Her Wicked Proposal: The League of Rogues, Book 3

by Lauren Smith

  “I’d planned only to watch you tonight,” he said with a laugh, “but who am I to resist what fate offers me.”

  She swung a fist at him, but the blow only glanced off his cheek.

  “My lady?” A nearby shout brought the man up short. Someone was calling for her, searching for her. She nearly wept with relief. It was the footman, Hartley.

  “Over here!” she shouted, but the shadow of a man lunged for her once more. He blocked her path back to the house, which left her few options of escape. Running fast, she headed toward the lake behind the house.

  A hand curled around her shoulder, halting her. “Got you, little English bitch—”

  There was a sharp crack and a burst of searing agony in her head just as they reached the top of a hill. Below her rocks and tree roots scattered the ground. There was nothing to break her fall. A soft grunt came from behind her and another blow, then stars fell behind her eyelids.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sean Hartley, the footman, heard the crash from one floor below in the dining hall where he was polishing silver. The echo of shouting rumbled through the manor. It was not the kind of shouting he’d expected to hear on a honeymoon. This was all fury and rage. Sean got to his feet and headed for the dining hall doors. Viscount or not, no man would be hurting Lady Sheridan, not if Sean could help it. Raised by a single mother, he respected women and their defenselessness against the all too often violent temperaments of men. He would protect Lady Sheridan, even against his own master, consequences be damned.

  “Hartley!” Lord Sheridan bellowed. “Get up here!”

  Sean dropped the spoon in his hand and ran for the stairs. He passed Lady Sheridan on his way up. She appeared distraught. He paused to follow her, but his master shouted again. With a growl he turned back and continued on his way.

  Lord Sheridan was in a fine fury. Pacing his room like a caged beast, he kept kicking the scattered and broken china cross the floor. The ivory shards were like crushed pieces of a broken dream, never to be mended, never to be used again.

  “Here, my lord,” Sean said from the doorway. Lord Sheridan spun in his direction.

  “Prepare my traveling coach at once. Have the team ready within half an hour and pack me a valise. I am off for London.”

  “Of course. Shall I have a maid pack Lady Sheridan’s things?” Sean asked carefully.

  “That woman is not welcome here. Tomorrow I want her to be returned to Chessley Manor. But be quiet about it. I don’t want a hint of scandal until I can arrange for an annulment.”

  Sean frowned, but did not argue with his master. He hoped whatever had divided the new couple was temporary. Perhaps a few days apart would cool the fires of their argument. Sean slipped out of his master’s room and headed back downstairs to the servants’ quarters. He roused the coach driver, Taylor Higgins, a young man of Sean’s age.

  “What is it, Sean?” Taylor grumbled, barely awake.

  “Lord Sheridan wants his coach ready to leave within a half hour.”

  “You’ve got to be bloody joking.” Taylor crawled out of bed and dressed, muttering all the while about crazy viscounts.

  Sean didn’t linger—he had a funny feeling in his gut. He woke Cedric’s valet and sent him up to pack a valise and then turned his attention back to his increasing concern. He had a bad feeling about Lady Sheridan.

  The viscountess’s new rooms were empty. Her trunk had not yet even been opened. Sean’s frown deepened. As he came back down the stairs, he noticed a footman staring out into the darkness.

  “What is it, Henry?” he asked the other footman.

  “It’s Lady Sheridan. She was crying and rushed outside just a little while ago now. I didn’t see where she went, only that she’s gone. Should one of us go after her?” Henry bit his lower lip, continuing to stare out into the gloom.

  “Yes. I’ll go. Stay here.” Sean brushed through the doorway past Henry.

  He reached the forest across the road from Rushton Steading just as clouds obscured the sliver of the moon. He could barely see anything, but something compelled him to head toward the woods. The image of Lady Sheridan’s tearstained face as she had passed him on the stairs flashed through his mind.

  Then a scream tore through the night.

  “God in heaven!” Sean broke into a run, his speed slower since his accident. But he kept a steady pace as he began to search the woods around the property. Far behind him he heard the commotion of horses and the arrival of Sheridan’s coach, but Sean never turned back. He had to find Lady Sheridan.

