Once More, My Darling Rogue

by Lorraine Heath

  “It’ll be a good many years before I’m a duke. Besides, I’m sure they will have grown bored with us by the time I’m ready to take a wife. By the by, in the future don’t invite Somerdale to join us for a private game. He trounced us rather badly.”

  Conversation moved on to the orphanages. It was odd not to have Grace there inserting her opinions, sharing gossip, talking about her various plans with the ladies. Drake never realized how much he depended on her for information. She was insightful and gave him an edge when it came to little wagers regarding the various happenings in Society—who was courting whom, who was likely to marry whom. Although few had suspected she would wed the Duke of Lovingdon. The man had been an unrepentant rake, but also wise enough to fall in love with Grace.

  Following breakfast, Drake took a stroll through the garden with the duchess, her hand nestled in the crook of her elbow.

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You seem troubled.”

  She would notice that his mood seemed a bit off. She noticed everything, but then most thieves did. It was the key to survival. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Lady Ophelia, perhaps.”

  He nearly stumbled on the cobblestones. “Why would you think that?”

  She gave him a sly look. “It didn’t escape my notice that you disappeared into an alcove with her at the ball.”

  He cursed soundly. He’d been so angry with her that he’d not taken precautions to protect her reputation. The last thing he wanted was to find himself permanently tied to the harridan. Although the woman in his bed last night … He mentally shook his head. They were one and the same. He needed to remember that. “Did anyone else notice?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve heard no rumors.”

  He needed Grace. She would know with certainty. Ironically, so would Ophelia if she possessed her memories.

  “I’ve long thought she fancied you,” the duchess said.

  Drake barked out his laughter. “Lady Ophelia Lyttleton? No. I’m the last person on earth she would ever fancy. And I most certainly do not fancy her.”

  “Something about her always struck me as tragic.”

  He stopped walking and faced her. “A woman who walks with her nose so high in the air it’s a wonder sparrows don’t perch on it? A woman who can give a cut direct to a fellow without anyone else noticing? A woman who harangues her lady’s maid if a hair falls out of her coiffure? Are we talking about the same woman?”

  “For being a woman you don’t fancy, she certainly doesn’t seem to have escaped your notice or scrutiny.”

  “She’s been underfoot, a friend to Grace since she was old enough to walk. I could scarcely not notice her.”

  Her lips curled up. “Oh, I suspect you could have if you tried.” She placed her hand on his elbow and began guiding him back toward the residence. “It’s her eyes. They’re haunted.”

  “Haunted by what?”

  “I wouldn’t know. That’s the thing of it. We can never know everything about another person, and sometimes actions are a defense.” She squeezed his arm. “I know she has slighted you on occasion, but I think perhaps you frighten her.”

  “How the bloody hell did I frighten her? Because she is Grace’s friend, I’ve been remarkably cordial whenever our paths cross.”

  She chuckled faintly, as though amused by something he could neither see nor hear. “The duke terrified me when I met him.”

  He couldn’t imagine it. Even when the man had caught Drake trying to steal from him, he’d merely fed him. “What monstrous thing did he do?”

  “He drew me to him in ways no other man ever had.”

  Lady Ophelia Lyttleton was not drawn to him. The thought was ludicrous. The duchess was getting up in years, fancied herself a matchmaker for her sons, but she had atrocious taste when it came to who would suit and who would not. Still, Drake loved her, knew she meant well, and it took all his self-control not to laugh until his belly hurt. Ophelia. Drawn to him. When pigs flew.

  After they returned to the house, he excused himself to talk with the housekeeper as he had some questions regarding his new residence. The duchess had seen it, of course, when he purchased it, but he hadn’t invited any of the family back over for a visit. He wanted to wait until he had things in order. So she wasn’t surprised by his desire to speak with Mrs. Garrett.

  “Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management,” the elderly housekeeper told him now as they stood in her office below stairs. “The very best resource for learning how to manage a house properly. Mrs. Beeton believed that an untidy house led to marital discord. Her guidance has saved many a marriage, I assure you.”

  He had no interest in saving any marriage. He didn’t even know why he was seeking her counsel. Ophelia would no doubt be returning to her residence tomorrow morning. But he would soon be hiring a proper housekeeper, and it seemed he needed to have an idea regarding the knowledge she should possess.

  Leaving Mrs. Garrett, he went in search of a sweet little maid who had come to work here a few years before. He found Anna making the duke’s bed.

  Blushing, she curtsied. “Master Drake.”

  He had told her numerous times that she need not curtsy for him, but still she did the little bob. Taking a moment, he outlined details of her form as discreetly as possible. She was perfect for his needs. “Anna, I was wondering if you might be able to help me.”

  “If I can, sir, anything at all. You need only ask.”

  “I know a woman who has fallen on hard times. She is approximately your size. I was wondering if you might have any clothing you were considering disposing of. I would gladly pay you a hundred pounds for it.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir. I’m more than happy to help those in need.”

  “I insist on recompense. She requires quite a bit, actually. A uniform, an apron. Some unmentionables.” He grinned. “Which I just mentioned, didn’t I?”

