At Last the Rogue Returns

by Adele Clee

  The fact Lord Randall did not bother to contradict the statement spoke volumes. Doubtless his mind was engaged in plotting the quickest route to Dover.

  Lady Lovell turned to the disgraced lord. “Have no fear, my darling. I know better than to listen to this rogue’s jealous diatribe.” She gave a snort of disdain. “When you shoot Greystone in the morning, what will his whore do then?”

  His whore!

  A black cloud of rage obscured Miles’ vision. Every muscle in his body tensed. For a moment, he imagined wringing the woman’s neck. But the light touch of Lydia’s hand on his arm brought an element of calm to the situation.

  Miles cast her a sidelong glance, and his heart swelled for she possessed the same confident air he’d witnessed the first night they met.

  Lydia fixed her gaze on Lady Lovell. “We’re leaving now,” she said, and though she spoke softly, her voice carried a threatening undertone. “But should there be any confusion regarding my intentions, there is something I must do before we go.”

  She captured Miles’ hand and led him out into the hall.

  He followed without pause or question—he would follow this lady anywhere.

  Once there, she turned to him. “There was a time when I thought you were amongst the worst of men, the kind of man Lord Randall turned out to be. But I was wrong.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Her dainty hand came to rest on his chest, covered his heart. “It may or may not have escaped your notice, but I’m in love with you.” She paused and caught her breath. “I love your loyalty to your friends, your devotion to righting the wrongs of the past, your strength of heart and mind. Most of all, I love the way you make me feel.”

  Miles captured her hand and brought it to his lips. “Then know that your feelings are returned. I fell in love with you for the same reasons.”

  She smiled, though he could feel the nervous tremor in her fingers. “With that in mind, I want to ask you if … if you’ll marry me, Lord Greystone. Oh, I know it’s not the done thing for a lady to propose. But it is my way of showing you I’m willing to risk everything for you.”

  Miles’ throat constricted and he found it hard to breathe. In his youth, he’d stood by helplessly and watched events unfold around him. As a man, he’d taken control of every aspect of his life with a steely determination. Yes, he should have been the one to ask. He needed to marry this woman as much as he needed to take air into his lungs. But knowing the strength it took to make the declaration touched him to the depths of his soul.

  “Does that mean I get a trousseau?” he said, offering a wicked grin.

  She watched him, fear and hope filling her sapphire-blue eyes. “Well, I do owe you a new shirt.” A weak smile graced her face. “Will you? Will you marry me, Greystone?”

  “Love, I’ve wanted to marry you from the moment we met.”

  The sound of sniffing drew his gaze to the beaming figure of Ada standing near the drawing room door.

  Lord Randall was nowhere to be seen.

  Lady Lovell stood gripping the console table, her upper lip curled in disdain. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourselves, don’t you?” she spat. “Cecil will never agree to the match. I can assure you of that.”

  “Lord Lovell will grant us permission to wed,” Miles countered coldly. “And if not, we shall elope to Gretna Green.”

  Nothing would prevent their union.

  “You’re no different from Rudolph. One only has to look at the dilapidated state of the manor to see you want her money.”

  “All I want is her love,” Miles corrected.

  “And you have it,” Lydia said sweetly.

  Lady Lovell’s face turned a dark shade of crimson. “You should have stayed away. You’ve ruined everything.” The woman jolted as if an evil presence had taken command of her body. Her frantic gaze darted about the hall. Anger radiated—wild and feral. The woman growled—deep and low and menacing. She grabbed the silver candlestick off the table and charged forward.

  “Good God!” Lord Randall cried as he appeared in the hall. “Arabella! What the hell are you doing?”

  But Lady Lovell had her beady eyes locked on her target. She swung the candlestick at Lydia’s head, but Miles pushed his love out of the way. He ducked, as he would from one of Dariell’s lethal sidekicks, and Lady Lovell flew over his shoulder.

  An ear-piercing scream filled the air, the accompanying crack dissolving into deathly silence.

  Ada pressed her back against the wall, her eyes bulging from their sockets. “Oh, Lord. Is … is she dead?”