  “Lady Sheridan?” he shouted.

  “Here!” The distant cry echoed off the trees, making it impossible for him to locate her.

  Sean thought more than once that he saw fresh footprints, but in the darkness he wasn’t positive. Thunder snarled and growled above him like a wolf hungry to devour the earth, but Sean’s instincts kept him going. He prayed it wouldn’t rain. It would be that much more dangerous and hard to find his mistress. Something was terribly wrong, and he wouldn’t rest until he found Lady Sheridan.

  Soon he was shivering and cursing the rising wind. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer out in the dark.

  And that’s when he saw her.

  Bathed in a momentary flash of lightning, she looked small and frail. She was lying halfway in the shallows of the lake, her clothes soaked clear through.

  When Sean reached her, his first fear was that she was dead. Her face, too patrician to be called lovely, was drawn tight. Her lips were parted as though her last breath had escaped long ago. Blood oozed near her temple. He glanced up the small hill, seeing the myriad rocks and tree roots that could have been the cause of her injury.

  He bent his knees and slid one arm behind Lady Sheridan’s back and the other under her knees to scoop her up into his arms. At the close and sudden contact of her body to his, she stirred.

  “Cedric… Please forgive me…” she murmured softly before her head lolled back onto Sean’s shoulder.

  “Hold on, my lady. I am taking you home,” Sean soothed in a gruff tone. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

  * * * * *

  Cedric collapsed into the bed of the first inn his coach reached early in the morning. He was exhausted, upset and shaking all over. How had everything gone from bliss to a nightmare in mere minutes? All because of one damnable letter.

  My wife doesn’t love me. She’s using me.

  The thoughts kept running through his mind over and over, the words of that letter echoing in his mind. “Dearest Anne…we’ve much to plan…”

  Anne had betrayed him. She’d married him, given him hope for a happy life, when she was in love with another man. Crispin Andrews. Her reaction when he said the name had been enough to tell him everything. She and Crispin were lovers.

  She didn’t want me to know, which is why she panicked when we met him at the theater that night. It all made sense now. I’ve been such a fool. Anne would never have wanted someone like me. I’m a broken man. I’ve lost her forever. No. I never had her to begin with.

  He had hung such hopes and dreams on their union, but all was over now. The darkness around him was as oppressive as ever, perhaps more so. He wanted to die, to end the pain, the loneliness. Something had always held him back before, his sisters, his friends. But without Anne he was empty as a barren sea. His pain was deep, vast and lifeless. His future was no better.

  “Oh, Anne, how could you!” He cursed and rolled over onto his stomach, face buried in his pillow. Still he wondered where she was at that moment. Was she packing her things and writing a love letter to her beloved? A violent rage swelled in him.

  I should have killed him that night at the opera. He snarled at the thought of getting his hands around Crispin’s neck a second time.

  The sound of distant thunder caught Cedric’s attention. The wooden walls of th
e inn vibrated with the fury of nature. The patter of heavy rain was a siren’s call to the broken-hearted viscount. Cedric struggled to his feet and felt his way across the floor to the window. The latch gave way to his fumbling hands and the glass panes fell open.

  Rain lashed across his face, the cold sting a welcome sensation after the numbing ache of Anne’s loss. Thunder shook the earth around him, but Cedric felt only rain, saw only darkness. He stood there, letting the storm assault him until it calmed into a lulling drizzle.

  “Cedric!” A voice far away echoed like that of a bleating lamb.

  A chill set deep into his bones. “Anne?”

  “Cedric!” The cry turned deeper, became rougher.

  Cedric shook his head, wanting to clear his muddled thoughts. Anne was gone. He was alone. There was no one seeking him, no one wanting him. Fatigued, he crumpled against the window ledge, knees buckling beneath him. A crash, a shout, and then strong arms lifted him up, helping him to his bed.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” a familiar voice demanded.

