The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  “Your wife? No, that’s not possible.”

  Jack scowled and drew Constance tight to his side. “Polly didn’t have time to tell you about the wedding. She and her family are on their way to one of my other estates, and no amount of bully tactics will ever induce them to confide details of my family again.”

  Miss Scaling glanced about her nervously. “The girl is lying. Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Why would you have so little control over your mount that it could endanger someone? Why did Pixie fall into a pond, or come to be covered in that noxious scent you wear?”

  An angry mutter began in the crowd and all eyes bored into Miss Scaling.

  “Pixie? I didn’t touch anyone called Pixie.”

  “Come near my wife again and expect to lose a great deal,” Jack growled, and Miss Scaling did faint in truth.

  Unsurprisingly, Lord Wade caught her.

  Jack turned. “Now where were we?” He wrapped his arms around Constance and squeezed. “I remember this dress. Is it the most daring you ordered?”

  “No,” Constance laughed, draping her arms around his neck and stretching up to whisper. “The white one is transparent even without damping with water.”

  “That does it.” Jack hoisted Constance over his shoulder and slapped a hand on her derrière, but ignored her shriek of protest. “We’re going home.”

  Constance struggled to see past her fallen hair as she choked on gasps of mirth. She had to use one hand on Jack’s backside to hold herself up, and giggled helplessly at the shocked expressions left in their wake. She gave up trying to see and slapped her other hand on his other cheek. Jack’s grunt set her off again, and she giggled until he stopped her with his kisses.

  BROKEN

  The Distinguished Rogues

  Book Two

  Heather Boyd

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Broken

  Copyright © 2011 by Heather Boyd

  LLD Press

  Edited by Mindy Moore

  Cover Design by Heather Boyd

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  For more information visit:

  www.heather-boyd.com

  The past will find a way to haunt you.

  Unrepentant rogue, Giles Wexham, Earl of Daventry, wrings pleasure from every moment and likes his carefree life exactly as it is. During his summer retreat to the country, he becomes reluctant host and nursemaid to his former betrothed, a woman he’d thought long dead, a woman Giles had mistaken for a ghost while he’d found pleasure in another woman’s arms.

  Unbearable pain and laudanum has kept Lillian Winter apart from society since the accident that ruined her life. She’s endured six years of agony at the hands of incompetent practitioners and longs for an end to her suffering. Finding herself in the Earl of Daventry’s care brings surprising relief from her injuries, and a longing for the life denied her. Yet as new-found pleasures lower Lilly’s resistance to the wicked earl, a long-forgotten danger returns to stalk her.

  Dedication

  To NaNoWriMo.

  For prompting me to finish a first draft in under 30 days.

  For my critique group.

  For teaching me how to polish.

  BROKEN

  Prologue

  London, 1811

  IT WAS A rare day when a diversion could interfere with Giles Wexham’s pursuit of pleasure, but the presence of a ghost hovering at the door of Huntley House’s guest bedchamber proved a real distraction for the Earl of Daventry.

  The delicate specter shimmered at the edge of the room, neither writhing nor moaning, but watching with an intensity that would disturb if she were made of flesh and bone. Until now, Giles had never seen a ghost. He had always supposed these visions were the product of a bored mind, but he had to admit that being the subject of a ghost’s attention was not as frightening as he’d always heard. In fact, Giles found it downright arousing.

  The little wraith seemed to float, and he wondered if a strong puff of air would dismiss her. A halo of wispy, white-blonde hair hung around her pale face and cascaded over her shoulders to her waist, disordered, as if just raised from sleep or the grave.

  Delicate lips formed an O as her gaze dropped low. He grew harder, if that were possible. Unaware of their audience, Sabine, his lover for the night, continued to bob on his length. Giles bit back a moan of intense pleasure as the dual attention stirred every sense he possessed.

  Thin, ghostly fingers twisted into the folds of her rumpled shroud as if nervous, though what a ghost could be nervous about escaped him.

