Untamable Rogue (Formerly: A Christmas Baby)

by Annette Blair

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  After having borne five babes of her own, Sabrina was sent for, and when she examined Lark, she confirmed their worst fears.

  Lark accepted a sip of wine, but a new pain tore into her, and she pushed the glass aside. Afterward, she remained conscious looking as frightened as Ash felt, though he attempted to mask his emotions for her sake.

  “Ash,” she said, we must talk.

  Chastity, Alexandra and Sabrina rose as one and left the room.

  Ash was grateful for the opportunity to touch his wife again. He sat on her bed, took her hand. “Rest,” he said.

  “No, there are things I need to say and you need to hear.”

  Her words shivered his spine, portended a finality he would not accept. “Lark, do not—”

  “Ash, you must listen to me. Let me explain the least of my sins so as to prepare you for the worst of them.”

  “The worst? Are you saying you came to me with chil— No, I knew you for a virgin. I felt myself tear your barrier.”

  Lark gave him a half-hearted smile, her expression filled with so much yearning Ash swallowed a quick rising sob. She cupped their child, revealed how much she loved the babe in her womb, their babe. “He is yours,” she said.

  “Ours. I know.”

  “Will you let me speak now?”

  Ash sighed and bowed to the inevitable, for she would not be silenced.

  “I have done many terrible things for which you will disdain me.”

  Ash firmed his jaw for he wanted none of this confession business, but he remembered his mother and her frantic forgiveness, his own peace as a result, and he wanted to give Lark the same peace, to ease her labor, and bring forth their child in safety. “Tell me,” he said.

  “There is no need to secure Micah’s guardianship,” she said. “When he was born, I went to the country, found a family to care for him, and signed the parish register naming myself as his mother. I did it so no one could take him from me. Though I lied, in the eyes of the law, I am his mother, and you, as my husband, are his legal guardian.”

  Another pain tore through her. “This is bad,” she said riding it out. “The babe coming so soon.” She looked at him with concern. “Do not hate me.”

  She would believe herself dying for certain, Ash knew, if he professed his love at this juncture. “Why would I hate you?”

  “Because you dislike deceit, of all things.”

  “But I like you above all things.”

  “For the moment,” Lark said. “Remember that I have loved Ashley Briana as my own, tell her so. It matters not that you loved the mother. I love the daughter. Your daughter.”

  “Oh, Lark no.” Ash took his wife’s hand. “You mistake the matter. I never loved Nora. She was hard, calculating. I— We used each other. I am ashamed to admit it, but ‘tis so. Then, in the way of society, we became betrothed because her inheritance would compliment mine. ‘Twas back when I thought I had one, of course.”

  He kissed Lark’s brow, her sweet lips. “I speak true Lark. I considered love a dreadful risk, back then, something to be avoided at all costs, but—”

  Another pain. He took her hand. She asked for Alex.

  Ash kissed her brow, feeling useless and dismissed, and left to fetch the women.

  He sent Gideon, who needed action, for Doctor Buckston, and then he paced and awaited the summon to return to his wife.

  Her labor continued all afternoon and into the evening. By then, the ladies were certain there would be no keeping the babe from making its untimely appearance, however dangerous.

  Buckston could not be found, either at his residence or his surgery. Every rogue mounted a horse and drove from house to house in all directions to search for the good doctor, all except Ash.

  Finally allowed back into his wife’s room, alone with her again, praise be, Ash could hardly bear the sight of her suffering without shouting his frustration. He wanted to take her pain to himself. He wanted to push his fist through a wall, break something, fix everything.

  Lark roused and saw him, beckoned him close. “Another sin,” she said. “One of many. Go to my dresser and withdraw the packet wrapped in a figured scarf, tied with a gold ribbon.”

  Ash did as she requested, despite the seeming foolishness of it, and brought her the packet.

  “Open it,” she said.

  “Lark this is no time for—”

  “Open it.”

  To humor her, Ash did as he was told, then he stood staring down at his silver snuffbox and missing leather glove. “I thought I had misplaced these.”