  Cedric remained limp and unmoving as rough hands removed his soaked clothes and tucked him into the warmth of the dry bed.

  “Bloody fool,” the voice muttered.

  Cedric finally recognized his friend’s voice. “Ash?”

  “Of course it’s me. Who did you think I was?”

  Cedric would have smiled if he’d had any strength. He was clearly in trouble if Ashton had grown upset with him. His friend’s concern and anger was a soothing balm to his wounded heart.

  “What are you doing, Cedric? You’ll make yourself sick standing in the rain like that. Why are you here, of all places? And where is Anne?”

  Cedric winced at the mention of her name.

  “Gone,” was all he could get out.

  “Gone?” Ashton echoed.

  “What are you doing here, Ash?” Cedric heard his friend shuffling about the room. The crackle and pop of fresh logs on the fire brought warmth to Cedric’s body.

  “I was on my way to see you, actually.”

  “During my honeymoon?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, the business that brought me to you is urgent.”

  “It is always business with you.” Cedric’s tone was gentler than he’d meant for it to be. Had Charles been right? Was he getting too soft?

  “I had a rather unpleasant afternoon at Berkley’s today.”

  “And what has this to do with me?”

  “Everything, I’m afraid. Here, have a drink.” Ashton placed a hipflask into Cedric’s hands.

  “That bad?”

  “Yes. Drink.”

  Cedric swallowed the whiskey and coughed before handing it back to Ashton.

  “Best tell me quick.”

  “It’s about Anne and Crispin Andrews.” Ashton sounded hesitant.

  Cedric laughed bitterly. “Too late. I already know the truth. She all but confessed to having an affair with him.”

  “What? She actually confirmed this? Or have you merely jumped to a conclusion in that reckless way of yours?”

  It was a curse to be so well known by one’s friends, Cedric decided.

  “She received a letter from him, mistakenly addressed to me. A congratulatory note layered with hints among other things as to their relationship. She admitted to sleeping with him. She didn’t say much else before…”

  “Before you stormed out without waiting for an explanation? Cedric, you are one of my closet friends, but sometimes I could strangle you for your rashness.” His friend’s anger radiated out from every syllable.

  “Why all the judgment? What do you know that I don’t? I have a damned letter proving their relationship!”

  Ashton sighed. “It’s a long story, but to start with, Anne is innocent of whatever horrible things you accused her of. She and Crispin are not lovers.”

  “And just how did you learn that?”

  “From Crispin himself, when he admitted to forcing himself on her a few years ago.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Cedric. He raped her the night you met her at Almack’s.”

  The floor gave way beneath Cedric.

  No…

  * * * * *

  Sean and Mr. Bodwin watched the elderly doctor assess Lady Sheridan’s condition. She had a nasty head wound and a dislocated shoulder, likely from falling down the steep hill to the lake where Sean had found her. The doctor’s eyes narrowed as he motioned for Sean to step forward. He handed the lad a thick piece of leather.

  “Put this between her teeth. If she’s conscious when I set the arm right, she’s liable to bite clear through her tongue.”

  Sean opened Lady Sheridan’s mouth and slipped the leather in. She was still unconscious, still that ghastly pale shade. Sean watched Mr. Bodwin as the doctor took hold of Anne’s arm, lifted it slowly, rotated and then popped it back into place. Lady Sheridan’s eyes flew open, and she let out a scream that nearly made Sean’s ears bleed. The leather strap dropped onto her chest. She started panting, gasping for breath as her eyes fixed on her arm and then flashed up to the doctor.

  “A thousand pardons, madam. I had hoped you would remain unconscious for that.” The doctor then set a sling for her and began wrapping it around her neck and shoulder. Lady Sheridan, finding no comfort in the doctor’s rough handling, turned her gaze toward Sean and Mr. Bodwin.

  Sean couldn’t help it—he took her uninjured hand in his and began speaking softly to her, though he doubted what he said made any sense. She sighed in exhaustion as her lashes dropped back onto her porcelain cheeks.

