To Tempt A Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

  “Harriet, what are you doing?”

  She glanced up at him briefly, her face taut with suppressed rage. “Your uncle is a horse’s arse.”

  “You’ll hear no argument from me on that point.”

  “First he tried to bribe me, then he insulted me, and finally he tried to frighten me.” She dumped a smart pair of riding boots unceremoniously onto the carpet and returned to the wardrobe for a second pair of footwear.

  “So you decided to attack his clothing in retaliation?”

  Harriet’s gaze clouded over. “No, I am merely following his orders. Lord Bridwell insisted that I go upstairs and begin packing and for the first time since I have met him, I agreed with something he said. But instead of packing my belongings, I decided to get his ready for a swift departure.”

  A grin spread across Nathaniel’s face. He should have known that Harriet would not be so easily chased away. “Lord Bridwell told me you were leaving.”

  Harriet paused and stiffened her spine. “He thought he could scare me off, the old coot. But let me tell you, it will take far more than an irritating, tyrannical old bugger like Lord Bridwell to eject me from your life.”

  A deep sense of relief swept over Nathaniel. For a long moment he just stared at her. She was magnificent in her righteous anger, with her eyes blazing and her bosom heaving. He knew of course that he loved her, but he knew also that he wanted to take care of her, to be her lover, her husband, her partner in all things.

  “Harriet, I love you.”

  Her hand froze in the act of tossing a neat pile of handkerchiefs into the luggage. “What?”

  “I said, I love you.”

  “I know.” Harriet’s eyes grew soft. “I heard you the first time, but I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

  She threw the linen handkerchiefs on the floor and came rushing into his arms. Nathaniel enfolded her in his embrace, then lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was tender and pure, a promise that at last could be fulfilled.

  It felt heavenly to hold her thus, to declare openly that she was his. He realized in that moment that trying to live the rest of his life without Harriet would be impossible. There would be no true, sustained happiness if she were not with him. Love, in its unselfish state, would forever hover elusively beyond his reach.

  “Egad, I can’t leave the two of you alone for a minute.”

  Nathaniel reluctantly lifted his head. “Go away, McTate.”

  “I can’t. There’s trouble afoot.” The laird entered the room and glanced around in confusion. “What happened in here?”

  “Harriet is supervising Lord Bridwell’s departure,” Nathaniel explained. “She has a unique approach to packing.”

  McTate’s eyes lit with humor. “Hmm, remind me never to get that lass truly angry at me.”

  “ ’Tis sound advice that I intend to follow for the rest of my life,” Nathaniel replied with a satisfied grin. He gave Harriet a last gentle kiss, then reluctantly turned to McTate. “You said there was trouble?”

  “Aye. There’s a man here inquiring after you. Says his name is Brockhurst.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “The name does not sound familiar. Does he claim to know me?”

  “No, he insists he has information of grave importance for you. He’s English, most likely from London and ’tis my belief he’s the runner your uncle hired to find you.”

  “So naturally you admitted him to the house.” Nathaniel exhaled sharply. “I swear McTate, the next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’ve invited the magistrate to dinner!”

  The Scotsman shot him an unconcerned glance. “Never fear, I’ll not allow him to arrest you. It would be a blot on my otherwise sterling character if it were ever known that I harbored such a dangerous criminal within these walls.”

  “Duncan McTate!” Harriet’s voice trembled with indignation.

  “Och, now don’t let your feathers get all ruffled, lass. I was merely joking.”

  Nathaniel, used to the laird’s sense of humor, took no offense. “Where is Brockhurst?”

  “I had the butler show him to the drawing room.”

  Nathaniel groaned. “I left my uncle in there barely a half an hour ago. Where are the children?”

  “Safe in the nursery having a grand time,” McTate replied. “I’ve got servants posted on all the stairways to the third floor. It would take Wellington’s army to get past my men.”

  Satisfied the children were well taken care of, Nathaniel led the way to the drawing room, his uneasiness growing with each step. Within the room Lord Bridwell and the runner waited in complete silence, the atmosphere brittle with tension.

  The grim feelings Nathaniel had experienced earlier strengthened as he faced the two men. A large purple bruise shadowed the runner’s jaw and he wore a rumpled coat that needed to be cleaned and pressed. Lord Bridwell’s expression seemed more haggard than usual, but Nathaniel though that impression might be more his hopeful imagination than the truth.

