The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  The maid’s nervousness tainted Agatha’s mood. She turned left at the corner of Dover Street, chiding herself that she knew this route like the back of her own hand. The landmarks between the orphanage and home were distinctive. If she paid the proper attention, instead of panicking as Nell appeared to be, they’d be home as quick as if walking about on a clear, sunny day.

  As she approached the next corner, Agatha’s gaze drifted to the left. A faint glow burned from the windows of a tall townhouse, signifying that some amusement might be underway within. A deep sadness gripped her. Could she hear laughter from Lady Carrington’s house? She slowed her steps. With the thick fog muting all sound but their breathing, it was impossible to tell with any certainty where the laughter came from. Perhaps there was a dinner party in progress. After all, Lady Carrington was very fond of entertaining, and she had her son’s position in society to maintain. The viscountess must be so happy that Oscar had secured such an advantageous match with an earl’s daughter.

  The hot sting of jealously burned through her body. She pushed the sensation down, leaving only her teeth to unclench. Perfect Lady Penelope. Wealthy and titled Lady Penelope. Desirable attributes for the image-conscious viscount.

  The front door of Lady Carrington’s townhouse opened. Dark shapes—a man and woman, judging by their attire—descended the steps and clambered into a waiting carriage. Agatha expelled a sharp breath. She should not be interested in the goings-on of the Carrington family. She was far removed from their business now. Determined to forget them, she started off again, but her eyes strayed to the departing grand carriage, and she wondered who it had contained.

  Agatha stumbled off the pavement onto the Hay Hill crossing and pulled up sharply. Her steps had propelled her faster than she’d thought. Woolgathering on a foggy night was foolish in the extreme. She needed to keep her wits about her in order to avoid becoming turned around.

  Nell clutched at her arm. “Are we lost?”

  “No, of course not. I just stumbled, is all.”

  The maid yanked her fingers from Agatha’s upper arm. Agatha hadn’t meant to snap, but agonizing over past mistakes was a futile endeavor that no amount of tears or self-recriminations could fix. She was angry at her own foolish gullibility, not the maid.

  With that thought firmly in mind, Agatha turned right and hurried along the deserted street, pleased to be almost halfway home. She turned right again and peered into the mist, looking for the next cross street on her left. The comfort of Berkeley Square should be very close.

  ~ * ~

  If ever a man was in need of the understanding and affection from his own woman, then Oscar Ryall, Viscount Carrington, was clear out of luck tonight. He stood amid the chattering gaiety of his mother’s drawing room, his breathing shallow and fast. For just a moment, he had imagined Bartholomew Barrette had entered the room. His pulse raced. His palms slicked with sweat.

  But Barrette was dead.

  Oscar had killed him himself.

  Determined to again push the terror into the quiet recesses of his mind, he skirted the room, searching for better company. A bigger distraction than the inane chatter of the woman he would soon marry would restore his balance.

  However, before he had gone too many steps, a hand caught his arm. “Lady Penelope will do very well for you I think, Oscar. Once she and I become better acquainted, I would enjoy taking her under my wing to ensure she is accepted everywhere.”

  “She’s an earl’s daughter, Mother,” Oscar murmured. “She is already accepted everywhere. She’s very agreeable to everyone else.”

  “She might be accepted everywhere, but she must make a bigger impression if she is to rise with the cream as she should. And she should be agreeable to her future husband too. Does she not please you?”

  The urge to blurt out the truth maddened him. “Of course she does,” he lied. “Forgive me. I am merely fatigued tonight.”

  His mother, a shrewd and determined woman, peered hard at his face. “You said that yesterday and last week, too, at the Belmont Soiree. Are you certain you’re in good health, my dear?”

  Again, he had the urge to blurt out the truth. Only this time he would scream it out loud. He didn’t trust himself not to cause an embarrassing scene in his present state of mind. He’d have to leave another entertainment early again. “There is nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. Leave me be, Mother. It will all come to rights in the end.” Oscar desperately wished that might be so. But the dreams, the remembrances of that fateful night one month ago, only grew in strength until he’d begun to fear for his sanity. When he closed his eyes, he imagined the slow slide of blood across Barrette’s forehead.

