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

by Darcy Burke

  “You’d kill him…” She shook her head, her vision swimming. Lowering her hand, she fought to take a breath. “You deny none of this.”

  He shook his head as a glimmer of sadness, and perhaps regret, flickered in his eyes. “No. I was a thief. I worked for one of the most powerful criminal bosses in East London. As the Vicar, I lent money at illegally high rates, including to your brother-in-law, to whom Chamberlain introduced me.”

  Anne couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been about this man. “You told me you’d disappoint me, that I couldn’t know who you really are.” She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she could stop the pain slashing through her. “But I didn’t listen.” She’d been such a fool.

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  She opened her mouth, but only a sob came out. Her hand itched to slap him, to physically hurt him the way he was hurting her. “You’re a blackguard,” she breathed before running from the dining room. She didn’t stop until she reached her sitting room on the second floor.

  A moment later, Jane came inside, her face drawn. “Anne? Oh, Anne.” She rushed forward and put her arms around Anne, stroking her back.

  Anne remained stiff and unyielding, the emotions she’d withheld when she’d run from the room locked up tightly inside her. “Two broken betrothals. Is that a record?”

  Jane released her. “I don’t know. Is that what you want?”

  “How can I marry him? Won’t he be arrested for his crimes?” Her anguish threatened to break free. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit her knuckle. Moving away from Jane, she worked to settle the hysteria bubbling inside her. “Two broken betrothals to two criminals. One thing is for certain, I think I’ve proven to be a bigger failure than you. Because, of course, you weren’t a failure at all, but a victim of someone else’s malfeasance. I, on the other hand, have attracted the worst sorts of gentlemen and not only encouraged them, but chose them.” Anne laughed without a trace of humor.

  Jane started to move forward, but Anne shook her head, stopping her. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. If Mother and Father will have me, and I doubt they will, I’ll go to them. If not, perhaps I can find a position at a school or as a paid companion.”

  “Anne. You don’t have to leave. You can stay here always. Come to Oakhaven with us. You and I can leave right away, if you want.”

  Anne didn’t know what she wanted. At least not right now. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew one thing. “Would you mind just leaving me alone?”

  Jane hesitated, but ultimately nodded. “I’ll check on you later.”

  Anne didn’t respond, nor did she move until Jane left the room, closing the door behind her. Then her only movement was to wipe away the tear that fell down her cheek.

  The need to follow Anne from the dining room nearly overwhelmed Rafe. But he didn’t move. Instead, he pivoted and fixed his rage on the reason for all of it: his uncle.

  Mallory stood from the table, taking time to finish his glass of wine as he did so. “I suppose I should go,” he said to Colton.

  Colton gritted his teeth. “That would be best.”

  Turning to his son, Mallory set his wineglass down. “I’ll wait for you in the coach if you need a minute.” He moved around Lorcan and departed the dining room.

  Rafe wasn’t going to let him go so easily.

  Stalking after his uncle, Rafe caught up with him in the entry hall. “You won’t win,” he called after the man’s back.

  Mallory slowly turned. “This isn’t a game, my boy. This is life. Unfortunately, you were dealt a bad hand—a pity, truly. But I can’t in good conscience allow you to take this title. It wouldn’t be right or prudent.”

  Rafe glowered at the footman, who retreated from the hall, before advancing on his uncle. “You dare speak to me of righteousness or prudence or conscience? You killed my parents.” His voice nearly broke, and his hands twitched with the need to curl themselves around the older man’s neck. “You tried to kill me too, and would have, if not for the conscience of my nurse.”

  Mallory stared at him expectantly, one of his brows arching pompously. “Can you prove any of that?”

  Rafe barely held himself in check. “I will.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mallory clucked his tongue with disdain. “Because I didn’t do any of it.”

  The smugness in his gaze told Rafe the opposite. It also told Rafe that his uncle wanted him to know, that he reveled in it. It was a game to him.

  “He was your brother,” Rafe whispered. “Your blood. As am I. As is Selina. She didn’t deserve the life she’s been forced to lead.”

  “I’m quite proud of how my niece has turned out. Her husband is the son of an earl.” Mallory’s imperious gaze swept over Rafe. “You’ve done incredibly well for yourself. That should be enough. Let it be enough.”

  “Father, leave him be.” Lorcan came from behind, carrying his and Mallory’s hats and gloves, and paused near Rafe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to contest.”

  Anne had known. And she hadn’t told him.

  Lorcan and his father left. Rafe stared at the closed door, his body thrumming with barely leashed rage. The sound of another person in the hall drew him to turn his head. Colton stood a few feet away, hands on his hips.

  “You should go too.” Colton sounded nearly as defeated as Rafe felt. No, not defeated. Rafe would fight his uncle with every breath he had. He wanted to fight for Anne with the same.