  Although he would have liked to prolong the moment, his lover’s efforts were producing pleasurable results. Sabine had her hand cupped around his stones, so Giles gave up on the soulless ghost in favor of the warmth of mouth and fingers.

  He curled his hand around his lover’s neck and closed his eyes to focus, enjoying the wet lips encircling him. Pleasure clutched his spine and he thrust his hips forward, impatient for sweet oblivion to claim him. After four good strokes of hand and tongue, his whole body pulsed and shivers raced down his legs at the force of his much needed release.

  Yet when he raised his lids to view the room, disappointment stung. The ghost had vanished into the night.

  Chapter One

  Summer 1813

  GILES FORCED A smile to his lips to welcome Lord Winter to his country estate in Northhamptonshire. “Winter,” Giles called. “Welcome to Cottingstone.”

  The newcomer scowled. At least the old baron could pretend to look pleased that Giles had broken his rule about receiving a guest at Cottingstone Manor. But no, Lord Winter’s face wore a perpetual frown, just like every other time they had met in London.

  “Daventry.” The older man’s quavering voice, pitched somewhat lower than Giles’, betrayed exhaustion. “It’s been a long time since I was here. The place hasn’t changed much.”

  Giles winced. The tragedy had slipped his mind. “Come, you must be weary. Dinner won’t be served for an hour, but I have some excellent whiskey to soothe you while we wait.”

  The baron crushed Giles’ fist. “Brandy would be preferable in its place—especially today. But first—” Winter returned to the carriage.

  Giles took a step back toward his butler. “Dithers?”

  “I shall switch the decanters when I return to the house, milord.”

  “Do that, and ask Cook if dinner can be brought forward,” Giles murmured. “Lord Winter doesn’t appear in good health.”

  “I don’t believe his health is the problem, milord,” Dithers replied.

  Without another word of explanation, the butler stepped back leaving Giles to ponder to whose health he had referred. The baron traveled alone. His servants all looked a disciplined, healthy bunch. But they moved carefully on the carriage and didn’t speak overloud. The horses were settled swiftly, too. Calm, efficient, eerie.

  As Giles stepped out of the way of a burdened footman, a blood-curdling howl erupted from beyond the house. Every man stopped and stared, not in the direction of the sound, but at the dark carriage they were unloading.

  The steady pounding of paws heralded the arrival of Giles’ ancient wolfhound, Atticus. Judging by the dog’s speed and his whining agitation, something was seriously amiss. In fact, this level of energy from the hound was more than a little surprising.

  Atticus skidded to a stop beside the closed door of the carriage. If the door had been open, Giles was sure the hound would have barged his way in. He ignored the restless horses and stunned attendants to haul his beast out of the way. The dog was heavy and determined to stay exactly where he was, but Giles managed to pull him away.

  Lord Winter stared
at the dog, nodded, and then stepped into the carriage. When he emerged a few moments later, he held a body in his arms.

  Atticus, generally so docile, whined and whimpered, straining against Giles in such a fashion as to cause alarm. Lord Winter adjusted the black-cloaked figure, and the bundle moaned.

  Every hair on the back of Giles’ neck rose. That was a woman’s moan—one in great pain. He renewed his grip on the restless dog.

  Lord Winter moved slowly toward the house, keeping his movements smooth. The grim set of his features showed just how much effort he expended not to jostle his burden. There was agony on that rugged face, too much grief for one man to bear alone.

  With a hitched brow, Giles glanced at his butler but Dithers revealed nothing. The butler scurried ahead to push the main doors wide. Giles followed, imitating the baron’s quiet steps and keeping Lord Winter in sight.

  Just inside the doorway, the baron stopped and bent his head to the bundle in his arms.

  “Atticus.” A voice carried to Giles’ ears, eerily soft and pain-filled.

  Giles only just managed to stop the dog from flinging himself at the woman.

