Married to a Rogue

by Donna Lea Simpson

  Emily leaned forward until their knees were touching. Grishelda’s face was shadowed but the misery was still visible. “What is it, my dear? I must know the whole if I am to help you.”

  “My mother does not know this part, I am almost certain. I . . . I cannot bear to speak of it!” Her voice choked off on another sob that shook her whole slight frame.

  Emily knelt down in front of her, hoping the inquisitive maid could not hear. The girl was watching from across the room, avid curiosity on her face.

  “Tell me all, Grishelda,” she whispered.

  The young woman kept her face down as she spoke in low tones. “The captain was speaking to Lord Saunders separately, after my mother had left them. They did not know I was around a pillar and could hear every word. Lord Saunders said he did not want to—he used an obscenity there, but it meant what is done on the marriage bed, I think—any skittish virgin, and that he t-t-trusted the captain to take care of things!”

  Emily gasped.

  “And the captain laughed,” Grishelda moaned. “Such an evil laugh! He said he would make sure I was well b-b-broken in!” She broke down in sobs then, a heartrending sound in the quiet parlor.

  A roiling pit of bile in Emily’s stomach threatened to rise. She quelled it and put her arms around Grishelda. She had never heard anything so evil in her whole life. “But surely if you told your mother—”

  Grishelda gave a sharp and bitter laugh. “She would believe that captain over me. She is totally in thrall to him! She has already sided with him in this matter of my marriage.”

  “But that is different! It might appear to her no different than her own marriage, to an elderly man who wanted an heir.”

  “But I have told her I do not wish to marry, and she still intends to go ahead.”

  “We shall not let this happen,” Emily said decisively, sitting back on her heels and taking both Grishelda’s gray-gloved hands in her own. “We shall find a way. Was any time mentioned when all of this takes place?”

  “The captain has said they will do nothing until Lord Saunders comes across with the money he promised, and the old man said that would take at least a week to cash in funds. Captain Dempster will not take a banknote he says, because of all the forgeries. Until then I am safe.”

  Emily rose. Her knees creaked and she felt a trifle out of breath. “My dear, I must ask this. The simple way out of this predicament is if you were to marry before they can take action. You are old enough that you do not need permission. Is there any gentleman you prefer, or who has made an offer?”

  Grishelda gazed up at her with hopeless eyes. “No one. Even my money has not yet brought me an offer from anyone but a couple of broken-down gamblers, and I will not marry a man who would gamble my money away. I am too plain and have been condemned as a shrew because I speak my mind and do not flatter. And I do not wish to marry!” The last was said with some of her usual determination and resolution. “I will not spend my life shackled to some man because my mother would prostitute me!”

  “Then, my dear, if you have the determination to avoid the marriage bed, you certainly have the determination to foil the plans of your mother and the captain. Come,” Emily said, taking her young friend’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “We will find a way out of this for you, and you will be able to go back to your estate and your village school and your way of life.”

  Grishelda sighed, her thin shoulders sagging in dejection. “That is all I want, truly! I am not formed for marriage. I have no need for love. I . . . I hate to be touched!” She shivered in revulsion. “And I do not know how to accede to stupidity or wheedle to get my way or flatter some man who has no brain in his head for other than gambling, drinking and whoring!”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “I do not know where you got your idea of marriage, my dear, but not all men are cut from the same cloth. There are many decent and good gentlemen, and lovemaking inside of marriage is a beautiful and sacred thing. But one must not drive good men away with talk of whoring and such!”

  “You see,” Grishelda said miserably. “I have no idea how to go about it. I cannot rein in my mouth for any reason. It is just as well, because I truly do not desire marriage. But what shall we do about the captain?”

  “Leave that to me. Is there someone in your household you can trust?”

  “My maid, Hannah. She has been with me my whole life and is devoted to me.”

  “Then we will arrange something through her, if anything should happen to you. You must send for me if you are in trouble or need to talk. In the meantime I will try to learn what I can about the captain and Lord Saunders. If I can discredit either one or . . . I will think of something. In the meantime, lock your door, and keep your maid by you at all times.”

  The door opened and a couple of ladies came in fanning themselves from the heat of the ballroom and chattering in low tones. Grishelda seized Emily’s hand and with a fervent tone said, “Thank you, Emily. You do not know what your support means to me!”

  “My dear, after this is all over, we shall laugh about it.”

  “I hope we may.”

  “We will,” Emily said with determination. “You shall marry of your own free will, or not at all!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dodo sat quietly stitching a piece of embroidery by the window, where the light was best. Emily was restless, though, after the previous night’s revelations and walked around the morning parlor touching this and that, adjusting the gorgeous bouquet of hothouse orchids Etienne had sent her just that morning and touching the Dresden shepherdess Baxter had given her once. When she wasn’t worrying over the problem of how to help Grishelda, her mind returned to Baxter and how her body had responded to him the instant he kissed her.

  When she had turned Etienne away the night he came to her, she had made the decision the moment his lips had touched hers. He was sweet, and gentle and oh, so serious, but his kiss left her . . . not cold, exactly. What had been missing? He was a talented kisser. His lips had touched hers reverently and he had held her close, his lithe young body molded to her curves as though he wanted to get closer to her than even that, as though he wanted to be inside of her.

