Any Rogue Will Do

by Bethany Bennett

  Darling sank onto the edge of the bed. “You’re sure this is the right choice? We could send a message back to your father. Or let the servants take care of him—the earl deserves something for giving you such an ultimatum. A maid could put cat hair in his smalls. I have friends at Stanwick, you know. The man needs a lesson.”

  Despite herself, Lottie let loose a watery laugh. “Nothing so Machiavellian is needed. Although cat hair in his smalls is rather brilliant. I’m in awe and slightly scared for anyone who crosses you.”

  “There’s more than one way to hit ’em in their stones, milady. The earl has it coming for sending that letter.”

  Lottie picked at a nail before catching herself. “It is a lousy choice to have to make, but it seems that at heart I am nothing but a jilt. An impure one, at that. A jade. As they’d say, ‘I almost tied a knot with my tongue that I couldn’t untie with my teeth.’”

  “What in the name of all that’s holy are you nattering on about? Who says that?”

  “Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Ethan gave it to me. I’m only in the Ks thus far.”

  “Ah. Well, you’d best get up. Tell me what’s next. You always have a plan. Tell me all about it.” Darling flung the coverlet back. “What you need is some fresh air. Wear the green wool today. Maybe we can take a walk. That’ll put roses back in your cheeks.” Darling held out the gown.

  “As always, you are right. Thank you.”

  Today might have been awful, but she had a chance to reclaim her future—the original future she’d wanted before she got caught up in Ethan. Planning her return to Westmorland would keep her mind off how her letter would affect him. It was a cold comfort, but perhaps she was the one taking the brunt of the hurt. After all, if he loved her, he’d have told her. So maybe Ethan’s anger or hurt would be short-lived.

  Eventually, Ethan would return to his brewery and his people. And she would find her people elsewhere, while cherishing the one night she’d spent in his arms.

  There was a chill in the air to remind everyone that winter approached. Leaves covered the ground in a colorful carpet created by Mother Nature at the expense of the naked tree branches reaching toward the heavens with bare bark fingers.

  Darling raised her face to the morning sun. “’Tis easy to be grateful for the weather on a day like today. Soon enough, it will just be endless drab rain.”

  “Don’t forget the wind that bites as if it has teeth. Best we enjoy the sun while we have it.” Lottie left the path to wander through the grass toward a copse of trees. After several minutes of silence, she stopped, shaking her head.

  Darling scanned the area. “What is it?”

  “This is the route we often took on horseback. I suppose I’m following it out of habit.” Tears threatened. Utterly ridiculous feelings. She’d had a choice, and she’d made it. Granted, it hadn’t been a nice choice. Or an enjoyable choice. But given the circumstances, it was the wisest course of action. The logical, safe option. Ethan would need to rebuild whatever damage had been done, and for that he would need money. Money she wouldn’t have if she married him. In lieu of money, he’d need connections. She couldn’t even offer that. Father would disown her, which would leave her with no social influence of her own. Her peers laughed at her. Without a dowry, Lottie was a liability.

  With this decision, she freed Ethan to focus on his responsibilities, even if that meant finding an heiress to marry. The thought brought a wave of bitter tears, so she didn’t allow it to linger. She was doing the right thing for him.

  Besides, there was no undoing that letter at this point. Even if her father came around, she’d broken something with Ethan that couldn’t be repaired. To go from sleeping in his arms to ending things…there was no coming back from that.

  “You’ll miss him,” Darling said.

  Lottie blinked to clear her eyes, then turned back. “Everywhere I look, I see memories of him, and that will drive me mad eventually. We need to go home. I’ll tell Agatha when we return to the house. If we are out of London by the end of the week, that should suffice. Then I can take all the walks I wish, but do it in breeches, on my own estate. The one with the view of the sea. It will be lovely, you’ll see.” She wasn’t sure whom she was trying to convince—herself or Darling.

  “I’ll go where you do, as long as we bring Patrick.” Darling tried to keep up with the rapid pace Lottie set as she scurried away from memories in the park.