  “Atticus, come.” Again, that voice called his hound, and a pale arm slipped from beneath the black travel cloak to hang limply down.

  Atticus whined, pulling Giles unwillingly forward. The dog reached the woman’s hand, rasping his wet tongue against it. At first, she jerked back, but returned to rub the dog. Since Giles held the beast, he couldn’t miss the shudder that vibrated through Atticus. Giles was stunned by the sensation.

  “Atticus, heel.” The woman spoke again, and Giles tensed as the voice tickled his memory.

  The wolfhound calmed, pulled free of Giles’ slackened grip, and moved along with Lord Winter. Bemused, Giles followed them upstairs.

  Once at the chamber, a nurse, who Giles only now noticed, pulled the drapes, ushering Dithers out with agitated flicks of her hands. After darkening the room, Lord Winter lowered his burden to the high bed, removed the dark cloak, and pulled the blankets tightly around her.

  From his position at the doorway, Giles noticed no more details of the woman, but her identity intrigued him. She knew his dog’s name? What was Lord Winter doing driving across England with an ill woman in tow? Surely, he could have arranged some other care rather than dragging her on what appeared to be a painful journey.

  To his surprise, Atticus padded across the room and stepped onto the dais. Once on the bed, the hound nosed in close to the woman’s hand. Surely Lord Winter would shoo him away, but the woman clutched at the dog’s shaggy coat, pulling the dog against her side.

  His guest said nothing as he joined Giles at the door, so Giles stepped aside to allow the baron room to pass. Winter looked over his shoulder once before closing the door on the woman, dog, and nurse.

  What the devil was going on? Giles rarely entertained guests, but this clandestine arrangement seemed absurd. Perhaps a good dose of spirits and a solid meal would make life at Cottingstone seem normal again. Giles didn’t hold out much of hope for such an occurrence, but what else was he to do?

  After three awkward hours, Giles concluded he was wrong. Spirits and food hadn’t helped. Unease knotted his shoulders. The woman’s voice nagged at the edge of his memory. She was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The man opposite offered no help. Lord Winter had stoically downed glass after glass of brandy and now slumped by the fire in Giles’ drawing room.

  Judging by Lord Winter’s surly responses, the trip had been a bad one. He had only managed to prompt the baron into fitful conversation at dinner. The food had been satisfactory, braised duck with plum sauce, followed by truffles and plum pudding. The company at the table, on the other hand, had been poor.

  The baron had aged in the last few years. Iron-grey hair graced the sides of his head and candlelight reflected off the top. The once proud Corinthian dressed with supremely dull taste, but, given his reputation for constant travel, perhaps that was wise.

  “Never thought she’d survive this long,” the baron began, staring into his glass as he swirled the contents around. “Been years more than I thought she’d have. Dragged her from one end of the country to the other in the hope of a cure, but it has all been for nothing. Quacks and charlatans. Every one of them useless.”

  Lord Winter poured another large drink with unsteady hands. “She was such a bright little thing, always ready with a smile. Full of life. A perfect angel.” He shook his head as if frustrated by his own words. “I just could not bear to leave her behind. You have to be so careful with her.”

  Giles didn’t know what to say, but he inched closer, intrigued by Winter’s words.

  “Too many accidents. Too many mistakes. Her reaction to your hound was the first real response I’ve witnessed in years. I’d stopped believing she was there. It has gotten my hopes up again, but nothing good can come to her now. It’s too late.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can,” Giles said, not knowing if he spoke the truth, but positive he should say something rallying.

  “I wish I could believe that. No man should live longer than his child.”

  It took only a moment for Giles to review the Winter Family Tree in his mind. He reared back. “That’s Lilly?” Giles jerked at his cravat, suddenly hot at the thought of her.

  “Who else did you imagine it might be?” Winter’s composed veneer blurred away fast under the influence of brandy. He sat forward, eyes alight with anger.

