TO KISS A ROGUE
Taking advantage of her good humor, Nathaniel stopped abruptly, turning her until her back was against the wall. She inhaled sharply, but made no move to escape his embrace. Encouraged, he moved closer.
When Mr. Wainwright took her chin in his hand and tilted her head slightly, Harriet’s breathing came fast. But when he bent his head and placed his mouth on her lips, the dim, gloomy hallway was suddenly whirling with color.
He brought his mouth down softly at first. A taste, a tease, a nibble. Harriet was surprised by this gentle exploration that made her senses swim. Lust always held a titillating, secret interest in her mind, yet she had never completely experienced it.
Until now. And it was impossible to resist the raw longing and emotions this magical kiss brought forth. She responded in a wholly inappropriate manner by clutching his lapels and pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open. His tongue thrust at hers and she answered with her own, amazed at the depth of feeling and passion he could arouse . . .
Books by Adrienne Basso
HIS WICKED EMBRACE
HIS NOBLE PROMISE
TO WED A VISCOUNT
TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS
TO TEMPT A ROGUE
Published by Zebra Books
TO TEMPT A ROGUE
Adrienne Basso
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
TO KISS A ROGUE
Also by
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright Page
For my husband, Rudy, who after twenty years is
still my very favorite tall, dark, and handsome hero.
Chapter One
London, 1811
Early January
A stillness hung upon the dull, gray afternoon as Nathaniel Bennet, Baron of Avery, and second son of the sixth Duke of Claridge stood before his family’s ancestral London mansion. The black ribbons covering the massive brass door knocker had been removed, yet the sleeping mansion still held an aura of mourning, almost as though the sorrow and pain of its occupants had somehow become part of the stone and mortar of the structure.
Though he was already late, Lord Avery made no move to climb the steps. He waited silently, attempting to clear his mind and control his emotions. A drink would taste splendid right now, he thought. A few gulps of strong whiskey or a fine snifter filled with brandy would warm and numb, serving a two-fold purpose.
Ashamed at the direction of his thoughts, Nathaniel let out a long sigh. His breath misted in the cold air, puffing about him like a cloud. Shrugging, the handsome lord shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his greatcoat to ward off the chill. Yet he knew it wasn’t the lowering temperature that brought a shivering frigidity to the depths of his bones.
These daily visits should be getting easier, not harder, he reasoned. But they never did. He arrived a bit later and left a bit earlier each day and still there was no relief. The passage of time was said to heal all wounds, yet his pain still felt raw and deep and real.
Knowing there was no possible way to delay the inevitable any longer, Nathaniel plastered a determined grimace on his face and moved forward, deliberately ignoring how the classic Greek simplicity of the building resembled a mausoleum.
His insistent knock was soon answered by a slender young footman with pale skin and light hair.
“The family is not receiving callers this afternoon. Would you care to leave your card, sir?” The footman held out a silver platter expectantly.
Nathaniel frowned. Apparently the servant was new, for he had no idea to whom he was speaking. “I am a member of the family.” Lord Avery removed his greatcoat and lightly fingered the black armband on his jacket. “There is no need to announce me.”
“But sir—”
Nathaniel tossed his outer wear in the general direction of the servant and turned away.
“His lordship is in the drawing room,” the footman called out nervously as he lunged forward in a feeble attempt to catch the heavy garment before it hit the polished marble floor.
“I am not here to see his lordship,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath.
“Ah, there you are, my lord.” Mrs. Hutchinson, the housekeeper, puffed her way down the staircase, her large chin quivering. “His grace has been asking after you. He’s a mite fretful, but I told him, and the ladies, that you would be arriving at any moment. They count on you so, and I knew you would never shirk such an important duty.”
Lord Avery flinched, knowing he did not deserve such praise. It was his brother Robert who had always taken his responsibilities to heart.
“Have they had tea?” Nathaniel asked as he climbed the staircase.
“They were waiting for you,” Mrs. Hutchinson replied. The heavy set of keys at her waist jangled loudly as she struggled valiantly to keep pace with him. “I’ll have a fresh pot fetched immediately. The one in the nursery is no doubt cold by now.”
“Very good.”
Nathaniel continued his climb alone to the third floor, barely hesitating as he walked past the many doors lining the hallway. He knew the way well, for he had walked these very floors countless times in his youth.
He never broke stride until he reached the correct door, fearing if he slowed his movements his courage would fail. The moment the latch clicked open, Nathaniel steeled his emotions and pasted a pleasant expression on his face. Then he stepped through the doorway.
“Good afternoon.”
The maid who had been sitting quietly in the corner, jumped to her feet and dipped a hasty curtsey. The mending she had been diligently attending to spilled onto the floor and she dropped to her knees to gather it. Nathaniel moved forward to assist her with this task, but she stammered and blushed so awkwardly at his attention that he backed away.
His gaze reluctantly shifted to the center of the room where three young children were huddled together around a wooden table, whispering.
