What's a Rogue Got To Do With It (Rogues of Redmere Book 4)

by Samantha Holt

  “I need to get to Northumberland,” he explained gruffly.

  “Is this something to do with Julianna?”

  “In a way.”

  Her defiant posture softened, as he knew it would. His sister and Louisa were as close as siblings themselves. If she thought Julianna was in danger once more, she would let him go without a fight, surely?

  She pursed her lips, drawing his attention to them. There’d been too many times he’d thought about those lips and wondered at their softness and taste. Wondered if any man was ever lucky enough to feel them against his skin. As far as he knew, Louisa had no time for lovers—for which he was grateful—even though he tortured himself with those thoughts out of habit. He smirked to himself. When had he ever done any different? He deserved a lifetime of torment for his sins, as far as he was concerned.

  “Well, then,” she said gently, lowering the bag from the defensive position in front of her.

  Knight released a long breath. He let his shoulders soften. But before he could say anything, she shoved past him, threw her bag at the unsuspecting footman who fumbled to catch it, and flew up the steps into the coach.

  Opening his mouth, then shutting it, he straightened once more. He should have known Louisa would not give up without a fight. He thrust his head through the carriage door to see her settled against the plush velvet seats. She smoothed down her skirt then offered him a serene smile.

  “Bristol is on your way and will not add to your journey,” she said reasonably.

  Knight gripped the doorframe until the wood bit into his palms. What was he going to do? Haul her back to the inn over his shoulder? He could if he really wanted. It would be easy. Despite her inner strength and her ability to throw the occasional punch when bar fights broke out, she was no match for him. She’d weigh little more than a grain of sand to him.

  Jaw clenched, he glanced over her. She met his gaze, unblinking. He eased his grip on the doorframe and grunted. “Fine.”

  Her smile expanded, satisfaction lighting her expression. She quickly quashed it and turned her gaze to her hands that she twined in her lap. He stepped away to give instructions to the driver then climbed into the carriage, his weight making it rock as he settled onto the seat opposite her.

  Though it was not the first time he’d travelled in the earl’s carriage, he had never done it alone. The interior was fragranced with delicate flowers that had been placed in holders by each door and small cushions trimmed with some sort of intricate pattern that his sister could probably name were propped on each seat in matching dark blue fabric. Curling a lip, he took one and shoved it aside to enable himself to settle properly onto the seat.

  Setting his gaze on the inn outside, he watched it vanish into the distance as the driver followed the road that led over the cliff tops and toward the next town. He stole the briefest of glances at Louisa when he noted her fingers tugging at the ribbon that dangled from her bonnet down to her lap. Regret itched his gut.

  Louisa never left the inn. Ever. In his years here, she and the inn had been one and the same. Everyone knew the tavern was practically her lifeblood. If he was a better man, he’d reach over and take her hand or say something comforting. Whatever reason she was going to Bristol, she was going reluctantly.

  Perhaps it had been about whatever Julianna was going to tell him. He’d forgotten she’d tried to tell him something before he’d interrupted with the news of their father.

  The scent of the flowers mingled with the clean fragrance of Louisa—a soapy aroma that he’d recognize anywhere. He blew out a breath and shoved open one of the windows, allowing in an aggressive gust of wind. Curls ruffled around Louisa’s face and he exhaled again, slamming the window shut. He’d have to suffer or else she’d freeze.

  “It will be about two days to Bristol. The driver knows of a place to stop and rest the horses.”

  She nodded, attention fixed on the ribbon she’d looped around one finger. Several beats of silence passed. Normally, he loved silence. Sleeping on the streets or in busy inns, even out in the countryside while battle roared on around him had made him appreciate every moment of quietness. But not today. He did not like Louisa’s silence one bit. What was so urgent in Bristol that it was doing this to her?

  He shook his head to himself. If he were Drake or Nate, or even Red on occasion, he’d be charming her in an instant. But he was not like any of them. His rough life meant little time for women, and they avoided him anyway.

  “Why do you need to go home?” she blurted out.

  He was surprised Julianna had not mentioned anything to her but it was clear Louisa had her own problems. He frowned to himself. Or else his sister knew of Red’s plan for them to travel together and had deliberately concealed the details of their separate journeys.

  “My father died.”

  Her mouth formed a silent ‘oh.’ She unfurled the ribbon from her finger. “I am sorry.” Creases appeared between her brows. “At least, I...” She trailed off and glanced at his hand.

  He looked down and realized his knuckles were white from his clenched fist. He released it.

  “After what he did to Julianna, I cannot grieve for that man.”

  “Is Julianna well? She did not mention anything to me.”

  He shrugged. “I do not think she grieves for him anymore than I do.”

  Louisa tucked her bottom lip under her teeth briefly. “Grief is a funny thing, though.”

  Knight would not tell her he knew grief all too well. That there were men out there he felt a lot more for than his father. Whose deaths deserved grief.

  “So you are returning home for his funeral?” she pressed.

  Not if he could help it. He was not sure if any arrangements had been made, but he would do what he must and leave as soon as humanly possible.

  “I am going to settle his debts.”