  “I am Lord Avery. I was told you wanted to speak with me, Brockhurst?”

  The runner nodded. “I do, but first, I have something I need to deliver.”

  Brockhurst reached into his satchel and pulled out a worn, ragged lump of fabric. It received little reaction from the others in the room, but Nathaniel recognized it instantly.

  “Lady Julienne,” he muttered in astonishment.

  “Is it really?” Harriet stepped closer, reaching eagerly for the doll. “Jeanne Marie will be overjoyed. Thank you, Mr. Brockhurst. You have made a little girl very happy.”

  “ ’Tis an honor to be of service, Miss.” The runner briskly pulled a second item from the satchel. “In the course of my investigation I discovered this at your family’s London residence. The letter is addressed to you, Lord Avery.”

  Curious, Nathaniel unfolded the parchment. Harriet and McTate crowded close trying to get a look.

  “It was written by my brother, Robert, a few days before his death,” Nathaniel exclaimed softly as he carefully read the page. “He worries for the future and asks me to care for his children if the fates are so cruel as to take his life.”

  Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut as memories of his dear brother filled his mind. The laughter and pranks of childhood, the secrets and fears of boys on the verge of manhood, the solid companionship and trust of men who shared a true regard for each other.

  Nathaniel swallowed hard, worried that the ache in his throat would produce the tears he had refused to shed. “Even at the end when he was so dreadfully ill, Robert thought of those he loved. He did not fail me nor his children,” Nathaniel said stiffly. “And here stands the proof.”

  Lord Bridwell’s eyes grew round. “ ’Tis a forgery,” he hissed. “A pathetic attempt to manufacture evidence to support your claim of guardianship.”

  “A fake letter discovered by a runner in your employ, Uncle? Even I cannot be that clever.”

  “You could have planted it in the mansion at any time,” Lord Bridwell insisted. “There was ample opportunity.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “To what end? If you discovered it we both know it would have quickly been turned to ash in the fireplace.”

  With an awkward, nervous motion Lord Bridwell held out his hand. “I demand to read this so-called proof for myself.”

  “I’ll have my solicitor send you a copy the moment I return to London,” Nathaniel responded pleasantly as he neatly folded the letter and placed it in his breast coat pocket. Dismissing Lord Bridwell, he turned to the runner. “I owe you a depth of gratitude that will be difficult to repay, Mr. Brockhurst. Along with an apology for that sore jaw.”

  The runner rubbed his fingers lightly over the bruise. “You certainly caught me with my guard down.”

  “I have no doubt the element of surprise gave me the greater advantage.” Nathaniel held out his hand and the runner shook it. “In appreciation of your efforts, I would like to offer you a bonus.”

  “No need for any of that, my lord. My r
eward is a job well done.” Mr. Brockhurst leaned close and lowered his voice confidentially, “and, Lord Bridwell has paid me a handsome fee plus all the expenses of my journey to Scotland.”

  The men shared a private laugh. Then with a final bow and a satisfied expression, the runner left. Lord Bridwell stood in stunned silence for several moments. Nathaniel took advantage of the quiet to issue his final edict.

  “Uncle, since your clothes are already packed, I believe this would be a most opportune time for you to depart. Have a safe journey back to England.”

  The command snapped the older man from his stupor. “You are talking nonsense,” he bristled. “I gave my valet no instructions.”

  “Actually I was the one who handled that particular detail,” Harriet replied sweetly.

  Lord Bridwell whirled around and glared at her. “You had the audacity to give my servant orders? Without my permission?”

  “Goodness, no. I would never be so presumptuous.” Harriet pursed her mouth. “Do you not recall, why, less than an hour ago, you suggested I go upstairs to pack? And I have done just that, with one slight alteration. I have packed your garments. I so hope you approve of my handling of your belongings. Lord Avery and Mr. McTate thought I was a bit harsh and your valet, well, that poor man might never recover from the incident.”

  Lord Bridwell opened his mouth, but closed it without uttering another word. After a moment, he seemed to realize he was staring blankly into the air. With a snort of pure disgust he turned away and stormed from the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him for good measure.

  “You were magnificent, lass.” McTate lifted her up in a giant bear hug and twirled her around twice before setting her back on her feet. “Please tell me you have a sister back home who is waiting for a handsome Scot to come and sweep her off her feet.”