  “I took them from you before you played that fateful game of cards with my father. ‘Twas the least of my sins. Soon you will know my worst.”

  “Lark stop. No more. It matters not.”

  “I am a thief. Thievery is how I supported Micah. Not Da. He would not spare the boy a farthing, so I supported him, in whatever way I could. Your wife is a thief, a liar, and a cheat.”

  “A pickpocket, I know. You pinched these the way you pinched my grandfather’s will and the false proof of Ashley Briana’s birth. So be it. See, there is nothing to confess that I do not know, but if you need absolution so much….” Ash shuddered at the finality of the implication, hated to take the step for that reason, but for her peace and safe delivery, he would do anything.

  “You are absolved Lark. Now let it go. You did your best for your sister and her son. He is ours now, and safe. You are safe.” He stroked the mound of their child with a possessive hand. “We will see this one safe born as well.”

  “Absolved but not forgiven,” Lark said wetting her lips. “Water, please.”

  Sabrina had warned that if he gave Lark water, she might be ill, which would do her no good. Ash moistened her lips with a finger, felt such a rush of love, his chest ached, but if he told her now, she would think he was trying to ease her way into eternity.

  She about broke his knuckles with her next pain. “I deceived you on our wedding night,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “What?” he said, smiling so he would not break down and weep. “You shot me in the arse then slept with another man?”

  Lark screamed, a mixture of pain and frustration, Ash suspected.

  “No, damn it! Listen to me. You did not lose the card game that bound us. Or you should not have lost if— But for me, you would have won, Ash.”

  “Certainly n—”

  She nodded, and watched as if awaiting his comprehension. Ash wondered how she’d managed it. Why? Why, when she’d not wanted him any more than he’d wanted her? Ah, not for herself. Never for herself.

  “You dropped your cards on the floor,” she said. “Remember?” She nodded. “I see you do. Before you could retrieve them, I switched your ace for the two of hearts. Pickpockets are fast and I am the fastest.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “For a big house and fancy dresses, of course.”

  Ash denied her words with a shake of his head. “For Micah,” he said, but Lark’s scream drowned his words and the women came rushing in.

  Sabrina began putting a cloth beneath Lark and Alex pushed Ash from the room as Chastity slipped in with blankets. The door shut behind him.

  He didn’t know if Lark had heard him or not. He knew she had not cheated for herself. He knew her heart, by God.

  To his surprise, he found his grandfather pacing outside Lark’s room.

  “It is Christmas Eve,” the tired old man said when their gazes met.

  Ash shook his head in incomprehension. “What are you doing here?”

  “You invited me for Christmas, remember?”

  “Christmas … I forgot.”

  “According to our old bargain, if she lost the babe before Christmas, you would fail to meet the stipulation in my will.”

  With a roar, Ash gave vent to the pain inside him. “I do not want your blasted money,” he shouted. “I care naught for your bloody will. I want nothing—God please hear me—nothing but my wife sa
fe in my arms. I love her. Do you hear me, Grandfather? I love my wife! I want her safe. I want our babe … if Lark is not the cost.” Ash looked to the heavens. “Please let Lark not be the cost.”

  He looked back at the broken old man. “From you, Grandfather, I want nothing.” Ash’s ire rose again. “Keep your money. Give it away. If I have to remove my wife and children from this house, so be it. I will gladly pay the price. Any price. Much as my mother loves the Chase, she would pay the price as well to see my wife safe. Even she loves Lark.”

  Sabrina slipped from Lark’s bedchamber into the hall. “We can hear you shouting Ash. The whole village can likely hear you.”

  Ash turned, focused on Sabrina, and found himself in a place he barely recognized, he was so lost to fury, until he remembered his words to his grandfather. “Did Lark hear me?”

  Sabrina grinned. “You have renewed her strength. She sobbed when she heard your declaration.”

  Ash stared at the closed door as if he might see through it. He placed the flat of his hand against it. “Lord this was not the way I wanted to tell her.”

  He heard her scream again, felt her pain to his soul.

  “Where the devil is that doctor?” Ash ignored his grandfather’s renewed bid for attention and ran down the stairs calling for his horse. He would ride to hell for the blasted doctor, if he must.

