At Last the Rogue Returns

by Adele Clee

  “It takes as much courage to admit to one’s failures as it does to stand up and fight,” he said, and he’d had many fights over the years. “There is nothing I can say to bring Mrs Roberts back from the grave. But I am strong enough to bear the man’s wrath.”

  The lady’s eyes softened, and those sapphire pools traced a line across the breadth of his shoulders. “Yes, I do believe you are.”

  Mr Roberts stood perched on a ladder, hammering nails into a piece of timber supporting the barn roof. The man’s property came with three acres of land, and yet no sheep grazed in the field, no cattle sheltered in the barn. The air held a damp, musty odour, lacked the unpleasant scent of manure that clung to the back of one’s throat.

  Upon hearing their approach, the man looked back over his shoulder. His dark eyes hardened instantly, and his mouth drew blade thin.

  Miss Lovell cleared her throat, perhaps intending to speak, but Miles placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

  “Mr Roberts, I’m sure you know who I am,” Miles said, stepping forward with confidence, not arrogance. “If you’d care to come down from the ladder there are things we need to discuss.”

  The tension in the air was palpable.

  “So it’s true. The mighty Lord Greystone has returned.” Mr Roberts spoke in the disrespectful tone the lower classes would never use with their lord and master. “Come down you say. Oh, I’ll come down.”

  Clutching the hammer in his hand, Roberts descended the ladder, his feet moving on the rungs with lightning speed. Miles held out his arm and forced Miss Lovell and her maid to stand aside.

  “Think of your children,” Miss Lovell said frantically as Mr Roberts marched over to stand but a few feet away. Patches covered the holes in his waistcoat, and days’ worth of grime clung to his skin. With eyes rimmed red, he looked tired to the point of exhaustion.

  “May I express my sincere condolences on the death of your wife?”

  “Sincere, you say?” the man mocked. “I suppose that makes everything all right.” His tone brimmed with contempt. “One word from the fancy lord here and I’m to go about my business and forget it ever happened. Forget that he left us to rot.”

  “Had I known of the living conditions here I would have hired men to make the necessary repairs.” Miles held Roberts’ blazing stare. The muscles in his chest grew tight. He knew the pain that came with loss, knew that blaming another made life more bearable.

  “And you’d have tripled the rents to pay for it, I bet.” Water welled in Mr Roberts’ eyes—tears of rage rather than sorrow. His face contorted and twisted into an ugly sneer. With a growl of frustration, he raised his arm and brandished the hammer ready to bring it crashing down on Miles’ head. “Happen someone needs to hold you to account.”

  “Put down the hammer, Mr Roberts.” If needs must, Miles could knock the man to the ground before he took his next breath. “Killing me will not solve your problems.”

  “Maybe not, but it might make me sleep easier in my bed at night.” The comment seemed to rouse the man’s anger even more. “You took her away from me … you took her and now—”

  When Roberts waved the hammer again, Miles had no choice but to divest the man of his weapon. In a series of movements—so quick one would miss them if they blinked—Miles disarmed the man and threw the tool to the ground. It landed with a thud at Miss Lovell’s feet. Startled, the maid gasped, jumped back and almost swooned.

  “Gilligan is the one responsible for doubling the rents, not I.” As a sign of goodwill, Miles held up his hands in surrender. “Gilligan is the one who turned you off the land, who refused to use the funds I gave him to make the repairs to your property.”

  “It is true, Mr Roberts.” Miss Lovell came forward to plead his case. Her sweet voice brought an element of calm to the situation. “I was there when Mr Gilligan confessed.”

  It was a slight exaggeration, but Miles was grateful for her support. One thing was certain. Miss Lovell cared about his tenants. In his absence, she’d taken it upon herself to act as mistress of the manor—though without the funds and title to support her position.

  “Mr Gilligan deceived us all,” the lady added. “He kept the money to fund his gambling habit. Lord Greystone was ignorant to the goings-on here.”

