A Rogue to Ruin (The Untouchables: The Pretenders Book 3)

by Darcy Burke

  “Perhaps Ivy Grove will spark a memory for you,” Rafe suggested.

  She laughed lightly. “I was two and a half years old when the fire took our parents. It’s a wonder I recall the necklace at all.” She grew serious again. “What about the church in Croydon?”

  “I thought perhaps we might stop tomorrow on our way to Ivy Grove.”

  She hesitated. “Harry will be with me.”

  Rafe understood what she wasn’t saying. “I’d rather it was just you and me. I’m not asking you to keep secrets from him, just that we go alone.”

  “Thank you. We’ll go another day? Soon?”

  “Yes.” Rafe smiled at her. “Sheffield is a lucky man.”

  She shook her head. “I’m the lucky one. I hope you will be too—someday.”

  “I don’t need to fall in love to feel fortunate.” He didn’t need to fall in love at all. Not again.

  Anne flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt. He was momentarily blind. Until he blinked.

  “Mrs. Sheffield, your first guests have arrived.”

  Rafe blinked again. “I’ll be going.” Pivoting, he froze as Anne walked into the room with her sister; at least Rafe was certain it must be her sister, Lady Colton.

  Anne’s expression flickered with surprise, and Rafe hoped Selina didn’t catch it. Except his sister was deuced observant. Such was the learned skill of a successful pickpocket.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Colton, Miss Pemberton,” Selina said warmly. “Allow me to present my brother, Mr. Raphael Bowles.”

  Raphael was the name he’d taken to make “Rafe” sound more sophisticated. When he was eight, he’d met a man named Bowles who’d owned a posh gaming hell. Expensively dressed and well-spoken, he’d impressed the hell out of Rafe.

  “Good afternoon,” Lady Colton said. She was a couple of inches taller than Anne, and her eyes were darker, a true brown with none of the green that made Anne’s hazel. Their blonde hair was also slightly different somehow, not in color, but in liveliness, which made absolutely no sense when it came to describing hair. Nevertheless, the word completely embodied Anne’s curls, which often escaped their assigned style to graze her forehead, cheek, or neck. All places he wanted to kiss.

  Hell.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bowles,” Anne said, nodding demurely, though he was certain there was nothing demure about her.

  Rafe bowed. It was one of the few things he remembered that his father had taught him. “The pleasure is mine. I beg you to excuse me. I’ve no desire to disrupt your meeting.” He smiled before moving past them.

  First, however, he caught the intense look in Anne’s eyes and the slight parting of her lips. She wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t going to give her the chance.

  Only, Anne was quite persistent. “Will we see you at the picnic at Ivy Grove tomorrow?”

  Rafe looked back at her and her sister. Of course they would be there. If Colton had prompted the event, it made sense they would be invited too. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.”

  Anne’s mouth lifted into a provocative smile. “I am too.”

  Leaving before Anne said or did anything else that would stir Selina’s curiosity, Rafe stalked from the house. He needed to think about the picnic, about what he would say to Stone.

  Except Anne would be at the picnic too. And damn him if that didn’t make the event all the more enticing.

  As Anthony helped Anne from the coach at Ivy Grove, she looked up at the gray sky. “I fear it may rain.” She hoped the picnic wouldn’t be canceled. Or that Mr. Bowles—Raphael?—hadn’t decided not to come.

  Anthony frowned as he cast his gaze toward the heavens. “It looks that way. Let us hope your godfather has a contingency.” He offered his arm to Jane, and a footman gestured toward the path that would lead them to the picnic.

  Anne walked on her sister’s other side. She’d been to Ivy Grove on several occasions and hadn’t been surprised when a groom had directed the coach toward the lake. It was the perfect place for a picnic. The path rounded a copse of trees, and the Aphrodite temple came into view. As far as follies went, it was an extraordinary example. It was, perhaps strangely, her godfather’s favorite thing about the estate. Apparently his father had built it.

  Round with a domed roof, the temple boasted nine columns around the perimeter. In the center of the building stood a grand statue of the goddess holding a dove while roses bloomed at her feet. Around the base of the temple were dolphins and other, smaller, sea creatures and shells.

