they would run to play.

  At first, she wondered if the men would think Charlie not a worthy social companion for Graeme. She was relieved to see the time the boys spent together hadn’t disturbed either lord or at least neither Lord mentioned it.

  Now she needed to find the little rascals. She hadn’t heard from them in at least a half an hour. If they were too quiet, it usually meant they were getting into some form of trouble.

  Vivienne strolled down the hall and paused in front of a large gilded mirror to check her hair and tuck back a wayward auburn curl. As she straightened the he
m of her robin’s egg blue dress, her ears picked up the laughter from the young boys down the hall.

  Hearing Lord John’s deep voice she knew the boys weren’t alone in the study. She knocked and waited for an invitation before stepping in. She was still a little shocked to find John with a boy at each side. Complete with rigging, cannons and masts, a three-foot ship’s model sat in the middle of the table. Charlie and Graeme’s faces were flushed with excitement. Vivienne cleared her throat and the three of them looked up.

  “I suspected the boys were up to something, but I wouldn’t have guessed it was something productive. What are they helping you with?” she asked.

  “They are actually helping.” Lord John smiled. “I wasn’t sure they would be interested in an activity such as model ship building, but they seem rather fascinated.” His green eyes sparkled. With his dark hair pulled back in a queue, his features were sharp and hard from the blunt jut of his jaw to his cheekbones. He was handsome without a doubt. Unlike many pale English noblemen she’d observed, Lord John’s skin was deeply tanned. The sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled back to expose muscled forearms.

  Oh my. Vivienne gazed at the black hair covering his arms and swallowed. He should roll his sleeves down in her presence, but then again she should not be staring. It was over a year since her husband’s death. Vivienne knew how indecent it was to think thoughts of his arms holding her. His hand caressing her. But she missed a man’s touch. Intimate or not.

  “Mama!” Charlie shouted and ran to her side. Her son’s cry jerked her out of her daydream. “Graeme said it would be alright if I stayed here with Lord John.”

  “Have you asked Lord John?” She looked up through lowered lashes, embarrassed by her son’s forward assumptions. “Please forgive Charlie. We lived in a much less formal dwelling before coming here.”