The Thief and the Rogue

by Rachel Donnelly

  “By all means,” Hunter drawled. “If it will end you harping over your imagined neglect, I’ll happily give my approval.”

  “Excellent.” Bella beamed, apparently pleased at his quick compliance. “Kay and I will begin drawing up the guest list today.”

  “Very well, Ladies.” Hunter rose from his seat at the table. “I’ll leave you two to work out the details.”

  The details were more numerous than Kay ever imagined. Bella informed her it took weeks, if not months, to plan things properly. But with her experience and Kay’s energy they should be able to accomplish it in under a week.

  They compiled a guest list then began writing out the invitations. Mrs. Baghurst was called upon to assist with the menu and Bella’s maid recruited as their secretary.

  In the days that followed, Kay only encountered Hunter at mealtimes. He came to bed late and she was so done in, she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. By the third day, the menu for the refreshment room was planned, the flowers ordered, and the musicians engaged.

  “I think this deserves a celebration, my gal,” Bella announced in triumph. “A glass of champagne will do the trick.”

  Hunter sauntered into the drawing room to escort them to dinner, giving them a long look of censure. “It’s a bit early to be toasting your success, I should think. At this rate, they’ll be no champagne for the party.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Bella declared. “I’ve seen your wine cellar. Its contents would last you through a lengthy siege.”

  He lifted a brow, giving them a mock-serious look, belying the censure in his tone. “Not with a pair of pirates like you plundering it.”

  After dinner Hunter retired to his study, as was his habit since Bella’s arrival.

  Kay retired to bed, alone, feeling oddly disappointed. Perhaps he’d meant what he’d said and had given up trying. She ought to feel grateful. Why wasn’t she? What was wrong with her? After all, he was behaving like a gentleman, respecting her wishes.

  Damn him.

  ***

  Kay shifted in her chair, her gaze straying to the clock on the sideboard. Where could Hunter and Alex be? By now they could have obliterated every game bird in the park.

  “No need for worry, my dear,” Bella said. “No doubt that pair of rapscallions are at the tavern in the village. We’ll not see hide nor hair of them ‘til morn.”

  Her prophesy proved true.

  Kay was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by their rabble rousing. Their inconsiderate behavior irked her greatly. It took her some time before she could finally fall back to sleep, particularly after the snoring began. After a good hour of listening to it, she was tempted to follow through with their bargain and smother him with a pillow.

  Instead, she slipped out of bed and stumbled through the darkness to her own bedchamber.

  She slept late to make up for the hours she’d lost. By the time she went down to breakfast the next morning they were already up and gone.

  “They’ve gone fishing,” Bella announced when she arrived at the table. “And it’s a good place for them. We don’t want them underfoot, getting in our way with so much to be done. As long as they’re back in time for a little spit and polish before our guests arrive, I don’t care if I don’t lay eyes on them all day. How are you at arranging flowers?”

  “’Tis one of my favorite chores.” She and Cora descended on the rose gardens like bees, spending most of the day arranging the bouquets to glorious perfection.

  Bella approved her accomplishments and together they decided where to place each crystal vase.

  After, Bella shooed her upstairs for a nap before it was time to dress.

  Cora was all in a flutter when she came in to wake her. “La, isn’t this exciting! There’s not been a ball at the manor in years and you’re going to be the loveliest lady here. Everyone below stairs is ever so proud to see the house looking so fine. I think we’ll start with your hair. It’ll take time to thread them pearls through your braids. But don’t you fret, Your Grace, I know what to do. Just sit yourself down in this chair.”

  It took a full hour for Cora to finish her hair, and another hour to dress her. There were dozens of hooks to struggle with down the back of her satin gown that gathered at the bodice with elbow-length sleeves and flowed down her slim figure like liquid gold. There was only a short train that would need to be pinned for dancing. A simple pearl choker surrounded her neck to match the strings of tiny seed pearls woven throughout her hair.

  When Cora finished, she stood back with her cheeks all a flush. “You look like a statue of Venus.”

