At Last the Rogue Returns

by Adele Clee

  Lydia pressed on, her sodden garment dragging her down. Numb feet helped her cope with the pain of navigating Greystone’s drive. When she reached the front door her knees almost buckled, and she gripped the brass knocker and let it fall.

  She waited.

  No one came.

  She thumped the door and listened for the sound of footsteps.

  Still, no one came.

  Lydia descended the steps and surveyed the facade. The curtains were closed, not even a sliver of candlelight pierced the night. A rumble of thunder in the distance heightened her anxiety.

  The only hope of gaining access was through the servants’ quarters. It was that or seek shelter with Mr Roberts. Hurrying around to the back of the sprawling mansion, she stopped abruptly. Golden rays of light beamed out onto the terrace from a long row of French doors. One was ajar.

  Curiosity carried her forward.

  Lydia mounted the stone steps, crept to the narrow wall separating the two sets of doors and peered inside.

  The sight stole her breath.

  It wasn’t the glittering chandelier or the host of standing candelabras that brought a lump to her throat. It wasn’t the way the light reflected on the plates of looking glass hanging in gilt frames or the warmth created from the polished oak floor.

  No.

  Greystone stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but his breeches. His dark hair looked damp, and she couldn’t help but sigh when he pushed a rakish lock back from his brow. Opposite him, Dariell stood in the same relaxed dress. He was more slender than the viscount but the muscles in his abdomen rippled with every movement.

  “Have you had enough now?” Dariell said in his calm, soothing voice.

  “Do I look like I have?” Greystone bit back.

  Dariell shook his head. “Ah, monseigneur, you do not know when to quit, no?”

  “Just resume your position and allow me to ease my frustration on you.”

  Lydia watched the men come together. They bowed to each other, stood with their hands by their sides rather than form fists. Rivulets of rain trickled down the glass pane, and she squinted to gain a better view.

  Greystone attacked first. The swipe came so quick it made her gasp. Dariell didn’t even flinch. The Frenchman blocked the move with a counterattack that forced Greystone to duck. And so it went on. Punches thrown. The kicks to the chest were capable of knocking three men down. There was nothing clumsy or uncouth about their battle. It was elegant, masterful, beautiful yet deadly.

  A faint sheen of sweat glistened on Greystone’s bronzed skin. While every inch of Lydia’s body shivered from the cold, heat swirled within. The muscles in her stomach squeezed tight with longing. This intense attraction was too much for her. Where would it lead? Where would it end? And yet she could not tear her gaze away from the window.

  “Where are you, my friend?” Dariell said as he dodged another of Greystone’s punches. “For you are not in this room with me. You have lost your focus.”

  Greystone massaged the muscle in his shoulder, and Lydia almost swooned. “I’m focused. I’ve hit you enough times to make it count.”

  “Ah, but your anger makes you weak. You’ve fought better. Remember rage is the enemy, too.”

  “I’m not angry,” Greystone snapped, although he did sound rather annoyed.

  “You do protest too much, my friend. When a man is lost in his head, it is often because of a woman.” Dariell paused. “Am I right?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Do not tell me for I know the answer.”

  “You’re right. But it’s disappointment that eats away at me, not anger.”

  “Miss Lovell is what you would call an original, no?”

  Lydia shrank back. Did she really want to listen to their opinion of her? She thought for a second, maybe two. The answer was yes.

  The grumble of thunder came dangerously close now. Rain dripped from her straggly locks. Her feet were cut and bruised, and still, she turned back to the open door.

  “You think her exceptional,” Dariell said. “That is the first time you have ever spoken so fondly of a woman.”

  Damn, she’d missed what Greystone had said to prompt such a response.

  Greystone pushed both hands through his hair and sighed. “In my eagerness, I pressed her too hard today.”

  No, he didn’t … he hadn’t. She liked seeing a savage hunger flash in his eyes.

  Greystone said something else, but the damn thunder made it impossible to hear. And now her ragged breathing misted the glass. Lydia wiped away the rain and the evidence of her excitement only to find both men staring at the door.

  Lydia stood there in her nightdress, soaked and bedraggled. Greystone stepped forward. He looked so strong so powerful so utterly divine. Oh, how she longed to be crushed in his embrace.

  Their eyes locked and she felt the same magnetic pull.

  For some reason unbeknown she backed away, and then a sudden bout of nerves screamed for her to run.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Miles stared at the apparition standing on the terrace. What else could it be? He may have dreamt Miss Lovell would come to him in the night wearing nothing but a transparent gown, but he was a logical enough man to know that was merely a fantasy.

  And yet here she was, water dripping from those rich brown locks, the white nightdress clinging to every soft curve, to every delicious inch of her body.

  “Your lady, she is the reason you took your supper at the stones?” Dariell said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then she is a little late, no?”

  “Four hours to be precise.”

  “I wonder what brought her out at this hour, in this dreadful weather?” Dariell’s tone carried a hint of amusement. “Well, is she to catch her death of cold or will you permit her to come in?”

  Miles wasn’t sure if he could trust himself with the lady, not while she was in such a state of dishabille. But he couldn’t very well leave her outside in the rain.

