The Rogue to Ruin

by Vivienne Lorret

  Reed was here? Ainsley’s heart leapt in her throat, her cheeks still aflame from moments ago. He must have come straight here after . . . after he’d caught her ogling him in his bedchamber. Did he even have time to dress properly? The thought sent another rush of heat through her.

  Stricken by wanton curiosity, she turned around to see for herself. Yet before she could, Mrs. Darden slammed a large sack of flour down on the table. A sudden plume of powder erupted in the air and instantly covered Ainsley.

  Screwing her eyes closed, she coughed and began to wipe the flour from her own face.

  “Allow me, highness.”

  Reed’s low drawl sent her pulse on a harried path straight to her middle. Then he proceeded to clean her face with his handkerchief, his touch passing with care over her lashes. By the time she opened her eyes, his gaze was glowing with warm amusement.

  “We keep surprising each other this morning, don’t we?”

  “How long have you known?”

  The nick on his lip twitched as he continued his ablutions. “About our windows? Not nearly long enough. Though it’s a pity you found a fresh fichu and put up your hair.”

  “And you took the time to dress properly. You even donned a cravat.” She felt a strange spear of disappointment, along with a shameful desire to untie it and strip it from him as she had done in one of her dreams. “Though that mail coach knot isn’t right for you.”

  His grin faded as he tucked in his chin to peer down at the waterfall of fine linen, anchored by a silver stud pin. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s too large. Perhaps a simple Oriental knot would be more suitable for someone with such a wide, muscular—” She broke off when she realized what she was saying and hoped the flour was hiding the color rising to her cheeks.

  But then his grin returned. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Your eyes have gone dark as coffee again. Betrothed only a few hours and you’re already thinking of dressing me. Or is it undressing me that’s on your mind? Because if that is the case then I can certainly oblige—”

  “Nothing of the sort. I’m merely wondering which knot would be the most effective in strangling you.”

  “You’d have to pin me down first,” he said, brushing the handkerchief over the susceptible flesh of her lips. “Then again, I think I’d like that.”

  Mrs. Darden broke in and began slapping at his arm with a square of toweling until he released Ainsley. “That’s enough, you heathen. Whatever wickedness you’re speaking has no place in my kitchen. Now state your business and be off.”

  “Perhaps,” he said winking to the cook, “I’ve come for you, Mrs. Darden. I’ve heard your scones are so fine that Mr. Finch is thinking about running away with you.”

  Forever weakened by the praises to her baking, her expression softened marginally. Still, she waggled a finger, though with little force. “I’ll not fall for any of your charming ways. I can see the stripes on a snake a good distance away.”

  “Ah, but what harm is there in a mere garter snake? He only wants to rid you of the vermin that have stolen into the cupboard.”

  She eyed him shrewdly, hands on her hips. Then with a sigh of exasperation she went to the breadbox and withdrew a scone, handing it to him without ceremony. “You can have one leftover from yesterday.”

  Reed chuckled and inclined his head.

  Though when his teeth sank into the golden pastry, his expression transformed from amusement to wonder. “Now I understand why Finch is so besotted with you. If I weren’t already pledged, I’d drop on bended knee this instant.”

  Mrs. Darden blushed and waved her bit of toweling like a flag of surrender. “Go on with you now.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes.

  “I also came to invite my lovely bride-to-be to breakfast with my mother.” Turning back to Ainsley, he flashed a disarming smile that sent her pulse skipping.

  She wished he would stop teasing her. Why wasn’t he taking the matter more seriously, instead of pretending to be unbothered by this turn of events?

  “Since our courtship will only last until the news fades,” she said quietly, “there is no need for me to meet your mother. It would be better if you went alone to explain the situation, I’m sure. And I will stay here to speak with my sisters when they arrive.”

  His grin turned sardonic. “Do as you must, highness, if it makes you feel better. I will see you again on the morrow for church. Shall I come here first and allow you to tie my cravat?”

