“Or perhaps Lord Rutledge failed to tell you what he did to my friend!” She sounded incensed, as if she truly believed Rutledge had ravaged her friend.
Could he have been wrong about her and needed only to set her straight to stop her from smearing Rutledge? If he’d been wrong, he could not use her to attain his vengeance. “He told me,” Simon said slowly. “Yer friend, Lady Fanny, isn’t it?”
Surprise widened her eyes as she nodded.
“I believe ye and I have heard two different versions of one story.” He was certain his version was the correct one. He’d known Rutledge for over a decade, and the man had proven time and again to be honorable. Simon believed his friend completely, yet it was futile to try to outright convince someone who had the same belief in their friend. Instead, he told her what Rutledge had claimed occurred.
“That’s preposterous!” she sputtered. “Your friend lured Lady Fanny into the library and then kissed her without her permission!”
He knew damn well that Rutledge would never do such a thing. The man had to marry a woman of means, which Lady Fanny apparently was not, but he could not reveal Rutledge’s family shame. “I cannot believe he would do that,” Simon said. “I have known the man for thirteen years, and he has been honorable through all of them.”
“Says one fiend about another,” Anne muttered. “We are at an impasse, Your Grace. I believe it’s time I bid you good night and farewell.”
Damnation. He’d pushed too far. “Anne,” he called to her, as she was already walking away.
For a moment, he did not think she’d stop, but finally, she did. She turned to him. Snow had just begun to fall, and her gaze darted up for one brief second, joy flittering across her face. His chest squeezed at the sight. But when her gaze settled on him once more, it was cold and unfriendly.
He swallowed the odd emotion her pleasure stirred in him. “I’d caution ye to be absolutely certain of yer friend’s accounting of the events before ye continue to slander Rutledge’s good name. He has a family, and as ye hurt him, ye hurt them, as well.” He was giving her every opportunity to pull back and show that she had a heart and a conscience.
Her eyes widened. “I am certain,” she said, but he vowed he heard her voice waver. “Good night, Your Grace.”
“Simon,” he replied, watching her depart with his topcoat still draped across her shoulders as he had hoped it would be. He smiled, thinking upon the fiery Anne. No doubt, she would not want to keep his topcoat in her possession, and she’d not chance anyone learning she had come out on the balcony alone with him. She’d be at his house tomorrow, of that he was certain, and then his seduction would commence.
Five
“Anne, you must tell us every detail of last night and your attempt to thwart Rutledge,” Honora said, her voice so loud that Anne cringed.
“Shh!” Anne hissed. She scrambled out of her chair in the parlor and rushed to the door to shut it just as her grandfather’s butler, Sims, passed by. The footman trailed behind him carrying a tray of medicines that Dr. Talbot had recommended for her grandfather. Apparently, he had congestion in his chest that was giving him sharp pain, and Dr. Talbot had been most clear that Grandfather stay abed until he was fully recovered. “You mustn’t speak so loudly,” Anne admonished. “My grandfather’s servants tell him everything, and I don’t want him concerned that I’m involved in anything that will bring trouble to his door.”
“Will you be declining the remainder of our social functions for the rest of the winter, then, so that Rowan will not be alone?” Mary asked, looking suspiciously hopeful.
Anne refrained from pointing out that the only reason Mary had any parties to attend was because others felt obligated to invite her whenever they invited Anne and her grandfather. She would have felt horrid for even thinking it, except Mary had not offered to stay home with Grandfather and had automatically assumed Anne would be the one to do so. Mary had not even inquired about his welfare since learning he was ill. The woman was self-serving and cold, which Anne supposed was why Mary almost always ended up at a table with the nastiest matrons, who loved to sit and point out any and all faults of each guest.
Anne looked to Mary. “I’ll still be attending social functions. Grandfather was adamant that I should.” She’d offered to decline her obligations for the next week, but he’d insisted she go, albeit with her chaperone. Anne guiltily acknowledged that her first thought upon realizing she’d have to contend with Mrs. Featherstone as a chaperone rather than her grandfather, had been one of joy. Mrs. Featherstone was apt to take naps in the middle of her duties, which made it easy for Anne to do as she pleased.