  “Oh.” A hand went to her mouth. “You are a viscount now!”

  He snorted. The title meant little, especially now it had been tarnished by his father’s actions. Decades of legacy were gone, and as far as he was concerned, he had little duty to it—his father made sure he was aware of how unqualified he was to be a titled gentleman. He had to agree now. He was no more suited to the life of a gentleman than Drake was to a life on land.

  “I am a penniless viscount. It means little.” He eyed the passing countryside, empty save from the occasional sorry-looking tree and gray boulders lumped in piles from one of the many abandoned copper mines.

  “So I do not need to call you ‘my lord?’” she teased.

  He gave her a look. The last time he’d been addressed as that had been the day he’d left home, when his valet had packed up his belongings and expressed sorrow at his being thrown out. These days he was about as far from a lord as a man could get.

  “I suppose not.” She smiled. “I hear Northumberland is beautiful, though. It might be nice to return home.”

  “It is beautiful,” he admitted.

  And it was one of the reasons Cornwall had appealed to him. They were both home to that wild sort of rugged beauty that a man could get lost in. There were no huge, bustling cities, filled with smog and dirt and noise.

  It would not be ‘nice’ to return home, however. He had no idea what sort of greeting he could expect after more than a decade away, and he dreaded to think what state the estate had been left in. He’d be lucky to return to more than a ruin.

  “Why the need to go to Bristol?” he asked before she could question him more about his estate and family. “You do not have family there, do you?”

  She shook her head. “I have no family. Well, at least I do not think I do. A man arrived in Penshallow last night, claiming to be Jack’s son.”

  “He’s dead.”

  Louisa nodded. “He says the news of his death was a mistake and that he was not harmed but had been living and working in Bristol for some time.”

  Knight rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “The Army is known to report men miss
ing when it’s simply a clerical error. Such is the mess of war.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “You know from experience?”

  He ignored the question. Few knew of his time in the war. Even Red had the bare minimum. Well aware of the rumor circulating about his history, he was happy to keep it that way. If folk thought him a terrifying criminal on the run or the son of a famed pirate, so be it, and it forced them to keep their distance, he was more than happy for those rumors to persist.

  “You do not believe he is who he claims he is?” he asked.

  She wrapped her arms about her waist. “He wants the inn, Knight.”

  “Like hell.” The words came out hard and forceful, like a punch landing just so.

  Louisa chuckled. “I almost said as much.”

  “Your stepson has returned and wants your inn?” he clarified.

  “Indeed.”

  “But you do not think he is your stepson?”

  She gave a rueful smile. “It could be wishful thinking. However, it was odd, his sudden return. He said he learned of his father’s death and had decided there was no sense in coming home previously. From what little I knew of Ralph, that does not sound like him. Jack had many letters from him, and he’d been a dedicated son and happy at the news of our engagement. I know because I had to go through them all after Jack died.”

  Knight had to look away and fix his gaze unseeingly on the countryside. The thought of Louisa having to deal with the death of a husband and the running of an inn alone at a young age created uncomfortable sensations in his chest. Sensations he did not wish to linger over.

  “Did he have proof that he is Ralph?” he queried.

  She pursed her lips. “He had a letter from his father, and said he had more evidence at his lodgings.”

  “A letter does not mean much.”

  “He has the deeds too. Or so he claims. I cannot help but think if he has returned to claim the inn as his, he must have enough to ensure his claim cannot be questioned.” She sighed.

  “Or he could be taking a gamble that you would not fight him on it.”

  Her gaze shot to his and that helplessness faded, replaced with the fire of determination. God help him, it made him want to lean forward and drag her into his arms and kiss her until she was warm and supple and had forgotten every worry.

  “I will fight him on this. I intend to find out who he is for certain.”

  Knight nodded. “Good.”

  “He says I have two weeks,” she muttered.

  “Two weeks?”

  “To leave—”

  Her words were cut off as the carriage slammed to a sudden halt, flinging her forward. Knight instinctively grabbed her, his body taking the brunt of her fall. She flattened her palms against his chest and looked up at him. Every muscle in his body tensed. The air in the carriage grew weighted, making him feel as though he waded through water just to make his next movement.

  Shouts from outside snapped his attention away. He cursed under his breath and pushed Louisa back. “Stay here.” Reaching for the pistol on his belt, he hastily loaded it, cognizant of Louisa’s wide-eyed stare. He pressed his face to the side of the carriage and peered out. Just as he’d thought.

  “Highwaymen,” he muttered.

  Chapter Six

  “But—”

  Knight was gone before Louisa could utter another word. He slipped out of the door with surprising stealth for a man of his size. Pressing her head against the side of the carriage like Knight had, she could view the two men in front of the vehicle, presumably making their demands. Her mouth dried, and she had to force herself to swallow.

  Where was Knight? Oh Lord, they were all going to end up dead. She could not see him at all. He must have slipped around the carriage somehow.

  None of the highwaymen were on horseback and the carriage was manned by two footmen and a driver, so they outnumbered their attackers, but these men carried weapons. One had a pistol while the others had blades.