  “Only if you’d like it in the shape of a noose.”

  Then before he could say something roguish to charm a smile from her, she turned on her heel and went upstairs to clean up.

  * * *

  Reed entered the narrow, three-story townhouse in Cheapside and headed up the stairs to see his mother. After years of enduring her nagging for him to marry, he was eager to deliver the shock of her life.

  Drawn by the aroma of roasted meats and toasted bread, he entered the breakfast room that overlooked the rain-soaked garden below. Over the rim of her filigreed cup, his mother’s eyes widened with pleased surprise.

  “Good morning, Mum.” He swept in and strode to the far side of the oval table and bussing her cheek before snatching a steak of bacon from her silver-rimmed plate.

  She chided him with a cluck of her tongue. Dressed in a bright paisley morning gown and with her graying, brown-butter hair tucked into a lavender cap, she was the very picture of eccentric domesticity. “And what brings you here so early?”

  Catching sight of her grin, he walked to the sideboard to fill his plate with more bacon, adding a mound of coddled eggs, kidneys, and a stack of toasted rye.

  “Since you’re forever complaining that you don’t see me often enough, I thought I’d be welcome. But since I’m not . . .” Holding his heaping plate, he shrugged and looked to the door.

  “Bah. You know you’re always welcome. Why else would I have such a trough of food waiting?”

  “Because you know the footmen fight over the scraps, and you like knowing that their bellies are full,” he teased tenderly, sitting across from her.

  There had been a time when she’d obsessed about his nourishment, during the year after his father had died. Sometimes they’d had nothing but turnip soup for weeks, the broth getting thinner day by day. Then she’d taken measures to ensure that there was food on the table by marrying that scum aristocrat.

  Things hadn’t turned out the way she’d planned. Not with her second marriage, or the third or the fourth. But at least they’d always had each other to lean upon. And Reed would make certain that his mother never felt the need to marry again, unless it was her wish.

  “Keep feeding them as you do and they’ll be too fat and lazy to be of use,” he said with a grin around a mouthful of bread slathered in marmalade.

  “Then give me grandchildren to feed.”

  This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Pushing his plate forward, he leaned back in his chair. “Which brings me to the reason for my visit.”

  She frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a bastard from one of those vulgar widows who frequent your club.”

  He clenched his teeth, wishing his mother did not know so much about his business or his life. Besides, it had been a long while since his last tryst. “No. As a matter of fact, I’m getting married.”

  He waited for her eyes to widen with shock.

  “Well it is about time,” she said, instead, and more with scolding than with the glad surprise he expected. “By your age I already had a boy of fourteen running around and getting into mischief.”

  He expelled a sigh. “I’ve not been betrothed even a full day and you are already waiting for my house to be filled with children.”

  As the words left him, a warmth simmered in his blood as he imagined an infant in his arms, looking up at him with a pair of brownish-gray eyes.

  Yet he didn’t even know if Ainsley wanted children. Hell, he didn’t even know if she would ever allo
w him in her bed. She was convinced they wouldn’t need to marry at all, believing that the news would fade and she could end their betrothal without injury to her reputation.

  He knew otherwise, of course. The same way he knew that reputation was what mattered most to her. In the end, there would be no other way.

  So, for the time being, he was willing to be patient.

  “And why not? You’ve got that big house in the country to fill, after all. And I’ve rooms aplenty for my grandchildren to visit. They can stay here, too, for whenever you and your bride want some time to yourselves.”

  He shook his head at his mother’s romantic notions and laughed. “You don’t even know who my bride is.”

  “Well it’s Miss Bourne, of course,” his mother said, giving him the shock of his life.

  “Whatever makes you say that?”

  “Because you haven’t spoken of anyone else since the day you first met her. It was clear that she got under your skin straightaway.”