Anne quickly relayed what had occurred last night in her endeavors to thwart Lord Rutledge while purposely leaving out the parts involving Simon. She saw no need to tell the ladies that she’d met him. It was in the accounting of the night that she recalled Simon’s words about her being certain she had the events straight between Fanny and Lord Rutledge.
“Fanny, are you certain the incident between you and Rutledge occurred precisely as you remember?” Anne asked.
Fanny shifted restlessly in her seat as Anne found herself once more brushing her hand over the superfine material of Simon’s overcoat. She intended to return it today, though most definitely not during the hours when he’d be waiting at his home to teach her to dance. Simon was a rogue, and quite possibly the most dangerous one she had ever encountered.
He made her heart thunder and her palms sweat when he looked at her with those astounding eyes, but the way he had fought for his friend’s honor made her want to throw caution to the wind and believe Simon was actually an honorable man—or could be. Foolishness! The scoundrel likely had stood up for Rutledge so vehemently simply to make her think he was the sort of man who would defend a friend to his dying breath.
“Fanny?” Anne prompted when her friend simply stared at her, openmouthed. “How exactly did you end up in the library with Lord Rutledge?”
Fanny exchanged a glance with Mary, and Anne clenched her teeth. Whyever did Fanny act as if she could not speak without Mary’s consent?
“Fanny,” Anne said, “the details, if you please.”
“Why do you insist on Fanny recounting the specifics?” Mary demanded.
“Because,” Anne said slowly, not wanting to reveal that she had met Simon or that he had introduced doubt into her mind, “I wish to know how Lord Rutledge operates so when I’m warning other debutantes away from him, they know what sly actions of his not to succumb to.”
“That makes sense,” Honora said. “Simply tell us how you came to be in the library with the man.”
“I cannot speak of it!” Fanny moaned.
Mary rushed to Fanny’s side and took the woman’s hand in hers, giving her a protective look. “I’ll do the telling for her.”
Fanny glanced at Mary with wide eyes. “You will? Oh, Mary!” Fanny said, dashing at tears that had started to trickle down her face.
“Don’t you see the pain you’ve caused by demanding she recount the horror of that night?” Mary asked.
Heat touched Anne’s cheeks. “I—”
“Of course, you cannot understand!” Mary snapped. “You have never been compromised and nearly ravaged!”
Anne did not think a stolen kiss counted as ravishment, but she kept that opinion to herself, as she felt quite small at the moment. She’d not meant to embarrass or upset Fanny. “Fanny, I—”
“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Honora snapped. “We simply want to know how Lord Rutledge managed to persuade Fanny to go to the library with him. Where did you first encounter him?”
“Oh!” Fanny wailed.
“You cannot understand, either, Honora,” Mary growled.
“And how is it that you understand?” Augusta, who was normally so quiet, asked.
Mary narrowed her eyes on Augusta. “I was once duped by a rogue, if you must know! He convinced me he loved me, and I gave my innocence to him like a fool! He
, of course, had no intention of marrying me, and I was left ruined so that no respectable man would ever wed me!”
Anne blanched at the revelation. It had never entered her mind that Mary was so very dour because she had been ruined by a rake. Had Grandfather sent her away from London after the incident? Is that why the relationship between them was so strained? Had he unfairly considered it Mary’s fault? Anne loved her grandfather, but it had not always been so. He could be cold and forbidding when he did not truly mean to be.
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Anne said, as Honora and Augusta murmured the same. Fanny did not comment. Perhaps Mary had already shared the secret with her.
“Was the scoundrel ever brought to justice?” Honora asked.
“I had thought perhaps a sort of justice had been served,” Mary said, a contemplative look coming to her face. Then her eyes narrowed, and a twisted smile curled her lips. “He was sent away from England and denied by his own grandfather when he discovered what his grandson had done and how he refused to marry me. But alas, the grandfather has died, and last night I saw the scoundrel who tricked me at the ball.”
Anne had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Who is it, Mary?” she asked. She could not say exactly why, but she had a suspicion it was the Duke of Kilmartin.