  Ignorant or not, the blame still lay at his door. “The Greystone Estate is my responsibility regardless where I lay my hat. I made a mistake, Mr Roberts.” Lord, that was the first time those words had fallen from his lips. “An unforgivable mistake that cannot be rescinded.”

  The man fell silent. It felt like minutes passed before he said, “Gilligan lied you say?”

  “He did.” As lord of the manor, Miles had no need to explain himself, but his conscience demanded he offer a reason for what had happened here. “Funds were made available to him for the repairs, but I’m afraid the man’s greed led him astray.”

  Roberts clenched his teeth again. “Then he’s the one that will answer for what happened to Elsie.”

  A heavy silence descended.

  Mr Roberts’ shoulders sagged, and his countenance grew solemn. “The world ended the day Elsie passed,” he eventually said, his tone marginally more respectful. “You ever been in love, milord?”

  It was an impertinent question, but under the circumstances he felt obliged to reply. For some obscure reason, Miles looked at Miss Lovell. She watched with curious inquiry and waited for his answer.

  “No.” Miles did not drag his gaze away from the lady. “I have not been so fortunate as to find a woman who appeals to me both body and mind.” Until now, he added silently.

  “Then I pray you never have to lose someone what is so dear you’d die a hundred times over if it meant bringin’ her back.”

  Ada put her hand to her nose and sniffed.

  Miles had experienced the deep sense of loss when a beloved parent died. He knew lust but not the all-consuming love that robbed a man of all rational thought. In some cases, he’d wondered if it was better to avoid romantic entanglements—wondered if the pain of loss outweighed the fleeting moments of pleasure.

  “Well, you have your sons to think of now,” Miss Lovell said, trying to lift the poor man’s spirits. “Elsie still lives in them. Though I doubt she’d be pleased to find they’re scrumping in his lordship’s orchard.”

  Mr Roberts’ eyes widened. “Scrumping? Again? Those blighters. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a hundred times.” He turned to Miles, deep worry lines marring his brow. “Food’s been scarce, milord, but they’re good boys at heart.”

  Miles did not begrudge these people a few apples.

  “Your oldest son is twelve, I understand,” Miles said, having gained the information from Mr Crowe. “Perhaps he might like to work on the estate. The work would certainly keep him out of mischief.”

  Mr Roberts looked both surprised and relieved. “Can’t say the money won’t be of some help.”

  “Then let us go inside,” Miles said, feeling far more at ease. “I need a detailed list of repairs, and I would like to know what happened to your livestock.”

  “I’m going past the orchard on my way home.” Miss Lovell smiled, and the autumn day suddenly seemed brighter. “I’ll gather the boys together and send them back home.”

  “You’re not coming inside?” Disappointment dripped heavily from his words. He couldn’t help it.

  Miss Lovell shook her head numerous times, the delightful cherries on her bonnet wobbling back and forth. “There is nothing more for me to do here. In Cuckfield, word spreads like a rippling wave. I grant you, by this evening, the tenants will want to throw a celebration in your honour.”

  Ada mumbled something about the dangers of dancing under the full moon.

  Miles turned to face Miss Lovell, meant to bow but captured her hand and brought it to his lips. “Then allow me to convey my heartfelt thanks for your assistance today.” He drank in the nervous tremble of her lips. The need to kiss her, to devour her innocent mouth, took hold. />
  She inhaled deeply. “It was the least I could do after the terrible names I called you these last two years.”

  Miles found her honesty as beguiling as her charming countenance.

  Aware of Ada staring open-mouthed at her mistress, Miles straightened and reluctantly released Miss Lovell’s hand. “Then I pray you’ve had a change of heart, Miss Lovell. I pray you find I am not the devil of your nightmares.” But the hero of your dreams, he added silently.

  Her soft gaze drifted over his face, and he could almost feel its gentle caress. “Today, you have proved yourself a gentleman, my lord.”

  Miles stepped forward, leant closer and whispered, “Where you’re concerned, you might find I am still a bit of a devil.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she said, thrusting her hands more firmly into her gloves as she struggled to look him in the eye. “Good day, my lord. Perhaps we might see you again before your trip to London.”