  Miles straightened and swung around to find Lady Lovell’s lifeless body lying sprawled face-down on the floor. He reached her side in seconds, checked for a pulse to make sure she was breathing.

  Blood trickled from a wound to her head, the burgundy trail so stark against the white marble. From what he could tell, she’d fallen on the corner of the candlestick, the metal base digging into the flesh at her temple.

  “You need to go to Cuckfield and fetch a doctor,” Miles called out to Randall urgently. “I’ll be damned if I’m leaving Miss Lovell here alone with you.”

  The fop winced and retched a few times when he looked at the thick scarlet pool swimming around the woman’s head. With his hands pressed flat against the wall, he edged around the body before hurrying out of the door at the end of the hall.

  Lydia escorted Ada back into the drawing room and returned to kneel beside Miles. “It would be unwise to move her until the doctor arrives, but it might be too late if we don’t stem the bleeding.”

  The increasing burgundy puddle said Lydia was right.

  He nodded, and Lydia called for the servants to bring hot water, blankets and fresh linen cloths. It amazed him that she could show Lady Lovell any compassion after the way the woman had behaved. But then her kind heart was one of the reasons he loved her.

  “She would have killed you given half a chance,” he said, trying to banish the crippling sense of fear that gripped him when he recalled the evil look in Lady Lovell’s eyes.

  “Arabella has wanted to kill me for quite some time. I only wish she hadn’t ruined our perfect moment.”

  Nothing could ruin her romantic declaration.

  He could recall every word spoken, every tremble of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes when she promised him a life filled with love.

  Miles took hold of her chin. “We will continue the conversation tonight once we’ve dealt with this situation. That’s assuming we can command the use of your brother’s carriage.” He’d drag out one of the Greystone carriages but wasn’t sure if he had any horses to pull the damn thing.

  Lydia’s eyes brightened. “Why, are we going on a journey?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ada, have you seen my cloak, the blue one with the hood?”

  Lydia had searched the attic twice. It was somewhere in the room, but excitement rendered her incapable of focusing on anything other than her impending departure.

  She sighed with happiness at the thought of spending time alone with Greystone. A part of her expected to feel Ada nudge her in the ribs and wake her up from this beautiful dream.

  “It’s here, miss, hanging on the hook on the back of the door, right where you left it.” Ada shook the garment and draped it around Lydia’s shoulders.

  “Now, you’ll be all right here until I return?” Lydia felt a little easier leaving the maid knowing Arabella could do her no harm. At present, her sister-in-law was locked in a vegetative state. Dr Mason warned her recuperation could take months, years. “Lord Greystone said we’ll be gone for a few days. When Mr Dariell arrives back from London, he’ll help you move all our belongings to the manor.”

  By all accounts, Dariell had accompanied Mr Gilligan on a trip. With reluctance, the steward had taken a position on one of Greystone’s merchant vessels sailing for India, and Dariell was instructed to remain there until the ship left th
e docks.

  “I’ll manage, miss. Lord Greystone said I’m to store your things in his chamber for the time being.” Ada offered a beaming grin. “And Mrs Guthrie will help me find my way around the place.”

  After the shocking events of the day, it was a relief to see the maid smile.

  The butterflies in Lydia’s stomach returned when she thought of spending every night in Greystone’s bedchamber. The blood heated in her veins when she pictured the lord’s muscular body rising above her, claiming her in the way that made her toes curl as she cried out his name.

  “Well, happen his lordship is back from the manor by now,” Ada said, hauling Lydia’s valise with two hands. “And you don’t want to be late, miss.”

  “No, Ada. Lord Greystone is not the sort of man a lady keeps waiting.”

  They made their way down to the hall.

  Cecil was in the study, stretched out on the chaise while cradling a glass of brandy. Lydia had never seen him look so relaxed and carefree.

  Having found the horses in a nearby field, and hearing of Mr Gilligan’s confession from Dariell, Mr Drake had arrived at Dunnam Park at the same time as Dr Mason. Consequently, he’d been given the task of riding to Burgess Hill. Cecil had returned immediately though was less than devastated to hear the news of Arabella.