  He shifted in the chair, wondering what other secrets his mother was hiding behind that grin of hers. “You never mentioned your suspicions. In fact, I’m surprised that I haven’t caught you visiting the Bourne Matrimonial Agency, chatting up Miss Bourne.”

  “Me, interfere? Never.” Her brows arched with cagey innocence. “A mother always knows when to step away and let matters take their natural course.”

  Reed crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, not believing her for an instant.

  Chapter 17

  “She had been extremely surprized, never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her . . .”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  “A Sunday afternoon walk through the park is always lovely,” Briar said from one side of Ainsley while Jacinda walked on the other.

  Ainsley clenched her teeth, sliding a glance to the gossipmongers they passed on the path. “It was bad enough that the church had fallen deathly silent when the banns were read this morning, but now we have become a spectacle for the gawkers.”

  Yesterday she had told her sisters about the sham betrothal. They had taken the news surprisingly well. Of course, Briar had become a little dreamy eyed. Jacinda, on the other hand, had been prepared to investigate every aspect of Reed’s life, but Ainsley assured her that it wasn’t necessary. This would all be over soon enough.

  Only now did she have her doubts.

  Ever since this morning’s announcement had rendered the congregation mute with shock, she had a queer sense that there would be no turning back. That, no matter what other news swept in, the ton would not quickly forget this betrothal.

  Was she still pinning her hopes on the arrival of the king’s giraffe to take the focus away from this entire debacle?

  A giraffe, indeed.

  “I heard the nuptials are being forced by . . . circumstance.”

  “And I’ve heard the affair has been ongoing for quite some time.”

  The statements came from a pair of busybodies who were looking their way and whispering behind gloved hands as they twirled their parasols. The saddest part was that they’d both been clients at one time.

  Jacinda waved to them. “Lady Throckmeyer, how nice to see you. How is your daughter? After she eloped with your husband’s steward, I’ve heard so little about her.”

  Lady Throckmeyer stiffened and quickened her steps along on the path, leaving Lady Baftig to catch up.

  Jacinda smiled in triumph and said to Ainsley, “I’m only doing what you would have done for us. After Father left, you always said that the Bourne women never cower in the face of scandal.”

  “You did,” Briar agreed with a squeeze of their linked arms. “And you also said that we were strongest when we worked together.”

  “I likely said that just to keep you on task when we had chores to complete. You were forever daydreaming, and Jacinda was always into mischief.” Despite herself, a fond grin touched her lips.

  “Nevertheless, you were right. Now that the banns have been read for you and Mr. Sterling, we will face the ton together.”

  “Well, I am glad to have you both at my side,” Ainsley said.

  “And this is where we shall stay,” Briar said with a firm nod. “Can you believe that Lady Baftig had the audacity to pull me aside in the church vestibule, stating that her husband allowed her to wager on the month of your blessed event? She was actually hoping that I would provide some insight.”

  A spear of alarm tore through Ainsley. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to protect her midriff.

  “Dear heavens, don’t do that”—Jacinda sidestepped in front of her—“or we’ll never sweep the rumors under the rug.”

  Realizing what she’d done, Ainsley made a show of brushing something from her blue muslin. Even Briar pretended to find something distasteful on her dress, wrinkling her nose as she pinched the invisible thing and tossed it onto the path.

  Ainsley was immensely glad to have such wonderful sisters.

  “As it is,” Jacinda continued, walking on, “half the ton are sighing over tales of romance and chivalry.”

  Ainsley scoffed. “Then they are easily entertained. As far as I am aware, Mr. Sterling made his announcement after whatever that odious Mr. Mitchum said and that is all.”

  “There was a little more to it than that.” Jacinda eyed her warily.

  Off in the distance, Ainsley heard the chime of bells. Each toll seemed to reverberate through her bones. She should have known that Jacinda would not be satisfied until she knew all. Or nearly all.

  There were things that would always remain a secret, if Ainsley could help it.

  “Leave it to you to find out all the details,” Briar said as she leaned in, expectation brimming in her glowing countenance. “Well, go on. Tell us.”

