The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  Pleased with this new development, Oscar stood, circled the desk, and sat himself in Dickson’s place as he began his calculations. The quicker he started, the quicker he could be done and gone.

  Sometime later, a giggle sounded at the door, but when he glanced up he couldn’t see anyone about. Oscar drew out his pocket watch to check the time. He’d been here two hours and had yet to receive that requested cup of tea, or glimpse Mr. Dickson again. Annoyed and thirsty, he marked his place in the ledger with a scrap of parchment then stood, intent on finding the absent factor.

  As he stretched his back, someone giggled nearby within the room he occupied. Curious, he looked about. But wherever the sound came from was a mystery. Perhaps the sound came from the floor above, not in the room with him.

  Shrugging off the distraction, he took a step toward the door, but the sight of grey fabric disappearing under the desk caught his attention. Oscar crouched low.

  A pair of solemn eyes peered at him from beneath the desk. The child was tiny. A drab, little girl whose eyes widened with surprise at being discovered.

  Not wishing to frighten her, Oscar smiled before he held out his hand. “How do you do there, miss? Do you like it very much there beneath the table?”

  “No one would think to find me here, would they?” she whispered so low that Oscar strained forward to hear.

  “I’m afraid they could if they listened very hard. You seem to be in the habit of giggling. The others will hear that if they are searching.”

  Her hands clapped over her mouth. “So that’s how they always find me so quickly,” she mumbled. “Not one of them said a word.”

  Amused, Oscar chuckled and lifted his hand again. “I suspect they don’t mention it so they might be assured of the win. Here, you must consider yourself found. Come out now. Let me take a look at you.”

  Obediently, the child crawled out, and then to his utter surprise she threw herself into his arms. “Are you my Papa? Have you come to take me home?”

  Startled, Oscar set the girl from him and held up one hand. “No, child, I am not your father. I am Lord Carrington.”

  The girl’s face fell at the news. “You don’t look like a lord.”

  “What does a lord look like?”

  The little girl scrunched up her face as she considered her answer. “A stuffy, overdressed turnip.”

  Oscar stood to his full height, displeased by her words. The little girl scurried back under the desk. After everything the charitable society had done to improve their lives, the expense and effort to take in orphans who’d been deserted by their parents, he was appalled that one so young could speak ill of the trustees. He dragged her out again and held her in place before him.

  The little girl shook like a leaf and Oscar instantly calmed. Perhaps the child knew no better than to speak to him in that way, but she needed to be corrected. And now, before she blurted out those words to someone without his patience.

  He sat in the rickety chair so he did not tower above her. “You must not say such things again.” The little girl bobbed her head quickly in agreement, eyes glassy bright as tears threatened to spill. “What is your name?”

  “It’s Mabel.”

  “Well then, Mabel, I think you should not utter those words again. You should not say such mean things to another soul.”

  “But I heard someone else say them. Someone of the quality. I do want to be a lady when I grow up.” Mabel bit her lip as a single tear flowed down her cheek.

  Oscar felt like an utter monster. “I’m sure you will, but those are not the words a lady would speak.”

  “Is Lady Carrington not a lady? Everyone said she was. She said those things about Lord Carter.” Mabel leaned close to his ear. “He pinches.”

  His mother! Heaven help him. “Then stay far away from Lord Carter, but what my mother said was wrong and I shall have a few words to her about it, too. Now, off you go before you are missed. And don’t let me hear you talk like that again about your betters.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mabel skipped toward the door, but stopped at the threshold and scowled at him. “You won’t beat her too badly, will you, my lord? I couldn’t sleep a wink if I got Lady Carrington into too much trouble. She’s too nice to be unhappy.”

  “No! No, of course I won’t beat her.” Oscar rubbed his brow. Since he rarely spoke to children, he found the way this particular one spoke rather disconcerting. “Run along now, Mabel.”

  The little girl hurried back to him, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then scurried from the room. Oscar shook his head. What a peculiar little creature.