The roaring fire made the room warm, the pale walls, brightly colored quilts, and toys scattered about should have made it cheerful and inviting. Yet it felt more like a stuffy, formal drawing room than a carefree, happy nursery.
“Splendid. You waited tea for me. That was most considerate. Thank you.”
Nathaniel cast the group an engaging smile, hardly daring to hope for a reaction. There was none. He contained a sigh, pulled out a chair at the table where the tea had been set and sat down.
The furnishings were designed for a child’s size, but he had discovered on prior visits that the sturdy wooden chairs could support his weight. Though it was awkward and uncomfortable to be seated with his knees well above the edge of the table, Lord Avery contorted his long legs into a manageable position.
After all, the children’s father had done it nearly every afternoon. Until his fatal illness had struck.
“Sh-shall I pour the tea, Uncle Nathaniel?” Lord Avery’s head snapped up in amazement. Nine-year-old Phoe
be’s voice was soft and hesitant. He regarded his eldest niece hopefully. This was the first time she had initiated any conversation with him. During his daily visits she always spoke politely and minimally, with a shy insecurity that tore at his heart.
“If everyone else is agreeable.” He smiled encouragingly at all three of the children.
Seven-year-old Jeanne Marie returned his grin briefly. She was tiny, with silky blond ringlets falling over her shoulders, and thickly lashed blue eyes.
“Can Lady Julienne come to tea?” Jeanne Marie asked.
“Lady Julienne?” Nathaniel’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Her doll,” Phoebe whispered.
Lord Avery noted the ragged doll Jeanne Marie held tightly in her arms. Clearly it was well loved for it was missing an eye, several fingers from the left hand and was dressed in a torn and grimy blue gown.
“We would be honored. Set a place for Lady Julienne, please, Phoebe.”
Lord Avery detected the slightest flicker of relief in his older niece’s face. She took a slow breath and carefully slid another china tea cup next to Jeanne Marie’s.
“Will you be joining us, Your Grace?” Nathaniel asked.
Gregory Quincy Reginald Bennet, eighth Duke of Claridge, turned away, crossed his arms determinedly over his chest and buried his face inside them. Plump and rosy cheeked, he was a sturdy lad, large for his four years. There had been only a passing resemblance between Nathaniel and his older brother Robert, yet by some ironic twist of fate, young Gregory was nearly an exact replica of his uncle Nathaniel at the same age, as the family portrait in the long gallery could attest.
He had apparently also inherited his uncle’s stubborn, defiant will.
“Stop being such a baby, Gregory,” Jeanne Marie said as she jabbed her brother in the ribs.
The little boy yelped and fell forward, stumbling on the fringe of the carpet. Nathaniel caught the boy’s arm and steadied him, saving him from landing on the floor. He felt the child’s body stiffen for an instant as his eyes focused on Nathaniel with unwavering regard.
“When is Papa coming?” Gregory asked sharply.
“Hush, Gregory,” Phoebe admonished. “I have told you again and again that Papa cannot come to see us. He is in Heaven.”
“With Mama,” Jeanne Marie added helpfully. Round-eyed with dismay, Gregory stamped his foot. “I don’t want Papa to be in Heaven! I want him here! Now!”
Jeanne Marie’s lip suddenly began to wobble. “And Mama, too.”
Uncomfortable, Nathaniel looked from side to side, in a quandary. It was probably best if the children released some of their pent-up grief, but Lord Avery felt ill-equipped to handle such a situation entirely on his own.
At that moment Mrs. Hutchinson burst into the room, followed by a footman carrying a tray with a fresh pot of tea and additional sweet treats.
“Goodness gracious, what’s all of this?” Mrs. Hutchinson cried in alarm. She knelt down and opened her arms wide. Tearfully, Gregory and Jeanne Marie rushed forward to be enfolded in the housekeeper’s comforting embrace.
“They were thinking of Mama and Papa,” Phoebe replied stoically. “It made them cry.”
“Oh, my poor lambs!” Mrs. Hutchinson hugged tighter and the children buried their heads in her shoulders and wailed louder.
Nathaniel cast a glance at Phoebe. She was biting her lip furiously and her hands were bunched together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. He suspected she wished to be comforted as her brother and sister but perhaps felt she was too old for such an emotional display.
Yet clearly her need was just as great. Lord Avery shifted his chair unobtrusively and inched his way closer to his niece. He placed his hand beneath the table, near her side, though it was hardly necessary to conceal the gesture for the sake of Phoebe’s pride. The drama Gregory and Jeanne Marie had created had drawn the servant’s eyes and complete attention.
It must be horrifying to lose not one but both beloved parents in a single blow. As children, their understanding of the event was limited, and mixed within the grief they felt was confusion as well as fear.
A hesitant, soft brush of a fingertip against his wrist distracted Lord Avery’s despondent thoughts as he felt Phoebe slip her small, delicate hand into his palm. Nathaniel squeezed her fingers gently, hoping the simple gesture would convey his support and offer her some strength. She, in turn, clasped his hand tighter.
