Redeeming the Rogue

by Donna MacMeans

  “This is not the sort of information that is conveyed by a note,” Lord Henderson said. “I’ll call on her as soon as I finish here.”

  “She won’t take the news well, I’m afraid.” Lady Arianne bit her lip as if to hold in a sob. Rafferty almost reached to take her hand, offer her support, but he knew such gestures would not be appreciated, not from a man like him.

  “Who . . . who would do such a thing?” she asked.

  “That’s precisely what I’m sending Mr. Rafferty to investigate,” Henderson said. His lips tightened in his own acknowledgment of grief. “He’s one of my best.”

  “Mr. Rafferty?” She sniffed, then cast him a dubious glance. “You are sending Mr. Rafferty as a British minister?”

  Henderson’s lips twisted in a sympathetic smile while his eyes remained fastened to Lady Arianne. “I believe you are beginning to understand why I sent for you.”

  “I do not,” Rafferty interjected. “With all due condolences to Lady Arianne on the loss of her friend, I don’t think—”

  “Mr. Rafferty may be a wonderful investigator,” Lady Arianne said, addressing Henderson as if Rafferty hadn’t spoken at all, “but he won’t suit. What does he know of diplomacy? He doesn’t even know how to dress properly for an evening reception. How can he pass for a British minister at more demanding functions?”

  Henderson glanced at him, his brows lowered. “You dressed inappropriately?”

  “My jacket ripped in the earlier scuffle,” Rafferty explained. “I exchanged jackets with Phineas. But that is not the point—”

  “He will not be taken seriously,” Lady Arianne continued as if he wasn’t sitting right beside her. “Who will be his hostess?”

  “I don’t need a hostess,” he grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

  “If he doesn’t have a hostess, no woman in society will attend a legation event. If the women won’t attend, neither will the men.” She abruptly turned toward Rafferty. “You must have a hostess. Is there a wife?”

  He shook his head.

  “A cousin? A niece?” she asked as he continued to indicate no.

  “Lady Arianne, you have the experience to make the perfect hostess,” Henderson said. “I thought you might—”

  Her jaw dropped. “You cannot expect me to marry him!”

  “Good Lord, man! She’s the sister of a duke,” Rafferty spoke over her protest.

  An uncomfortable silence settled after their joint loud remonstrations. They glanced at each other for a moment as if suddenly realizing the other existed, then quickly averted their gazes. The expansive room felt much too constrictive. Rafferty rose and moved to the window, believing it would be easier to think if some distance existed between him and Lady Upper Crust.

  Strange that she had leapt so quickly to thoughts of marriage, but then wasn’t that the focus of all vacuous lassies of her sort? He frowned, recognizing that “vacuous” did not fit this particular lady. Thus it was all so predictable that she would protest such an arrangement. Miss Prim-and-Proper to be wed to Mr. Dark-and-Dangerous. He had to swallow the chuckle that the thought inspired.

  Lord Henderson’s calm voice sounded behind him. “I was going to ask if you could recommend someone to act as hostess? Your reputation as a matchmaker has given you knowledge of all the available women that might consider a match with Mr. Rafferty—”

  “I’ll not marry a stranger just so women can drag their husbands to social events,” Rafferty grumbled. He glanced out the window, noting Phineas dressed in a multilayered cape, pretending to be a cabman at the station across the way. Phineas turned toward the window and scratched his nose, signaling that he was alert and watching but had noted nothing of interest.

  “I cannot imagine a single woman who would consent to such a proposition.” Lady Blue Blood huffed behind him. “He hasn’t even a title to recommend him.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?” Lord Henderson sounded exasperated. “Rafferty must have a hostess as soon as possible so he can investigate Lord Weston’s murder.”

  “And track Basil Toomey,” Rafferty added. It was likely not a coincidence that Toomey appeared in America and a diplomat’s death ensued.

  Rafe watched Phineas tip his cap to a matron hurrying her young charge past the cab station. Given his remarkable theatrical abilities, Phineas could probably do a convincing masquerade of a hostess. The mental image caused him to shake his head in silent laughter, but the thought sparked an idea. He turned away from the window. “What about an actress? Surely Phineas knows of someone who could act the role for the right price.”