  With the girl gone from sight, Oscar rang the bell. After a lengthy delay, a maid eventually joined him. “Can I help you, my lord?”

  “Yes, I’d like a tea tray brought up and Mr. Dickson reminded that I am impatient for his return. Whatever else he is doing can wait.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and then hurried away. While Oscar waited, he inspected the room. From what he’d seen so far, the property was in dire need of maintenance. The paper on the walls of this room needed repair or replacement, and the entrance hall had been decidedly shabby, too.

  Drawing out a little journal from his pocket, he scratched down the details of the repairs required for this room. These matters should be noted to the trustees in his report. He would have to have Mr. Dickson give him a full tour of the place so he did a thorough job of it.

  The maid returned with the tray. China rattled as she set it down awkwardly over the messy table surface. “Excuse me, my lord, but I’ve not been able to locate Mr. Dickson.”

  “Then look again. I’m not inclined to wait around all day for an employee.”

  The maid bobbed another curtsey before hurrying off.

  Really, how hard could it be to locate one man in a building housing small children? He grimaced as he poured a cup of pale tea, obviously reused many times, and then settled in to wait.

  He’d just finished his second cup when the butler hurried into the room. “Forgive me, my lord. I’ve only just heard that you were looking for Mr. Dickson. I am afraid he went out not long after your arrival.”

  “Went out? But the man knew I was waiting for him.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. But he did not say when he would return.” The butler stood rigidly in place, obviously unable to explain more about Dickson’s sudden leave-taking.

  “I will have to make do without. Do let me know immediately when he returns.”

  “Of course.”

  The butler disappeared, leaving Oscar alone with the disaster. Where in God’s name to start? He had the ledger, but those papers really needed to be filed away properly. He grabbed a pile to shuffle them into date order, but one order stood out. Three barrels of rum. What in world did an orphanage need that much rum for? Or any at all.

  Come to think of it, where had the entry for that purchase gone to? It wasn’t in the ledger that he could recall.

  Oscar skirted the desk and flipped the pages in the ledger. March fifth—nothing. He set the bill of sale down and glanced at the next. May twenty-first—fifteen yards of muslin. But no corresponding ledger entry. What madness was this?

  When the ledger didn’t match the purchases of five more items, Oscar grew angry. The place had been swindled of more than a few pennies. No wonder the trustees wanted the place held to account for its spending. Was that the reason for Mr. Dickson’s unexplained departure?

  The only way to be certain of what had transpired here was to find every scrap of paper Oscar could and reconstruct the whole damned ledger. It would take him an age. Much longer than he could hope to hide his activities from Agatha Birkenstock. What would she say if she found out her precious orphanage was under threat of closure?

  ~ * ~

  So this was the tall lord who made little Mabel cry, was it? Agatha gritted her teeth and moved into the small cluttered office. “Just what do you think you’re doing with those papers, Lord Carrington?”

  Oscar heaved a dramat
ic sigh and dropped the papers to the desk. When he raked his fingers through his hair too, Agatha grew impatient. Damn him for his floundering. She wanted an honest answer, not a carefully worded lie. “I am waiting, my lord.”

  “I am sorting through the mess.”

  “That is Mr. Dickson’s chore, if he should ever lower himself to straighten the place. What I don’t understand is why you are here frightening the children.”

  “Do you mean the little girl, Mabel?”

  Agatha set her reticule on the table. “Yes, I mean Mabel. She’s just spent the last ten minutes confessing that you frightened her witless.”

  “Little girls are known to exaggerate. I caught her fair and square, hiding beneath the desk here.” Oscar flashed his charming smile at her, but she was having none of his sly manipulations today, or any day from now on.

  Agatha skirted the desk. “Then what are you doing snooping through the orphanage’s papers?”

  Standing this close to Oscar was perhaps a mistake. She could see how tired he was. The dark smudges beneath eyes that usually held laughter distracted her for a moment. She doubted their parting had affected him this much, and she wanted to know what was wrong with him. What had taken away his sparkle, his merriment in life? His appearance tugged at her heart in a way that couldn’t be allowed.