  Alex let out a low whistle as she descended the stairs.

  Hunter pushed him aside, then strode forward to offer his arm. “Pay no attention to him,” he announced. “He’s had no chance to practice his finer manners in the houses he’s frequented of late.”

  Alex leaned over Hunter’s shoulder with a broad grin. “Whereas your husband has no excuse.”

  Hunter leaned closer to whisper against her ear. “I have no chance of keeping bargains, Madam, when you tempt me this way.”

  “Perhaps I should sleep in my own bed tonight,” she quipped.

  His arm tightened around her waist. “Oh, no, I have you until Bella is gone, remember.”

  “What about me?” Bella demanded gliding down the stairs. She looked much the haughty dowager in her burgundy silk gown. An elaborate arrangement of diamonds hung about her neck. More diamonds dangled from her ears, glittering like tiny points of light whenever she moved.

  “Will you need a chair for the receiving line?” Hunter teased.

  “What rubbish! Of course I shan’t need a chair.” She accepted Alex’s arm to take her place beside them. “I have a handsome young man to hold me up. I’ll have you know, when I was your age, I could dance all night without faltering a step.”

  The guests began to arrive, leaving no more time for foolery.

  Kay stood beside Hunter, voices and laughter swirling around her, as though in a dream. His eyes were on her more than the guests, and for the first time, she felt well and truly his wife. Being greeted as Your Grace, and receiving best wishes of their long time friends and neighbors added to this temporary fantasy. Kay slipped into the role without even thinking.

  It seemed natural to gaze up at Hunter’s laughing, brandy eyes and smile at him with devotion and tenderness, waiting breathlessly for a sign of that elusive dimple. It was easy to pretend with his arm resting possessively at her waist and his warm glances caressing her every curve.

  When the receiving line dispersed, she actually took pleasure in circulating amongst their guests, playing the gracious hostess. Even Lord Herrington’s presence couldn’t wipe the smile form her face. Why Hunter had invited him she did not know. But her husband was up to something.

  “I get the feeling you’re enjoying this,” Hunter said, sweeping her from beneath General Quinn’s nose toward the bashful Vicar and his wife.

  “And why shouldn’t I enjoy it?” she said lightly. “Bella and I have worked very hard to make this night a success. It’s lovely to see you, Vicar. So happy you could come.”

  The vicar sent them a mock-stern look beneath his spectacles. “What’s this I hear about a wedding in Dover? A lesser man would be grievously wounded by such haste. I suppose I must be satisfied with baptizing your children.”

  “I’m afraid my wife is to blame for that.” Hunter offered the vicar an apologetic smile. “She stole my heart, among other things.”

  Kay gave him a firm pinch on the arm.

  Hunter sent her a warning look. “See what I mean. I can only hope marriage will eventually tame her.”

  The vicar’s look was one of wide-eyed perplexity as Hunter led her away.

  “How could you!” Kay accused as he led her onto the dance floor. But it was all she could do to control a smile. “What must he think?”

  “That I’ve saved your soul from certain damnation,” Hunter said, gr
inning wolfishly as he twirled her past the Vicar.

  “Stop that right now! You’re making it worse!” But a burble of laugher escaped her lips at the Vicar’s scandalized expression. “Oh, you wait, sir, ‘til I get you alone.”

  “That’s the trouble, I can’t wait,” he breathed against her ear.

  A pleasurable tingling spread over her. He looked so irresistibly handsome in his black finery, she felt a rush of pride. There was no place she’d rather be than encased in his arms.

  ***

  Hunter strode purposefully across the room. He’d been waiting all night to catch Peter Hughes alone. He couldn’t prove the conspiracy to cover up Hartley’s death, but he was determined to let Hughes know he knew every dirty little part of it.

  “Congratulations, Your Grace,” Hughes offered a gracious bow. “Your renovations are a triumph of architecture, as well as a testament to your good taste.”

  “Thank you,” Hunter said with stiff formality, “But my wife is to blame for much of what you see.”