  He stepped forward and their gazes locked. The power of it hit him hard in the chest, harder than any punch he’d received from Dariell. Fate had brought them together. He could feel nature’s force vibrating in the air. Nothing could prevent their inevitable union.

  “You are drawn to her, monseigneur,” Dariell said softly. “Miss Lovell, she is your raison d’être.”

  “My what?” Miles cast his friend a sidelong glance.

  “Whether you know it or not, she is your reason for being.”

  Dariell’s comment did more than wash over Miles. It penetrated his skin, seeped into his bones. And there lay the truth of it. Could a man fall in love within minutes of meeting a woman? Could he surrender his heart when he hardly knew her? It didn’t make sense to him, and yet a woman he had known for days had suddenly become his world.

  Since that first meeting at the gate, he’d known Miss Lovell was special, known that somehow their destinies were entwined. But these emotions went beyond anything he could comprehend. They went beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

  Miles shook his head in an effort to focus on the matter at hand and caught a glimpse of Miss Lovell’s nightdress as she hurried down the terrace steps.

  “Ah, she does not know what she means to you,” Dariell said as Miles raced to the doors. “The voices in her head tell her it cannot be. Yet it is what our Persian friends call kismet. Go to her—go!”

  Despite the rain and his lack of clothing, Miles threw open the door and rushed down the steps in pursuit. Thunder crashed overhead. It wasn’t safe outdoors. Miles stared through the downpour and across the lawn at the spectre-like figure racing ahead.

  Where the hell was she going?

  “Miss Lovell,” he called out to her. “Wait.”

  What was she running from? Why risk coming to the manor at night, and in such a state of undress only to bolt? What had happened at Dunnam Park to make her leave so suddenly? A hot ball of anger filled his chest. If that dandy had laid a hand on her—
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  “Lydia!”

  Hearing her given name, she glanced back over her shoulder. The sudden movement made her stumble. She slipped on the wet grass, lost her balance and arms flailing hit the ground hard.

  “Lydia.” Miles reached her in seconds. The sight of her pallid skin, blue lips, the dirt and scratches covering her bare feet took him aback. He tried to ignore the way the wet material clung to her breasts, tried to ignore the pert nipples pressing for his attention. “Why are you running?”

  She gasped and fought to catch her breath. “I—I don’t know.” Raindrops trickled down her cheek, or perhaps they were tears, he could not tell. Her shoulders shook from the cold. “I thought you might … you might …”

  “That I might what?” A loud rumble and a sudden crack in the night sky drew his gaze heavenward. “Come, let us get out of the storm. We can talk inside.” It was then he noticed the trickle of blood running from a cut on her heel. Anger flared again when he thought of what she’d suffered to reach him.

  “I do not wish to intrude.” Another whimper escaped as she tried to prevent any tears falling. “It was foolish of me to come. You … you’re busy with Dariell.”

  “I am never too busy to see you.” He bent down, and ignoring her protests, gathered her in his arms and drew her tightly to his chest.

  Oh, merciful Lord. Holding her so close … the feel of her body … he could lose his mind.

  “No, don’t. I can walk. Put me down.” For fear of falling she clung to his neck.

  “You’ll not walk another step until I’ve examined your feet.” Miles strode back to the house. The tempting woman in his arms wriggled, her cold hands trailing over his neck and shoulders as she tried to find comfort in her position. “Please,” Miles begged as his cock pulsed with need. “Thread your arms around my neck and keep them there.”

  “I … I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice lacked the confidence he’d come to expect, and yet he found her vulnerability just as beguiling. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You did the right thing coming here.” Curiosity burned. But he suspected he would struggle to control his temper when he learnt the truth. “You need a warm bath and a hot meal, and then you can tell me what brought you here tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Her simple words tugged at his heart.

  As he walked towards the house her head came to rest on his shoulder, and a relieved sigh left her lips. The need to cherish and protect her burst through him like a firework at Vauxhall. Woe betide anyone who hurt her again. She was his. He’d known it the instant he laid eyes on her. Perhaps the need to wreak vengeance was not the primary reason for his return. Perhaps this tempting beauty had called him home, and Fate set him on his course.

  Miles mounted the terrace steps with ease, kicked the door open a little wider with his foot and strode into the ballroom.

  Dariell was sitting on the floor, his eyes closed, his legs crossed. “One cannot fight the will of the gods, monseigneur,” he whispered and then continued with his meditative prayers.

  “You can put me down.” Miss Lovell’s breath breezed across his neck to stir the fine hairs at his nape. “I shall be fine now it’s warm and dry.”

  But Miles didn’t stop or put her down. He wanted answers. He wanted privacy. And so he marched into the hall and climbed the grand staircase despite her questions and muttered protests.

  “Where are you taking me?” Miss Lovell sounded curious but not the least bit frightened.

  “To my bedchamber.”

  “Your bedchamber? Why there?”

  “Because the fire is lit, a warm bathtub awaits, and no one will disturb us.” And because Drake promised to return to the manor, and the man had a habit of barging in unannounced. But that was not the only reason. “Because I want to kiss you again if you’ll allow it, and prefer the comfort of a bed to a hard stone.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you’d rather I take you elsewhere, if you’d rather refrain from furthering the connection between us, then you must say so now.” Miles reached the double doors to his chamber and paused. “Well, Miss Lovell, what will it be?”