  Giles had no answer other than the truth. “I was led to believe that your daughter died, sir.”

  Lord Winter’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “And who told you such a blatant falsehood?”

  As a rule, Giles preferred to speak the truth, but in this case, he hesitated. He did not like to meddle between a man and his wife, but if Lady Winter had spread lies, the baron had a right to know. “I’m afraid your wife informed me, sir.”

  Lord Winter slumped in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up, the baron’s face held pain. “What is a man supposed to do when the mother of his child would rather her be dead?” Lord Winter sobbed on the last word, rusty grief shattering the peace of the room.

  In his entire life, Giles had never been in the presence of a crying man. Drunk, vomiting, or fucking, yes. Occasionally all three on the same night, but never crying. What was one supposed to do?

  Lord Winter cried like a man who had held back years of anguish. Giles sat silently, waiting uncomfortably for the storm to pass. Lord Winter shifted in the chair, finally turning his face away. The man surely had to be embarrassed.

  Perhaps he should pretend he hadn’t heard the sorrow either. Giles rose from his chair, poured Winter another drink, and then hurried to the window to look out into the stormy night. But his body screamed for flight.

  Years ago, Winter’s daughter had fallen from Cottingstone Bridge into the stream that ran, flood full, through the property. She’d only been a young girl at the time, and her injuries were so serious that their betrothal had been severed soon after. When Giles had crossed paths with Lady Winter wearing mourning black she had spoken of her lost daughter with credible grief. Giles had assumed Lilly had died. But why would Lady Winter wish people to believe her daughter was dead?

  Giles had no idea why she would lie so blatantly. It was to her advantage if Lilly married and became a countess. But he wanted no more drama at Cottingstone Manor. This place was Giles’ escape from society. Having the woman once intended for his wife under his roof threatened to ruin his peace.

  Behind him, Lord Winter blew his nose, then clinked glass against teeth as he took another drink. “I know my search for a cure cannot continue. I have to accept that, but I cannot take her home. Living at Dumas would certainly speed her death.”

  The baron paused to clear his throat, as if his words had suddenly stuck. Giles was half-afraid Winter would suggest he still marry Lilly. Surely, God wouldn’t torture them both with such an ill-advised union.

/>   “I have heard there is a place in Wales that might take her, a home of sorts. I have made plans to see it soon, but I do not believe Lillian can handle the journey yet. With your agreement, I would like to leave her here while I inspect the situation and make arrangements. She will be no trouble. It’s why I pressed for the invitation to visit. You see, Cottingstone is on the way. If it is acceptable I will return and take her there as soon as she can travel again.”

  Giles swallowed a sigh of relief, but panic still threatened. “Are you sure it’s wise to leave her in a bachelor household?”

  “I know it is beyond the pale to impose on an old association. I would not consider it normally, but you see how she is. Travel is very hard on her; she can barely stand an hour in the carriage. If Lillian can rest here for a time, she will be stronger for the next stage. The nurse is capable of taking care of her. You need do nothing to entertain her. I hadn’t initially intended to tell her where we are, or that you were in residence, but she recognized the dog and knows your voice it seems.”

  Giles caught his open-mouthed reflection in the night-dark glass and swiftly closed his mouth. Thank God his back was to Lord Winter. Giles hadn’t expected her to remember him; he hadn’t spoken to her since she was a child.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t think of an excuse that would have them both gone tomorrow. Lord Winter had to know of his reputation. His presence could ruin the innocent woman’s good name just by breathing the same air she did, no matter her physical state.

  The baron must be barking mad to consider leaving his daughter without an army of stiff-backed chaperones. It was the grief talking, Giles thought. Come morning, the baron would see reason and change his mind.

  Giles made a non-committal sound, turned to the sideboard, and poured himself a very large brandy. God, he was going to need it. When Lord Winter eventually bade him good night, Giles took his brandy decanter to bed with him.