In Bed with a Rogue

by Samantha Grace

  The Scot offered a gruff “At your service,” and trudged along with his burden. “What do you intend to do with him?”

  “Return him to Mayfair where he belongs. To Thorne Place on Savile Row.” She would see him safely under the care of his family, and her search would have to resume the next night. “Am I to assume you didn’t find Lavinia?”

  “No, I dinna, but do no’ worry yourself. We’ll find her.”

  His voice lacked conviction, and she tried to keep despair from creeping up. She and Fergus hadn’t been searching long. Only two weeks. But it seemed they were no closer to finding any of her sisters than she had been hidden away at Aldmist Fell, observing the proper mourning time.

  When they reached the carriage, her driver grunted a greeting to Fergus. The clansmen had a strange way of communicating, but she had grown accustomed to their habits after years of living at her husband’s estate. She held the carriage door open.

  “Take care not to bump his head.”

  Fergus grimaced. “Are you certain you want him inside? He’s covered in mud.”

  “I am aware, but unless you wish to carry him all the way to Mayfair, there is no other choice.”

  That settled matters quickly, and Fergus dumped him on the carriage floor. The baron roused long enough to release a string of curses damning the servant’s manhood before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Helena arched her brows at Fergus. “Well, that saves me the trouble of taking you to task for carelessness, I would say.”

  “Aye, that it does, milady.” He took the lantern from her and grinned. With his assistance, she climbed inside and stepped over Lord Thorne to settle on the bench.

  Fergus eyed the baron crumpled on the carriage floor taking up the majority of space inside. “I’ll be on the box with Robert. Signal if he wakes.” He closed the door, shrouding the interior in darkness. When the carriage jerked forward, the motion elicited another miserable moan from her passenger.

  When a wheel hit a rut and his head knocked against the floor, she winced. It was bad enough the baron had taken a beating from the footpads. He didn’t need additional bruises courtesy of her assistance.

  She opened the curtain to allow for light, slid onto the floor, and arranged his head on her lap to cushion any further blows. The scent of ale wrinkled her nose. Perhaps his addled state had more to do with overindulgence than injury, at least she hoped.

  She had never made Lord Thorne’s acquaintance. He didn’t attend the assemblies, but she couldn’t blame the poor man. Invariably, details of his jilting were on gossips’ lips at balls, garden parties, and every at-home. Helena had begun to feel she knew him personally, and her heart went out to him.

  She wiped his lips clean with her handkerchief and sighed wistfully. Such a lovely set of lips. If a duke’s daughter had jilted him, Helena wanted to see his competition. Lord Thorne was quite possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen, even caked in mud.

  He mumbled something in his sleep. On instinct, she smoothed a hand over his hair. “Shh, you will be home soon.”

  Perhaps if circumstances were different, she would ask for a proper introduction. She shook the thought from her head. No, she wouldn’t. Sebastian Thorne was trouble, and she didn’t need trouble getting in the way of her finding her sisters and giving them a better life now that she was free of her husband.

  The carriage rolled to a gradual stop, and the door swung open. Fergus filled the doorway. With his face in shadow, she couldn’t see his expression, but she thought she had heard a small gasp. She supposed she’d shocked him by touching the baron, but there was nothing inappropriate about the situation.

  “He didn’t wake,” she said. “Perhaps he requires a doctor.”

  “His family will summon one if need be.” When the Scot grabbed Lord Thorne’s arms and tugged, the baron’s head rolled back. Fergus tossed him over his shoulder again. “Thorne Place is around the corner. Robert will take you home, and I’ll wait out of sight to make certain his household discovers him.”

  She scrambled to her feet as Fergus turned. “Wait!”

  The servant raised a bushy brow in her direction. She had no idea what she wanted or why she had called out. It was just… Well, something inside of her wasn’t ready to let the baron go yet.

  “Do not let anyone see you.”

  Fergus flashed a cockeyed grin. “That is part of the plan, lass.”