  “An actress!” Lady Arianne exclaimed, her face contorting in disgust. “An actress would never know the sort of deportment one needs to be the hostess of a diplomatic legation. If society were to know that an actress—”

  “But they won’t know,” Rafferty interrupted. “Because you would teach her how to act, what to say.” The idea gained substance in his mind. “Her ruse would allow me the time to unravel the murder and locate Toomey. I’m certain he has a hand in this.”

  “It might work,” Henderson agreed. “As long as the masquerade doesn’t extend for an overlong period of time. It might work.”

  “No,” Lady Silk-Stocking protested. “Those women, they’re little more than . . .” Her face began to color.

  Lord help him but Rafferty enjoyed her discomfort. The aristocracy had no hesitation about proclaiming their superiority over individuals no more than two feet away—but at the first mention of something as basic and ancient as a tumble under the blankets, they fussed and blushed and pretended innocence.

  “Yes, Lady Arianne?” Rafferty taunted. “What are they precisely?”

  Her spine stiffened, and she refused to look at him. “They’re . . . unsavory women.”

  “Then one should make a convincing wife”—he leered at Henderson—“at least behind closed doors.”

  She stood. “Really, Mr. Rafferty. I must leave if you gentlemen are going to discuss such coarse topics.”

  “My apologies, Lady Arianne.” Rafferty bowed in her direction. “I forgot for a moment that you are not a farmer’s daughter but a woman of higher station.”

  She glared at him, in no way amused by his levity.

  “Arianne, please stay,” Henderson interceded. “I’m sure Rafferty will mind his manners.” His glower served as reprimand. Rafferty’s smile faded. “Now, if we can find a suitable candidate to play the role of Mrs. Rafferty, do you think you could teach her what she’ll need to know in a short time?”

  Lady Arianne narrowed her eyes. “How short a time?”

  “I’d like you to travel to America with the actress.” Lord Henderson paused as if suddenly inspired. “Do I not recall that it was through your instigation that your brother met his American wife?”

  Rafferty noted the resurgence of pink on Lady Arianne’s throat. While the poor woman did not wear her heart on her sleeve, her delectable throat was apparently another matter.

  “I met Mrs. Winthrop in Switzerland and mentioned my brother’s qualities to her,” Arianne said. “However, I don’t consider that an instigation. It was more of an accident, really.”

  “Yet they are now happily married.” Henderson smiled. “As am I, I might add. Lady Henderson and I are in debt to your . . . accidents.”

  “This is all well and good,” Rafe interrupted. “But I must sail immediately. Just send word when the woman is due to arrive and I’ll—”

  “Hold on, Rafferty. I’m not through with you yet,” Henderson warned. He turned back to Lady Arianne. “I’ll arrange passage for you and the actress on a steamer. You can use the pretense of visiting Mrs. Winthrop to justify the trip, but in reality you’ll be teaching the actress how to play her role.” He spun toward Rafferty. “And you will cross with them. You’ll need time with the actress in order to portray a convincing husband.”

  Rafferty was about to protest, then decided instead to let the elegant Lady Arianne do it for h
im. After all, she’d made it perfectly clear that she found his company more trial than pleasure. The popular sister to a duke wouldn’t want to forfeit the parties and receptions London offered. When she declined the offer to teach an actress to act like a lady, this tenuous house of cards would collapse. Henderson would allow him to sail to America and find Toomey on his own. Yes. No need to protest and further annoy his employer. Rafferty crossed his arms and waited.

  Lady Arianne bit her lip and studied her gloves for a moment. She was most likely determining the most gracious way to turn down Henderson’s suggestion. The aristocratic set probably maintained a whole list of rules about issuing a simple “no.” Rafe turned his gaze to the back of the room, just so the satisfaction of her refusal wouldn’t show on his face.

  “I’ll have to bring Mrs. Summers as my chaperone,” she said cautiously. “And my maid. I couldn’t legitimately travel without Kathleen.”