  As Sean watched Lady Sheridan sleep, he thought it a strange but wondrous thing that he knew he would die to protect her, and yet she’d only been his mistress for a day.

  * * * * *

  Anne was unaware of her newfound protector. She was locked in a shadowy world where dreams commanded her attention. She saw Cedric’s cruel lips and sightless eyes, seemingly lifeless, but the hurt was there all the same. The flight from his bedchamber. The blur of candle wall sconces. The moonlight-bathed forest, the reaching blackness and pain. The endless, unbearable, soul-wrenching pain of loss.

  Cedric. Crispin. Her awful secret. It had cost her everything. One stupid, foolish mistake with the wrong man and she’d been robbed of the one thing that had come to matter most to her.

  My dear heart, my beloved. She loved him. But that was no surprise. She’d always loved him, from that first glimpse of his name in her copy of Debrett’s Peerage when she was just seventeen. He’d been but a silly young woman’s daydream then. She’d never imagined she’d grow to love him as much as she did now. She’d loved him up to the moment he’d thrown her from his embrace in fury.

  If you’d only let me tell you…if only you knew the truth.

  * * * * *

  London, April 1819

  Anne’s fingers dug into her father’s arm as he led her into the main dancing room of Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

  “Chin up, Anne. You are an intelligent, lovely woman. The daughter of a baron. It is your right to be in the best of society,” her father assured her with his usual confidence. He had the large, gruff appearance of a formidable bear, but deep down he was all sweetness.

  “I know, Papa. But what if the Lady Patronesses do not give me leave to waltz tonight? I shall be mortified.” Anne confessed this in a shaky whisper as her father led her past the milling grounds in the hall.

  “I’ve already spoken to them. You are allowed to waltz. Indeed, the ladies all seemed quite impressed with you.” Her father smiled down upon her, his natural warmth and affection soothing Anne’s most immediate fears.

  “What would I ever do without you, Papa?” she asked.

  He grinned cheekily. “You’d marry a man who loves horses almost as much as he loves you and you’d have a hundred
beautiful children.”

  She giggled. “A hundred? Papa, there’s not nearly enough time for that many children. I shall promise you…six or seven?”

  “That is an acceptable number I suppose.”

  Anne voiced yet another fear. “Papa, what if no one wants to dance with me?” At eighteen she was well into womanhood but had no life beyond finishing school until tonight.

  “You fret too much, sweetheart,” said Baron Chessley. “You are like your mother in that. Be bold. Take what you want in life. Never walk away from it.”

  “Be bold.” Anne repeated the words with conviction.

  At that moment the nearest wall of people parted to reveal a group of tall, impossibly handsome men standing near the dancing couples. There were five men in total, but it was one in particular who held her interest. He had his back to her, but he turned his head to the side as he spoke, presenting a fine aristocratic profile. His broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist and long, fine legs. Anne blushed as she realized that she was assessing him like a stallion. His brown hair had currents of deep auburn buried in the dark chestnut. Anne found her hands twining in her skirts as she imagined her fingers tangled in those silky strands. Anne crept closer, wanting to know what had made this man laugh.

  “And so I said to him, ‘You wouldn’t know a cart horse from a racehorse.’ The bloody fool called me out for his honor. I told him he owed me a debt of honor for enduring his awful assessment of English-bred racers.”

  Anne understood little of what the brown-haired man had just said, but it was obvious he took his horses seriously. She added that bit of knowledge to an ever-growing list of facts about this enticing stranger.

  “Well, well, Cedric, it seems you’ve drawn a rabbit to your fox den,” a red-haired man murmured as he scanned Anne up and down with open familiarity that heated her blood.

  The man, Cedric, spun about to face her, and that is when Anne knew she was completely and utterly lost. The music faded to a soft hum, and the candlelight at the edges of the assembly room flickered into darkness. All light, all life ceased to exist outside that moment when Cedric met her gaze. His brown eyes were as warm as cinnamon. He crossed his arms over his chest to stare down at her and swept those penetrating eyes of his over her form. He seemed to find her pleasing enough to offer a genuinely charming smile.