  Two

  Sebastian’s thoughts were preoccupied with angel’s wings and harps as he drifted into consciousness. More precisely, he was thinking the angel from the mist had possessed neither wings nor a harp, which meant his savior had been no angel at all.

  From the feel of the thick mattress beneath him and the familiar sounds of the house settling, he wasn’t in heaven either. He was in his bedchamber. God only knew how he had gotten there.

  He smacked his lips. His mouth was dry, like someone had shoved a wad of muslin in it. With eyes still closed, he fumbled for a glass of water on his side table without success. He cracked open an eye.

  “Faith!” He jumped, then sucked in a sharp breath as pain sliced through his ribs.

  His younger sister pursed her lips. “What happened this time? Did an irate husband chase you out a window?”

  “I refuse to respond to such a ridiculous accusation.” Gingerly, he probed the bandage around his middle. How had that gotten there?

  Eve slid from the edge of the bed and went to retrieve a porcelain pitcher from a tray sitting on a side table. “The doctor said you bruised your ribs and knocked your head. And don’t pretend I have insulted you. I smelled the lady’s perfume on you before your valet cleaned you up.” Despite her scolding tone, her brown eyes were sympathetic when she glanced over her shoulder. “I worry about you, Bastian. God only knows what you are doing that causes you to come home with bruises. And no coat or boots at that.”

  “Well, it’s not bedding married women, not that you should know about such goings-on.”

  Snatching the glass from his bedside table, Eve filled it from the pitcher. A drop of water slid down the side and dripped to the floor. “You forget I was almost a married woman. I received the talk, fat lot of good it will do me now.”

  “Thank you,” he mumbled as he accepted the glass. He hadn’t forgotten she had been abandoned at the altar or that the blackguard had left England without allowing Sebastian a chance to defend his sister’s reputation. It mattered not that Eve was blameless. Society had decided Benjamin Hillary must have discovered something untoward about Sebastian’s sister and cried off. Eve had been ruined, and Sebastian had been helpless to correct the mistake.

  He hadn’t forgotten anything. No amount of alcohol—or bumps on the head, apparently—could erase the things he wanted to forget.

  The water chased away his thirst, but sitting up to drink it made his head pound. He handed the glass to his sister, eased back against the pillows, and closed his eyes. “Does Mother know of my condition?”

  “She was abed when Milo answered the door and found you. After the doctor said you would live, I didn’t see a reason to wake her.”

  From the short shadows on his walls, he guessed the time to be near noon. “And you mentioned nothing when she woke this morning?” It was likely too much to hope this could be kept a secret from their mother.

  Eve shrugged. “She wished to break her fast, and a gander at your face would spoil anyone’s appetite.”

  He scowled, but she simply chuckled and pulled the covers up to his armpits. “Not under normal circumstances, mind you. Just this morning you look a fright.”

  “Thanks,” he said flatly. The bruises from his fight with Ellis had only recently disappeared and now he had to heal all over again. “Where is my watch?” It wasn’t on the bedside table in its usual place.

  Eve set the glass on the table. “You would have to ask your valet. Are you hungry? I could have Mrs. Wilmot prepare a tray.”

  His stomach roiled at the thought
of food, and he shook his head.

  “So, what happened last night?”

  “Footpads got the best of me. A woman came to my assistance, which explains the perfume.” Likely a prostitute, given the location and time of night. Sebastian didn’t much care what class of woman she was. If she hadn’t come when she had, he might not be safe in his bed now.

  He hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but the pleasing lilt of her voice had been soothing, and her hand on his forehead had been gentle in the carriage. Much kinder than the bloke who had tossed him into it. Sebastian frowned. Of course a common whore wouldn’t have transportation at her disposal or a servant to do lifting, which made it seem more likely his rescuer was a lady.

  He propped up on his elbows and gritted his teeth. “I believe she brought me home. Perhaps Milo asked her name so I may thank her.”