  The driver possessed a gun surely? And Knight had his pistol. Cornwall was known for its dangerous roads thanks to its barren stretches of land, and with plenty of places to hide from any kind of retaliation, holding up travelers was an effortless way to make profit.

  They would be sorely disappointed with her lack of riches, however. And disappointed highwaymen were dangerous.

  One of the men lifted the pistol up to the driver. A squeak escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. She leaned farther forward to get a better view and spied Knight coming up from the side, his pistol drawn and pointed at the gunman. Louisa allowed herself a slow, shaky breath. Knight had likely dealt with many a crook. He would have no trouble handling these men.

  A hand thrust through the window and a cry escaped her as she darted back, grubby fingers almost snatching a fistful of hair. She scrabbled back on the chair when the door flew open and a face thrust in the door. His gapped smile mocked her, and he lifted a sizeable knife, motioning with it.

  “This way, if you will, my lady.”

  She glanced around the confines of the cabin. There was no escape, and she could not tell what was happening outside any longer. She slid herself off the seat, gaze set on the blade that the man taunted her with.

  Moving slowly, she climbed out of the carriage, hands raised. She forced her body to stiffen in an attempt to cover how her limbs shook. The man grabbed her, constraining her against his body with an arm banded about her waist. The knife glinted menacingly by her face.

  “Step back,” the man holding her ordered Knight.

  Knight’s gaze met hers, and she frowned. She saw no defeat in his eyes, no frustration. Coolly, he took a pace back and lowered the pistol he had pointed at the other man. Louisa quickly took in the situation, pushing herself to calmly calculate what was happening—just like she would were it a fight at the inn or some other fracas. The man with the pistol kept it centered on the driver. The two footmen had their hands raised and were near the second man who watched them.

  And the third man had his blade dancing close to her cheek. She drew in a shuddery breath. One wrong move and he could slice her with ease. If she could only figure out how to get away from that knife. If she threw herself down to the floor, that might do it, but it was a risk.

  She met Knight’s gaze again, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She scowled. Surely he could not understand what she was thinking? She implored him with her gaze to give her another sign of some sort but he’d turned his attention back to the lead man.

  “All you need to do is give us yer coin, and we’ll leave yer be.” The gunman jerked his gun at the driver. “Tell yer driver to get down and we can get this over with.”

  Knight nodded. “Johnson, will you come down, if you please?” Knight glanced back at Louisa and mouthed something.

  She realized, as she threw herself hard to the ground, it was now.

  A shot rang out. She lifted her head to see the man who’d been holding her clutching his arm as he staggered back. Blood seeped from between his fingers and he dropped onto his rear, his face ashen. The blade fell from his grip and clattered onto a rock. Louisa scrabbled forward to grab it and peered around at Knight while she clutched the handle of the weapon in both hands in an attempt to stop it shaking.

  Before the gunman let off a shot, Knight raced forward and used his brute strength to drive the man to the ground. He was weaponless within moments and knocked senseless with two punches. The third man dove forward, his weapon thrust out.

  “Knight,” she cried out in warning, but too late. As Knight swung around, the blade tore through his clothes. Knight’s face contorted, and he swung a fist at the man, propelling it into his gut. The man collapsed and gasped and flailed like a fish out of water. Knight finished him off with a quick kick to the head and his eyes rolled back.

  It happened so quickly, Louisa hardly had time to process it. She remained crouched on the ground, her grip on the blade handle so tight that her fingers started to ti
ngle. Knight strode over, a hand held out, but her arms were stiff and her legs felt like liquid.

  “You are safe now,” Knight said.

  It was all she needed to hear, somehow. She let the knife drop from her aching fingers and took his hand. The warm, callused touch eased through her body, enabling her to come to her feet and draw in the first full breath she’d inhaled since the men had set upon them.

  She peered back at the man cradling his arm. “You nearly killed him.” Not far to the left and the man would be dead.

  “I missed,” Knight muttered.

  Louisa met his gaze. No wry amusement crinkled his eyes. His jaw was set, his dark eyes hard as stone. Sometimes she thought there was more to Knight than a ruthless henchman, but times like this proved her wrong.

  “You did well,” he told her. Knight motioned to the driver. “Let’s get moving.”

  All three men were out of commission. The one who held her captive remained kneeling on the floor, his hand clamped over his arm. With the others senseless, it was clear they were no longer a threat.

  “But your back.” Even from where she was, she could see blood staining his clothing.

  Knight shook his head. “It’s a scratch.”

  She snatched his arm and forced him to twist away so she could view the torn layers. The knife must have been sharp as it had sliced through his jacket and shirt. She peeled apart the fabric and grimaced.

  “It is not deep but it needs cleaning.”

  Knight shook his head again. “That can wait. I have no intention of remaining here any longer. We have no idea if they have any accomplices. These sorts travel in large groups.”

  “And here I thought all the stories were of lone highwaymen.”

  “Any lone highwayman is a fool and would be dead the instant he held up a vehicle.” Knight snorted. “Not much of a story.”

  She eyed the cut again and quickly untied the fischu from around her neck. “Stay still,” she ordered and pressed the fabric through the slice in his clothes and against the cut. He hissed.