  “Without a doubt, if Patrick wishes to come, he’s welcome. I’ll need a coachman. Otherwise it would just be the two of us rattling around the property until we hire more staff. I don’t know, though. All that peace and quiet? There are worse futures.” Newgate Prison, for example. Or marriage to James Montague.

  They were almost back to Berkeley Square. The steady clip-clop of hooves broke through Lottie’s thoughts. “Let’s move farther to the side. This carriage has been behind us for the last block. I fear we’ve been holding up traffic.”

  “Most drivers would have passed and splashed muck onto our skirts,” Darling said.

  “Ah, the rare considerate coachman. Here I believed your beau to be the only one of those in England.” The flush that crept over Darling’s face made Lottie grin. It felt good to smile amidst such hard days.

  The coach drew alongside them, then stopped as the door swung open. Lottie barely registered surprise before a cudgel struck Darling’s head, and her beloved maid fell to the ground at her feet. The horrifying sight froze her as she tried to come to grips with the brutal violence of it.

  A strong arm grabbed her from behind and pressed a foul-smelling rag over her face.

  Then she knew no more.

  * * *

  This was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he’d ever done. When a woman gave you marching orders, you marched. It may have been a while since he’d enjoyed a woman in his life, but this one prickly lass was different. She’d managed to get under his skin and stay there. And damn it, he’d taken her to bed. Did that mean nothing? Ethan shrugged his caped coat closer around himself, wishing he’d paused long enough to dress properly. Begging a woman to explain herself might have a better success rate if he wore a cravat. Instead, he’d galloped away from Woodrest with only the bare essentials. If Lottie’s decision to comply with the earl’s refusal stemmed from doubts of his suitability, this wouldn’t help his case.

  Late afternoon sun warmed his uncovered head, and the final colors of autumn crunched beneath filthy boots as Ethan thundered up the steps of Lady Agatha’s stately Berkeley Square residence. Obnoxious birds chirped their greeting from a tree beside the steps, inciting his glare. Today was not the time for timid brass knockers. In his current mood, he’d be tempted to rip the decorative bit of metal off its hinges, so pounding a fist on the massive door felt bloody brilliant.

  Where was the butler? What was his name? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the name of Lady Agatha’s butler here in Berkeley Square. Dawson had stayed on with the rental house to serve the next tenant. Every now and then Ethan caught a glimpse of him going about his duties next door to Cal.

  He pounded again, then tapped the knocker for good measure. Where was everyone? The footmen and maids? He raised a hand for a third time before someone finally answered the summons.

  “Excellent, milord. Thank you for arriving so quickly. Lady Agatha is beside herself,” the butler said.

  Wait, what? “You sent for me? Has something happened tae Lottie?”

  “Did the messenger not find you?” the servant asked.

  “Lottie sent a letter tae Woodrest today. Are you telling me she’s not here?”

  “No, milord. That’s the problem. Lady Charlotte is gone. Her maid arrived home by herself not long ago. It seems they were attacked in the street.”

  Already striding down the hall, Ethan called over his shoulder, “Lady Agatha is in her usual place, I assume? Is Darling with her?”

  Trotting to keep up, the butler wheezed, “Yes, milord. Lord Carlyle only ar
rived a moment ago. We are organizing the travel now.”

  The scene in the drawing room didn’t calm the worst-case scenarios whirling in his mind. Darling perched on a sofa, pressing a cold compress to her head, while Lady Agatha marched around the room, thumping a cadence with her cane, looking as battle ready as a geriatric woman could. Which, surprisingly enough, would intimidate the hell out of anyone.

  Cal stood, his expression pained. “He took her, Ethan. Montague has Lottie.”

  This was Montague’s rebuttal to their letter to Danby. Steal the fiancée of his largest dun. Bonus to Montague that she was an heiress. Ethan knelt before Darling. “May I?” The maid shifted the compress aside to show the point of impact, which appeared to have already stopped bleeding. “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure how long I lay in the street. When I came to, the coach was long gone.”

