“And did this happen at your school? The one you attended before Miss Darrow took you in?”
Shame nearly swallowed her whole. “Yes, it did.”
“You’ve been with her for how long?”
“I was eight and my half-sister, Lillian, was seven,” she answered, still unable to look at him directly.
“Then it wasn’t a man’s kiss, Miss Marks. It was a monster’s, and I promise you that the two could not be more different. One day, with your permission, I will show you that,” he murmured and then stepped back, widening the distance between them. It did nothing to dissipate the sense of intimacy, however.
Willa looked up at him then, stunned that he had not taken liberties; that he had not judged her for the ugliness that had occurred in her life. He was forever doing and being the unexpected. “You befuddle me, my lord,” she said in reply.
He shrugged as if it were something he heard frequently. “Thank you, Miss Marks. For all that you have done thus far and all that you will do for her… and for your selflessness and your willingness to put yourself in harm’s way for her sake. I will do whatever is necessary to be certain you are never forced to make such a choice again,” he vowed softly.
“We cannot even be certain that he meant her harm. I have questioned and doubted my interpretation of it since I arrived back here with her.”
“A man doesn’t skulk if his intentions are pure,” he said.
“And are your intentions pure, Lord Deveril?” she asked. Again, it was an impertinent question and one, given their recent exchange, that was too dangerous to ask.
“As pure as my intentions can be, Miss Marks,” he said with a slight smile. “You can rest assured that I have no nefarious plans for you.”
“You never have nefarious plans for anyone, my lord. You rarely plan anything as we both know. I’m rather more concerned about what might happen spontaneously,” she admitted.
“You mean in moments like this? Where we’re alone… where, for a brief moment, you forget your disdain of me?”
“I don’t disdain you, my lord. I simply do not trust you. I do not say such to be an insult or a personal affront,” Willa replied. “Merely to acknowledge it as a precaution that a woman in my position cannot afford to neglect.”
“A woman in your position? Do you mean as a governess or as my betrothed?”
Willa stepped back abruptly, widening the distance between them. “As a woman who has no one in the world to care for me should I fail to take proper care of myself. It isn’t about my station, my lord. It’s about the fact there is no one to hold you accountable for your actions if they are not honorable.”
*
Just like Alice.
The implication was there even if it wasn’t spoken aloud. Perhaps it only rang so loudly in his own mind and wasn’t at all in hers. Neglected and ignored by their father, Alice had been easy pickings for the man who now stalked Marina. Just as Wilhelmina Marks had been easy prey for the headmaster at her school when she was too young to protect herself from him. It was an ugly story and one that occurred all too frequently. It wasn’t only young girls who suffered such advances. Such things had gone on enough in his own school as a boy. It was there that he’d learned to fight and determined that he would, no matter the cost. Perhaps his admiration of Miss Marks was a result of his own vanity because, in many ways, she reminded him of the better qualities of himself, few as they were.
He was drawn to Miss Wilhelmina Marks. Her spirit, her character, and certainly her beauty. She did not attempt to hide it, but nor did she let it shine. Her hair was dressed in a manner that would draw little attention to her, and her gowns were modest enough for her to have nearly passed as a Quaker, the exception being her borrowed finery for evenings. And yet, she tempted him. And tormented him, as well. For all the temptation she offered, she was entirely forbidden to him. He’d never seduced an innocent. As debauched as he was, he did have his own brand of morals and honor.
“Touché, Miss Marks. Your point is well taken,” he said. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I will remain aware of my place and of yours in the grand scheme of things.”
“I’ll be going now. I want to check in on Marina again. She was sleeping soundly, but after the fright she received today, I’m uncertain how long that will last. I’d prefer to be there when she wakes up,” Miss Marks said softly.
“I will see you at dinner, Miss Marks. In the meantime, I plan to pay a few calls and discover what I can about this man who convinced my sister to run away with him. Perhaps if I can ascertain his name, I can determine where to find him. I’d rather beard the lion in his den if I can.”
She frowned, her brow furrowing with concern. “Be careful. I truly did not like the looks of this man. We know he lacks scruples. It’s very likely that he is dangerous.”
“So am I, Miss Marks,” he answered. “So am I.”
Chapter Nine
Alaric had circled back around to the park. Leaning nonchalantly against a tree, he looked like any other gentleman who’d taken a rest while out for a stroll or, perhaps, someone waiting for a companion. But through the trees and the intricate iron bars of the nearest gate, he had a perfect view of the front door of Deveril’s townhouse while he himself was well concealed. He’d been too brazen before because he’d underestimated the pretty chit.
Dressed too fine to be simply a governess and yet too prudish for one of Deveril’s high-flyers, he was unsure what to make of her. Then, of course, the brat had seen him and begun to wail as if the very hounds of hell were after her. Of course, that wasn’t uncommon. The girl hated him, and he liked her no better. He’d warned Alice that if she didn’t get rid of her little problem, it would ruin everything between them. And it had. She had. Every fight they’d had, every time he’d been forced to knock Alice to the floor had been because of that worthless little bastard.
