The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  She laughed, a sound of pure joy, and he wondered if it was for him or merely for the beautiful morning, or because they were both alive and in each other’s company.

  Her eyes sparkled at him. “Why indeed?” Without another word, she took up her pace once again along the riding path. Gerrit followed suit, nudging Royal forward with his heels.

  Hester kept her horse at a canter, preferring to ride than indulge in conversation. She’d rather not dwell too deeply on how happy—a word hardly adequate to describe what she was feeling—she’d felt when she’d seen Major Hawkes on the riding path.

  In the days after his departure from Thistleworth, she’d had time to realize how foolish her awakening feelings for the major were. She’d observed enough of his sister’s way of life and that of her friends to see how little she belonged to their world.

  Would the major’s world be any different? Of course not. Hadn’t he himself striven to make her see that? If she’d wanted to disbelieve it, it was only because of her foolish fancy. Didn’t the Lord teach clearly not to be unequally yoked with another? Even her mother had frequently cautioned her in her letters to guard her heart.

  But Hester’s growing resignation that her feelings must be put aside had taken a drastic reversal the moment she’d seen Major Hawkes in his sister’s London drawing room. To see him this morning in the Park, to know he’d made the effort to come out so early to see her filled her with such joy that she could hardly contain it.

  She didn’t fool herself that his sentiments were any deeper than they’d been at his sister’s house party. If they were, he wouldn’t have left the way he had, without even a farewell.

  Deeply grateful, nevertheless, for this temporary gift of his company, she determined to enjoy it to the fullest and not think too closely of the moment when it would have to end. For now, she was content to ride and laugh with him as they talked of inconsequential things.

  From that morning followed a week of early-morning rides. The major met her each day at the same place, except Sunday, when she’d told him she’d be going to church. They never prearranged it; upon parting, the major would simply say that maybe he would “run into her again.” Hester saw him at no other functions, although plenty of invitations appeared in her mail since her return to London. These she attributed to Lady Stanchfield’s patronage.

  To keep her mind off the future, she kept her calendar full, taking Mrs. Bellows with her on her calls. Although Hester couldn’t help looking for the major at each ball or rout, it was in vain. Often, he would ask her about her activities, and she amused him with anecdotes.

  One morning when they rode as far as Kensington Gardens, the major suggested they dismount a moment to view the ducks gliding along the Basin. Walking along the edge of the water, he turned to her. “Delia says you’ve taken London by storm. She tells me all the young ladies want to emulate your popularity with the gentlemen.”

  She gave an inelegant snort, not breaking her easy strolling gait. “All they have to do is gain some skill at athletic games…and never find themselves alone with any one gentleman.”

  He glanced over at her. “Have any more of them been making a nuisance of themselves like Billingsley?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all, but then, I am more careful now…thanks to you.”

  “Have you seen the marquess?”

  “I catch sight of him now and again, but I steer clear of him.” She giggled. “And he of me. I don’t know if seeing each other is more painful for him or for me.”

  He smiled back at her, and she was captivated by that smile that dimpled his cheek and reached deep into his eyes. “I daresay the memory is something that will forever cause him mortification.”

  The two remained silent a few moments. She was startled by the major’s question when he next spoke. “Surely among the cream of London’s crop you have found one young gentleman worthy of your notice?”

  She hesitated. “No-o,” she finally answered.

  “You don’t sound too definite. Surely there is one?”

  She could feel her face grow warm under his scrutiny. She turned back to her horse. “Major, you’re incorrigible.” Ned helped her remount. As she guided her mare back onto the path, she called over her shoulder, “You won’t be satisfied until you have me married off to an Englishman, will you?”

  He laughed and saluted. “I’m nothing if not persistent.”

  She joined in his laughter, although it was a bittersweet sound to her ears, and nudged her horse into a trot, feeling the Major watching as she rode away.

  After that conversation, Gerrit had to ferret out the truth. He had to find out who had managed to win Miss Leighton’s affection. He began to fling out names of young bucks at her and to each she would laugh and shake her head, which only challenged him the more.

  As they sat on the banks of the Serpentine, throwing sticks into the dark water, he brought the subject up again. “I bet you have finally managed to snag that title and are too ashamed to tell me.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no titled gentleman has offered for me. Papa and I must swallow our disappointment.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Mama will be devastated. She had her heart set on my marrying a lord. A mere baronet would have served the purpose.”

  He forced a jovial laugh. “There’s still time. Whole fortunes have been determined on an evening’s round of cards.”

  “Your confidence in me is flattering, but I fear not one of them will marry a mere cit.” She shook her head sadly.

  “That has been no impediment to a number of lords and baronets. Even a mighty duke has been known to succumb to the allure of a fortune.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. I can set about ruining a titled gentleman for you at an evening’s game of faro, and by next week, he’ll be asking for your hand.”

  She fell silent a moment until he wondered if she had taken him seriously.

  “By next week, time may have run out.”

  He looked at her, wondering now whether she was the one serious or still playing their game. “Why is that?”

  She turned away from him and stared out at the water. “Papa told me this morning he’s ready to sail back to America.”