  She laughed. “You’re such a tease, sir.”

  She made him smile, and he thought she was the sort to whom he should be drawn, a commoner like himself. Yet she was too sweet for the darkness that resided inside him.

  “A nightdress if you have it.” He had to get Ophelia out of his shirts, because he would never be able to put them on without thinking of the linen touching her skin. “Perhaps an old dress that you’d wear when you have time off?”

  “I believe I have some things. Won’t take me but a minute to fetch them.”

  It actually took her a good half hour, not that he was going to complain. She met him at the back door, large bundle in her arms. He handed over the coins he’d promised, knowing she’d gotten the better end of the bargain, but then he’d been raised to be generous. If one possessed fortune, one shared it.

  Then because he had a few more errands to see to, he decided to make use of one of the duke’s carriages. It would hasten his return to his townhome. Not that he was anxious to again be in Ophelia’s company, but he didn’t want to leave her alone for too long. And it was long past the hour when he normally went to bed. It was practicality that had him having a carriage readied.

  Not any desire for haste so he could sooner look into her green eyes and see if they were indeed haunted.

  Phee washed the dishes. Simple enough task. She’d dusted somewhat yesterday so she didn’t think she needed to attend to that chore again. Trying to recall what other duties Drake had told her to manage, she wandered through the residence. He really needed to acquire a very comfortable chair in which she could curl. As housekeeper was it her responsibility to inform him regarding what was needed? Yes, she believed so, as it seemed he hadn’t really a clue.

  Walking into the front parlor, she tried to envision what all it should contain. Chairs, a sofa. Brightly colored fabrics, yellow and green. No, not for him. Something darker. Burgundy, perhaps. He was a dark wine with a bitter edge that dried the mouth.

  How did s
he know wine? Because she enjoyed its flavor. She needed to search the kitchen for some bottles. It was strange, the things she recalled, the things she didn’t.

  She’d heard him laugh, but it didn’t seem to contain any joy. She didn’t think he was particularly content with life, and while she knew she needed to be striving to remember her duties, she was more interested in remembering what she knew of him.

  Perching her hip on the wide windowsill, she gazed out on the street and wondered if it was possible to move forward without a history. Did she truly need to recall her past? Obviously it wasn’t anything special or she wouldn’t now be a domestic.

  Recalling Drake, though, had the possibility to be much more interesting. While she instinctively knew it was wicked, she could hardly wait for his evening bath, to once more have the opportunity to trail her fingers over his firm back. Not an ounce of fat resided on his person. His body was all sinewy muscle.

  She couldn’t decide if she preferred him in his carefree attire of only shirt and trousers or in his proper dress with waistcoat, jacket, and perfectly knotted neck cloth. As he had no valet, he was quite masterful at dressing himself. Why didn’t he have a valet? Funds, she supposed. No doubt the reason he had only one servant. It was costly to have domestics.

  Of course with a residence that echoed its emptiness, she didn’t have a great deal to manage just yet. She had it quite easy, shouldn’t really complain. Still, she would like to see some furniture in here. The room had such potential. She imagined the paintings that would go on the walls, daisies and landscapes—

  No, they should be storms. Gray and untamed and brutal. The art should reflect her employer. It was more than his black hair and eyes that made him appear dark. It was his swagger, the intensity of his gaze, the past that he reluctantly revealed, one comprised of shadows that haunted him, because even in sleep he didn’t seem at peace.

  She wanted to explore those shadows, explore him, inside and out. He intrigued her. Or perhaps she was simply trying to limit her boredom with thoughts of him. Because presently she missed him. For some minutes she had stood in the kitchen doorway watching as he prepared her breakfast. Efficiency marked his brisk movements. Confidence rolled off him. She couldn’t imagine there was anything he couldn’t conquer.

  Including her.

  The thought tumbled through her mind, but before she could examine it more closely, a very fine carriage rattled to a stop in front of the residence. As with everything of late she didn’t know how she knew what she knew—why she didn’t know what she didn’t know—but she knew without question that it was a very fine carriage indeed. With a liveried driver and footman, the latter hopping down to the street and quickly opening the door.

  Drake stepped out in one fluid movement that belied the fact he was holding an assortment of parcels. The footman made a motion to relieve Drake of his burdens, but her employer simply shook his head, uttered something, and the footman let him be, clambering back onto the carriage, and off it went.

  Rushing to the door, she threw it open and couldn’t contain her smile. “You’re home.”

  He staggered to a stop, appearing at once confused and disconcerted, as though he hadn’t expected her to be here. Then his features settled into a mask of disgruntlement as though he weren’t at all happy to see her. “A servant should open the door with a bit more decorum.”

  She was stung by the words, by his displeasure when it had so delighted her to see that he’d returned. Giving a quick bob of a curtsy, she said, “My apologies. What have you there?”

  He edged by her. “A servant doesn’t question her employer.”

  “I wasn’t questioning you.”

  “A sentence beginning with what and ending on an elevated note generally implies question.”