“Oh, I shouldn’t say,” Mary replied, waving her hand. Anne noticed that Mary shot what appeared to be a quelling glance at Fanny. Had Mary shared the man’s name with Fanny and she wanted Fanny to remain silent?
Fanny got a distinctly uneasy look on her face.
“Mary, you must tell us,” Honora said. “We should add this man to our list! Once a rogue, always a rogue.”
“Oh, I dare not,” Mary said, fixing her gaze rather pointedly on Fanny once more.
Fanny chewed on her lip for a moment, her hands twisting rather furiously in her lap. The woman obviously knew Mary’s secret and did not want to break her friend’s confidence, but if their little group could help bring the man to some sort of justice or teach him a lesson…
“Fanny, you must tell us his name!” Anne insisted. “It’s obvious that you know!”
“Fanny, you mustn’t!” Mary exclaimed, as her eyebrows rose high.
Poor Fanny looked positively miserable, as if caught in the worst sort of predicament. Anne truly hated to push her, but honestly, if the man had done such a thing to Mary years before, he would likely strike some poor innocent debutante again, and it was their duty to ensure he did not. “If we know who he is, we could discover whether he has changed or not, and if he has not, we can stop him from doing such a thing again.”
“I’m certain he’s unchanged,” Mary snapped. “I want justice! I want all debutantes to know he’s a rogue, but the truth must not be associated with my name.”
Poor Mary must have still felt shamed. Anne understood completely. “No one will have any inkling that you and he ever had an, er, friendship in the past. Will you please tell us his name?”
“Don’t say a word, Fanny!” Mary exclaimed, as if the question had been directed at Fanny and not at her.
“It’s the new Duke of Kilmartin,” Fanny blurted, guilt etched on her face.
That sinking sensation in Anne’s stomach settled there like a giant, jagged rock. Blast that man! She had known he was a dangerous rogue, and yet…yet, he had intrigued her. She could not deny it. She was a perfectly enormous fool. Anger simmered, then turned to a boil.
“I met him,” she said, her voice sounding sharp to her own ears.
“Yes,” Mary said, surprising her. “I saw you stroll onto the balcony with him from my seat at the table.”
Anne frowned. “If you knew he was a rogue, why did you not come to fetch me?”
“And say what?” Mary challenged. “Should I have marched outside and demanded you leave his presence? How would I have explained it? What a fool I would have looked like, as if I had not moved past what happened all those years ago! As if I brooded over it still! As if sometimes at night I didn’t still wonder what life might have been like had he actually been a gentleman and married me!”
“Oh, Mary,” Anne cried out, realizing that everything the woman was saying was true for her, too. Anne clutched his topcoat as her mind turned. “We will teach him a lesson, I promise. One that ensures he hesitates before duping a lady again.”
Mary sniffed but nodded. “You mustn’t let on to Rowan.”
Anne’s brow furrowed. “Grandfather? Did he know what occurred?”
Mary nodded. “Of course. It was dreadful. He blamed me, as well, and sent me away. I fear what he might do if he thinks I’ve not let the past die now that Kilmartin has returned. I don’t want to be sent away again.”
“Of course not,” Anne assured her. “I will think of something.”
“Perhaps we should just let Mary’s past with Kilmartin alone. Maybe the man has changed,” Fanny said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mary exclaimed.
“A rogue never changes his spots,” Honora said. Augusta nodded her agreement.
“I suppose,” Fanny relented, dejection in her voice.
“Fanny, you have the best heart,” Anne assured her friend. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”
Everyone nodded, and then, because she really needed to know the facts of what happened with Fanny now more than ever, she said, “About Rutledge…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mary snapped. “You’re like a dog after a bone. If you must know, Fanny encountered Rutledge on the terrace. He told her of a rare art book that was in the library. You all know how Fanny adores art.”
Anne nodded. Fanny was an exceptional painter and sketcher, and she would have loved to be an artist if her parents would have permitted such a thing.
“She went willingly to the library because of the book, didn’t you, Fanny?” Mary suddenly demanded, looking to Fanny.
