There is only one woman who can tame London’s most notorious heartbreaker
Anna Barrett is more comfortable filling tankards at the White Heron Theater than shopping for corsets. Her “take no prisoners” attitude has earned her a tough reputation. Where she was once innocent and naive, now she’s vowed never to be ensnared by a man again. Except Robert Alden is not just any man....
Gorgeous, dashing and decidedly reckless, this playwright has left a trail of broken hearts across London. He’s also a spy on a dangerous assignment. Anna cannot help getting embroiled in his mission—even if this seemingly untameable rogue is the last person with whom she should become involved....
God’s wounds, but it was another fight. And Anna was sure she could guess what the cause was, too.
As if theater life was not already unpredictable enough, Anna thought wryly. Robert Alden could always be relied upon to liven things up.
And that was why she was such a fool. She finally had her life orderly again, after the end of a most ill-advised marriage and a blessed widowhood. She helped her father with his many businesses, especially the White Heron, and she loved the challenge of it all. She had no more use for the perils of romance—especially with an actor.
But when she looked at Rob Alden she felt like a silly girl again. A blushing, giggling clot-pole of a girl—just like all the legions of ladies who only came to the theater to watch him onstage.
He was a handsome, tempting devil indeed. One with the magical gift of poetry in addition to his azure eyes and tight backside. Anna refused to be tempted. Her task was only to lure plays from him—those wondrous tales that drew vast crowds and great profits.
But there would be no beautiful words if he killed himself in a brawl....
* * *
The Taming of the Rogue
Harlequin® Historical #1090—May 2012
Praise for
Amanda McCabe
A Notorious Woman
“Court intrigue, poison and murders fill this
Renaissance romance. The setting is beautiful.”
—RT Book Reviews
A Sinful Alliance
“Scandal, seduction, spies, counter-spies, murder, love and loyalty are skillfully woven into the tapestry of the Tudor court. Richly detailed and brimming with historical events and personages, McCabe’s tale
weaves together history and passion perfectly.”
—RT Book Reviews
High Seas Stowaway
“Smell the salt spray, feel the deck beneath your feet
and hoist the Jolly Roger as McCabe takes you
on an entertaining romantic ride.”
—RT Book Reviews
Author Note
In so many ways, writing historical romance is the perfect job for a ‘nerd’ like me! I can bring in many of my history obsessions and apply them to my characters, spend hours reading history books, and watch Shakespeare in Love over and over and call it ‘Important Research.’ What could be better?
Anna and Rob’s story was inspired by a wonderful evening at the new Globe Theatre in London, watching a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I had long been obsessed with the Elizabethan theatre, and this trip was a dream come true—the closest I could come to experiencing a play the way sixteenth century audiences did. I knew I had to write a story set in the thrilling, dangerous environs of the Elizabethan underworld, and Robert, the writer/spy—inspired in part by the brilliant Christopher Marlowe, and by the famous actor Edward Alleyn, who married the daughter of theatre impresario Philip Henslowe—jumped into my mind right away. He was so dashing, and I fell a bit in love with him myself. Sadly, I had to relinquish him to Anna…
I was able to research several aspects of Elizabethan life for Rob and Anna’s story—theatre, Sir Francis Walsingham and his espionage work, life in Southwark and other suburban—and lawless!—neighbourhoods, and the relations between the different classes of Elizabethan London. A backstage tour of the Globe and some books purchased in their shop gave me a very good start.
I also loved looking more deeply into the life of Spymaster Walsingham—one of the many fascinating characters of the Elizabethan era. He spent his life corralling information in a time when such an endeavour seemed impossible, managing a vast network of informants and agents in an effort to keep the Queen safe. He liked to use actors—such as the ill-fated Marlowe—due to their literacy, their powers of observation, their fluid movements, both geographically and socially, and the fact they always needed money.
Walsingham died in 1590, soon after the action of this story, but I enjoyed giving him a role in this tale, as well as his daughter Frances, Lady Essex—who, despite reputedly being rather plain, married first the famous poet Sir Philip Sidney and then the Court heartthrob the Earl of Essex.
And I also loved seeing what happened to Edward and Elizabeth, whom I first met in my Undone short story, To Court, Capture, and Conquer! They set me on this journey in the first place, and I’m glad to see they are still happily in love and having adventures.
Please visit my website—http://ammandamccabe.com—for more behind-the-book history!
Amanda McCabe
The Taming of the Rogue
Other novels from AMANDA McCABE available in ebook format
*A Notorious Woman #861
*A Sinful Alliance #893
*High Seas Stowaway #930
**The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor #943: “Charlotte and the Wicked Lord”
The Winter Queen #970
†To Catch a Rogue #989
†To Deceive a Duke #993
†To Kiss a Count #997
Regency Christmas Proposals #1015: “Snowbound and Seduced”
**The Shy Duchess #1032
††The Taming of the Rogue #1090
And in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks
*Shipwrecked and Seduced
The Maid’s Lover
†To Bed a Libertine
††To Court, Capture and Conquer…
Girl in the Beaded Mask
Unlacing the Lady in Waiting
One Wicked Christmas
*linked by character
**linked by character
†The Chase Muses
††linked by character
AMANDA McCABE
wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class.