  A light touch landed on his arm, and he startled.

  Lady Penelope fluttered her long lashes at him. “Forgive me for the interruption, my lord, but Lady Prewitt desires to take her leave of your mother. She has developed a megrim and requires immediate rest.”

  Oscar forced a smile to his face for his betrothed’s benefit. “Of course, Lady Penelope. It was good of you to come. I do hope your sister recovers swiftly. A sore head is a terrible affliction and can linger for days, I’ve heard.”

  Lady Penelope’s lips turned up in a sudden smile. “They can, can’t they? I will pass along your good wishes.”

  When his mother fluttered off to do her duty as hostess, Oscar scanned the guests. None paid him the slightest attention, so he slipped into the adjoining dining room and listened to the soft conversation in the hall. There seemed to be some debate over leaving. However, he wouldn’t interrupt to smooth their departure. He simply couldn’t face another tedious farewell with the woman he had to marry. Not tonight. Tonight he needed so much more than empty pleasantries.

  Once his betrothed and her family had departed, Oscar slipped along the quiet hall, only noticed by the butler. Quite used to Oscar’s habit of stealthy escape, the butler retrieved Oscar’s hat and cane without a word. Just to be sure that his betrothed had truly left, he eased the front door open an inch and peered outside. Lady Penelope’s carriage remained below the stairs. Oscar snapped the door closed an inch and listened until it finally drew away. He let out a relieved breath and stepped out into the thick fog.

  As if the cloying cheerfulness inside wasn’t bad enough, now he had to traverse through oppressive fog. Hopefully this experience wouldn’t add to his nightly dreams. As it was, almost every encounter, large or insignificant, blended into his oft-repeated dream of killing another man.

  The fact that Bartholomew Barrette’s reason had slipped toward madness remained a cold comfort during Oscar’s lonely nights. He still wondered if there might have been another way to disarm Barrette without killing him. Yet his actions had spared his best friend, Daventry, and the earl’s future wife, Lillian, from suffering any injury that might have resulted in death. He’d had to act quickly to save them. Although Daventry had later embraced him as a brother for his timely arrival and quick intervention, doubt over his actions still filled Oscar with dread.

  Oscar descended the stairs, shoving his hands beneath his arms to calm the shaking. Such jitters caused people to stare and ask questions. Thank heavens he’d hidden his misery while inside his mother’s house. With so many influential members of society gracing her drawing room, any appearance of distress would turn into a fast-running rumor.

  Soft sounds in the distance lifted his head. He peered forward and saw two slight forms moving away from his location. Two more people foolishly abroad on a night better suited to staying indoors and making love.

  Oscar shook his head to dispel the yearning. He was a betrothed man, and as such he’d committed to marrying Lady Penelope. Making love to her was well down on his list of desires. Perhaps he should engage a mistress.

  Perhaps he should run away and avoid the marriage altogether.

  But he was committed. The contracts were signed. The blessings of the ton had rained down upon his head. His future was set in hard, unfor
giving stone.

  He was to marry a woman he didn’t love.

  Oscar set off toward home at a leisurely pace. He had nothing and nobody waiting, so there was no need to rush. Ahead of him the fast footfalls of the women moving toward Berkeley Square echoed off the buildings. Perhaps they were some of his neighbors. But being out on a night such as this was foolish. Dangers hid in the shadows of London.

  A thrill of purpose thrummed through him, and Oscar lengthened his stride to catch up to them.

  Chapter Two

  AS AGATHA NEARED the next crossing, a prickle of heat swept her skin. The unusual sensation caused her heart to race again. Afraid someone was following, she peered behind them. But there was no movement, no disturbance or dark form stalking toward them.

  Nell’s fanciful imagination had indeed gotten the better of her. Agatha squared her shoulders, stepped off the curb, and onto the street.