“Your father was not only my brother, but my closest friend,” Nathaniel said softly. “As his children, I hold you all dear to my heart. I shall do everything within my power to keep you from harm, protect you from danger and shield you from suffering.”
“Truly?” she whispered.
“Always,” he responded solemnly.
Phoebe shivered convulsively, but maintained her poise.
“There, there, now dry your tears,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. “Cook has made your favorite scones as well as cream cakes. You need to eat them very soon, or else it will be too late and the treats will spoil your dinner.”
Mrs. Hutchinson pulled a clean linen handkerchief from her pocket and dried Jeanne Marie’s face. Gregory refused the housekeeper’s assistance, wiping his nose on his sleeve before joining his sisters and uncle at the table.
Tea was generally served in most households after dinner, but since Nathaniel felt uncomfortable partaking of strong spirits in front of his young nieces and nephew, they had begun the ritual of serving the restorative hot beverage in the early afternoon, during his daily visits. At the very least, it gave them all something to do.
It was a quiet group gathered around the table, but miraculously the display of emotion had eased the thick air of tension. Still, the anxious looks in the children’s eyes barely faltered as Phoebe carefully filled the china tea cups.
“If you need anything else, just ring and Sanders will bring it straightaway,” Mrs. Hutchinson instructed. The housekeeper beamed pleasantly, then left.
Once alone with his nieces and nephew, Lord Avery struggled to make conversation. Jeanne Marie’s doll, Lady Julienne, proved a godsend, for he could address questions and comments to it without any expectation of a response. Plus, the children thought it a great game and soon began to smile at his antics and play along.
With a half-smile and a deprecating shrug, Nathaniel took a sip of his weak, lukewarm tea and conceded that the members of his club would think him a total lackwit if they saw him at this moment, conversing with a ratty doll and three infants in the nursery.
But if this brought even a few moments of peace to the children, his foolishness would be well worth it.
Finally, it was time for him to leave. The muscles in his thighs cramped as he stood upright, but he hid his discomfort. The room became eerily silent at his impending departure. He leaned over and kissed Phoebe and Jeanne Marie on the top of their heads, then turned to Gregory.
Somehow a kiss did not seem appropriate for his rambunctious nephew, yet Lord Avery felt he could not leave without showing the child some form of affection. Motivated purely by instinct, he ruffled the boy’s hair lightly, then chucked him under the chin. Gregory smiled approvingly.
The air rushed out of his lungs in a great sigh of relief the moment Nathaniel quit the nursery. For a long minute he waited outside the closed door, staring blindly down the hallway. He took a few steps, then rubbed his neck wearily. Spending just two hours with the children was as exhausting as going ten rounds in Gentleman Jack’s boxing salon.
As much as he craved some fresh air and strong whiskey, Lord Avery knew his afternoon’s responsibilities were not yet ended. He wanted a word with the children’s governess, Miss Reynolds, to solicit her opinion of the children’s well-being.
In fact, it was odd that Miss Reynolds was not in attendance as usual in the nursery this afternoon. Perhaps today was her half-day off?
But when he inquired after the calm, kind middle-aged governess, Mrs. Hutchinson clasped her hands together and shook he
r head. “Miss Reynolds left two days ago, my lord,” the housekeeper reported. “I thought you knew.”
Lord Avery frowned. “I was unaware of her departure. I thought the children got on very well with her. Were they upset when she left?”
“Terribly.” Mrs. Hutchinson nodded her head vigorously. “Thankfully they still have their nursemaids to care and fuss over them. But such an upheaval in their routine cannot be good after all they have suffered. They fairly doted on Miss Reynolds and she took excellent care of them. ‘Tis heart wrenching for these children to be losing so many familiar faces. Why, it has been only a month since they lost their dear mother and father.”
“I assume this is my uncle’s doing?”
“Oh, my yes. Lord Bridwell has made lots of changes around here since he’s moved in,” Mrs. Hutchinson retorted. “And not all of them good.” The housekeeper lowered her head and blushed as if she suddenly remembered to whom she was speaking. “Forgive my bold tongue. I meant no disrespect to his lordship.”
“Of course.” Nathaniel clenched his jaw. “What exactly happened to Miss Reynolds?”
“I’m not one to tell tales, mind you, but I believe Lord Bridwell did not like Miss Reynolds insisting upon certain considerations for the children. He claimed there was some dispute with the governess over her wages, but I find that difficult to swallow.” Mrs. Hutchinson clucked her tongue. “I heard the true disagreement was over the money she was spending on dresses for the girls, shoes for the boy, supplies for the schoolroom and the amount of coal she was burning in the nursery.
“We were all shocked when he sacked her, with no prior warning. Poor thing left without a reference, too. I hope she’ll be able to find another position. She has an ailing mother to support, you know.”
A shadow crossed Nathaniel’s face. Three days after Robert and Bernadette’s funeral Lord Bridwell had arrived in town and taken up residence in the family’s London home. It was a bold initiative, even for the oldest male relative of the family, but Nathaniel had been too immersed in his own grief and pain to give it much thought.
To Tempt A Rogue Page 1
