The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  He hurried along the deserted corridor, dragging the purer air deep into his lungs. Here the noise of the crowd was muted, most patrons having found their seats already, and he reached his friend’s box without interruption.

  “You wasted no time,” Daventry exclaimed as they shook hands.

  “Of course, how could I miss paying my respects promptly when Lilly attends the theatre?”

  Smiling, as always, Lilly turned so Oscar could take her hand and squeeze. Marriage agreed with her. Or more precisely, marriage to the Earl of Daventry agreed with her. She looked radiant in red. Lilly returned the pressure, but her eyes swerved back to the crowds after a bare moment.

  “I see I’m not an interesting enough companion tonight?” Oscar noted wryly to Daventry. He was hardly offended by Lilly’s preoccupation. He liked Lilly. Until recently, she’d had very little to do with the world, being confined to bed for much of her recent life. Her transparent fascination with the theatre brought a smile to his lips. She was refreshingly natural and deeply in love with her husband. A fact that he’d long since grown used to, but he still couldn’t quite help being amazed that Daventry loved her so deeply in return.

  Daventry laughed. “Go easy on her. She’s never been to the theatre before. My butler mentioned you appeared quite disappointed we were unavailable this morning. What can I do for you?”

  Daventry sat in silence while Oscar related his conversation with Leopold Randall, revealing his identity to the only man he trusted not to repeat it. His eyebrows quirked a few times, but other than that, he didn’t interrupt. Knowing his friend never rushed to offer advice, Oscar waited, keeping his eyes on the crowd and stage, ignoring how his friends hand moved restlessly on his wife’s leg. Clearly, marriage hadn’t interfered with his fascination with the opposite sex.

  Oscar envied Daventry his happiness.

  Across the theatre, Oscar’s future wife sat as remote as marble, staring at the stage and languidly fanning herself. At her side, Lady Prewitt appeared less sedate. Her posture was one of tense disapproval. Oscar wondered if his quick exit from the box had offended her or if her mood was triggered by something else entirely. Lady Prewitt caught his eye and a slow smile replaced her displeasure. Oscar looked away. He didn’t want to encourage her.

  He had to find something to admire in Penelope before the wedding day. She sat with an elegant poise, a far greater degree of decorum for one so young. At nineteen, she outshone many of the debutants coming out in society, but she’d never rival Agatha’s pull on his senses, and he feared she’d never match Agatha’s claim on his heart.

  A brief smile flitted across Penelope’s face, an expression he was quite unfamiliar with. What could possibly provoke such a reaction? Oscar glanced at the stage. The heroine was dying, lying at her assailant’s feet and pleading for mercy. The play tonight was a tragedy, yet when he glanced at Penelope again, his future bride was grinning with an almost giddy delight. Oscar scrubbed a hand across his jaw, confused by the sight.

  “I’d be inclined to believe the man if he thinks his life, and those of his siblings, are in danger,” Lord Daventry acknowledged. “The Romsey’s are a dark breed of men, despite the fair complexion. There’s years of unsubstantiated rumors floating about them. Randall is right to distrust.”

  “Hmm, I was convinced of his sincerity too, but I’ve not much idea of how to go about an investigation without alerting the entire House of Lords that a Romsey spare has been located. Randall was very adamant to keep his whereabouts secret. Luckily, he never mentioned where he’s staying so I’ve not the worry of lying to contend with.”

  “Smart of him.” The earl rubbed his hand along his wife’s leg again and she turned, a smile pulling her lips into a delighted expression. Devotion, adoration, love. Daventry was a lucky man. The earl’s fingers slipped to his wife’s chin and stroked along her jaw. “Come and see me tomorrow. We can go over it all again and discuss where to begin your enquiries. Make it later in the day, around one.”

  Oscar nodded. “One more thing. I’ve a mind to purchase an estate in the country.” He glanced at his betrothed and found her head bent to hear whatever witty repartee Lord Prewitt refused to share with his wife. Frustration welled in him again. “Something greater than a day’s carriage ride from Town. Would you be aware of anything suitable, by any chance?”