  A hand closed upon her elbow in a bruising grip. Agatha shrieked right along with her maid. A greasy, cold hand slapped tight over her mouth, muting her cries for help. A man’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist—forcing her hard against a large body. She tried to pry herself free with her fingers but was hoisted into the air. She swung her feet, kicking out at the man who held her until someone else captured her legs. Held captive like a trussed lamb, Agatha was carried deeper into Berkley Square.

  “’Git her purse,” a gravelly voice urged.

  The hand over her mouth slacked, and another fumbled at her wrist. She bit down as hard as she could. Her toes touched the ground as her assailant cursed. But instead of releasing her as she’d hoped, Agatha’s attacker changed his grip, winding an arm about her neck and squeezing.

  “Do tha again, and I’ll let you have a taste of something else of me, ye vixen. Sommat I’ll enjoy more tha you will. Be still.”

  Terrified, she obeyed the command. She didn’t want to provoke them so far that they’d fall upon her like ravenous beasts. Perhaps if she stopped fighting and gave them what valuables she had, they’d let her be. She hoped Nell did the same. Agatha whimpered her agreement.

  A grubby, toothless face appeared before her from the mist and she shrieked in surprise, recoiling against her captor.

  Behind her, the brute chuckled. “He isn’t a pretty sight, is he?”

  The other man cackled, but then ripped Agatha’s reticule from her wrist. Toothless stuffed it down his gaping shirt front and reached toward her chest. Agatha whimpered again, desperate that Toothless not lay his hands upon her.

  The arm at her neck tightened, lifting her chin until she had to stretch to remain touching the ground and keep breathing. “We git our payment one way or tuther. Ya got plenty to satisfy me without touching ya scrawny hide. There be a chain about her neck. Git it, too.”

  Rough fingers slid up Agatha’s chest and her necklace was snapped from her neck. Her eyes watered as the rough fingers returned to bite cruelly into her breasts.

  Toothless leaned close. “You’ll come ta like tha, missy.”

  The air to the right of her whooshed, and a loud male groan of pain rang through the square. Was Nell fighting against her attacker? She’d hardly believe the girl capable of defending herself. But if she was, then there might be hope for them both. Agatha fought against the hands that held her as more grunts echoed through the square.

  But then all fell silent. Agatha’s attackers turned to face the threat, dragging her with them as a shield. “This one’s ours. Be off with you,” her attacker warned, pulling her against his chest, but stepping behind the toothless man for protection.

  The square remained silent.

  Toothless turned to them, uncertainty clear in his movements. Her assailant shuffled and then backed away as a dark arm appeared from the mist to wrap around Toothless’ throat. He disappeared into the mist, a desperate gasp of breath the only indication that he was still near. Then nothing. Silence. Toothless didn’t reappear, but a loud thump echoed around them.

  Agatha whimpered as the brute holding her tightened his grip on her neck. He shuffled back a few steps, turning her every which way as he sought the location of Toothless’ attacker. Another loud crack broke the silence. The brute holding Agatha stiffened and then she fell, slamming hard into the ground. A heavy weight fell upon her and she scrambled away, rising to a crouch quickly to see what was happening.

  The sounds of fighting grew louder. She couldn’t see more than the blur of dark shapes coming closer then disappearing again as fists hit flesh. Agatha didn’t know which way to turn. Nothing made sense in the gloom. She scrambled to the left and ran her hands over the ground, feverishly searching for a weapon she could use to defend herself.

  Just as her fingers closed over a thin, hard stick, a loud thump signaled the demise of one of those fighting. Agatha curled as small as she could and clutched the stick with both hands.

  “Now the odds are even, you bastards,” an unfamiliar male voice growled. “The type of men who attempt to accost women in this neighborhood are vermin with a very short lifespan.”

  A sickening grunt signaled someone had landed a good blow and Agatha cringed as a low moan of pain rang out.