  When he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, Eve planted a hand against his chest. “You’re not going anyplace right now. The doctor said you must stay in bed until you are healed.”

  His fingers circled her wrist and he smirked. “Do you really think you can stop me, little sister?”

  “I am a grown woman, so stop calling me little sister. Besides, there wasn’t anyone at the door, so Milo will not know the woman’s identity. It seems your rescuer rang the bell then left you alone on the stoop.”

  The woman knew him and where he lived. Who was this mystery lady skulking about Whitechapel aiding those in need? He ran through a mental list of ladies he knew and couldn’t imagine any of them stealing away to the rookery. Unless his rescuer was in trouble. What sort of trouble, he didn’t know, but if she was willing to risk discovery to save him, he owed her a debt.

  “Maybe one of the other servants saw something last night. I will have Milo gather them,” he said.

  “Oh, no, you won’t.”

  He gently swept his sister’s hand aside and stood. His head spun and he plopped back on the bed. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Eve smiled smugly. “I told you. The doctor said to rest.”

  “How am I supposed to rest with a pesky sister buzzing about?” He tweaked her nose to show he was teasing.

  “Very well. I am going, but you’d best stay abed or I will return with Mama. And you know how she likes to fuss over you when you are injured.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  She grinned. “You know me better than that, Bastian. I would dare and I would enjoy every minute of it.” With that, his sister spun on her heel and hurried from his room, laughing.

  ***

  Helena brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and sighed as she tugged one of the double doors leading into St. Saviour’s Church. She carefully descended the dimly lit stairs of the side entryway and paused to allow her eyes to adjust.

  It had been a week since Fergus had searched the Wentworth Street brothel, and they hadn’t received a single lead on Lavinia’s whereabouts since. Helena couldn’t avoid the church any longer. As Fergus had said, it was the most logical place to check.

  She hadn’t been to St. Saviour’s in many years, but it looked no different, much to her dismay. She leaned against a stone pillar to steady herself and drew in a cleansing breath. Burning wax lingered on the air, mingling with the musty smell of damp wood.

  After her mother was buried, her father had stopped bringing her and her sisters to worship. Helena hadn’t cared. She’d wanted to forget the place where her mother had been laid out, her body as cold as one of the statues in the Lady chapel. Helena never would have come back except she knew the best chance of finding her sisters might lie in the parish registry. If any of them had married, perhaps she could decipher one of their signatures and learn the identity of her sister’s husband. Although their disappearance from London did not bode well, Helena refused to believe her siblings had met the same end as their mother.

  A rustling sound came from the front of the sanctuary, and she rounded the pillar to peer down the narrow nave. Candles burned in only the first tier of the iron chandelier, casting the interior in long shadows. A flash of black disappearing into an antechamber propelled her forward.

  “Pardon me, sir.” She hurried down the aisle, her skirts brushing against the dark woodwork of the enclosed pews.

  The man reappeared in the archway. His round face was open and his smile welcoming. “Good afternoon, madam.” His rich voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling and was eerily familiar. “Welcome to St. Saviour’s Church.”

  She returned his smile as she neared. “Thank you and good afternoon. I am Lady Prestwick of Aberdeen, and I am hoping you can assist me in a matter.”

  “It would be my honor to serve, Lady Prestwick. How may I be of assistance?”

  “I am searching for a member of this parish, but there is a chance she has married. I would like to view the church registry in hopes of learning her husband’s name, so I can pay her a call.”

  His brows came together and his smile dimmed. His gaze ran over Helena from head to toe. “A member of this parish, milady? Has she wronged you in some way?”

  “Heavens, no. She is a sister…of one of my servants. They lost touch several years ago, and I promised to look for her when I was in Town. To deliver a message.”