  Harriet’s face paled as she thought of her gentle, fragile sister Elizabeth and the brawny laird. “I do have a sister and she is the most beautiful, most docile creature in the country. Far too delicate to handle a Scottish devil like you, Duncan McTate.”

  “But I want to meet her!”

  “I’m certain she will be at our wedding, but you will only be granted an introduction if you promise to keep your charm to yourself,” Nathaniel declared.

  A crafty expression crept over the laird’s handsome face. “Aye, well, truth be told, there is no need for a wedding, ’cause you are already wed.”

  “What?” Baffled, both Harriet and Nathaniel stared at the laird.

  McTate grinned broadly. “Have you not been traveling about the country telling everyone you are husband and wife?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “We have.”

  “Then it’s done.” McTate gave Nathaniel a sly nudge. “This is Scotland, my good man, not stuffy old England. If you’ve proclaimed yourself married in front of witnesses, then indeed you are man and wife.”

  Harriet felt her jaw lower. “Is he right?” “Probably.” Nathaniel cleared his throat sharply.

  “But it doesn’t matter, because I intend to stand before a priest of the Anglican church with Phoebe, Jeanne Marie, and Gregory, plus all of your family in attendance and marry you properly.” Nathaniel turned to Harriet, held her hands between his own and dropped down on one knee. “If you’ll have me?”

  Harriet almost choked on a bubble of happiness. It was what she had dared to dream and now the reality of it made her giddy with excitement and joy. “Oh, I’ll have you, Lord Avery. And I’ll keep you, too!”

  They were married a month later in the small village church of Harriet’s childhood. Her brother, the Viscount Harrowby, gave her away and her sister-in-law, Faith, planned a wedding feast worthy of a princess. All the local gentry had been invited as well as a few select members of London society. Duncan McTate stood up with Nathaniel, and the handsome laird garnered more than his share of attention from the unmarried ladies in attendance.

  Even Lord Bridwell had attended the church service, though he declined to stay for the reception. He had not given in gracefully to losing control of the ducal fortune, yet he had no qualms about taking the financial settlement Nathaniel offered in hopes of making peace with his uncle.

  Armed with the indisputable proof uncovered by Jerome Brockhurst, Nathaniel’s petition for permanent legal guardianship had been swiftly granted. Though he would never publicly admit it, Lord Bridwell knew he was fortunate to have received anything.

  After the ceremony, the guests returned to Hawthorne Castle for the bridal supper. The house was draped with garlands of flowers and the ten course meal was served on the finest china. Harriet felt guilty about the cost of the lavish affair, but her brother and his wife had insisted she be married with all the pomp and circumstance they could muster.

  Too excited to eat, Harriet had circulated among the guests, her arm tucked securely in the crook of her new husband’s arm. She could not remember a time in her life when she felt such supreme happiness, such hope for a future filled with joy and laughter and children. Her three beloved children by marriage, and she hoped, one day soon, a child from her body to add to the brood.

  She was also greatly looking forward to her bridal trip, which would begin in two days. Flouting convention, she had made the arrangements for a month-long respite herself, and she was eager to share her plans with Nathaniel.

  Later that night as they snuggled together in their bridal bed, Harriet whispered her surprise in her husband’s ear. Amusement flickered across Nathaniel’s face. “There are so many exotic places to travel, so many curious sights to see, yet you want to return to Scotland?”

  Lazily, she curled her body around his. “The children will be staying here with my brother and Faith and I do not wish to be too far away from them. When I mentioned my idea to Duncan he was more than pleased to offer his much-praised Scottish hospitality.”

  Nathaniel seemed skeptical. “Are you certain? I highly doubt Mrs. Mullins’s cooking or housekeeping skills have improved.”

  Harriet laughed. “Not to mention her brogue, though I was beginning to understand her a little better when we left.”

  “Then why Hillsdale Castle?”

  With an impish grin, she twirled her arms around his neck and pressed herself against his hard strength. “Because, my love, that is where this all began!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Adrienne Basso lives with her family in New Jersey. She is the author of five Zebra historical romances set in the Regency period and is currently working on her next historical romance to be published in 2005. Adrienne loves to hear from readers and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.

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  ISBN: 978-0-8217-7624-7

  Copyright © 2004 by Adrienne Basso

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