  “I have been asked by my fellow trustees to assess the orphanage. To see whether the place has a viable future.”

  His response took her breath away. She sagged, dropping her hand to the stacked desk to hold herself upright. This could not be. Why had she not heard a whisper about this before? Or from her grandfather, for that matter. He was a trustee too.

  When Oscar settled a hand to her shoulder she pulled away. She could not let him get close again. Her heart couldn’t take much more anguish. “And what are your findings?”

  “Give me time, Agatha. I have only just begun, and given the state of this room I shall be here for some duration. I am very sorry, Agatha. You may have to see me everyday.”

  “Everyday.” No, that was not to be borne. To see him so often would be a painful, unending torment. When he cast her an apologetic smile, Agatha snatched up her reticule, and hurried for the door. She’d been on the point of leaving when she’d spied Oscar, so she gave him no chance to speak again. The door slammed closed behind her and she rushed for home.

  At home she could scream her frustration where no one could hear. At home she could throw something to rid herself of her need to throttle Oscar.

  How could he invade her world? Her orphanage. Damn him—must he take every dream away from her?

  In the square, she barely missed colliding with a gleaming curricle. At the last possible moment, a stranger caught her arm and prevented her from barreling straight into the side of a passing conveyance. She thanked whoever it was then glanced up at the occupants.

  Of course. Oscar’s future bride barely glanced her way as she concentrated on tooling down the street, but her brother-in-law, Lord Prewitt, looked her way, eyes widening with surprise. Agatha rocked back on her heels and dragged in a deep breath.

  She’d not let her discomposure over Oscar take her life from her too. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back.

  With more care for her surroundings, Agatha crossed the roads and park without further incident. She reached her house and the upper corridor with a semblance of decorum, secure in the knowledge that her grandfather was from home. But the minute her bedchamber door closed and she was assured of privacy, she screamed. Loud.

  “Really, that was hardly ladylike.”

  Chapter Eight

  AGATHA LOOKED UP as Oscar darted into her room through the open window. Despite his flushed appearance and the possibility he’d hurried home to speak with her again, she couldn’t bear to have him here. “Get. Out.”

  “No. I’ll not leave you when you’re this angry. You could do yourself harm.”

  “The only person that stands to be harmed is you, Oscar. Get out of my room. Get out of my life.”

  Instead of complying, Oscar drew closer. “I don’t want to leave you when you’re angry with me.”

  “Angry with you? Why on earth would I be that?” She set her hands to her hips and glared at him. “You’ve had your fun with me, convinced me to let you under my skirts, all the while courting an earl’s daughter. Congratulations. Now you can hold your head up in society around the bucks and bloods you envy. But you’ve invaded the one place I have left.”

  Agatha choked on a sob. She curled her hands into fists and pressed them against her belly. All her plans were in ruins. All her dreams in tatters. If she lost the orphanage…

  “That’s ridiculous, Agatha. You have your whole life ahead of you. One day you’ll marry too and have children, your own children, to nurture. The orphans are simply a passing fancy.”

  Agatha swung her hand at him in anger, but he caught it and held her tight. “How big a fool are you, Oscar? I’m soiled goods. What manner of man should I foist myself upon? I won’t be your mistress. I won’t ever marry. You ruined me.”

  He swallowed, and the movement of his throat beneath his cravat distracted her. “You ruined me, too.” He caught up her other hand and pulled her into his arms. “Of course, you’ll marry. But don’t think I’ll care for the notion.”

  As she stared into his familiar face, fighting against the gentle pull that would settle her deeper into his arms, she grieved anew for the loss of her perfect future. This would be the last time they touched. It had to be.

  “You should leave.”

  Oscar drew her wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss to the delicate skin. Agatha shuddered as desire skittered along her arm. His lips hovered above her flesh, and his next breath across the damp skin forced a whimper from her lips.

  “I know.”