  What the . . . ! Rafferty jerked his gaze in disbelief back toward Lady Arianne’s stoic profile. Had he totally misread her? Was she as mad as a hatter?

  “Of course.” Lord Henderson smiled. “Accommodations will be arranged for the three of you.”

  “No!” Rafe protested. Within moments he stood directly in front of her chair. “There’ll be no parties, no fancy dress balls, no social”—he waved his hands in the air while he searched for the right word—“falderal.” The ribbons on her hat trembled with the currents of his tirade, yet she appeared unfazed. “This is not a pleasure cruise. You’ll miss your life here, I promise you. I’m chasing a murderer, not some titled dandy.”

  “Lord Weston’s murderer.” She tilted her impassive face toward his. He searched her face for false expectations but found none. Moisture still glistened where she had dabbed at it earlier. Her voice sounded hard, cold, and dead serious. “Yes. I know.”

  Tension simmered in their locked gaze until Henderson tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Reluctantly, Rafferty broke the connection and turned toward him. “Until Phineas can acquire an actress for the role, Rafe, I’d like you to spend time with Lady Arianne so she can teach you the finer points of being a British minister.”

  Rafferty glared. “If this is punishment for wearing the wrong jacket, I’ll remind you it was the result of a scuffle.” Wasn’t it bad enough he’d have to endure Lady Prim-and-Proper on the long passage to America?

  “There’s more to being a British minister than fashion,” Henderson scolded. “If I didn’t think you capable of this assignment, I would send someone else.” His voice softened. “Perhaps after Lady Arianne knows your character, you too will be the happy recipient of one of her ‘accidents.’ ”

  Fine. Condemn him to hell. The response building in his gut would have deflated Henderson’s buoyant mood and singed the ears off Lady Arianne. His hands fisted beneath the cover of his crossed arms while his lips tightened to keep the curses inside. The sting from his split lip reminded him that just a few moments in this woman’s company last night had drawn blood. A week with her and he’d need a coffin. Never was a man in more need of a drink.

  “Rafferty, will you escort Lady Arianne to her carriage? And send in Phineas while you’re about it. I’m sure he’ll know where to start on our search for your wife.”

  The man laughed! Damn his eyeballs.

  “You two, however, should start meeting immediately,” Henderson continued. “Under the auspices of Mrs. Summers, of course.” He smiled to Lady Arianne but wisely avoided Rafferty’s glare.

  “Good day, Lady Arianne.” Henderson bowed over her hand. “Thank you for offering your services to the Crown. I’m sure you have much to do to prepare for the journey ahead.”

  ONE GLANCE AT MR. RAFFERTY CONFIRMED ARIANNE’S suspicion that he was not pleased with her participation in this diplomatic masquerade. She turned toward the door without waiting for his sullen self to join her. Would he be surprised to know she was not entirely enthusiastic about this venture herself?

  “Why?” he asked, once they had left the room. “Why did you agree?”

  “Sir! I am a patriotic British citizen,” she responded. “Why wouldn’t I agree to help where needed?”

  She heard his soft laughter and scowled in his direction.

  “I have no doubt of your patriotism, my lady, even if you seem overanxious to leave England. I think there is more to this than meets the eye.” He accepted his hat and stick from the ancient butler.

  Christopher! She had forgotten that Henderson said he was an investigator. She’d have to be more careful about masking her own secrets. In truth, leaving England offered an unanticipated carrot. No one could fault her avoidance of the Baron and his new fiancée if she were abroad. Besides, she didn’t wish to be anywhere in the British Empire when news of the Vienna incident reached her brother’s ears. She wasn’t sure what William would do, but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t cross the Atlantic to do it. He had sworn that his last trip, to claim his American wife, had rendered him so seasick, he wouldn’t consider another ocean trip under any circumstance.

  She turned to face the knavish Rafferty while Henderson’s butler opened the front door for them. “Lord Weston was a dear friend. I will do everything in my power to aid the capture of the one responsible, even if that requires our continued association.”