  Ethan hung his head, grappling with his emotions. Lottie had been taken in full daylight. Heaven only knew how long Darling had lain in the dirt on the side of the street. Even in this posh area of London, a woman had been accosted and left for dead long enough that her wound stopped bleeding on its own. London could be a bitterly cruel place for most of its inhabitants and was home to more than one character with Montague’s depravity.

  He shied away from the thought before it fully formed. Imagining Lottie at the mercy of that bastard wouldn’t help. There would be no coming back from the terror and panic. Better to focus on Darling. “I’m so sorry you were hurt, Mrs. Darling. Can you tell me anything that would help us find Lottie?”

  Cal piped up, “We’ve determined she was one block away when attacked. The three of us were establishing a timeline when you came in. They have about an hour’s lead on us.”

  Ethan turned to Cal. “How are you already here?”

  “They sent a messenger to my house, not realizing you were at Woodrest. I forwarded the message to Kent but couldn’t very well sit about with your girl missing. So here I am.”

  That made sense. Ethan asked Darling, “Do you remember anything else? Did you see anything? Was Montague driving, or did he have a coachman? Anything about the coach? Every detail is important.”

  Darling closed her eyes, appearing to sift through her memories. “He had a driver. Red carriage, flashy yellow trim. Big black wheels with yellow spokes.”

  “A traveling rig, then, not a racing curricle?” Cal clarified.

  “Yes. This was made for longer distances,” Darling said.

  “Perfect. Most of the others on the road are yellow. This should stand out tae hostlers.” Ethan turned to Agatha. “Have you already sent for your traveling carriage?”

  “Done. It should be ready for us in a quarter hour.” Lady Agatha turned to Darling. “Are you fit enough for travel?”

  Darling winced when she shifted the hand with the compress but appeared determined. “Just try to stop me. I owe that man a few whacks when we catch up with them.”

  Lady Agatha nodded. “Brilliant. I shall lend my cane to the cause should you desire a weapon.”

  Calvin said, “Montague probably borrowed the carriage, which means borrowed horses. We might overtake them on the road.”

  “Do you know where he’s taken her, then?” Darling asked.

  “Gretna Green, of course. It is the only logical outcome if he has gone through the trouble to kidnap her,” Lady Agatha said.

  Ethan exchanged a look with Calvin. There were other possibilities. Less honorable possibilities that centered on revenge and ruination instead of marriage. The thought made a cold sweat break out on his forehead. If that rat touched one hair on Lottie’s head without her permission…Ethan’s clenched hands shook with a force great enough to unravel him. Closing his eyes, he forced calming logic into his head. Out with the horrific scenarios and creative punishments. In with the planning, decisions, and immediate rescue of his Lottie.

  Lady Agatha was right about one thing. If they were to give chase, they must choose a direction in which to search. Might as well go north and hope for the best.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There were horses running over her head. It was the only logical explanation for the pounding rhythm of her pulse in her skull. Sunshine warmed her face, and light filtered through her eyelids, burning like pokers. The fuzzy film coating her mouth suggested that a small creature had died there—no doubt her breath could stun a dragon at thirty paces. But oh, her head. If only it were possible to take it off her shoulders and store it in a cupboard somewhere until the pain abated.

  Alas, aching head and body remained firmly connected. The rumble of carriage wheels against stone and dirt beneath her thrummed in a steady vibration, punctuated by the occasional excruciating jolt, triggering nausea with every movement.

  Keeping her eyes closed, Lottie attempted to piece together the bits of information working through her pained head. Although obviously in a carriage, she didn’t remember getting into a carriage. When did she order one?

  Where was Darling?

  Why, oh why, did her head feel so horrific? Had she succumbed to one of her megrims?

  Inhaling turned out to be a regrettable decision. This carriage reeked. Her throat closed against the roll of her stomach at the lingering taint of alcohol-based vomit and cloying perfume that clung to the squabs. And she sprawled on that seat.