Alice hadn’t even loved him at the end. She’d been clinging to the hope that he’d pull himself together and live the honorable life of a happily married man. But her father had put the nail in the coffin by cutting her off. He needed an heiress, after all—a woman who would be able to support him in the manner to which he’d like to become accustomed, the manner which his credit would no longer afford him. He’d wasted valuable time on Alice Ashton, time that would have been better spent coaxing a wealthy and aging widow to the altar.
The door to the townhouse opened and Lord Deveril emerged. Dressed to the nines, Alaric could easily recognize that Deveril’s coat was Schweitzer’s. No other tailor could fit a man quite so well. The well turned out lord wore boots that were shined to a mirrored gloss, and his doeskin breeches fit the man like a glove. It was easy to be fashionable when money was no object, Alaric thought bitterly. He was making do in his old clothes. In truth, he hadn’t been able to purchase a new suit for himself in nearly a year.
Resentment burned hot in his belly. Who the hell was Deveril to have such when he was without? But while he was out, Alaric had an opportunity.
Crossing the street, he knocked softly on the door. Almost immediately, a butler answered. The sticklike man stared down his nose at him. Alaric was down to the man, after all.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m here for my daughter. The Devil Lord has abducted my sweet Marina,” he said.
“His lordship has abducted no one,” the butler said. “He has brought his niece into this home as his ward upon the death of her dear mother.”
“And I am her dear father,” Alaric insisted. “And I am here to ascertain her safety and welfare. Surely even you cannot question that I would want to be certain of her care?”
Before the butler could say anything else, the woman from the park appeared at the foot of the stairs, just behind the servant. He was getting a far better look at her now than before in the park. She was lovelier than he’d first thought, with fine and delicate bone structure and a perfect, bow-shaped mouth. Her skin glowed with health and vitality, and her p
retty blonde hair was arranged in a severe fashion that, while not flattering, could not conceal the thickness and luster of the mass.
“Is there a problem, sir?” she asked softly. She might have looked brave, but there was a slight quaver in her voice that belied her fear.
The cultured tone of her voice marked her a lady, but Alaric had his doubts. There was something about her that suggested working class. Governess, it was. “There most assuredly is, Madame. May I inquire as to your identity and why you feel it is within your right to keep me from my daughter?”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes, my daughter. Marina.”
Her eyes narrowed and she gazed at him with steely determination. “Marina is the daughter of Lord Deveril’s late sister.”
“And she is mine as well,” he protested.
She cocked her head in a manner that he recognized. All women had that look just before the dressing down came.
“If you wished to exert your parental rights, then perhaps you should have married her mother and legitimized her birth, sir,” she said. “You have no legal rights to the child based on your unsubstantiated claims. You could be anyone hoping to exploit a vulnerable child for your own financial gain.”
“I am her father!” he persisted. “And her mother and I were wed by common license.”
“You are not married in the eyes of the law unless you can provide proof. Until then, in the eyes of the law, she has no father. But she does have a guardian. She has her uncle, Lord Deveril, in whose care her mother entrusted her to on her deathbed. Despite his rather colorful reputation, I doubt there is a judge in the land who would question such an arrangement. You should leave now,” the woman insisted. “Before Lord Deveril returns.”
He’d take her down a peg or two before it was over. No woman had ever spoken to him thusly, and he’d not allow her to get away with it. “Your name, Madame? As you speak so freely on Lord Deveril’s behalf, I feel it only appropriate that I know your identity.”
“Despite the impropriety inherent in your insistence that a lady introduce herself to you,” she said with censure, “I am Lord Deveril’s betrothed, Miss Wilhelmina Marks.”
“Well, Miss Marks, please be advised that I will not simply accept this terrible situation. She is my daughter, and I will have her back.”
Miss Marks smiled at him coolly. “That will not happen, sir. Not today and not ever… but in the interest of reciprocity, I’d have your name so that I can give it to Lord Deveril and advise him of your stance on the matter.”
“Alaric West,” he said, offering the false name with ease. He’d used it often enough that he no longer had to search for it in his mind. “It’s a name he’ll know, I imagine.”
There was a gasp from the landing. Alaric looked up and saw a very familiar figure. Jeannette. The orchestrator of it all. He glared at her, furious to see her there, to see her still meddling in his business when she was the cause of his current situation.
“I will be certain to let him know, sir. I bid you good day,” the younger woman said, her voice sharp with dismissal.
Alaric spared another glance at her, ignoring the still beautiful but avaricious woman on the stairs behind her. Then he turned and walked away, hearing the snick of the door closing behind him. A smile tugged at his lips. He’d laid the groundwork for his claim to the child. It was enough for the time being. And much as he despised Jeannette, he’d seen in that last look at her that she still pined for him. He had an ally.
*
Devil stood in the foyer of another Mayfair townhouse that was as equally well-appointed as his own. But it was dark. The brocade drapes were closed, no lamps or candles burned, and the servants that were present were particularly close-mouthed. No one in Highcliff’s household would dare to gossip.
“His lordship will see you,” the butler offered in a low-pitched tone as he stepped back into the marble and gilt entryway.