  The sanctuary of her carriage waited a short distance away. She forged ahead without waiting for assistance from Mr. Rafferty. While she was vaguely aware of him scratching his nose, then jerking his arm thumb-up over his shoulder, she didn’t see any gentlemen waiting for an audience with Lord Henderson. If it hadn’t been for the jacket incident, she would have questioned this Phineas character’s existence.

  Mr. Rafferty stopped her just as she was about to step into the carriage. “Lord Henderson suggested we promptly begin meeting for instruction. Might I suggest you visit my humble abode tomorrow about two o’clock?” He hastily scribbled something on a card then held it between two fingers.

  The rogue! As if she would fall prey to that rather obvious ploy. “Might I remind you, sir,” she snapped, “that I’m to be the teacher and not the one receiving an education.”

  She climbed into the carriage, pulling her skirts in after her. The liveried footman closed the door with a thud. Rafferty’s wolfish grin dimmed. Strange. At times the exasperating man charmed her into believing she was desirable. Then other times he seemed determined to prove her insignificant. Lord Henderson vouched for his intelligence and competence, but she had her doubts. He was just so unpolished . . . so physical . . . and yet . . . She remembered his face when he pulled those attached handkerchiefs from his pocket—his embarrassment and his vulnerability. Her heart twisted beneath her stays. Hadn’t she recently been a public victim of those two emotions in a Vienna ballroom?

  She glanced at him standing on the walk. He would need copious lessons to be a convincing British minister. Lord Henderson was right. They needed to start immediately. She leaned out the window.

  “You may come to my brother’s town house tomorrow afternoon. We can begin then.”

  His smile lit up his entire face and, to her dismay, had the same effect on her. Lord help her, she’d not have another man trample on her affections.

  He squinted up at her. “Where would I find your brother’s town house?”

  “You’re the investigator,” she replied, one brow lifted. “Figure it out.”

  Four

  THE NEXT DAY, ARIANNE RAIDED THE SMALL CONSERVATORY attached to the town house for ingredients in a new fragrance recipe. Even the process of choosing fresh fragrant petals failed to divert her mind from the meeting in Lord Henderson’s office. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have baited Mr. Rafferty like that. Challenging him to find her brother’s town house might encourage him to uncover yet more information about her, information she’d prefer to keep private. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure she had the mental resources to stay one step ahead of him. Not now. Not with all that filled her mind. She placed h
er basket filled with delicate violets on the worktable she used to develop her concoctions. Mrs. Summers occupied a chair near a bright, sunny window where she worked a needle and thread through a piece of linen.

  Poor Kitty. Surely Lord Henderson had conveyed the news by now. How had she taken the loss of her father? Although Arianne had recently lost the man she called Father—the old Duke—the two could not compare. Lord Weston had been more a loving father than the Duke.

  Would Mr. Rafferty be able to find the culprit? She reached for her mortar and pestle, wondering at the probability. He seemed more concerned with that Toomey fellow than hunting a murderer.

  Would that rapscallion be able to fool anyone into thinking he was a legitimate British minister? Arianne had her doubts. Though she had to admit, his appearance in Lord Henderson’s study improved vastly over her initial impression at the reception. She almost hadn’t recognized him, he looked so elegant and . . . competent. Her lips curved at the memory. Of course, the moment she had heard Mr. Rafferty’s voice, that deep soft velvet voice that tingled along her spine like flower petals nodding in the wind, she recognized him, or rather her body did, even before she turned to face him. She couldn’t deny the tingling sensations that raced down her spine whenever he spoke. God should never have blessed such a man with such a voice . . . or perhaps it wasn’t God’s handiwork . . . The peal of the pestle striking the mortar’s side interrupted her reverie.

  “Is something on your mind, Arianne? You appear to be woolgathering.” Mrs. Summers glanced up from her needlework. “Are you still upset about that strange man at Countess D’Orange’s reception?”

  “No, I’m not upset . . . exactly,” Arianne replied, choosing her words carefully. “Lord Henderson explained that Mr. Rafferty is reputable and not the gate-crasher I had assumed him to be.” Though loathe to admit as much to Mrs. Summers, her impressions of Mr. Rafferty were far more complex than that. So complex that she hadn’t been able to sort them out for herself as yet.