The Rogue Is Back in Town

by Anna Bennett

  Julie stiffened. Compromising was not her forte. As the youngest daughter, she was used to having her way. When she was a child, her parents had indulged her, and after they died, her sisters and Uncle Alistair tried to fill the awful void by granting her everything she wished. Not expensive baubles, of course, since they hadn’t two shillings to rub together, but something more precious—the freedom to make her own choices and control her own destiny.

  Which was why she found the idea of bending to accommodate an unapologetic scoundrel so distasteful.

  He set down his tea cup and frowned. “Are you unwell, Miss Lacey? You look rather green.”

  “I am merely dismayed by the situation in which I find myself.”

  “You would rather not strike a bargain with the likes of me,” he said.

  “I confess to being less than enthralled by the prospect … but I’m listening. What exactly do you propose?”

  “I could be persuaded to allow you to remain here for a short period of time, while you consult with your sisters and make arrangements to relocate your household.”

  Time was precisely what Julie needed, but Lord Travis was putting the cart before the horse. “I have no intention of distressing my sisters or Uncle Alistair with your dubious claim—at least not until you have provided some proof.”

  He had the audacity to look affronted. “Proof?”

  “Surely you did not expect me to begin packing my trunks without seeing a deed?”

  “My brother is the Marquess of Currington,” he said proudly. “And you may take him at his word. I’ve never met a more honorable man.”

  Julie swallowed. She’d thought the marquess was honorable too. So much so that on the night of the duke’s masquerade ball, she’d allowed him to claim her for a waltz, fetch her a glass of champagne, and lead her onto a moonlit terrace. She’d basked in the warmth of his appreciative gaze and nearly melted when he told her she was far too beautiful to dress as Artemis—that she should have been Aphrodite. He’d made her feel special and desired, and in that moment, she’d desperately wanted him to kiss her.

  And he had.

  But she’d expected him to call the next day—or perhaps the day after—to ask Uncle Alistair’s permission to court her.

  And he hadn’t. Clearly, she was no Aphrodite, but rather a mere girl who’d imagined she might have a future with a handsome marquess.

  “I am not impugning your brother’s character,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her. “If he has recently discovered the deed to this property, as you say he has, you should have no trouble producing it.”

  Lord Travis stretched out his muscled legs and crossed his boots at the ankles. “I’ll produce it soon enough. And though my brother is extremely anxious to take possession of the property, I will petition him on your behalf.”

  Hope warmed her chest. “You will?”

  “Certainly. I’ll send word to him at once, asking him to provide the proof you seek.”

  “Why on earth would you need to send word? Simply go and ask him in person.” Maybe once Lord Travis finally left her parlor, she’d be able to think clearly—and formulate a proper plan to keep Uncle Alistair in his home.

  “I cannot,” he said flatly.

  “What is stopping you?”

  “You’ll recall that we agreed to work together,” he said, ignoring her question.

  “Are you in need of a coach? Never fear, I will hire you a hackney cab.” She would personally transport him on a royal litter in order to rid herself of him.

  “I don’t require transportation, Miss Lacey. I require temporary lodgings.”

  Chapter SIX

  Miss Lacey gripped the arm of the settee and gaped at Sam as though he must be jesting. “Why can’t you simply return home—or to whatever other unsavory place you stayed last night?”

  Er, return to the bedchamber of his neighbor’s spinster aunt? That was entirely out of the question. As was returning home. Sam considered telling Miss Lacey that his older brother had all but disowned him but was reluctant to confess what a monumental disappointment he’d turned out to be. “It’s rather complicated.”

  “You think me incapable of comprehending?” she countered.

  “My brother believes the task of vacating this house is best accomplished while I am here. He wishes me to personally oversee the process.”

  “Do you always blindly follow your brother’s orders?” she replied, clearly hoping to goad him.

  “No. In the past, I have not. But in retrospect, I should have—I’d have saved myself a great deal of trouble.”

  “If you think I will allow you to stay here, you are mad.”

  “Why won’t you?”

  “Why?” She snorted indelicately. “I fear the list of reasons is too long to enumerate.”

  “Then give me three,” he challenged.

  “I beg your pardon?” She stared at him as though he’d sprouted horns.

  “Give me three reasons I may not stay here.”

  “I am under no obligation to explain anything to you, however, the reasons are so glaringly obvious that I shall indulge you.” She smoothed her skirt and raised her chin, then counted off on a slender finger. “For one, I am an unmarried miss and you are … you’re known as…”

  “London’s greatest rogue?” he provided.

  She rolled her eyes in a manner that suggested she was wholly unimpressed with the dubious title. “Something like that. Suffice it to say, my reputation would be thoroughly and irrevocably ruined. Never again would I be able to show my face in polite society.”

  “Your reputation would only be compromised if someone were to learn I was here—and no one will,” he added emphatically.

  She narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. “You are not known for being discreet. In fact, your exploits are rather legendary.”

  “Thank you,” he said, only because he wanted to see if he could make the adorable little lines on her forehead reappear—and, indeed, he could. “Shall we proceed to reason number two?”