  “This is the written consent you promised?” Lydia glanced at the letter on the desk. She snatched it before her brother could change his mind and slipped it into her reticule.

  “Indeed, it is signed and sealed and should pose no problem.” Cecil smiled and sipped his drink. “Any sign of Lord Randall?”

  “No. He was last seen stuffing lace handkerchiefs and snuff boxes into his portmanteau. His carriage is missing from the mews, and Seth seems to think the lord is on his way to Dover.”

  Lydia considered her brother’s jovial countenance. For a man who loved his wife, he appeared wholly unconcerned about her current condition.

  “I suppose it’s for the best, my dear. Truth be told, I found Lord Randall a little shallow.”

  Only a little shallow? Then again, the fact her brother had noticed at all proved promising.

  “Did Dr Mason say when Arabella might regain the use of her faculties?” Not that it mattered to Lydia. Never again would she entertain a woman so intent on causing her downfall.

  Cecil made an odd puffing sound and shook his head. “She might never recover. Oh, that reminds me.” With some effort he sat up, placed his glass on the side table and ventured over to the desk. He scouted around in a drawer and handed Lydia another letter. “Take this one, would you? Deliver it to Mrs Danbury’s establishment on Jermyn Street. The place that takes destitute women and offers them employment. Tell the woman there that I need a nursemaid.”

  “A nursemaid for Arabella?”

  It was not a foolish question. Her brother sought help for the simplest of tasks.

  “Of course for Arabella,” he said with surprise. “She needs constant care.”

  “You do love her, then?”

  “Love her?” Cecil scoffed. “That conniving wildcat? Lord, no.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but you pander to her every whim.”

  Cecil tapped his finger to his nose and winked. “A ploy, dear girl, a ploy. That way she is not curious to know what I do on my trips to Burgess Hill.”

  Lydia sighed. The man was a weak-spirited fool.

  The sound of carriage wheels crunching along the gravel drive drew Lydia’s attention to the window. It was dark outside, but she glimpsed Greystone’s gold crest on the black carriage door as it passed by.

  Her heart flipped. She rushed forward, kissed her dolt of a brother on the cheek and raced from the room.

  Ada was waiting at the front door. Lydia hugged the maid and repeated her earlier instructions.

  “Will you not come outside and wave me off?” Lydia said, noting the maid’s sudden reservation.

  Fear flashed in Ada’s eyes, and she shook her head ten times or more. “Oh, miss, I can’t. Don’t ask me to. Not while that beast is skulking about out there.”

  “Beast?” Lydia assumed Ada had overcome her fear of Lord Greystone.

  “Mr Drake has come with his lordship. Oh, those eyes, miss, they’re like bottomless black holes. Every time I look at him I struggle to breathe, so I do.”

  “I suspect the gentleman is not as terrifying as he appears.” Lydia hugged Ada again, disappointment surfacing at the thought of having Mr Drake as a companion on the journey. “But wait inside. I shall see you in a few days unless the archbishop refuses Lord Greystone’s request.”

  Ada’s bottom lip trembled and she dabbed her eyes. “Take care, miss.”

  Hopkins opened the door, and the footman carried Lydia’s valise to the waiting carriage before she discharged him.

  Greystone stood leaning against the carriage door, pocket watch in hand as if surveying the time.

  “I’m not late,” Lydia said with a smile. Indeed, Greystone hadn’t bothered to flick open the gold case.

  Greystone tucked his watch away, brushed the lock of dark hair from his brow and met her gaze. His emerald eyes glistened in the darkness, held a wicked glint that robbed her lungs of air. Lord, he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. She scanned the breadth of his broad chest encased in a midnight blue coat, pictured the warm, bronzed skin beneath.

  “No, for once you’re on time.” He rubbed his chin and moistened his lips as his gaze drifted over the lilac muslin dress beneath her cloak, drifted up to the bunch of cherries on her bonnet.