  “I don’t know what Mr. Mitchum said before he was tossed out on his ear,” Jacinda began, not realizing the relief she’d just given to Ainsley. “But I do know that one of Mr. Sterling’s men escorted him in a hackney all the way out of town. And that isn’t even the lion’s share of the news.”

  “It isn’t?” To Ainsley, this was news indeed. She had no idea that Nigel had been carted away.

  Jacinda shook her head. “According to what Crispin’s valet heard from the driver of Viscount Covingdale, there was a good deal of fuss afterward and mentions of a fight between your favorite gaming hell owner and Mr. Mitchum. Apparently, there are two—supposedly secret—betting books already filled with wagers on the outcome.”

  “A fight to defend your honor.” Briar sighed, clutching her bosom. “How romantic.”

  Ainsley did not think so. She stopped on the path, waves of icy fury sluicing through her body as she clenched her fists. “The price of chivalry must be high these days.”

  So Reed had thought to rescue her, did he? More likely, he was angling to earn a fortune from the gamblers betting on a fight between him and Nigel. How convenient that he’d forgotten to mention it to her!

  Well, she was about to tell Mr. Sterling to go to the devil. There was no possible way she was going to remain betrothed—even if only in temporary pretense—to a conniving wolf for a moment longer.

  * * *

  For an hour outside the church, Reed endured pats on the shoulder, handshakes, and jests about marrying up in society. There were even a few snickers from men who wondered if Sterling’s would become a tea parlor.

  Standing beside Viscount Eggleston, Reed kept his expression neutral. He would never reveal that the sly slights against his common birth rubbed a burr beneath his skin, or that he was wondering if Ainsley felt that she was marrying down.

  As for those who remarked on the fate of Sterling’s, he let the force of his grip be the answer to that.

  Even so, by the time they’d arrived at Eggleston’s townhouse, his mood was fractious. He wanted to settle the contract quickly then leave to expend some pent-up aggression in a sparring session with Pickerington. But that wasn’t to be the case.

  Reed was in Eggleston’s s
tudy no more than a minute before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Then Ainsley peered inside the room without sparing him a glance, her mouth set in a familiar stubborn line. He knew in an instant that he wasn’t the only one affected by the congregation’s reaction this morning.

  “Uncle, might I speak with Mr. Sterling privately for a moment? If you would but wait across the hall, I intend to leave the door open. This won’t take long.”

  A strained look passed between Eggleston and his niece. It was clear by the unusually long delay before he answered that there was an unspoken communication that Reed wasn’t privy to.

  Eggleston stood. “If you are certain.”

  “I am,” she said quietly.

  The instant they were alone, Ainsley turned to Reed and crossed her arms, her eyes frosty with haughty disdain. “Our pretend betrothal is at an end. I would rather be labeled a jilt and a . . . a strumpet than to have my name linked to yours.”

  He was a fool to think that the insults would end on the church steps.

  Standing, he expelled a hollow laugh. “So, you would rather face ruination than taint your name with a commoner. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “I’d never marry a man who would profit from my misfortune. You lied about your motives,” she accused. “And I can only wonder how long it will be until you lie to me again.”

  Now he was a liar, too? This day was getting better and better. “As far as I recall, my only motive was to keep your name from being dragged through the gutter.”

  “Ha! A pretty sentiment, indeed, but I know the truth. I know all about your betting books and the fight you intend to have with Mr. Mitchum. I see now that you were nothing more than a chameleon last night when you saved my honor.” She scoffed.

  He stiffened, clenching his teeth. “I didn’t lie to you. I don’t know what you’ve heard but—”

  “No. I refuse to listen to another word.” She stalked to the door and gestured for him to leave. “I’ve dealt with enough of your kind to last three lifetimes. I have no use for charming liars who show one side to the world and a wholly different one in private. Whose moods shift without warning from agreeable to enraged—”