  He would do anything to keep Lark safe.

  The rogues congregated in the library, midnight upon them. Reed and Hawk paced, sometimes into each other, Gideon stared into the fire. All awaited news of Lark and the babe.

  Ashley Briana sat alone awaiting Father Christmas until Rafe and Micah, then Damon and Harry, joined her. That no parent saw, and forbade, their insurgence as the nursery stairs filled with children became a surprise in itself. That they were breaking such exalted rules became the subject of whispered discourse and delight, until Matthew warned that silence would go undetected, noise caught out.

  After that, silent as lambs, they watched the strange comings and goings in reference to her new Mama’s bedchamber, all of them waiting for Father Christmas … and perhaps something more.

  Sometime after the church-bells rang for the midnight service in the village, they heard the low jingle of sleigh bells, the muted clop of horses hooves, the shush of runners through snow.

  Ashley Briana watched as some of the children sat straighter. A few of the little ones stood for a better view and some cowered in fear, until the man they awaited came running up the stairs—hooded, robed in crimson velvet, white of beard, buttonhole of holly, and carrying a fat sack topped by a drum, a trumpet, a porcelain doll.

  “In here,” her Papa said, opening her Mama’s door and letting Father Christmas inside.

  The children became more silent, more hopeful.

  Ashley Briana was not alone in sensing that something momentous was about to take place, for Micah took her hand, squeezed it, and Ashley was grateful.

  “That was him,” Damon whispered a few minutes later.

  Harry swallowed his pride and allowed his wonder free rein. “I think it was.”

  Damon’s gloat was halted, Ashley noted, by a rush of mysterious muffled sounds from her Mama’s closed room. A scream, a cry, a shout of triumph, a lusty wail.

  Ashley regarded Micah, certain her eyes must be as large as his.

  Some while later, Father Christmas stepped into the hall across the landing bearing the blanketed proof of Ashley’s rising hope, all kicking legs and fighting arms.

  “I wonder what else he has in that sack,” little Juliana said.

  A stooped old man stepped up to Father Christmas and touched the babe’s fingers with reverence.

  “Your great-grandson,” Father Christmas said, handing the mite over. “Small but hearty, and not near as early as everyone surmised.”

  The old man wept and held the babe as if it were a fine porcelain treasure. “I only wanted to grow him up,” the old man said. “Burned the will yesterday. Wanted him to know.”

  “The Earl will be glad to hear it,” Father Christmas said and then he saw the children, and Ashley started, as he winked before he took the babe back into her Mama’s room.

  Several minutes later, Father Christmas returned to the hall, fat sack in hand, and made for the picture gallery.

  Taking his wink as a sign of acceptance and permission, the children followed at a goodly distance and watched as the proof of Christmas placed toys beneath the moonlit Christmas tree. When the robed man finished and started in their direction, they scampered up the nursery stairs, muffling squeaks and giggles, and ran to the big window overlooking the yard.

  Oohs and Aahs abounded as a bright red sleigh, pulled by two matched pairs, disappeared down the drive.

  “Happy Christmas,” floated, as if on the air behind it.

  “Did you hear that?” Ash asked as he slipped gratefully back into his wife’s room and stopped at the sight before him.

  Larkin Rose, his wife, safe, sitting in her bed, smiling, radiant, so beautiful she made him ache, their Christmas babe suckling at her breast, blanketed and tied with a red bow, a sprig of holly in its center.

  “Happy Christmas, Papa,” she said.

  Ash’s heart leapt. “Happy Christmas, Mama.”

  He shed his shoes and shirt, climbed into the bed beside her, and touched his son’s soft silk fingers. “Welcome to the family, Zachary.”

  Lark placed her head on his shoulder and regarded their child asleep at her breast. “Ash,” she said. “I beg you will forgive me.”

  “Lark.” He kissed her crown, placed his cheek upon her hair. “I received forgiveness from my mother, and never knew its power until I did, so I gladly give you mine. But why call for forgiveness when there is such wonder to be met?