  Gerrit swallowed. How could one simple sentence have the power to tear at the fabric of his existence? His carefully controlled nonchalance? His devil-may-care attitude?

  She was watching him now, that steady measuring gaze that always threatened to see too much. Gerrit tooled his features to reveal nothing of the gaping chasm opening up within him. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t tear his gaze from hers.

  He saw something so pure in her eyes that it scared him. It wasn’t the desire, wanting or grasping he was familiar with, just a profound depth of feeling, which asked nothing in return.

  What could she read in his eyes? Desire? Want? Or just a profound need? Nothing pure, all selfish and self-interested.

  “When are you leaving?” he finally asked, pulling away from her gaze and concentrating on the murky pond in front of him.

  “By next week sometime.”

  When he said nothing, she added, “Papa has concluded the bulk of his business. It only remains to load the final cargo.”

  “Yes, quite.” He gave a deep sigh and looked at her again. “And his other business? Finding a suitable husband for his eldest daughter?”

  She gave a choked sort of laugh. “Oh, that. Well, he can’t have everything.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, convinced now she must feel heartbroken over someone.

  “Surely there is one young man of the ton you favor.” He strove for lightness. “As I said, I can still bring you a duke to heel.”

  “Your concern is flattering, but I fear such a husband wouldn’t suit me. I could not respect a man who wooed me solely for my fortune.”

  “Of course you couldn’t.” He kept his smile in place, imagining what it would be like to lose Hester Leighton’s respect. A deep da
rk hopelessness engulfed him.

  “I really should be getting back,” she said, rising to her feet and shaking the skirt of her riding habit.

  He stood at once. As they walked back to their mounts, he asked, “Are you looking forward to going home?”

  Before mounting, she turned to him, her hand on the pommel, “Yes, in many ways. But I can hardly bear the thought of never seeing you again.”

  Once again, he was riveted by her direct gaze. This time there was no misinterpreting it. It was a woman’s love he saw in her eyes. He knew enough of the sentiment to recognize it.

  He swallowed and before he could stop himself, said, “I can scarcely imagine it myself.” His voice came out half-whisper, cracked, low and unsteady, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes filled with tears, until one, then two began to overflow and run down her cheeks.

  He felt as if someone had punched him. How his body strained to close the gap between the two of them and crush her to himself!

  But he refused to let go and give in to his baser instincts. If he did, he knew he would regret it, and more importantly, so would she.

  For she would eventually see, in the not-too-distant future, past his facade and would come to despise him. He would know firsthand what it would mean to lose Miss Leighton’s respect. He didn’t think he could survive that.

  At least now she thought of him as an amusing companion, a dashing soldier…a friend. It was the best he could hope for.

  So he took out his pocket handkerchief, the one Crocker had handed to him this morning, neatly folded and starched, and patted the tears from her cheeks.

  “Will…you continue to be my friend?” she asked in a small, hesitant voice.

  He smiled, feeling tenderness well up inside him, a sensation he thought never to feel again. “I shall always be your friend.” That, at least, he could promise.

  “And forget this silly schoolgirlish display and treat me as before?”

  He put away his handkerchief, damp with her tears. Later, at his leisure, he could take it out and put it against his mouth. “It’s not silly, and of course we shall continue as before.” What kind of an insensitive brute was he? But it could be no other way.

  Her eyes still glistened. “You were my only friend in London.”

  His heart squeezed at the simple, sweet declaration. “A privilege I regard highly.” Keep the tone light.

  She smiled a watery smile and he managed a smile in return.

  “Now, up you go,” he said softly. “You mustn’t be late for your next engagement. There is no telling how many dukes will be awaiting you.”

  As the days grew closer to her departure, Hester’s anguish also grew. She prayed and paced her room, but deep inside she didn’t know how she could leave without letting Gerrit know how much she loved him. Maybe the reason he never shared his feelings with her was that he felt unworthy because of their differences in fortune. She did not want that to be the reason.

  As far as spiritual matters were concerned, she was still in a quandary. How could she leave him when she still felt he needed so much more than the society he was in could offer him? Where was he expected to hear about the Lord among the company he kept?

  She broached the subject with her father. She’d always been able to talk to him about anything, but this time, he replied curtly that “Major Hawkes is typical of the society which spawned him—spoiled, indolent, in short, the last man I’d want my daughter to lose her heart over.” Hester bit her lip, shocked at her father’s vehemence. This was not the merciful man she knew, who had helped many an unfortunate to start over and make something of himself.

  Hester was surprised, yet heartened, to see Major Hawkes at a ball a few nights after their ride in the park. She felt as if the Lord had answered her prayer, giving her another chance to talk to him. She’d let his nonchalance put her off in the park. But now, she felt the evening would bring her courage.

  With her father on one side and Mrs. Bellows on the other, she didn’t know how she would get a moment alone with the major. He didn’t approach her immediately, yet whenever she glanced across at him, she noticed him looking her way. He didn’t dance. As at that dance so long ago, she had the impression he was there expressly for her.