  “What I don’t understand,” the speaker continued, “is how you can bear the knowledge that you’re good for nothing but the beating I’m giving you. When you hit the ground, I suggest you stay down. I truly don’t need much more of an excuse to thrash you senseless.”

  Another blow sounded, and then two more. After each punch, the groans grew in volume. She covered her ears. There was one more sickening thump, and then the fighting sounds stopped.

  She stayed where she was, barely daring to breathe lest attention turn in her direction. Someone large moved around in the fog, but she couldn’t tell who. She tightened her grip on the stick. A muffled groan and scuffling some distance away hinted that her attackers had quite given up in the face of this unknown brawler’s intimidating presence.

  “I’d slink away too, you worthless excuse for men,” the deep voice muttered from close by. Agatha jumped as the sound grated along her nerves. She’d never heard such masculine aggression before.

  “Accosting women? Come into this square again and be prepared for more than bruises. You know, maybe you should come back. I’m still of a mind to beat better manners into you.”

  The distant sounds quieted, but the stranger moved around in the dark park, his boots shuffling across the earth. Agatha shivered, more wary of this one man than the two villains combined. There was something strangely familiar about the way he talked while trouncing her two attackers. It wasn’t so much the words he spoke, but the way he said them sent shivers racing across her skin.

  “Now, where did you go? You had better come out before they come back. Devil take it! Where did I drop my cane? It should have been right here. Have you picked it up?”

  Agatha bit her lip to stop herself from answering. She had a cane in her hands. That explained the smooth wood. She inched her fingers along the shaft until she found a solid, cold metal lion’s head. That was good. That could hurt. She adjusted her grip so she could use it if necessary.

  “Are you still not going to speak to me?” The stranger blew out a loud breath. “I had hoped we could get around this little problem, but not even risking life and limb will please you now, will it? You have the cane, don’t you? And you’re planning on clobbering me with it? I suppose I do deserve a good beating from you, but do you think we could do it somewhere more private?”

  How did he know she had the cane? Where was home? She was all alone in the dark with a strange man who could read her mind. Even the fact she had a weapon in her hands did not make her feel very confident. The attack had completely turned her around.

  And there was Nell to worry about. She needed to find out what had become of her maid. Had she managed to escape and return home for help?

  Silence stretched between them.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  The concern in the stranger’s
voice surprised her. She started to stand, hopeful that her pale gown was still hidden beneath her darker cloak, keeping her invisible to the stranger. When she was upright again, she took a tentative step backward. Gravel crunched beneath her boot. She froze.

  “So, you’re not hurt. You just don’t want to talk to me.” The stranger groaned as Agatha took another step back. “You do know you’re going the wrong way, don’t you? Your house is to your left. And another thing, what the devil are you doing out here alone? A foggy evening is not a safe place for you. Actually, when I think of it, nowhere is particularly safe for you, especially alone. What were you doing walking home without a proper escort? Your grandfather will be livid.”

  Agatha froze as she tried to place the bitter voice. It was familiar, but she’d never been introduced to someone as cheerless as this. She had to get away.

  “Agatha, stop, or you will hit the—”

  “Ow.” Pain sliced through her head as she encountered something hard. She clutched her head with one hand and the tree with the other, letting the cane slip through her fingers.

  “Tree,” he finished. “Are you still upright?”

  “Yes,” Agatha supplied angrily, appalled by her clumsiness.

  “She speaks! I think I need to sit down, but perhaps not in the middle of Berkley Square. Your friends might come back at any moment, and they may bring reinforcements.” Gravel crunched as the speaker drew closer. “While defending your person is my greatest delight, my knuckles already sting quite a bit. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to apply my boxing skills. Although, I must say, they were not very sporting about it. I don’t believe they know the rules of proper behavior. Two against one is hardly fair. At least my arrival at your side improved the odds, but I should have caught up to you sooner. Forgive me.”

  The regret in the stranger’s voice startled her. Whoever he was, he sounded as if he believed he had a responsibility to protect her. Well that was certainly untrue. She didn’t need a man in her life. Not anymore.