  “By all means,” she mocked, counting off a second finger. “Furthermore, you cannot stay here because your presence would, no doubt, distress my uncle greatly. He is getting on in years and possesses a sensitive soul. I will not subject him to undue stress.”

  “Your uncle would only object to my presence if he knew the real reason I was here. He won’t.”

  “Falsehoods may come easily to you, Lord Travis, but I am not similarly blessed. What lie would you concoct to explain the necessity of your staying with us?”

  “I prefer to call it massaging the truth, Miss Lacey, and I’ll admit to being something of an expert. We could tell your uncle that I am a distant relative—which is apparently true—and tell him that I’ve just returned from the Continent—which is most definitely true—and that I cannot stay in my own home because my brother has undertaken extensive renovations.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter.

  Maybe it wasn’t the most convincing lie, but as she wiped tears of mirth from her cheeks, he had no choice but to defend it. “Some people are highly sensitive to noise, dust, and the like. In fact—”

  “I said my uncle was getting on in years, Lord Travis,” she interrupted. “But do not mistake him for a fool. He would never believe such a ridiculous story.”

  “You underestimate my powers of persuasion. A falsehood is only ten percent idea.”

  “And the other ninety percent?”

  “Execution. Making people believe through one’s words and actions.”

  “My, you must be very proud of your powers of manipulation,” she said dryly.

  He shrugged. “Persuasion is a valuable skill, and it is not always used for sinister purposes. It can be employed for good.”

  She arched a perfectly formed brow. “So now I am to believe you are naught but a misunderstood philanthropist?”

  He shot her a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t go that far. My point is, the pr
oblem of your uncle objecting to my presence here is easily overcome. Perhaps we should move on to the third reason you think I cannot stay here.”

  She rose from the chair, walked to the window, and gazed thoughtfully at the street. “The most important reason is … I do not trust you. I have heard the rumors about you. You are reckless and debauched. You think of no one but yourself. And that makes you far too dangerous to be a guest in this house.”

  Her words, though true enough, stung more than they should have. But his first loyalty was, and always would be, to his brother. “I understand your reluctance to place your faith in me, but I would never physically hurt or threaten a lady. You are safe with me.”

  Miss Lacey shook her head, causing the curls at her nape to bounce like springs. “There are other dangers. If you stayed in our guest bedchamber, you would have unfettered access to this household. My uncle, his research, and all his … quirks.”

  “If you are worried that I will reveal family secrets, you may rest assured I will not. I have no interest in maligning you, your uncle, or any member of your family. My only goal is to assist my brother who has requested that you vacate this house—at your earliest convenience.”

  “And what would you do if I said you were not welcome to stay here?”

  “I would have no choice but to call on your brother-in-law, the Duke of Blackshire, and inform him that my brother is the rightful owner of the property and wishes to take possession of it immediately.”

  “You can’t go to Alex,” she replied, a hint of panic lacing her voice.

  Sam resisted the unexpected urge to comfort her. “Why not?”

  “He and my sister are on their honeymoon and cannot be reached. Even if they could, I would not spoil this idyllic time for them.”

  “Fine. Then I would go to your other brother-in-law, the Earl of Castleton.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “He and my sister have concerns of their own at the moment. Make no mistake, Will would return to London as quickly as possible if he suspected I were in danger, but he should be with Meg right now. I won’t allow you to trouble them.”

  “Then your choice is clear.” He rose from the settee and stood behind her, keeping a respectful distance between them. “You must let me move into the guest bedchamber.”

  “Moving in sounds as though you’d be setting up a permanent residence.” She frowned and her voice trembled … as though she was finally realizing she had no other option.

  He should have felt victorious—or at least satisfied that his powers of persuasion hadn’t failed him. But as he admired the graceful curve of her neck and the smooth skin of her cheek, he felt no triumph. Only hollowness. And guilt.

  “I won’t stay a day longer than is necessary,” he said, keeping his voice light. He let his gaze drift around the cluttered, shabby parlor. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a holiday.”

  “Fine.” She rubbed the tops of her arms as though chilled. “Let’s make sure we’re both aware of the terms of our deal.”

  “Shall we put it in writing? Sign our names in blood?” he quipped.

  “Tempting, but that won’t be necessary. I only want your word.”

  “Very well,” he said, surprised but pleased that his word counted for something with her. “What are your terms?”

  “First, you will ask your brother to produce documentation showing he has the legal right to this property. A solicitor of my choosing will then review it. If—and only if—your brother has a claim to it, we will discuss our options.”

  Sam gave a curt nod. Nigel had been adamant that the house should be vacated, but for now Miss Lacey needed a glimmer of hope. Hell, she deserved at least that much for tolerating his damned company.

  “In the meantime, you may stay here, but no one can know. That means no one will be permitted to visit. Furthermore, you may not come and go as you please. If you should venture out, Mr. Finch will not permit you to reenter our home.”

  Good God. “I shall be a prisoner in this house?”

  “On the contrary,” she said. “You are free—nay, encouraged—to go at any time. However, if you do, you shall not come back.”

  “But I don’t have any of my things with me,” he sputtered. “Not even a change of clothes.”