  That was enough inducement to attempt sitting, holding her head as if to keep her brain in her skull, and the whole throbbing mess attached to her neck. A groan escaped, but even that amount of noise triggered a whimper.

  “Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Montague lounged casually on the opposite seat, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She winced, dearly wishing to smack that smirk off his face. When she could move without pain, of course. Why was she with Montague? More pertinent still, why was she with Montague alone?

  “What happened?” The raspy voice didn’t sound like her. “Where are we, and why the hell are you here?”

  “Such language, wife,” he chastised.

  “Wife?” Please no. The tempo of the pulse pounding through her head picked up. At the engagement ball, she’d promised Ethan that she would take a burly footman wherever she went. Of all the times for her to remember.

  Montague shrugged. “Well, as near as. You have several days before we reach Scotland to get used to the idea.”

  Kidnapped. And where was Darling? God, why couldn’t she remember? Alarm coursed through her, threatening to stampede over logical thought. Tamping down the fear, she struggled for control.

  No time to panic. Not when escape must be the priority. Craning her neck to see out the window, she scrambled for clues. They were out of the city—how long had she been unconscious? A sign flickered past the window. They were on the Great North Road, and he’d just mentioned Scotland.

  “Scotland? Oh dear God. Gretna Green?” Lottie palmed her belly to settle the roiling nausea.

  “No, Lamberton. Scotland is Scotland, after all—we needn’t romanticize this. Everyone else will do that for us. As it stands, you’ve been traveling for several hours in a closed carriage with a suitor.”

  “Former suitor.” She gritted her teeth.

  “I have your father’s permission to wed you, and I made sure everyone knows it. In society’s eyes, we are as good as married. Don’t you see? I won.” Montague laughed as he pulled the shade closed, blocking her view. “I apologize for the headache. If you’d behaved yourself and seen sense, I wouldn’t have resorted to these measures.”

  “How is it my fault you kidnapped me?” Her voice rose with each word until they both winced.

  The slap came as a surprise. Teeth rattled against each other as her head swung to the side. For a moment, the burn of her cheek overshadowed every other discomfort.

  Montague brushed his hand on his breeches, wiping off traces of the offensive contact. “I am not marrying a fishwife. You will never again speak to me in that tone. Act like a lady, and I will treat you as such.”


  He’d finally gone insane. And not just the “Aunt Dottie is a bit touched in the head” kind of insane. No, Montague needed a room at Bedlam. That was all there was to it. Hot tears threatened to spill through her lashes, but she dashed them away before they fell.

  With each moment that passed, the memories returned—full of disturbing details. The sound the cudgel had made when it hit Darling’s head now echoed in hers. They’d left her on the ground. At that thought, she was almost sick. “What did you do to my maid?”

  “What needed to be done. I’ll hire another. She’s no longer important. What is important, my dear, is establishing the rules for our journey. We have many stops ahead of us before the Scottish border, and I won’t have you making a scene.”

  Lottie sneered. “I am not your wife or your dear or anything else except captive to a madman.”

  “I thought you’d say that. You’re so very predictable. That’s why you’ll be tied in the carriage until we stop for the night. I plan to drive as far as possible before we stop, so prepare yourself for long days. But what’s a little discomfort when the prize at the end of the journey is so sweet?” Montague winked as if this were all a great game. He openly ogled her bosom, although the green wool gown covered everything.

  By reflex, Lottie’s hands shielded her chest. “You mean to jail me in the carriage with no breaks until we reach Scotland?”

  “I have a hamper of food to fill at the inns. I’m not a monster. We’ll share a room when we stop for the night.”

  There was no way she’d touch the topic of sleeping arrangements right now. Lottie rolled her eyes. “There are other necessities besides eating.”

  “I thought of that too,” Montague said, offering a narrow porcelain tureen with a handle. A bourdaloue. “For milady’s needs.” He offered it grandly, as if presenting the crown jewels. Lottie wrinkled her nose, so he shrugged and placed the portable chamber pot on the floor between them.