  “Rather, let me thank you for our new son and a life as joy-filled as Christmas, for you saved me when you switched those cards. You are everything I never knew I wanted for Christmas, and for as long as we both shall live—you, Micah, Ashley Briana, and our sleepy little Christmas boy.”

  Lark raised her head, caught his gaze with brilliant eyes, and met his lips, while gratitude and love rushed Ash in tides too wild to be borne.

  “I love you, Ash.”

  “I love you, my Lady Blackburne, though I am not half good enough for you.”

  THE END

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  At least two members of The Rogues Club never had their stories told:

  Myles Quartermaine, Earl of Northclyffe

  and

  Hunter Elijah Wylder, Marquess of Wyldborne

  Since revamping the original Rogues,

  Plots for the last two are dancing like sugarplums in my head.

  Tentative titles are: Unholy Rogue and Unmasked Rogue

  I hope at some point to bring their stories to life.

  Bio: Annette Blair

  A National Bestselling Author for Penguin Books, Annette left her job as a Development Director and Journalism Advisor at a private New England prep school to become a full time writer. Thirty-five books in, and she’s added Cozy Mysteries and Bewitching Romantic Comedies to her Regency, Victorian, and Amish Historical Romances. The Rogues Club, her readers say, is the series that put her on the map.

  Happily married to her grammar school nemesis, Annette considers romance a celebration of life. Always happy crafting a new story, she loves hearing from her readers.

  www.annetteblair.com

  https://www.facebook.com/annette.blair.author

  http://twitter.com/annetteblair

  Awards and Accolades

  Untamable Rogue

  (Formerly: A Christmas Baby)

  The Rogues Club, Book Four

  2005 Aspen Gold Winner, HODRW

  2005 Reviewers’ International Org. Award of Excellence Runner Up

  2005 Regency Romance of the Year Award Nominee, HRC

  2005 Gallant Rogue of the Year Nominee, Reed Gilbride St. Yves, HRC

  2005 Bravest Heroi
ne of the Year Award Winner, Larkin McAdams, HRC

  2005 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence Finalist, S Magic RWA

  2005 Top Ten Reads for 2004, Lynda Lukow, MyShelf

  2004 #1 Top Pick Review, October, ARR

  2004 Top Pick Award, RRAH

  Annette Blair Books

  Operation Petticoat, February 2013

  Sisters of Sprit Anthology, Novella: Moving Pictures, TBA

  Cloaked in Malice, July 2012

  Mammoth Book Ghost Romance, Jonquils in the Snow, Novella, June 2012

  Scoundrel in Disguise, March 2012 (Reprint)

  Untamable Rogue, February 2012 (Reprint; Formerly A Christmas Baby)

  Unmistakable Rogue, February 2012 (Reprint)

  Unforgettable Rogue, January 2012 (Reprint)

  Undeniable Rogue, January 2012 (Reprint)

  Butterfly Garden, Oct 2011 (Reprint)

  Skirting the Grave, July 2011

  Kissingate Magic, Mammoth Book Scottish Romance, January 2011

  Jacob’s Return, May 2011 (Reprint: Formerly Thee I Love)

  Vampire Dragon, April 2011

  Fall in Love Like a Romance Writer, February 2011

  Naked Dragon, January 2010

  Death by Diamonds, July 2010

  Bedeviled Angel, August 2010

  Hot Ticket Anthology, Annette’s You Can’t Steal First, Sept 2009

  Larceny and Lace, Aug 2009

  A Veiled Deception, January 2009

  Never Been Witched, Feb 2009

  Gone with the Witch, May 2008

  Sex and the Psychic Witch, August 2007

  The Scot, the Witch & the Wardrobe, Dec 2006

  Hot Ticket Anthology, You Can’t Steal First, May 2006

  Scoundrel in Disguise, May 2006

  My Favorite Witch, January 2006

  The Butterfly Garden (in reprint), April 2005

  The Kitchen Witch, Oct 2004

  A Christmas Baby (in reprint as Untamable Rogue), Oct 2004

  An Unmistakable Rogue (in reprint), Oct 2003