  She raised her head. “You called me Lydia earlier. I rather liked it and give you permission to do so now.”

  Struggling to rein in his desire, Miles said huskily, “And do you give your permission for anything else, Lydia?”

  With some hesitance she met his gaze. Those dazzling blue eyes drew him deeper into her spell. “I would very much like to kiss you again.”

  Was she too innocent of heart and mind to understand he wanted more? Not that it mattered. The sudden realisation that he would be happy just to have her company proved telling.

  “Then let me tend to you, let me work to make you comfortable. Let me be your counsel, and we will take the rest from there.”

  Her eyes brightened. “I was so wrong about you.” Without warning, she reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “There, I have kissed you first so you can be assured of my intentions.”

  Miles smiled. “Then, my willing young maiden, let me steal you away into Satan’s lair.” Holding her close with one arm, he opened the chamber door. “But I should warn you. Once there, I might keep you a prisoner for all eternity.”

  “You make hell sound so heavenly.”

  “Hmm. I have a feeling it might be.”

  Miles carried her across the threshold. The fire roared in the grate, the flames’ shadows dancing erotically over the red walls. He strode to the bed and placed her down gently before moving to the copper bath positioned near the hearth.

  “Dariell prepared it earlier,” Miles said, testing the heat of the water. “For use after our sparring match. When you failed to keep our appointment at the stone circle, I had to do something to ease my frustration.” And fighting with Dariell always helped to clear his mind.

  “Forgive me. I had every intention of attending. They locked me in the attic in a bid to force me to marry Lord Randall.”

  “They did what?” Miles wiped his wet hand on his breeches. He had a mind to march to Dunnam Park and call every damn one of them out. “And so you ran when they unlocked the door?”

  “Yes, but there’s a little more to it than that.” She wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered. “It’s so warm in here, and yet I feel cold to my bones.”

  “Then we must get you into the bath and find dry clothes.”

  “Your breeches are wet, too.”

  “They’re just damp. I shan’t be removing them so have no fear.” Miles looked about for the dressing screen. No doubt the doxies moved it to another room. Women of their ilk had no need to worry about indecency. “As there is nothing here to protect your modesty, the only option is for me to leave. You can lock the door behind me.”

  A frown marred her brow, and then she said with some embarrassment, “Don’t go. I can bathe in my nightdress. It’s already wet and sticking to my body like a second skin.”

  Oh, he knew that. He’d not been able to take his eyes off the sodden garment. Two pert nipples captured his attention, and Miles groaned inwardly. He’d be fighting with Dariell again before the night was out.

  Not being a man to refuse such an opportunity, he said, “As you wish.” He held out his hand to her. “Can you walk to the tub or would you like me to carry you?”

  A coy smile played on her lips. “I can walk, but I would like you to carry me.”

  His cock responded with a sudden jerk of excitement. “A gentleman would refuse, citing impropriety. But as a rogue, I can make no such claim.”

  Miles gathered her into his arms. Lord, her limbs were icy cold. Ignoring the throb of arousal in his loins, he lowered her down into the warm water. She gripped his bicep, holding on to him until he released her.

  “Oh, that feels so much better.” She swished water over her arms and shoulders. “There’s every chance I’ll catch a chill.”

  “Would you care for a nip of brandy? The heat of it will warm y
our chest.” He needed an excuse to leave. The cotton material was transparent in the water. He could see every soft curve, could see the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. If he stood there any longer, she might notice the swollen length of his cock ready to burst from his breeches.

  “Yes, I think a drop of brandy would be wise.” She leant back against the bathtub and ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to dry it with the heat from the flames.

  “Then I shall return in a moment.” After he’d hit Dariell or taken himself in hand to ease the painful ache that went beyond the physical.

  He did neither and went to fetch the bottle of brandy he’d brought back with him from London. He returned with the bottle and two tumblers. The sensual sight that met him almost made him drop the damn crystal.

  The temptress stood in the bathtub with her back to him, the wet garment moulded around her buttocks as she fanned the front of her gown before the flames.

  Miles cleared his throat.

  Miss Lovell glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, it occurred to me that this nightgown is the only item of clothing I have.”

  “It will be hours before it’s dry.” An image of her curled naked in his bed flashed before his eyes. Good God, his mind was that of a rampant schoolboy. “What about wearing one of my shirts for the time being? It should reach your knees, and you need something dry.”

  Miss Lovell patted the wet material. Did she not know the power she had over him? “Your shirt would serve me well, I think.”

  “Then you must dry yourself while I attend to the matter.” The flimsy linen towel draped over the chair would barely cover her thighs. With a slight tremble in his fingers, Miles placed the brandy and glasses on the side table. He yanked the plush coverlet from the bed and held it up before her. “It’s already damp from your nightdress and so will suffice for now.”

  He closed his eyes briefly while she stepped out of the copper tub, and then he shrouded her body in the burgundy bedspread.