  “Talented and beautiful.” Hughes inclined his head. “It seems I have much to envy you for.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Hunter smiled thinly. “But allow me to ease your mind. There is one instance where you hold the advantage.”

  “Oh?” Hughes appeared startled.

  “I’ve been looking into the death of a friend of mine. He died at Waterloo. My sources tell me you are the one to question.”

  A shadow passed over Hughes’ face before his features closed. “Many men died. There are very few I would remember by name.”

  “His name was Captain Benjamin Hartley, an acquaintance of Phelia’s, I believe.” Hunter kept his tone smooth. “She may have mentioned him. He was one of the prisoners under your care.”

  “No, can’t say as I remember him. And you say he died, terrible…terrible,” Hughes blustered. “I wish I could help, but I wasn’t directly involved in the collection of prisoners.”

  “Ah, that’s right. That was Herrington’s job.”

  Hughes sent him a startled look. “Yes, yes, he’s the one you’d wish to speak to.”

  “It will be interesting to see if his memory is as clear as Dr. Bradford’s.”

  Hughes blanched. “You spoke to Bradford?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  Hughes shifted his stance, squirming visibly. “Come to think of it, I remember him and Herrington having a difference of opinion, but for the life of me, I can’t recollect what it was.”

  “It’s always difficult to decide what side to take in a situation like that, isn’t it—a trained professional or a friend?”

  Hughes’ face turned florid. “Look here, I hope you’re not questioning my honor.” Sweat rose on Hughes forehead. “If you are, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I had nothing to do with Hartley’s death.”

  “Only in covering it up.” Hunter smiled grimly. His tone turned dangerous. “The trouble is everything rotten eventually begins to stink. I only hope you don’t choke on the smell of it.” Hunter stalked away—too angry to tolerate the sight of him further.

  Hughes knew far more than he was letting on, but short of beating the truth out of him, Hunter still had no proof. At least he could take some satisfaction in knowing he’d rattled him enough to set his conscience working. If covering up Hartley’s death hadn’t deprived him of sleep, the fear of exposing it might. It was small compensation for the loss of his friend, but a little justice was better than nothing.

  Hunter scanned the crowded ballroom for his wife. The tinkle of her laughter turned him toward her like a siren’s call. Her golden beauty shone above every other woman in the room. He felt a sudden and unaccountable swell of pride each time he looked at her, making him wish he’d never have to give her up—that she was truly his.

  But it wouldn’t do to back out of their bargain now. She would hate him forever if he forced her to stay. He would hate himself.

  Just the same, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he drew closer to her.

  “Mr. Nash and I were discussing the renovation plans for the kitchen.” She flashed him an impish smile. “I told him we’d need to sit down with Henri and Mrs. Baghurst, of course. We must address their needs as best we can in order to make the project a success.”

  Hunter slipped his arm firmly around her waist saying dryly, “My wife is very good at addressing people’s needs, whether my purse has recovered from the last fleecing or not.”

  Mr. Nash smiled good-naturedly. “I’ve just been engaged by Lord Herrington. But, the Abbey is only a short ride from here. I should be able to split my time between both projects quite comfortably. Just say the word and I’m at your disposal, Your Grace.”

  “There!” Kay beamed a bright smile as Nash sauntered away. “Even your black looks and stinginess couldn’t frighten him off.”

  Hunter leaned closer, captivated by her the mischief sparkling in her aqua eyes, and the sweet curve of her crimson lips.

  “Perhaps it’s time for you to retire, if you can’t behave yourselves,” Bella scolded, gliding up beside them. “What’s this I hear about Lord Herrington buying the Abbey? I don’t know what he means to do with that old pile of rubble! The place is in a shambles. The vicar tells me no one has lived there in years and it will take months of work to make it livable.”

  Hunter’s gaze slid to the fireplace where Herrington lounged casually, conversing with Col. Quinn. However, Herrington’s eyes weren’t on the Colonel they were on Kay.