“I know the way,” Devil insisted as the man started to show him to Highcliff’s lair.
The butler drew back as if mightily affronted but offered a curt nod.
Devil walked past the man and down the corridor, but he didn’t enter the extravagant library or the morning room or any other room where a person would routinely see callers. Instead, he moved beyond all of them and toward the conservatory. It would be devoid of plants but would contain several braziers placed strategically about the room to offer some comfort from the chill air. It was a concession to his sparring partners for if Highcliff had a weakness, even the cold, Devil was unaware of it.
Entering the large open space, he saw his friend immediately. Highcliff was shirtless, dressed only in breeches, and even his feet were bare on the cold stones. He was wielding a heavy scimitar in the Eastern fashion, something he’d learned during one of his many times in India, no doubt. Highcliff had disappeared for days and sometimes weeks on end while he’d been there during Devil’s own tour. There was little doubt he’d been doing business that they were all better off not to know about. It had been the same while he’d been on the Continent, but it was not something they’d ever spoken of.
“Is there some reason you’ve darkened my door, Devil?” Highcliff asked, never breaking stride as he swung the scimitar in a wide arc that set the air whistling about him.
Devil walked over to one of the braziers. As expected, not a single coal burned within it. “Are you so completely averse to the idea of comfort that you won’t even have a bit of warmth for yourself?”
“I don’t need it,” Highcliff replied. “As long as I’m moving, I’m warm enough.”
Devil looked back at him. He was sweating profusely so Devil supposed that was true. “How long have you been out here?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s half-past two,” Devil answered.
“Then I’ve been out here for three hours,” Highcliff said.
Three hard, grueling hours no doubt. “I need a favor,” Devil said abruptly. He despised asking for help. But if there was anyone he’d go to in a time of need, it was Highcliff.
“I assumed you would or you would not be here.” Highcliff gave one more flick of his wrist, the blade moving through the air with a loud whoosh. When he was done, he walked over to a carved wooden box that sat along the far wall and placed the blade in it. “It was a gift… from Rajah Amkir.”
“He never sends me gifts,” Devil replied.
“Because he detests you… you very nearly slept with his wife,” Highcliff pointed out.
“I did not. And I didn’t know she was his wife,” Devil snapped. “It was just harmless flirtation.”
“There is no such thing as harmless flirtation when a woman is draped in Burmese emeralds and living in a palace. There is sanctioned flirtation and there is you nearly being executed.” Highcliff shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he was clearly more amused by the memory than he wished to let on. “I saved your hide that day. I suppose I can do it once more. Whose wife have you diddled this time?”
“No one’s. It isn’t that kind of help.” Devil took a deep breath. “Alice had a child… a daughter. And the bounder who seduced her and lured her to some cesspool of a rookery in Spitalfields is the father, and he seems to want to lay claim to Marina.”
Highcliff nodded. “And what is it you want from me? He is the girl’s father, after all. Poor doesn’t automatically disqualify him from the role.”
“I need to find out who this man is. He goes by the name Alaric though I have no family name. I heard the name upon my return from India. His poverty isn’t the issue. His character is.”
“And what do you mean to do with this man when you find him? The last time you shot someone, you wound up banished to India and nearly died for it yourself.”
Devil sighed. “I don’t need to find him, Highcliff. He’s already found me. He was spying on the gover—my betrothed as she walked with Marina in the park. He terrified them both. Marina screamed for an hour at least after
they returned. She fears him.”
“He’s her father. We both know how capable they are of inspiring terror in their offspring.”
“He’s a bounder,” Devil responded. “If he were any kind of father, he’d have been there as her mother lay dying. Instead, that small child was thrust into my arms when she had no notion of who I was or what was happening to her mother. I cannot believe that his interests are paternal in nature. I’m assuming he wants money.”
“And you don’t want to give it to him.”
Devil paced the width of the room looking out onto the gardens beyond. “If that would be the end of it, I would. But we both know that isn’t how people like that work. If he gets paid once, he’ll come begging again and again. If he wants money, Highcliff, it’s likely he owes money. Find out to whom. I beg of you.”
“Fine. This betrothed governess of yours. What’s that about?”
“She’s from the Darrow School. The Hellion Club. A feigned engagement and staying under my roof with a chaperone was the only way she could tend to Marina and not have her reputation destroyed.”
Highcliff laughed at that. “Then the old bats don’t even listen to their own gossip. Everyone knows the only women who interest you are those who already have husbands.”
Devil wanted to protest, but there was some truth to it. It wasn’t that he only liked married women. It was that he didn’t have to worry about being forced to the altar if someone else had already stood there before him. “Let me know what you find… I promised Alice that I would care for her child. That isn’t a promise I’ll have broken no matter what I have to do.”
Highcliff studied him for a moment. “I’m sorry. I know you loved your sister and it’s terrible what your father did to her… to you both. I wish you’d found her sooner.”
“So do I, Highcliff. Every damned day. I didn’t save her, but I will save her daughter. At all costs.”
“I’ll let you know something tomorrow, whether I find anything or not.”
A Rogue to Remember Page 7