  The earl glanced across the theatre where Penelope sat listening to every word her brother-in-law uttered. A frown turned Daventry’s mouth down as if he’d tasted something bitter. “That should annoy Lord Thorne nicely. Unfortunately, nothing springs to mind this very instant. But we can discuss what you want in a property tomorrow, too. Come for luncheon. I believe Lilly has invited Agatha for the afternoon.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. Agatha would want him to keep away, but with the earl and countess as chaperones, they might be sociable without any scandal attaching to the event. He’d have to keep his hands, and other parts of his anatomy, to himself, but he would be able to hear Agatha speak.

  “I’ll see you both at one o’clock. Lady Daventry, a pleasure to see you again.”

  Lilly beamed, but her eyes soon turned back to her husband. Oscar slipped out of their box before things got too heated between the earl and his new wife. They made love at the drop of a hat, a handkerchief, or her pretty grey eyes. Daventry couldn’t have made a better choice in marrying Lilly.

  The corridor was deserted. Oscar ambled back to his box, in no hurry to return to his guests. Outside he paused, drawing a deep breath of scented air into his lungs before rejoining his party. What he wanted to do was turn around, return home, and climb in through the window of Agatha’s house. He wanted her in his arms with a powerful ache.

  Last night her heavy breathing and quiet, watchful presence, safely tucked inside her bedchamber, had soothed him. But he’d been moments away from leaping the railing. If she’d spoken up, offered him any encouragement whatsoever, he’d have done his best to climb into her bed again.

  Oscar parted the curtain and let his gaze fall on Penelope. Her whole attention was focused on the stage, but then he noted her arm hanging awkwardly down beside her chair. Puzzled by the odd posture, he inched into the box. Thanks to Prewitt’s broad shoulders, he couldn’t see what she was doing. Prewitt was watching her though. He was sure of that. Oscar took another step, letting the curtains close behind him, encasing him in the dark shadows of the box. But he must have made some sound for Prewitt turned, a dark flush upon his skin. Penelope’s shoulders squared, and she lifted her hand to fan herself with the same languid ease of earlier.

  Prewitt said nothing, but he shuffled in his chair as Oscar sat, his face fixed upon the stage once more. The feeling of intruding surfaced again and he wondered just what he was getting himself into. Although he did his best to quell the increasingly bitter taste in his mouth, he decided it might be in his best interests to keep an eye on his betrothed and her brother by marriage. There was an odd connection between them, one he’d never noticed between other siblings. It was almost as if …

  Oscar shoved the thought aside and forced his eyes away. He was simply looking for excuses to get out of this marriage. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. His gaze settled on Penelope and Lady Prewitt again. For all Penelope’s languid fanning, Lady Prewitt was a stark contrast. She appeared blindingly happy at his return. He returned her smile and shuffled to get comfortable in his chair for the endless night that was the theatre. Given that the chairs were drawn uncomfortably close together for his long legs, he stretched one out in front of him and kept his attention to the stage.

  Something touched his leg. He glanced down at his limb, peering into the shadows. Another touch and then he realized that Lady Prewitt was strumming her fingers along his leg. Shocked, Oscar withdrew his leg. The lady returned her hand to her lap. How odd!

  How bizarre.

  How utterly disgusting!

  What the hell kind of family was he marrying into?

>   Chapter Seventeen

  OSCAR STOOD AS the ladies entered Lord Daventry’s drawing room. He held his breath as his gaze settled on Agatha’s stiff-backed posture. Today she looked elegant in plum muslin, no insipid prints for her, but her eyes flashed with anger at his being here. She might be put out with him, but it was far too late to plead another engagement.

  Lillian swept past him in a rustle of green silk and let Daventry gather her in his arms. “Did you have a pleasant morning, sweetheart?” he whispered to his wife as his hands roved over her back and dipped lower.

  Oscar looked away, giving them privacy. Unfortunately, his gaze settled on Agatha. His former lover was looking anywhere but at the newly married couple too. Oscar crossed the room, keeping the kissing couple hidden behind his back, to stand before her. More than anything he wanted to take her into his arms. She must have read his intentions because her body swayed back a little.