  “Do you remember coming here when we were children?” Anne asked Jane.

  “I do.” Jane nodded. “I remember wanting to fish and not being allowed because Papa said it wasn’t appropriate for girls.”

  “I’ll take you fishing, my love,” Anthony offered with a smile. “When it’s not about to rain.”

  Several other guests were gathered near the lake where blankets were spread upon the grass. Anne immediately spied Lord Bodyguard, for he was taller than everyone else. She resisted the urge to walk straight toward him.

  “Where’s Lord Stone?” Jane asked.

  Anne scanned those gathered once more. “I don’t see him.”

  “Lady Colton, Miss Pemberton.”

  Arriving just behind them was Stone’s son, Lorcan Mallory, the Viscount Sandon.

  “Whyever are you addressing us so formally?” Anne asked with a laugh. “You’ve known us forever.”

  “Yes, but Jane is now a viscountess.” Sandon bowed to Jane and then to Anne. When he rose, he grinned at them both. “Forgive my father. He’s dithering about whether to move the picnic inside.” He glanced at the sky where a particularly dark cloud was heading straight for them. “I think he must, but he doesn’t always listen to me.”

  “Perhaps we’ll be fortunate and the rain will stay away,” Anne said.

  Sandon’s gaze strayed to where footmen were pouring wine. “I beg your pardon, but I must attend to picnic management. Father wants to hold off on the wine for a few more minutes until those darker clouds pass.”

  Deciding she’d waited an acceptable amount of time before approaching Lord Bodyguard, Anne looked to where he stood with his sister and her husband. “Let’s go and speak with Selina.”

  Jane nodded, and the trio made their way to Selina, her husband, and Mr. Bowles. Selina greeted them warmly, as did her husband, Mr. Sheffield. Mr. Bowles bowed, and Anne decided he was rather good at it.

  Anne positioned herself next to Lord Bodyguard. “Did you see the temple?”

  “I did.” He looked toward the folly, which stood several yards away. “It’s rather hard to miss.”

  “Come, I’ll show you my favorite part.”

  His brows rose. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Many times.” She clasped his arm and led him to the folly. “The Goddess of Love.” She looked at him askance but he gave no reaction. “She came from the sea, so the base of the temple is decorated with creatures from the ocean. I love the dolphins, but there is one in particular…” She guided him around to the back of the temple. “Here. This one looks as though it’s smiling.”

  Lord Bodyguard stepped close to the dolphin, whose snout was pointed toward the sky as if it were cresting the surface of the nonexistent water. He touched the stone, his gaze fixed on the animal. “Extraordinary,” he breathed.

  “Have you ever seen a real dolphin?” she asked. “I have not.”

  “I’ve never even been to the sea.” He stroked the dolphin’s snout. “At least, not that I remember,” he added softly.

  “You should rectify that. I love the ocean. Something about the sound and smell is incredibly peaceful and refreshing.”

  “Perhaps I will.” He turned his head then looked at her. “We’re not in view of anyone else. Isn’t that scandalous?”

  She arched a shoulder. “Probably.” She almost said she was already scandalized, but she didn’t want to talk about her aborted wedding with anyone, especi
ally Lord Bodyguard. “So your name is Raphael?”

  He took his hand from the dolphin. “Rafe.”

  “Rafe. It suits you.”

  A smile teased his mouth. “How fortunate after thirty-two years.”

  “So that’s how much older you are than me.”

  “How much older is that?”

  “Ten years. It seems like a great deal of time, and yet I know several young ladies who married men older than you this Season.”

  His gaze held hers. “You aren’t marrying me, Miss Pemberton.”

  “You called me Anne before,” she whispered. “You can do that when we’re alone.”

  “We should never be alone.”

  “But we have been.”

  He glanced toward the picnic area, which they couldn’t see. “That was ill-advised.” He frowned at her. “I thought I was plain with you the other day—we aren’t friends.”

  “And I explained—plainly—that we are. Stop fighting it.”