  It had been a mildly pleasant sensation but her body remained untouched. Perhaps he could have aroused her given a chance, but she had no desire to give him that chance. Her only thought had been of Baxter, and how she had stood before an elderly vicar with him and promised to love, honor and obey for the rest of her life, through any trouble, through any misfortune. She sent Etienne away with a tactful apology for not having made a decision earlier. He had accepted his dismissal with good grace, but she had the feeling he was not done his attempts at persuasion yet.

  But then when Baxter had kissed her it was as if the heavens had opened and poured out a pure white light, bathing them in warmth and love and passion. Her heart had raced, her body had thrummed to life as he caressed her in the pale moonlight. He had a power over her senses that had not diminished during their years apart.

  She loved him deeply and completely for all the wonderful things he was, for his strength and his tenderness and for the love he had shown her so many times. They had become alienated from each other, but she now recognized that there had been two sides to their troubles, two equal partners who had contributed to the separation.

  What had never changed was the passion she felt for him, and no one else could touch her that way. She had the misfortune to be a one-man woman. What was she going to do? Was there hope for them?

  Trumble opened the door. “Mr. Sylvester Lessington.”

  “Less, how good to see you,” Emily cried, approaching him with her hands stretched out toward him.

  “My dear, you are positively glowing this morning,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “You always look beautiful, but today you are radiant.” He released her and bowed before Dodo. “And Lady Dianne. If it is possible for a beautiful woman to grow more beautiful, then that is what is happening to you.”

/>   “Oh, pish-tush, Mr. Lessington, you are a flatterer!” She put her embroidery aside and rose. “I have a letter to write, and so I will leave you two children to gossip about last night, as you are no doubt panting to do, away from my elderly ears.”

  “Please do not feel you need to leave on my account, my lady,” Less said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  She squeezed his hand in return. He was a great favorite of hers. “Not at all. I do have a letter to write. I shall send in the tea tray on my way, Emily.”

  She closed the door behind her and Less turned to Emily with a roguish glint in his eye. “And may I hazard a guess as to the reason behind your radiance this morning?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Less.” Emily felt herself coloring and damned her unruly physical responses. Would she never be so sophisticated that she would not show her feelings in her cheeks?

  “Do you not think I noticed? And even if I hadn’t, do you not think it was the subject of everyone’s gossip all evening? Lady Emily Sedgely disappears into the garden with her husband, from whom she is formally separated, and comes back a half hour later on the arm of the ardent Frenchman, looking a little flustered and with the top of her gown disarranged. Did the handsome Frenchman challenge Baxter? Which of them was responsible for the disarranged dress? I do so love intrigue!”

  Emily flushed more deeply. “Oh, Less!”

  “You shall not fob me off, my dear. I want to know the truth.”

  Emily sat on the couch and Less sat beside her. “Baxter kissed me.”

  Less almost clapped, he felt the joy so vividly. He was pierced by it, and it puzzled him a bit that he could feel such joy for someone else’s life. Was that, perhaps, because he had so little hope of love and fulfillment in his own? Was he living vicariously through his friends? He examined Emily’s face for clues as to how she felt about the momentous occasion. “And?”

  She shrugged and sighed. “I am not going to tell you everything that happened, Less. It’s private. But I understand now that he’s the only man for me, though I don’t know how he feels.”

  “He kissed you, didn’t he?”

  Emily stood and paced to the window. “Yes, but—”

  “It was his idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was all his doing. I just followed his lead. It was just the same as it always was.” Her voice was low and vibrated with feeling as she stared out the window. “I felt utterly swept away. I love him so very much that it frightens me. What if we never get together again? What will there be for me if I don’t have Baxter?”

  Less joined her at the window. The sparkling sunshine touched a silver thread or two in Emily’s hair and sparked off the tears just forming in the corners of her large brown eyes. He put his arms around her shoulders and rested his head against hers. She was the one woman in the world he felt completely comfortable with, the woman he would want as a sister if he could choose. “He kissed you, my dear. It’s a start. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want to. I was going to ask if he went any farther, but I know it is none of my business.”

  “I’ll only say that yes, he went farther, but we were interrupted by Etienne, who came that moment looking for me.”

  “Hmm. Unfortunate.”

  “Perhaps not,” she said with a rueful smile and lift to her elegant arched brows. “I was in imminent danger of disgracing myself in a public place.”

  Less chuckled. They must have gone very far indeed if that was the case. But he had a far more serious reason for his visit that morning. He almost hated to bring it up, but it was important. He released Emily and went to sit down again. A handsome young footman brought in the tea tray, and Less smiled up at him as he set it down.

  Returning to the sofa, Emily sighed and sat down to pour a cup of Bohea for each of them. “I can tell you now, my friend, that for the first time in my life I was thinking of taking a lover. Etienne. He even came to me the other night, but I just could not go through with it. The sad thing was, I wasn’t even that tempted. How do other women do it?”