  Rather than embrace her, he glanced over his shoulders at the married couple. “They can be a little inconsiderate in displaying their affections at times, but I do think passion in a marriage must make for a comfortable life.”

  “They are happy,” Agatha whispered back.

  Their eyes met and held. “That they are. But I’ve never met a couple so prone to forget they have company.” Oscar spoke the last words with greater strength, hoping the kissing couple would hear them and end their embrace.

  Lilly giggled. “My apologies again, Lord Carrington. Giles brings out the worst in me.”

  Oscar turned and smiled. “From what I’ve seen, you are quite the matched pair. And please, it’s Oscar.”

  Lilly quirked her eye at Agatha. “Perhaps we could be informal, today. I do find it quite agreeable. Do you mind, Miss Birkenstock?”

  “Whatever the countess commands is perfectly agreeable to me.” Agatha laughed as Lilly rushed her, stepping away from the countess’ mock fury. “All right, all right, Lilly it is.”

  The two women embraced quickly, but then Lilly linked their arms. “Gentlemen, we are to eat informally today. Luncheon will be served in the rose room in less than half an hour.”

  “Of course,” Oscar murmured.

  Lilly’s pain returned more quickly if forced to dine formally for every meal. To compensate, and keep her happy, Daventry dined very informally. Society would be shocked if they knew the earl and his wife forced their guests to eat while reclining upon the pillow-strewn floor.

  With a saucy wink for her husband, Lilly dragged Agatha from the room.

  “They get along well,” Oscar murmured, missing Agatha the minute she disappeared from sight. Their steps disappeared along the hall and then all grew quiet again.

  Daventry clapped a stunning blow to his shoulder. “They are the best of friends. I am happy Lilly has some feminine company from time to time.”

  Oscar turned, catching an odd expression on his friends face. “I should have thought you’d want her all to yourself. I’ve often felt in the way.”

  Daventry grimaced. “Believe me, I’m grateful for any distraction.”

  “You are? Why? Are you not as happily married as you seem?”

  Daventry raked his fingers through his hair. “My wife is impossible to resist.”

  Oscar couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. The most debauched rake in London, tamed by a mere slip of a girl. The idea would be absolutely absurd if he wasn’t certain it was true. The Earl of Daventry was a smitten man—deeply devoted to his wife and faithful to a fault.

  “Don’t laugh. Lilly wants a child.”

  Oscar sank onto the arm of a chair, nonplussed. “And you don’t?”

  The earl didn’t answer at first. He seemed hesitant to confirm or deny Oscar’s question. He turned away and his hands raked through his hair again. He gave the ginger locks a harsh tug and then turned. “I do want children,” the earl whispered. “It’s just that Lilly is . . . “

  “Delicate.” Oscar finished for him when he couldn’t seem to end his sentence. Of course that was a worry for any man. But in Daventry’s case, his fears for Lilly might have some validity. From what he understood, Lilly’s condition had altered drastically once the earl had got his hands on her, quite literally the same night. His skill at seduction had reduced her pain significantly, but a birth—he didn’t know how that would go, either.

  “Have you spoken to Lilly about this?”

  Daventry dropped into a chair and pressed his head into the seat back. “No. I don’t want to say anything that might disappoint her. She’s had enough of that already.”

  At some point close to when Lilly and the earl had become reacquainted, Lilly’s family had given up on her recovering her health. That she was well enough for rational conversation and not deeply drugged by laudanum was entirely thanks to Daventry’s inappropriate and scandalous behavior. Oscar drew in a deep breath. What Daventry needed was advice: advice from females who would forgive any blunt and indelicate questions, but not gossip about him later. He needed his family. But his mother was dead these past years and his sister a veritable shrew who’d make a fuss.

  “I doubt anything you do would disappoint that woman, but you should talk to her about your fears.” Daventry didn’t look convinced. “At least, consider it. In the interim, should I approach my mother for advice for you? She’s always nattering on about women’s complaints. She’s from Town at present, but she returns tomorrow.”