  Hunter’s arm tightened around her waist. He’d confront Herrington now if he had the proof. The trouble was, he didn’t. Besides, he couldn’t trust himself not to smash his fist right into his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “He knows, I tell you! He knows everything!” Peter Hughes shouted over the loud report of Lord Herrington’s gun.

  Herrington propped his gun against the trunk of an elm, as though he hadn’t heard, as though the explosion had made him deaf. He sauntered forward to retrieve the partridge from the setter’s mouth, then gave him a good rub on the head.

  “I hope you realize what this means?” Peter continued through gritted teeth. “If he suspects a cover up, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does.”

  Herrington shrugged. “You read the reports and made your decision. I see no fault in that. It’s my word against Bradford’s.” He gathered the brace of partridge, then reached for his gun. “If it becomes a problem, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of it?” Peter could feel the blood draining from his face. “What the deuced does that mean?”

  Herrington began striding toward the house.

  Peter expelled a curse. There was something definitely wrong with Herrington. He was far too calm, far too cold. It just wasn’t natural. He’d seen that look in battle, a chilling look of detachment.

  The war was long over. Herrington just hadn’t come home. Or, had he been like that before the war? Peter couldn’t remember. Anyway you sliced it—he was a damn strange duck.

  Perhaps Phelia could talk some sense into him—find out what he was really up to.

  Peter marched directly to her bedchamber upon reaching the house.

  She sent him a sour look in the glass above her dressing table. “Peter, for goodness sake, the least you could do is change. You’re covered in blood, and dirt, and goodness knows what.”

  “I need to talk to you. Now.”

  “Oh, very well.” She gave her maid a nod of dismissal. “But I don’t have much time. I have to write Daddy. He’ll want to know how his dogs are fairing, and that the house isn’t crumbling to bits. You know how he frets.”

  “You wrote to him yesterday.” Peter paced to the window. “How much reassurance does he need for pity sake?”

  “It was the day before yesterday, and he generally needs a lot.” She continued to fuss with her hair, turning her auburn head before the small looking- glass in her hand in order to view the back of her coif. “W
hat is so urgent? You know I don’t like to be disturbed so early in the morning.”

  “It’s half past eleven.”

  “Yes, and I never rise before ten. My complexion requires at least twelve hours of rest each night.” She set the mirror down, then turned in her chair. “Well, what is it? You’re not here to complain about Henry again I hope. If you are, you can save your breath. He’s leaving for the Abbey in the morning.”

  “Good. He can’t leave soon enough for me.” Peter paced the length of the window, rubbing his hand from his mouth to his chin. “He’s behaving very strangely. I don’t like it. It would be just like him to do something stupid.”

  “What does it matter?” Phelia waved a hand in the air. “As long as he doesn’t do anything while he’s under our roof.”

  He turned from the window to regard her steadily. “By God, Phelia, you’re a cold bitch.”

  She drew herself up in her chair then stared at him hard. “No. I’m a realist. You, on the other hand, always expect people to do the honorable thing. They won’t you know.” A wistful sadness passed over her face. “I found that out when Mummy died. All you can hope for is to get them to do what you want in order to turn things in your favor.”

  “Well, if you’re so bloody good at it, you’d better have a talk with him. See what he’s up to.”

  “What makes you think he’ll tell me anything?”

  “He trusts you. At least he used to.” Phelia could always wrap Herrington around her little finger. “Since our difference of opinion, he’s banned me from his confidence and avoids me whenever he can. I was surprised he accepted my invitation to go hunting this morning.”

  “You know how he loves to hunt.” Phelia shrugged. “He’s like Daddy—never happy unless he’s dragging something home dead.”

  ***

  Kay felt sad to see Bella go. Listening to her laugher across the dining table, made Kay realize how attached she’d become to her during her stay at the manor. But that wasn’t the only reason her heart felt heavy. When Bella left in the morning, there’d be no more reason to sleep in Hunter’s bed. She’d grown accustomed to having his warm body so near, making her feel safe and secure. The only thing she hadn’t been safe from was her own temptation.