She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including a RITA® Award, an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma, with a menagerie of two cats, a pug and a bossy miniature poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook. Visit her at http://ammandamccabe.tripod.com and www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Fi
ve
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Chapter One
London, 1589
God’s wounds, but it was another fight. And Anna was sure she could guess what the cause was, too.
She put down the costume she was mending, and peered over the railing of the upper gallery to the stage below. Morning rehearsal had not yet begun for Lord Henshaw’s Men, and only a few of the players sat there, desultorily running their lines as Old Madge swept up the used rushes of yesterday’s performance. It seemed an ordinary start to a day at the White Heron Theatre—perhaps she had imagined that shout.
Nay, for there it was again, moving closer from the lane outside. A man’s hoarse yell, a woman’s scream. A mocking laugh.
The men on the stage heard it, too, breaking off mid-sentence to turn curiously towards the bolted doors.
‘It seems Master Alden has returned,’ Anna called down to them, her voice calm and steady. Unlike the rest of her. Her hands trembled as she longed to grab Robert Alden and give him a violent shake! And then to drag him close and kiss him…
‘Fool,’ she whispered, not knowing if she meant him—or herself. She had fought hard to impose control on her life, and she wasn’t going to let a ridiculously handsome, troublemaking actor wreak havoc on that.
‘Shall we bring him in?’ asked Ethan Camp, the company’s comedian. He relished a good brawl.
‘I suppose we must,’ Anna said. ‘He owes us a new play, and we’ll never have it if his arms are broken.’
She spun round and hurried towards the narrow staircase, lifting her grey wool skirts as she dashed down the winding wooden steps past the lower galleries, empty and echoing so early in the day, and into the yard which was open to the sky above. The quarrel was louder there, as if the participants played to the groundlings.
But Anna knew too well that if any blood was shed it would not be from a burst pig’s bladder hidden under a costume.
Ancient Elias, the porter, was already unlocking the doors, the players drawing their daggers. Even Madge leaned on her broom, looking on with keen interest.
As if theatre life was not already unpredictable enough, Anna thought wryly. Robert Alden could always be relied upon to liven things up.
And that was why she was such a fool. She finally had her life orderly again, after the end of a most ill-advised marriage and a blessed widowhood. She helped her father with his many businesses, especially the White Heron, and she loved the challenge of it all. The fact that she was good at the work, and was needed, was something new and welcome. She could do her work and hide backstage. She had no more use for the perils of romance. Especially with an actor.
But when she looked at Rob Alden she felt like a silly girl again. A blushing, giggling clot-pole of a girl, just like all the legions of ladies who only came to the theatre to watch him on stage. To toss flowers at his feet and swoon. To lift their skirts for him in one of the boxes when they thought no one was looking.
He was a handsome, tempting devil, indeed. One with the magical gift of poetry in addition to his azure eyes and tight backside. Anna refused to be tempted. Refused to be another of his easy conquests. Her task was only to lure plays from him, those wondrous tales that drew vast crowds and great profits. A play by Robert Alden was always a great success, and ran for days and days to sold-out crowds.
But there would be no beautiful words if he killed himself in a brawl, which Anna feared he might. He had a reputation even in tumultuous Southwark for his temper.
As soon as the doors swung open she dashed through them, clutching the fearsome weapon of her sewing scissors even as she wished she had the short sword she carried when she collected her father’s rents. The actors were right behind her.
Southwark was fairly quiet in the morning hours. A district that made a living in dubious pleasures like bear pits, brothels and taverns—all the things that were banished from within the city walls and into the suburbs—could never easily rouse itself after a long night’s revelry. The thick pearl-grey mist drifting off the river hung over the shuttered, close-packed buildings and the muddy, mucky lanes.
But a few shutters were thrown open, sleepy faces peering down to see what the trouble was. Trouble always attracted attention in Southwark, no matter what the hour. But everyone soon melted away once it was over.
Anna first saw the woman—a buxom female clad in once-bright, now-dingy yellow satin, her matching yellow hair straggling over her shoulders. She was crying, the tears carving streaks in her thick face paint.
Anna’s gaze darted to the man who stood in front of the whore, waving a sword around wildly. A great, portly bear of a man, with a reddened face and thick black beard. He looked quite unhappy, ready to explode, and Anna felt a cold touch of disquiet in her belly. The man was obviously drunk, and that made him even more unpredictable.