  “I fail to see how we can be friends. Or why. It’s not as if I can take you to Magazine Day. Then I would have to marry you.”

  She flashed a smile at him. “Would that be so bad?”

  He laughed, and she recalled how the scar on his chin would flatten when he smiled broadly or laughed. She also remembered how the slight ridge in the bottom of the center of his lip felt against her.

  “Please stop flirting with me, Anne. We can’t go back to…before.”

  “Were we flirting before?” She simply couldn’t stop herself. Being with him made her feel so light, so wonderful, better than she had in months.

  A fat raindrop landed on his sleeve near her hand.

  Rafe looked up, squinting. “Here it comes.” He took her hand as several drops began to fall, and together, they raced to a narrow doorway tucked into the side of the stairs that led up to the statue and the main covered area.

  He opened the door and pulled her inside before they were completely drenched.

  She looked up at him in surprise. “How did you know this was here?”

  “I just…” His brow creased, and confusion shadowed his eyes. “I saw the door.”

  “I was never allowed to come in here.” She looked around at the small, dark space but couldn’t gauge the size or depth.

  “Your hair came loose.” He tucked a damp lock behind her ear beneath her hat.

  “It’s always doing that,” she murmured, instinctively lifting her hand and connecting with his. She didn’t pull away.

  He didn’t either. “I remember.”

  They stared at each other as the rain cascaded outside the door. Someone could come—likely would come as they sought to escape the squall. Even so, Anne couldn’t move away.

  She edged closer to him.

  “Anne,” he breathed, her name a warning and yet somehow an invitation too.

  “Anne!”

  Startled, she stepped back as her godfather leapt into the chamber beneath the stairs. “Godfather, you’re all wet.”

  “Quite.” He brushed at his sodden sleeves. “I had just returned to the picnic to say we should move inside. Too late, I’m afraid.” He looked toward Rafe. “You must be Mr. Bowles.”

  Anne looked between them. They hadn’t yet met?

  “I am,” Rafe said. “You must be Lord Stone. Thank you for your kind invitation today.”

  “I’m pleased to welcome you to Ivy Grove. I see you found the secret room in the folly. Clever of you. Or did my goddaughter bring you here when the rain started?”

  “Your goddaughter?” Rafe looked toward Anne, but she couldn’t see his face very well now that they weren’t standing so close together. Between the darkness of the room and the brim of his hat, she couldn’t see his eyes at all.

  “Miss Pemberton is my goddaughter,” the earl said.

  Rafe nodded slowly—that she could see. “That’s why you’ve been here many times.”

  “Yes, since I was a child,” Anne said.

  “Since before you can remember.” The earl laughed. “Oh look, the rain is slowing down. When it stops, we’ll make a run for the house. Well, not a run.” He chuckled.

  “Should we take the coaches?” Rafe suggested.

  “That would be faster—and drier if the heavens decide to weep again. Capital idea, Bowles!” The earl looked to Anne with a grin. “I’ve just the coach in mind for us, my dear. Sir Algernon has an elegant new vehicle.”

  Oh no. Her godfather really did want to play matchmaker. Anne wanted no part of that. She silently prayed the rain would continue.

  Alas, it did not. A moment later, the air grew silent and the day brightened.

  “Wonderful!” The earl stepped outside and looked up. “Come, let us hurry. I saw most of the guests gathered inside the temple around the statue. We’ll just go up and tell them all the plan—rush to the coaches and we’ll picnic in the ballroom!” He said this with such gaiety, it seemed to have been his plan all along rather than a contingency.

  Anne wanted to tell him to go ahead and she would accompany Mr. Bowles to the coaches, but Rafe was already moving outside.

  “I’ll see you at the house,” he said, inclining his head first toward Anne, then the earl before taking himself off.

  She clenched her jaw in disappointment as she took her godfather’s arm and went with him into the temple. There, he directed everyone to the coaches and promised blankets and towels when they arrived at the house.

  “Ah, there’s Sir Algernon.” He began to steer her toward the knight, who was perhaps fifteen years her senior—suddenly, Rafe seemed quite young.