  Miles moistened his lips. “You can be certain of it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Trying to reach her bedchamber without alerting Arabella proved impossible with Ada in tow. The maid slipped on the marble floor in the hall and went crashing into the console table. Fooled into celebrating her success when they reached the stairs, Lydia almost jumped out of her skin when Arabella pounced.

  “That was an extremely long walk.” Arabella strode towards them, patting down the sides of her hair as if the mere sight of Lydia ruffled the crow’s feathers. “You’ve been gone for four hours.”

  Ada swayed at Lydia’s side. Cross words made the girl uneasy—the consequence of a violent father who met his end in a drunken brawl. “Could you speak to Mrs Sanders, Ada, and tell her I shall take luncheon in my room?”

  “Yes, Miss Lovell.” The maid curtsied and tottered off, looking relieved to have escaped Arabella’s evil clutches.

  “Lord Randall went to find you. There is something important he wishes to say. Something that can no longer wait.” Arabella glared. “Well, where on earth have you been?”

  Something important? Heavens above, surely the dandy didn’t mean to offer marriage?

  “I went to visit Lord Greystone’s tenants.” Truth was the best policy. If Lord Randall had a mind to make a declaration, Lydia had to divert him from his goal. “Now his lordship has returned, work can begin on the cottages.”

  Arabella stared down her nose. “How many times must I tell you to stop prying into other people’s affairs? Greystone is a man of uncontrollable appetites. The rogue is as wild as his father by all accounts.”

  Strange tingles burst to life in Lydia’s stomach. Lord Greystone did have a wild, untamed air about him. He had looked at her as if she were his next meal and yet she’d been flattered not frightened.

  “And what do you think Greystone would say if he caught you snooping about his estate?” Arabella continued. “Trespassing where you’re not wanted.”

  “Lord Greystone asked me to accompany him when he visited the properties.” Lydia suppressed a chuckle for she enjoyed nothing more than watching Arabella stumble.

  She’d planned to keep her meeting with Greystone a secret but had grown tired of tiptoeing about. For heaven’s sake, in a few weeks she could do as she damn well pleased. So why couldn’t Arabella leave her be?

  “You met with Lord Greystone!” Arabella gasped. “Greystone! Have you lost your mind? Randall won’t marry you if he discovers you’ve been running about the countryside like the town trollop.”

  “Good!”

  The word hit Arabella like a sharp slap. She jerked her head back. “You ungrateful wretch. Your brother has done everything in his power to ensure you make a good match, and you’re willing to throw it all away on a … on a whim.”

  “You said I was to focus on finding a husband. Lord Greystone is unmarried and has both title and fortune.” Lydia said it merely to prove a point though couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to marry a man so virile.

  “Greystone? Greystone!” Anger flared in Arabella’s eyes—anger accompanied by a tiny flash of fear. “A man like that does not marry a wallflower. Look at you. Greystone has lived abroad for years. He’s used to exotic beauties, not backwater oddities.”

  Never having ventured further afield than London, Lydia had to admit she was sorely lacking when it came to worldly experience. She would never be exciting enough for a man like Greystone. Still, it didn’t hurt to tease Arabella.

  “I happen to believe Lord Greystone holds me in high esteem,” Lydia said with an air of hauteur so unlike her. It was not a total lie. He had made flirtatious comments. And when he touched her … oh, the whole world seemed to tilt on its axis.

  Arabella sneered. “The man is a scoundrel, used to manipulating people with his words and fake protestations.”

  Much like Arabella, then.

  “Lord Randall is different,” Arabella continued. “He has respect for your family, has an unblemished reputation. He is considered a catch, Lydia. Ladies are falling over their feet to gain his attention.”

  If that were the case, then Lydia had lost a little faith in womankind. Rudolph Randall epitomised all that was wrong with the world. Prejudice, vanity and conceit were not traits to be admired.

  “I could never love Lord Randall.” There, she had said it. How could she marry a man she detested?