Fanny had the strangest look of appalled fascination on her face. Perhaps hearing the tale recounted by another made her feel odd. After a pause, during which it seemed Fanny was trying to decide whether to agree or not, she nodded.
“Then Lord Rutledge closed the door and launched himself at Fanny,” Mary continued. “And that is when the dowager and her friend walked into the library. The rest you all know. Are you finally satisfied, Anne?” Mary asked, glaring at her.
Anne nodded. She supposed she was, though knowing Simon, the rogue, had intrigued her so much that he almost swayed her to his friend’s lies, did not make her happy.
“I don’t wish you to continue this campaign against Lord Rutledge on my behalf,” Fanny said, capturing Anne’s full attention.
“Whyever not?” Anne asked, noting that Fanny looked rather fearful once more. “Has he threatened you?”
“Yes!” Mary cried out.
“No,” Fanny said, shooting to her feet. “No, no! Most certainly not!”
“Oh, well, I thought you’d made mention of such,” Mary said. She did not appear at all regretful about what would have been a horrid accusation.
“I did not,” Fanny snapped. “I, well, you see, Anne, I did not consider Rutledge’s sisters when I agreed to this campaign, and my mother made mention this morning that she’d heard the servants gossiping that Rutledge might be in need of an heiress and he’d never secure one if the whispers of his character continue to grow.”
“Perfect!” Mary said with glee.
“It is not perfect,” Fanny replied sharply. “I know Lord Rutledge’s sisters. They are nice girls. And well—” Fanny glanced to her hands, which she still was twisting in her lap “—I do not think they should be made to pay for their brother’s mistake.” She sucked in a sharp breath and looked up. Tears were shimmering in her eyes. “And mayhap Lord Rutledge liked me, and so he kissed me. Mayhap he could not help himself. Mayhap he felt awful about us being discovered and wanted to ask for me but he could not, because he needs to marry for money. Everyone knows, of course, that I have none.”
Anne had a feel
ing that sweet, kindhearted Fanny actually had liked Rutledge. Poor, poor Fanny! Anne chose her words carefully so as not to wound Fanny’s tender feelings further. “Mayhap you are perfectly correct,” she said, though it seemed doubtful.
Simon’s warning that maligning Rutledge would hurt his family came to her mind. Though the rogue may have been trying to dissuade her from her mission simply to aid his friend, he had been correct in his argument that others, those innocent of any wrongdoing, would be hurt by her actions. She felt shamed to her core that she’d not thought about Rutledge’s sisters. Still, it was not fair that Rutledge should walk away unscathed while poor Fanny was now considered ruined. He had kissed her, after all. Just as it was not fair that Simon could have the pick of practically any woman he chose to wed while poor Mary had no virtue to give her husband, and therefore did not think she could ever marry.
There had to be a solution to both problems. Fanny was the most pressing problem, so Anne focused her thoughts on that. There had to be a way to make Rutledge accountable for what he’d done while also helping Fanny. If only a position could be secured somewhere for Rutledge that paid enough to aid his family and enable him to offer for Fanny to salvage her reputation.
How could she possibly convince the likely rogue to do the decent thing? An idea suddenly occurred to her. If she made him think she’d continue to besmirch his name unless he did the honorable thing and pointed out to him that his diminished standing in the ton would harm the likelihood of his sisters making good matches, then perhaps he would take a position if she secured one for him. Of course, she’d be bluffing about continuing her smear campaign, which was a gamble, but it was one she was willing to take.
Anne ticked off a mental list of things she needed to do in her head. First, she would go to see her brother-in-law shortly and ask him if he could offer Rutledge a position. Harthorne could most definitely be trusted to keep Fanny’s predicament a secret, and since Anne could not go to her grandfather for help, her brother-in-law was really the only one she could ask. After seeing him, she would go to see Rutledge if Harthorne had a position to offer him. Then she would return Simon’s coat. She honestly could not think of a way to force Simon to pay for what he’d done to poor Mary, but hopefully something would come to her.
My Daring Duchess (Once Upon a Rogue Book 4) Page 5