  She tried to dig the heels of her half-boots into the stone. Having already bowed to the wishes of her parents—with disastrous results—Anne resisted doing so again. She wanted to make her own choices, dammit. “I am not ready for courtship. It’s too soon.”

  “Oh, come now. It’s not at all too soon. You’ve wallowed long enough, and you must show Society that you are made of the strongest stuff, that you are above the nonsense that went on.”

  If he referred to the shameful scandal of her former betrothed and his criminal behavior as “nonsense” one more time, Anne feared what she might do. For now, she pursed her lips, which he either didn’t notice or ignored.

  “Will you at least meet him?” the earl asked with a bit of a plaintive tone. At least he was asking and not demanding as her father would have done. “This entire event is to support you.”

  “Here I thought it was also to celebrate Sandon’s homecoming,” she said drily. “I’ve already met Sir Algernon. But to appease you, I will accompany you to speak with him.”

  “And ride to the house with him,” the earl said with a smile.

  “Alone? I think not.” It was one thing to spend time alone with Rafe—which she would eagerly do—but she had no desire to risk what remained of her reputation with Sir Algernon. Actually, that wasn’t the issue. Her reputation was quite spoiled due to Gilbert. She simply didn’t want to be alone with Sir Algernon.

  “Oh, here you are, Anne.” Jane touched Anne’s shoulder from behind.

  Anne wanted to hug her with relief. “Yes.” She gave Jane a pleading look and darted her eyes toward her godfather.

  A befuddled shadow swept across Jane’s brow, but then she gave an infinitesimal nod. “Shall we go to the house before it rains again?”

  “Indeed.” Anne gave the earl an apologetic smile and accompanied her sister and Anthony to the coach. “Thank you,” she said as soon as they were out of Stone’s earshot.

  “Where were you during the downpour?” Jane asked. “I couldn’t find you in the temple. I was worried.”

  “There is a room beneath one of the staircases. I took shelter there.”

  “With Mr. Bowles?” Jane asked.

  “And my godfather.” Eventually. She didn’t want to discuss what had really happened—that she’d briefly been alone with Rafe—at least not in front of Anthony.

  “Well, I’m glad you were able to sta
y mostly dry. Anthony and I wondered if we should just return to London. We both got a bit damp.”

  Anne wasn’t ready to leave. She’d barely spent any time with Rafe, and she hadn’t yet convinced him they should continue their friendship. They’d been able to sneak away together for four blissful afternoons. Surely they could do so again, particularly when the Season ended. “Can we please stay?”

  Jane looked to Anthony who shrugged and said, “I have no preference.”

  “Then we’ll stay,” Jane said. “But let’s get to the house before we’re drenched once more.”

  Anne smiled, eager to find Rafe and convince him they really could be friends.

  Chapter 4

  The coaches arrived en masse in the drive, and guests hurried inside as another dark cloud approached. Except Rafe. He hung back, his gaze fixed on the façade. Crafted of light stone with a tall, imposing Palladian entry, the house loomed large, making his skin prick with awareness.

  He was one of the last to move inside, having lost sight of his sister and Harry. Not that he minded. Seeing the folly had provoked a feeling of familiarity that was even more intense here. He supposed that made sense because he would have certainly visited the house since he’d been to the folly.

  It was more than that, however. He knew this house. When he walked inside, the entry hall would be round, and if he walked straight through it, he’d find himself in a grand hall with a staircase climbing the left side up to a gallery divided by arches from the space looking down at the hall below.

  Taking a shallow breath, he walked up the steps to the open door and moved inside. His movements felt stilted and uncertain, as if he wasn’t entirely in command of himself.

  Get hold of yourself.

  But then he froze. The entry hall was precisely as he’d imagined it.

  Of course it is, you dolt. You’ve been here before.

  Why, then, was he reacting in this manner? It was almost as if he were moving in a dream.

  Without thought, he strode through the entry hall and into the staircase hall. Again, he’d gotten every detail just right. His gaze lifted and fixed on the gallery above. He knew what he’d find up there…