  Finally, when Hester was getting desperate, afraid her father would suggest at any moment that they should leave, Major Hawkes came up to her as a new set was beginning. After greeting both her father and Mrs. Bellows, he asked her for the dance.

  “Yes, I should like that,” she replied, trying to tell him with her gaze how glad she was to see him.

  As he was leading her out to the dance floor, she turned to him on impulse. “Major Hawkes, would you mind very much if…if we didn’t dance?”

  He lifted a brow in question. “Are you unwell?”

  Her eyelids fluttered downwards. “No, not at all. It’s just, I was wondering…” She looked up at him. “Might we…take a stroll in the gardens instead?” There, she’d been bolder than she’d ever been with a gentleman. She waited, hearing only her thudding heart.

  If he felt any surprise, he didn’t show it, but murmured, “Of course. Come.” He took her arm and weaved through the crowd. She wondered if her father were watching her and how she would explain it to him afterwards.

  They walked in the cool night air. She didn’t ask where he was taking her nor did she notice where they were going. She felt no fear or hesitancy the way she had with Lord Billingsley. All the contrary, she felt safe and protected.

  They stopped and only then Hester bothered looking around. It was a sheltered space, away from the noise of the ballroom. The major led her to a stone bench.

  “It was a bit stuffy in there, wasn’t it?” he asked after they were seated.

  “Yes, very.”

  When he said nothing more, she took a deep breath, glad for the semidarkness to hide the flush of her cheeks. “All this time you’ve gone over any potential suitors—you’ve poked fun at them, you’ve described their attributes and faults to me. Why haven’t you ever courted me yourself?”

  If her question took him aback, he made no show of it, but answered almost immediately, “Because you are good and I am evil.”

  She stared at him, struck by his directness. “Don’t be silly. You are always hiding behind that mask of rake, but I’ve seen nothing except kindness in your behavior toward me.”

  “What does the Good Book say? What has light to do with darkness? You think I’m harmless.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “How little you know of me.” He held out his hands, palms up in a gesture of frustration. “Don’t you understand how many men I’ve killed with these? They’re covered in blood. So many young Frenchmen killed. For what? So that I can enjoy an idle, useless life here in the London salons?” He turned away from her with a bitter laugh.

  “But that was in battle. You fought honorably to defend your country—”

  He turned back to her angrily. “Honorably? Tell that to the scores of young men not yet twenty years of age who lay on those battlefields.”

  How could she reach him and help heal the pain he carried? “You did what any good soldier would have done.”

  “Precisely. A good soldier maims and kills, and after he’s beaten his enemy, he plunders his wealth and uses his women.” His eyes glittered in the dim light. “Or perhaps you can understand this scenario more clearly. Like Billingsley, I took up a challenge once to seduce a young lady.

  “Unlike you, she wasn’t even of age. She was only seventeen. But none of that mattered. I wanted her and would let nothing stand in my way.”

  Hester swallowed, suddenly knowing she didn’t want to hear the rest. “Why—why didn’t you offer for her?” The question was out before she could stop herself, driven by the need to know in spite of her fear.

  “She was of the finest pedigree and had quite a fortune. Her parents would never have countenanced a match with me.”

  “But…if you loved her?”

  “That
had little to do with anything. I merely fancied her.” His lip curled in a sneer. “The chase is all that matters to most men, my dear sweet innocent. So, I did everything in my power to seduce her.”

  When she said nothing, but continued to stare at him, wanting so much to believe in a good ending to his tale, he continued. “I took her most valuable possession.”

  She blinked, her heart racing. Was he really saying what it sounded like? Could he really have done such a vile thing?

  “Do you not understand me?” He leaned down to her and grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. “I took the one thing more valuable to her than her name and all her wealth.”

  “Why?” she whispered, knowing there had to be more.

  “Simply because it amused me at the time.”

  “C-couldn’t you make it right?” she stammered out, feeling sick.

  “Of course I could have, but I chose not to. I preferred becoming a soldier and seeking glory on the battlefield.”

  “But you came back. Couldn’t you have married her then?”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I’d clean forgotten her existence and enjoyed countless women in between.” He looked away from her, as if the next part filled him with more shame than the first part of the story. “She had not forgotten me. She’d given me her heart and I could still have taken it.” He glanced back at Hester and now she read pain in his eyes. “You see, she still loved me, scoundrel that I was.”

  “So…why didn’t you make things…right?”

  “Because she was already married.”

  At Hester’s sharp intake of breath, he continued, a hard smile stretching his lips. “Probably an arrangement by her parents. The joining of two old, prominent families. But for some inexplicable reason, despite all my unfaithfulness to her, she still fancied me and offered herself to me. Her marriage wouldn’t have stopped me, of course—”

  “What did stop you?” she pressed on, knowing there was more.

  He shrugged. “Divine providence?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “No, I suppose you could say it was her husband. He was an honorable man.” He looked down, letting go of her arm. “A gentleman. The type of which I had never met before. This man defended her honor in the most quaint, time-honored way. He fought for her. And won.” He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. “Do you see what I am now? I’m nothing but a bloody rogue. I pick and choose women as I go along, then discard them when I’m tired of them. Billingsley is a gentleman beside me.”