  Less felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had used the gossip of Etienne’s visit to her chambers—which he had heard through servants’ gossip that originated with her dresser, Sylvie—to spark a flame of jealousy in his best friend, but his one concern was that Emily had taken the young Frenchman’s offer of passion. It appeared that he need not have worried. And if the gossip had pushed Baxter into making a move on his wife, then he didn’t regret sharing it. But Emily must never know it was jealousy that had prompted his move. Women understood the efficacy of jealousy well enough, but he feared that someone like Emily would not appreciate its benefits.

  He must get to the reason for his visit though, and without more ado. They could be interrupted at any time, as it was one of Emily’s “at home” days, and she was invariably deluged with visitors. He sipped some tea and cleared his throat. “My dear, I have had some rather alarming news. My contact in the government has told me that the danger to Baxter is said to come from a young Frenchman.”

  Emily’s teacup clacked against her saucer. “You don’t think it is Etienne?”

  “Perhaps. Isn’t it possible that it was no coincidence that he was close by when Baxter was last attacked? It could have been a plot to gain his confidence, as his savior, you know.”

  Emily pondered that. She supposed it was the most likely explanation, but there were things that didn’t make sense, if that was the case. “But then, why would he try to start an affair with me? And other than the first visit, I don’t think Etienne has been to see Baxter. Wouldn’t he follow up on his entrée into Baxter’s house if his intention was to get closer to him?”

  Less shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, my dear. But isn’t it too coincidental that the danger is said to come from a young Frenchman and poof! There is the vicomte. Can you find out anything more about him? Does he talk about himself?”

  “He lost his family in the Terror. That is all he’s said.”

  “I’ll do some digging myself,” Less said, putting down his empty cup. “I know somebody who knows everything there is to know about the French aristocracy.”

  “Not the dreaded Great-aunt Sybil!” Emily laughed, remembering from years gone by his terror of the grande dame, who lived holed up in her elegant and stuffy London town house.

  “Yes, Great-aunt Sybil,” Less said with a shiver. He rose and flicked an imaginary dust mote from his rose-colored jacket. “You see me girding my loins for battle. I must go and beard the beast in its den!”

  “Anything for a friend. That’s why I love you, Less. You are so loyal.” Emily rose and gave him a quick hug. “I missed you all those years in exile.”

  “And I missed you, my sweet.” He kissed her cheek. “I miss you and Baxter being together. I miss being able to visit you both at the same time. We must see what we can do about that!”

  “Less, I am afraid to hope. And I’m afraid not to hope.”

  “I believe one should hope all the time, for the possible and the impossible. It is my motto in life.”

  “How do I know which one this is?”

  “Which one?”

  “The possible or the impossible.”

  “We shall see, my dear. We shall see.”

  • • •

  The affair was a crowded musical evening. A famed operatic soprano was to perform, and Emily knew Etienne was going to be there. He had to be; he was staying with the owners of the house, Sir Francis Dutton and his wife and family. It was widely rumored that the knight was hoping the young vicomte would marry his eldest daughter, Cecile.

  Dodo had begged off, so Emily was alone. Lord Fawley was supposed to accompany her, but he had been laid low with a grippe. She was glad, in a way, because she must get close to Etienne and find out more about him. What Less believed seemed impossible, but there was only one way to find out, and that was by examining every angle of the young man’s life. What did he do with his days? What had he done before c
oming to London? Was he independently wealthy? That last part didn’t seem possible, since the revolution had wiped out all of the French aristocracy’s holdings. He was a bit of an enigma, this open, cheerful young Frenchman.

  There he was across the room, speaking to Cecile and her younger sister Mathilde. The knight had a penchant for French names when he named his daughters, it seemed. She caught Etienne’s eye and smiled an invitation. He immediately detached himself from the girls and hurried to her side.

  “Emily, chérie! I did not think you were going to be here. Indeed, you said you would not be!” His tone was low and caressing. He stood very close and gazed at her with yearning in his eyes.

  Was it all an act? Did he have other intentions? But that was impossible. If he was trying to get close to Baxter, the last place he would start was with his estranged wife. “I wasn’t going to come, but I wanted to see you to explain about last night.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “There is no explanation necessary. It is clear that I ’ave little chance between a man and wife. I understood your marriage to be quite, quite broken, but it seems that I was mistaken.”

  “But you weren’t. We . . . we have not . . .” Emily twisted her gloved hands together. This was impossible! She wanted to keep him close and question him about his life, but to do that he must not think that she and her husband were on the brink of mending their marriage. And he must believe that she might be tempted into an affair with him.

  Perhaps she had already said enough. His eyes were alight with a new fire. “So, per’aps last night did not convince you to return to le lit de mariage? Maybe your husband’s kisses do not hold the fire you remember?”

  She blushed at his mention of the marriage bed and looked down, hoping he would take that as a yes. It must have been a successful maneuver, for he moved closer to her.

  “Per’aps, then, you will take a little walk with me later in the conservatory? It is beautiful, and very private.” Desire trembled in his voice, his words pitched so low that in the babble of voices only she could hear them.