  For a moment, Lydia forgot that Mr Drake stood watching them, until he said, “The hour is late. We should not delay. Lord knows who is lingering in the woods ready to cause havoc with your plans.”

  While Mr Drake spoke in jest, his stone-like expression never faltered.

  “Will you be riding with us, Mr Drake?” Lydia asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of spending hours seated across from this dark devil.

  “No, Miss Lovell.” Mr Drake inclined his head respectfully. “I shall ride alongside the carriage.”

  Greystone raised a brow. “Besides the fact that riding in close quarters with Drake can be suffocating,” he said, “I’ll not share your company with anyone.”

  “Oh, I see.” Nerves pushed to the fore. It was ridiculous when one considered what they meant to each other, what they had shared. “Then perhaps Mr Drake is right and we should make haste.”

  “You have your brother’s written consent?”

  “I do.” Lydia patted her reticule. She glanced at the mismatched horses pulling the Greystone carriage. She loved that it mattered not to him, that he had the strength of character to rise above Society’s snobbish expectations. “Shall we go?”

  With the absence of a groom, Greystone opened the door and lowered the steps. Hot hands settled on her hips as he assisted her ascent. Lust shot through her body like a lightning bolt. Her need for him grew when he settled back into the seat opposite, leant forward, closed the door and plunged them into darkness.

  The carriage rattled along the drive and out onto the country lane.

  The tension inside the conveyance was palpable.

  She could feel Greystone’s gaze devouring every inch of her body.

  “You’re certain you can obtain a special licence from the archbishop?” she said in a bid to quell the desire that burned in her veins.

  “Love, I’m a man who gets anything he wants,” he replied in a low, husky drawl.

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.” He inhaled deeply. “This time tomorrow you will be my wife.”

  A delicious shiver rippled through her body at the thought. “We will need witnesses.”

  “Drake will stand as a witness, as will my friend Valentine.” Through the darkness she noted the sinful smile touching his lips—full lips made for kissing. “Everything is in hand. Once we reach town, I shall escort you to your house in Queen Street. I shall spend the night at Drake�
�s townhouse once I’ve made the necessary arrangements for us to wed.”

  Disappointment surfaced for she wanted to spend the night with him, to love him, sleep in his arms. She wondered if he wanted the same, too. “Then you have thought of everything.”

  “Indeed,” he said confidently, “which is why Drake is riding alone and we are sitting together in the dark.”

  She suddenly felt hot, too hot. “I thought it was dark because you intended to sleep.”

  “Sleep?” He scoffed. “When I might have the pleasure of your naked body sitting astride me?”

  Lydia swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “But Mr Drake is outside.”

  “Don’t mind him. He has enough on his mind to keep him occupied.”

  Greystone told her about Baron Bromfield’s daughter and the high-stakes game of hazard. Lydia wondered at his motive for telling her. Yes, his concern for his friend was evident, but she suspected the conversation had something to do with settling her nerves.

  “Oh, but we cannot let him marry that dreadful woman.”

  “What else can we do?” Greystone sighed. “There’s not a man alive who can change Drake’s mind when it’s made up.”

  “But he will be miserable for the rest of his days.”

  While not everyone married for love, Lydia wondered what kind of woman could drag Mr Drake from the doldrums. What kind of woman could cause love to swim in those dark, dangerous eyes?

  “I think Drake has resigned himself to a life of misery. I only hope Fate intervenes.” Greystone fell silent for a moment. She could feel him studying her, could feel the heat of his gaze scorching her skin. “But enough about Drake. Let us discuss how we plan to undress in this small space with the minimum of fuss.”

  Before she could open her mouth to speak, Greystone came to his knees on the carriage floor. His hands slid up her skirts in a slow, tantalising motion, pushing the material up past the tops of her stockings.

  The intimate place between her legs ached for his touch. That he used his mouth to pleasure her came as no surprise. Before Lydia knew what she was about, she found herself slumped in the seat, her legs draped over Greystone’s shoulders, writhing in ecstasy from the skill of his wicked teasing.