Unlike a play, where the script made it clear how all would end. Had Rob gone too far this time?
She turned to face Rob, who seemed most unconcerned by the whole scene. Probably he, too, was ale-shot, but he gave no indication of it. His blue eyes shone like a summer sky, his grin was merry and mocking, as if imminent disembowelment was greatly amusing.
Unlike his opponent, Rob was lean and lithe, with an actor’s powerful grace. His unlaced white shirt revealed a smooth, muscled expanse of bare chest—and a wide smear of blood. He held a rapier, lightly twirling the hilt in his hands as the weak sunlight flashed on its blade and on the gold rings adorning his ink-stained fingers.
Anna knew that he was a skilled fighter. Everyone knew that in Southwark. She had seen it too many times, both on stage and in the streets. The man’s mocking tongue and quick temper were irresistible temptations to brawlers. But somehow this time felt different. There was a tense charge to the air, a feeling of time standing still before crashing down on them.
‘Mistress Barrett!’ Rob said, giving her an elaborate bow. ‘I see you have come to witness our revels.’
‘What seems to be the trouble this time?’ she asked, glancing carefully between Rob and the enraged bear-man.
‘He’s a boar-pig of a cheat!’ the bear-man roared. ‘He owes me money for the lightskirt.’
The woman’s sobs grew louder. ‘’Tweren’t like that. I told you! Some men aren’t brutes like you. I weren’t working then…’
‘Aye,’ Rob said cheerfully. ‘Some of us know how to be a gentleman and woo a lady properly.’
Gentleman? Anna pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Robert Alden was many things—witty, clever, and damnably handsome. Gentlemanly wasn’t one of them.
This was just another quarrel—over payment to a Winchester goose. Yet somehow she still sensed there was more to it. Something else was happening underneath this common, everyday disagreement.
She opened her mouth to argue, turning back to Rob, but just then that strange tension snapped and chaos broke free in the quiet morning. With an echoing shout, the bear-man lunged at Rob, all flailing arms and flashing blades, faster than she could have imagined possible.
His men, half-hidden in the shadows, tumbled after him, shouting, and everything threatened to hurtle over into a full-blown battle. Anna pressed herself back against the wall.
But she had underestimated Rob. Debauched he might look, yet the long night had lost him none of his actor’s grace. Swift as the tiger in the Queen’s menagerie, he sidestepped his attacker, reaching out to grab his arm. Using the man’s bulk against him, Rob flipped him to the ground. A brittle snap rang through the air, causing the bear-man’s minions to freeze in place as he howled in agony.
Rob gestured to them with his blade. ‘Who is next, then?’ he called.
Predictably, no one took that offer. They scooped up their fallen leader and ran away, the sobbing whore reluctantly following them. The sudden explosion of violence receded as fast as it had come.
‘I hope you are content now
,’ Anna murmured.
Rob leaned his palm against the wall near her head, laughing. ‘I am, rather. They ran like the gutter rats they are. Didn’t you find it amusing, Mistress Barrett?’
‘No, I did not. I think…’ Then she saw it. The smear of blood on his bared chest was a thicker, brighter red, staining his rumpled shirt. ‘You’re hurt!’
She reached out to touch him, but he drew away with a hiss. ‘’Tis a scratch,’ he said.
‘A scratch can lead to the churchyard if it’s not seen to,’ she protested. ‘I am the daughter of Tom Alwick, remember? I’m certainly no stranger to wounds. Please, let me see.’
He glanced past her at the gawping actors, reluctant to lose their excitement so fast. ‘Not here,’ he muttered.
‘What? Do you fear having your modesty offended? Fine, we can go to the tiring-house.’
‘I will happily shed my garments for you, Mistress Barrett. You need only ask…’ Suddenly Rob swayed, his bronzed face ashen.
Anna caught him against her, her arm around his lean waist, as alarm shot through her. Robert Alden was never pale. Something troubling indeed must have happened in the night.
‘Rob, what is it?’ she gasped.
‘No one must know,’ he said roughly, his breath stirring the curls at her temple as he leaned against her.
Know what? ‘I will not let them,’ she whispered. ‘Come inside with me now, and all will be well.’
If only she could believe that herself.
Chapter Two
Anna led Rob through the twisting maze of corridors behind the stage of the White Heron. It was eerily silent there, with Rob’s breath echoing off the rough wooden walls. The smell of dust, face paint and blood was thick in her throat, and Rob’s body was too warm as he leaned on her shoulder—as if he had a fever.
Despite her efforts not to worry, Anna couldn’t help it. All her life, with her father and her husband, and now with her father again, she had lived among men of hot and unpredictable tempers. Fights and feuds, duels, even sudden and violent death, were things all too commonplace in the streets of Southwark and Bankside. She had learned the hard lessons of dealing with such men.
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