  “What a pity. It seems your stay with us may be shorter than you’d anticipated.” She blinked innocently.

  “I don’t intend to change my plans. If I’m not permitted to send for additional clothes, I shall avail myself of your staff to wash the ones I have with me.”

  She smiled as though she’d just declared checkmate. “And what will you wear while your clothes are being laundered?”

  He knew he shouldn’t say what he was thinking—but damned if he could stop himself. “Nothing, Miss Lacey. Because of the terms you’ve laid out, I shall be forced to take my meals, go about my business, and conduct my daily activities as naked as the day I was born.”

  She blushed crimson all the way to the roots of her hair. “You are beyond the pale.”

  “Parts of me are,” he said with a shrug. “As you shall soon see for yourself.”

  Chapter SEVEN

  Julie clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and counted to three in her head. When she thought she might be able to speak in a civil tone, she said, “Fine. I will make one exception. When you send word to your brother requesting the deed, you may also ask your valet to bring you a bag.”

  “If you are certain,” Lord Travis said lightly, as though it mattered not to him. Did nothing matter to him?

  Worrying her bottom lip, she added, “Can you trust him to be discreet?”

  Sam barked a laugh. “There is no valet in London who’s more discreet. Ralph could be tortured within an inch of his life, and he still would not reveal the depths of my depravity.” More seriously, he added, “He’s an honorable man, and if I ask him to safeguard a secret, you may count on him to take it to his grave.”

  “I doubt it will come to that, but I must remind you that my reputation and my family’s name is at stake.” Heavens, she was already regretting her decision. She was regretting a great many things that had taken place that morning.

  “I understand,” he said soberly. “And I will not forget it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll make use of your writing supplies and send a message to my brother’s house at once.”

  When he would have walked past her toward the desk in the corner, she boldly pressed her palm to his chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Through the soft cambric of his shirt, she felt hard muscles and warm flesh. But she felt something else wholly unexpected—his heartbeat galloping wildly beneath her fingertips.

  She searched his vexingly handsome face, trying to make sense of it. The centers of his eyes turned dark, and his lips parted as though he were on the verge of … that is, it almost seemed as if he were about to … nonsense.

  But there was no denying the pounding in his chest—it mirrored her own. Could he be more nervous than he let on … or was he was as affected by their proximity as she?

  Either way, it was imperative that she remained focused. Which meant banishing these sorts of dangerous, wayward thoughts.

  He dropped his gaze to her hand resting on his chest and arched a brow. “I thought we’d concluded our negotiations.”

  “There’s one more important caveat,” she said firmly.

  “Ah, like any skilled negotiator, you’re aware that the devil is in the details.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I rather thought he was in my parlor.”

  “Well done, Miss Lacey,” he said, grinning. “What else do you wish to stipulate?”

  “It’s simple. Uncle Alistair may not know what you are about. If he should have even an inkling that you are here for the purpose of tossing him out of his house, he’d be utterly distraught. We will tell him that you’re—”

  “Juliette!” a gravelly voice called from the hall. “It sounds as though you have a visitor. Has someone come to call?”

&
nbsp; Julie backed away from Lord Travis as though she’d touched a hot stove instead of a man’s chest. “Yes, Uncle,” she said with forced cheer. “We’re in the parlor.”

  How had matters spiraled so out of control? She gripped the back of the settee as a tidal wave of panic threatened to sweep her away.

  Lord Travis grasped her upper arms, instantly steadying her. “We’ll tell him the house renovation story,” he said reassuringly.

  “What? No.” They required a more convincing explanation.

  “Trust me.” Releasing her suddenly, he turned and began rooting through Beth’s old sewing basket on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Looking for a cravat.” With a mumbled curse, he yanked a large piece of fabric out of an embroidery hoop and threw it around his neck. It was much too short to tie into any semblance of a knot, but he did his best to tuck the ends into his collar.

  Julie pressed a palm to her forehead, beyond exasperated. “Are you mad?”

  “Who is it, dear?” Her uncle shuffled across the wood floor outside the parlor.

  “Here he comes,” she whispered, as she valiantly attempted to straighten Lord Travis’s makeshift neckcloth and smooth the lapels of his jacket. Pasting on a smile, she called out, “Someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Why, this sounds promising.” Lord Wiltmore toddled into the parlor wearing a grin that split his wizened face. “I know I implored you to find a husband this morning, but I didn’t expect you to accomplish the feat during my nap.”

  “Now, Uncle,” she scolded affectionately, “you mustn’t embarrass me when we have company.” She cast a furtive, desperate look at the man who wanted to toss them both out onto the street. “I’d like you to meet Samuel Travis.”

  * * *

  “My lord.” Sam extended a hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

  The old man frowned as though trying to recall the name and put it with his face. “Are we grievously acquainted?”

  Sam blinked, then recalled that Wiltmore was known for bungling his words. Very aware of Miss Lacey’s gaze trained on him, he smiled at the old man as though the sentence he’d uttered was completely coherent. “I have not had the pleasure. However, I understand that we are distant cousins. My grandmother’s sister-in-law was your father’s aunt.” Jesus, he had no idea what he’d just said.