  His gripped loosened and she pressed her hand to his shoulder, but he tugged her hips closer until she could feel the heat of him. With his breath hot against her neck, Agatha gripped his broad shoulder to keep from falling against him. Moments were all it took to lead them astray. Brief moments of touch dissolved the world around them until all that mattered was each other.

  Agatha captured Oscar’s gaze. His eyes were wide and filled with longing, his breath a rapid pant across her skin. On impulse she kissed him, kissed him as she’d longed to do since their eyes had met across her bedchamber.

  Oscar dragged her against him. He shuffled them across the room then tumbled them onto her bed. The rapid, burning pain of denial eased into a heady gentleness of sweet caresses. Agatha slid her fingertips across his scalp, loving the feel of his curled locks between her fingers.

  On a groan, Oscar turned them until she lay on her back while he hovered above. Breath churning, they gazed at each other, neither willing to break the silence with words. Agatha reached for his cravat pin and gently tugged it free. She untied his cravat, let the fabric slide from his neck slowly, as his eyes closed. He was rigid with tension; the arms that caged her trembled.

  With a few flicks of her fingers, his waistcoat buttons were open then his shirt. As she touched her fingers to the smooth expanse of his chest uncovered by her exploration, he gasped her name and trembled anew. With slow, determined tugs she pulled his shirt free of his trousers.

  His arms failed and the heat of his body engulfed her. Agatha parted her legs to accommodate him. Snug and tightly pressed together, they kissed again. Deep consuming kisses which silenced the voices that shrieked for caution, demanding restraint. She’d never managed to deny how much she had desired Oscar in the past, so she didn’t try to fight it now.

  Oscar’s skin burned her fingertips. She palmed the hard curve of his lower waist, digging into the deceptive strength of him, letting her eyes close and hide reality. Oscar nibbled at her neck. He planted soft kisses down the column of her throat and across her chest. His tongue flicked into her cleavage and she arched upward to his mouth, wanting more of his special torment, more of his pleasure.

  He g
roaned and kissed her breast over the fabric then his hot, open mouth found her nipple and he suckled, gown and all. Agatha groaned and threaded her fingers into his hair, keeping him close where she liked him.

  With her other hand, she found the buttons of his trousers and worked them free. Oscar lifted his hips so she could slide her hand beneath the restricting fabric. His hot breath hissed against her skin through the gown then he was kissing her, showing her beyond words how much he desired her.

  Agatha slid her fingers around his length and gently stroked him. He flexed his hips, sliding his cock slowly across her palm, settling into a steady rhythm. Oscar settled his weight on one arm then played havoc with her senses with his free hand. Roughly, her gown was yanked from her shoulder, exposing her breasts to the air. His fingers plucked at her nipple, twisting the peak until she was gasping for breath.

  Agatha opened her eyes to find Oscar watching her body, his face free of whatever doubts had plagued him earlier. Lips replaced fingers at her breast, but he wasn’t finished with his torture. Cool air caressed her legs as Oscar raised her skirts higher and higher.

  When his warm hand touched her thigh, she closed her eyes again, knowing that Oscar’s special brand of torment was just beginning. She wanted him so badly that her whole body shook. Oscar would take his time toward the ultimate pleasure. He wouldn’t rush to finish.

  He grazed her inner thigh with his fingertips. The light touch tickled, so she bent one leg and opened to him.

  Oscar chuckled. “So impatient, precious.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  He kissed her again, gently, but the pads of his fingers moved closer to where she wanted them at a snail’s pace. In frustration, Agatha pushed her tongue into his mouth with more insistence than usual, holding his head close to hers so he could not control everything.

  Finally, his fingers touched her curls. Agatha flexed her hips into his hand, desperate for more. Now. He parted her lower lips, pressing into her body, sliding across her slick entrance.

  Agatha tightened her grip on his length, moving her hand against the rhythm of his flexing hips. When he gasped, shuddering away from her touch, Agatha chuckled. Poor Oscar, he’d taught her his desires far too well. She knew every little devious trick to bring him pleasure too.