  Her face heated with the lie. There was probably a special place in Hell for people who lied to a man of the cloth, but she couldn’t allow anyone to link her to her past. Admitting she was searching for her sisters could create all manner of questions she didn’t want to answer, and it could interfere with her mission to bring her youngest sister into her world when she found her. Helena would see Gracie become a lady someday, with all the benefits that position would entail. Tutoring wouldn’t be the same hardship for her young sister as it had been for her. At age fifteen, Helena had had much to learn in a shorter span of time, and her education had been grueling.

  Besides, Wickie had gone to a lot of trouble to create a respectable past for Helena, and she had promised no one would ever learn the truth. Some would judge him harshly for his actions. He would be seen as a lewd older man who had seduced a young girl, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Her husband had behaved honorably, and when she reached the appropriate age, he had offered marriage as a well-bred gentleman would. She never wanted anyone to think of her as that poor young girl.

  The preacher scratched his head and regarded her. “Forgive me for saying so, milady, but you have most unusual eyes. I feel I have made your acquaintance in the past. Were you also a member of the parish at one time?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve only recently arrived from Aberdeenshire.” His features also rang with familiarity, but she hadn’t been to London for many years, and she hadn’t attended church even longer than that. She couldn’t possibly know him. She only remembered one clergyman at St. Saviour’s, the one who had officiated her mother’s funeral service.

  Mr. Cooper had been a middle-aged man with thick blond hair and a round, friendly face.

  Helena’s heart jumped into her throat. “Mr. Cooper,” she whispered.

  His smile widened. “We have met, haven’t we, milady? Please, refresh my memory.”

  “I am afraid you are mistaken, sir.” She licked her lips, her gaze flickering toward the aisle.

  “But you know my name, and yours is a hairbreadth away.” He rubbed his forehead. “Is it Mary? Margaret?”

  Panic surged inside her. He was getting too close at guessing her mother’s name. Marianna. Helena had her mother’s distinctively large blue-green eyes, but she’d never thought anyone would remember her mother after all this time.

  “I—I must go.” She began to back away. “I’ve recalled an appointment I cannot miss. Perhaps I can search the registry another day.”

  Her elbow bumped the corner of the altar and startled her.

  Mr. Cooper’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “Marian? No, that is not quite right. It is on the tip of my tongue.”

  She turned and fled.

  ***

>   Sebastian grimaced at the entrance to the church. His sister, Eve, crossed her arms and returned his scowl. “Well, are you going to be a gentleman and open the door?”

  “There are churches closer to home. Why did you have me carry you across town?”

  “I am less likely to see anyone we know. Besides, it isn’t too far and Mr. Cooper is always in on Thursdays.”

  “And you fancy Mr. Cooper?”

  She burst into laughter and her face lit like a ray of sunshine. These moments had been too rare of late. His foul mood faded as he realized his sister wasn’t as broken by Benjamin Hillary’s betrayal as Sebastian had thought.

  She wrinkled her nose, the light sprinkle of freckles and action reminding him of when she was a little girl. “You cannot be that eager to be rid of me, Bastian. Mr. Cooper is at least twice my age.”

  “I’m not eager to be rid of you at all, even though you are most vexing at times.” He jerked the south entrance door open, smiling back at Eve when a force slammed into his chest. The impact caught him by surprise and he stumbled back a step, hugging the young woman to save her from falling.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Forgive me. I wasn’t watching where—”

  Round, expressive eyes met his and her mouth dropped open. He’d grown accustomed to leaving ladies speechless, but it had been a long time since a real lady had allowed him near her. Pink infused her pale cheeks as she remained in his arms, her perfectly pleasing breasts crushed against his chest.

  A full smile spread across his face. “No apology necessary, Miss…?”

  She blinked, her thick lashes making her eyes even more extraordinary. “Lady Prestwick.”

  Sebastian released her, a rush of disappointment leaving him flummoxed. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I meant no offense to you or Lord Prestwick.”

  “So you know my husband. This never gets easier,” she mumbled and smoothed her hands over her skirts. Her delicate brows drew together as if it pained her to speak to him. “There was an accident. A little over a year ago. And he…uh…I am afraid he—”