  Daventry bowed his head. “She’s invited to tomorrow night’s dinner. Did you know?”

  “Actually, no. If I catch her as she arrives home, you might be able to have a quick word to her in private without Lilly realizing. Who else is coming?”

  Daventry, if it were possible, looked decidedly uncomfortable as he rattled off the acceptances.

  Oscar pushed to his feet, quite prepared to bolt from the house. “My God. What were you thinking?” Both his former lover and future wife were to dine together in the same house, on the same night, at his best friend’s table. It would be a catastrophe. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

  Although, when he thought about it properly, his current life was as much a nightmare as it could possibly be. Daventry grasped his arm in a tight grip. “I couldn’t convince Lilly of the problems, and I forbid you to make the evening more difficult for her. She’s a bundle of nerves as it is.”

  “Was Agatha informed of the guest list?”

  “Agatha has helped Lilly plan the dinner party, right down to the seating arrangements. She knows exactly who’s coming and didn’t say a word.”

  Daventry gave his arm a rough shake then set him free. “We’ll muddle through. Somehow.”

  Oscar settled to a chair. Agatha was in for an uncomfortable night. Didn’t Lilly care about her at all?

  The luncheon bell rang out and Oscar’s stomach fell with the last bell. No wonder Agatha had been angry, but if he’d known, if he’d understood what Lilly intended, he might have had better luck convincing her of the harm her plan could bring.

  Daventry hurried from the room, no doubt heading for their informal luncheon. But Oscar lingered, trying desperately to work out what he could do or say to make tomorrow night less of a trial for Agatha. Unfortunately, his mind had completely blanked of witty, clever, or even desperate suggestions.

  Maybe he should have stepped between Bartholomew and Lilly and let him pull the trigger. The pain of death might have been brief, but it would have been far preferable to the hell he had to live. Anything would be better than his current life.

  A timid tap at the door snapped his head up. Agatha stood waiting, fingers curled around the door frame. “You left me alone with them.” Her face was grave, but her eyes sparkled in amusement.

  “Sorry.” Oscar dragged himself to his feet and walked the few short steps until they stood side by side.

  Her blue eyes widened. “You really are unwell.”

  When her hand rose to cup his jaw, he closed his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He had the sudden urge to confe
ss every single fear he possessed, to tell her about the endless nightmare of his dreams. But he couldn’t do that here. He didn’t want his friends to realize how badly he was affected. Agatha’s thumb brushed across his lower lip. He drew in a ragged breath, tears causing a sting to his eyes at the tenderness of her touch. He didn’t try to deny her accusations, didn’t try to reassure Agatha that he was well, because he had an inkling he’d started down this path the moment he’d let her go.

  Agatha’s hand pressed to his chest and he stepped back, eyes still closed. He couldn’t help but react physically to Agatha even if he wanted to. His prick thickened, straining from just her light touch. Tomorrow night’s dinner would be awkward in the extreme if he couldn’t control his desire for her.

  The sound of the door closing and the lock snapping shut opened his eyes. Agatha had locked them in. She stood with her head turned slightly to the side, eyeing him with concern. He tried to pull himself together, but regaining his composure was beyond him. Agatha’s arms slipped around his waist and she hugged him against her. He folded, adjusting his height a little so they rested more comfortably together, her legs wedged between his widespread ones, his lips inches from her skin.

  Agatha’s hands skimmed his waist, thumbs sliding over his waistcoat, fingertips burrowing under the band of his trousers. The warmth of her touch set his body aflame. He fought it, striving to keep his wits about him in a sea of desire. Agatha breathed deep and then lifted her face to his.

  Their lips touched without effort. Warmth pressing them together, desire making their bodies as restless as the wind. Agatha slipped her tongue past his lips. He let her be the aggressor. As much as he wanted her, he could never force her to act so recklessly in her best friends’ house.

  He should stop her.

  But Agatha’s fingers were digging beneath his clothes restlessly, tugging at his clothing with impatient hands. His shirt came free of his trousers and Agatha’s hands scorched his flesh.