  “Fine.” She slammed the door, jerked up her chin. “I suppose a servant doesn’t close doors with a bang either.”

  “Quite right. They shouldn’t be heard at all and seldom seen.”

  “I suppose they shouldn’t be overjoyed to have their master return.” She couldn’t keep the pique from her voice, which she supposed was another failing. Servants no doubt talked in modulated tones so no one ever knew precisely what they were thinking.

  He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, but studied her for a moment before jerking his head to the side and saying, “Come to the kitchen.”

  She didn’t like being ordered about, didn’t like it at all. It didn’t sit well, and a small seed of rebellion deep inside her wanted to rise up and protest. But she tamped it down and followed docilely behind. Maybe not quite so docile. Her hands were fisted, and she was half tempted to plant one in the center of his back, right in the dragon’s heart.

  The silence stretching between them was awkward, but everything she thought to say was a question. How was your morning? What all did you do while you were away? Did you see anything interesting, hear any juicy gossip? She was craving gossip.

  But she bit her tongue and kept from speaking. When they reached the kitchen, she thought he might praise her for her restraint, but he merely set the packages down and waved a hand over them.

  “Open them.”

  “They’re for me?” She growled at the words that had escaped without thought. “I know. I’m not supposed to ask questions.”

  She caught the barest twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll overlook that one.”

  She had the oddest desire to see him overjoyed, happy, laughing. At ease. Not in the way he was comfortable with his surroundings, but deeper, at ease with himself, at ease with her. He must have liked her. He’d hired her. She couldn’t blame him for his impatience with the recent turn of events. She had to relearn everything. He’d not bargained for that. “You should release me.”

  She didn’t think his eyes could have grown any wider if she’d punched him in his flat stomach. “Pardon?”

  “You should dismiss me. Hire someone who remembers how to tend to her duties, how to open the door properly—”

  “At this precise moment all I require is that you open packages properly.”

  His impatience was tempered this time, and she was glad he wasn’t letting her go. How would she even begin to make it on her own when only a chasm of emptiness existed where knowledge should be?

  She tugged on the bow of the string that held the brown paper around a large package that seemed to contain something soft and malleable. Parting the wrapping, she uncovered clothing. She grabbed the dress by the shoulders, lifted it up, shook it to unfold it, and held it out for inspection. A plain frock of dark blue with buttons up to the starched white collar. Long sleeves. She peered over it at him.

  “Your uniform,” he stated succinctly. “You were mistaken with your assumption that you had packed your clothes into a valise. You arrived with few possessions. I should have made arrangements for you to purchase things.”

  Nodding, she set it aside and unfolded a white frilly apron. Tears stung her eyes.

  “You’ll no doubt be more pleased with this package,” he said, shoving another toward her.

  “I’m not displeased. I’ve never had such a thoughtful gift.”

  “You’ve had lots of gifts.”

  Cocking her head to the side, she studied him. “Have I?”

  “I can’t know for sure, of course, but I’m certain you have. One does not grow up without receiving any gifts.”

  “I can’t recall a single one. It’s truly like starting my life all over.”

  “Some would consider the chance to start over a blessing.”

  “But that’s the thing of it. I don’t know if I should or not.” She didn’t want to focus on the troubling notion that maybe she should be grateful so she turned to the next parcel. It contained a gray dress, again with buttons to the collar, but the skirt contained several short ruffles on the backside.

  “Another uniform?”

  “No, I just thought you might have a need for regular clothing.”

  “Do I get a day off?”
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  “From time to time.”

  How grand! “When is the next one?” she asked enthusiastically.

  “The next what?”

  “Day off, silly. I should like to go to a bookshop. And gardens. I like to walk through gardens. Speaking of gardens, you really should hire a gardener.”

  He appeared completely flummoxed. “Did you call me silly?”

  Of all she’d said, he was going back to that? “I meant no insult. I suppose I shouldn’t be so informal with my employer.”

  “No, you should not.”

  “I’m only to tend to your residence?”

  “Precisely. And the packages I brought you.”

  She considered prodding him about the gardener but perhaps she would have more success if she brought it up another time. She would so love to have flowers to brighten up the rooms. But as he seemed most anxious for her to examine the contents of the packages, she returned her attention to them.

  Setting aside the frock, she lifted other items, realizing they were underthings, much finer and softer than what she was presently wearing. The heat scorching her face, she shoved them beneath the dress.

  “No need to blush,” he said. “I’m well acquainted with women’s undergarments.”

  She had no doubt there, but she didn’t much like the cockiness in his words or the satisfaction in his smile. She didn’t want to think about women draped over him, stroking his dragon, his chest, any part of him. “Do you bring your ladies here?”

  “No.”

  Taking some comfort in his not parading them past her, she wondered why it mattered. She was his servant, nothing more. Yet it seemed there should be more.

  With the undergarments stuffed aside, one more item remained. A nightdress. She would no longer have to sleep in his shirt. The thought didn’t bring as much joy as it should, but she didn’t want to examine the reasons either, because they were mocking her, reminding her that she didn’t want to be here, and yet she did.