  “Love? Love!” Arabella’s nose took on the shape of a snout. “Do you honestly think that I am in love with Cecil? Foolish girl. Ladies do not marry for love.”

  No, they married for money and status.

  “Then what need have I to marry at all?” Lydia’s heart went out to her dolt of a brother. Love was the reason he bowed and scraped to Arabella’s demands. “I have a house in London, and money enough to last a lifetime. My brother is a peer, and consequently, I shall be accepted to balls and functions.”

  Arabella’s face darkened. She stepped closer, gripped the newel post with her razor-sharp talons. “Does that mean you won’t reward your brother for his loyal service?” she spat viciously. “Do you intend to hold us to ransom, is that it?”

  The devil had not returned to Cuckfield. The devil had been living at Dunnam Park these last three years.

  “I intend to abide by my father’s wishes.” Lydia raised her chin in defiance. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go to my room to wash and change.”

  “Your room?” Arabella said with a sly grin. “I am mistress of this house and so let me be blunt.” She stared down her nose. “That room is no longer yours. I shall have your things moved this afternoon to a small bedchamber in the west wing or, better still, the attic.”

  Anger bubbled in the back of Lydia’s throat. Let Arabella do her worst. Having seen the awful conditions Lord Greystone’s tenants suffered over the years, she could cope with most things.

  “Fine.”

  When Arabella’s threat failed to get the desired reaction, she added, “And Ada will no longer be your lady’s maid. I shall find a job for her in the scullery.” Arabella grinned as if she’d struck the winning blow. “Unless of course you agree to marry Rudolph. In which case you may disregard everything I’ve said.”

  Lydia would rather die than marry the dandy. All she had to do was survive the next three weeks. As the day of her twenty-first birthday approached, no doubt Arabella would resort to underhanded tactics to get her way. But Lydia had to stay strong.

  “Do what you must, but I shall not marry Rudolph.” If Arabella dismissed Ada, Lydia would ask Lord Greystone to hire her. He was in dire need of staff.

  “Arghh!” Arabella looked fit to explode. “Mark my words, you will marry him, and I shall make damn sure of it.”

  Lydia contemplated her next move in this battle of wills. There was little point turning to her brother for help. One kiss from Arabella and he would agree to her demands.

  “You may tell Mrs Sanders that I’ve lost my appetite.” Lydia barged past Arabella and headed for the front door.

  “Wher
e are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “For some air, while you have my belongings moved.” Before Arabella could protest further, Lydia escaped out of the door. A loud crash reached her ears as she marched down the drive. Well, that was one less vase for the maid to clean.

  The three-mile walk to Cuckfield gave Lydia ample time to think. She considered catching the mail coach to London. She could reside at the townhouse and hope Cecil would leave her be. But she would never leave without Ada. A promise was a promise, and the girl would not deal well with Arabella.

  And yet something else made her want to stay.

  Lydia did not have to trawl through her mind to find the answer. The image formed instantly—a tall, dark and handsome figure with a commanding presence.

  Lord Greystone was a most intriguing man.

  It was impossible to deny the connection they shared. The air thrummed with excitement whenever he came near. Her heart raced at the mere sight of his sinful smile.

  But Greystone had no intention of remaining in Cuckfield. A gentleman of such rich experience did not settle in a quaint village. The thrill of city life would lure him into its web and keep him there, trapped in a world of danger and sin.

  Even so, he had not left for London yet.

  Perhaps spending a few days in his company might help her understand these odd yet thrilling emotions. And she really ought to ensure he kept his promise to his tenants.

  Arabella’s constant harping would prove frustrating. But Lydia could cope for a few more weeks. The woman’s threats were empty. Avoiding Lord Randall might be difficult. But what could he do? It was not as though he could force her to marry him.

  Chapter Nine

  Keen to avoid Lord Randall at all costs, Lydia decided against going downstairs for dinner.

  While Arabella, Cecil and the dandy waited for her in the drawing room, she grabbed her blue cloak and snuck out through the servants’ quarters.