  Was she better off without him? Probably. Hadn’t he been telling her that since practically the moment they’d met?

  Colton blew out a breath and dropped his hands to his sides. “I told you to tell her the truth. Now she’s going to be humiliated again with another broken betrothal.”

  Rafe swallowed as Colton moved toward the doorway to the staircase hall. “You assume she’s going to end it.”

  “What choice have you given her? The exposure of your past will take what everyone has already been talking about—your resurrection and betrothal to Anne—and twist it into an utter spectacle. After everything Anne’s been through, you can’t expect her to endure that again.”

  It was a vicious blow to his gut so that Rafe nearly doubled over. He should have told her. Better yet, he never should have become involved with her at all. “I would still marry her,” he said softly, his soul aching.

  She likely didn’t want him, and he’d have to accept that. Unlike his uncle, he would.

  Colton pressed his lips together. “That will be up to her.”

  “Will you tell her I’m sorry? And if she’s willing to hear me out, I will tell her anything and everything she wants to know.”

  “I’ll try, but I may be persona non grata tonight with Anne and my wife.” Colton grimaced. “Anne may not want to see you again. Who you were is pretty damning.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “However, I know something about redemption, and about finding someone who can not only forgive you your sins but help you forgive yourself.” His eyes met Rafe’s. “I’ll do what I can, but expect the worst.”

  “I always do.”

  The footman had returned to give Rafe his hat and gloves. Taking the accessories, Rafe departed the house, setting off toward Upper Brook Street the same way he’d arrived: on foot.

  The evening was warm, perfect for trouble. In his youth, he would have spent a night like this thieving and fighting, earning one of the myriad nicks from his opponent’s knife as they fought bare-chested amidst the cheers of their comrades, the light of the moon, and the scent of cheap gin.

  He crammed his hat on his head and shoved his gloves into his pocket. Perhaps he should go looking for such trouble tonight. It would be a simple thing to return to one of the neighborhoods where he’d been a prince, where men and women had flocked to his side, eager for his approval and leadership. He could get any one of them to end his uncle’s existence. Rafe wouldn’t even have to do it himself.

  Killing was one crime he�
�d avoided at all costs. Except for the singular occasion when there had been no other option. When vengeance had been wholly necessary. Even now, four years later, he felt no regret.

  Still, he wouldn’t do it again. Unless he was driven by another’s violence. Not to him, but to those he cared about. Selina. Anne.

  Hadn’t that violence already happened? Mallory had murdered his parents. He deserved the same fate as the man who’d killed Eliza.

  A righteous anger welled within him. He abruptly pivoted and stalked back the way he’d come, passing Colton’s house and ignoring the pull he felt toward Anne. Onward he kept until he reached Bond Street.

  Perhaps he wasn’t really meant to be the earl. Perhaps he wasn’t worthy.

  Hailing a hack, he directed the driver to the only place he’d ever belonged. In the rookeries of East London, no one found him lacking.

  There, he could be anything he wanted. He’d just do it alone.

  Chapter 15

  “You ride as if you were born on a horse,” the Viscount Northwood, Harry’s older-by-five-minutes twin brother, said as they walked their mounts from Green Park. “And this is only our second lesson. It’s nauseating, if you must know.”

  “Thank you?” Rafe allowed himself to smile.

  When Harry had suggested his brother teach him to ride, Rafe had bristled at first. But then he’d surrendered to sense. He should ride a bloody horse. Not just because he was going to be an earl, but because his father had wanted him to. His father had loved horses and planned to breed them at Stonehaven. Rafe was perhaps a ways off from doing that, but when he let himself look to the future—hopefully someday soon—he wanted to pursue his father’s plans.

  “Are you ready to tell me what happened at the dinner last night?” North, what nearly everyone called him, looked at him askance as they rode through Berkeley Square.

  Rafe hoped he looked accomplished enough on the horse so as not to draw notice. At least, no more than he was already receiving by currently being the most notorious man in London. He tugged his hat lower over his brow.

  Rafe had told North about the dinner on Wednesday before their first lesson. When they’d set out earlier, North had inquired about it, but Rafe had avoided the question.

  “Not particularly, but you’ll learn soon enough. My uncle is contesting my claim. He’s using my past as an orphan in East London who had to steal to survive as proof that I’m not up to the task.”

  “Filthy whoreson.” North gave his head a shake. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’m sure you’ll prevail. No one is questioning your identity. The title is yours.”

  “It will be.”

  A short time later, they rode into the Mount Street mews. North kept his horse at his father’s stable, and Rafe was borrowing the earl’s horse until he went to Tattersall’s to purchase his own.

  As he dismounted, Rafe winced due to a sharp pain on the right side of his chest. He’d found the knife fight he’d been looking for last night.

  As they handed their horses over to a pair of grooms, North’s father, the Earl of Aylesbury, arrived in his coach. Stepping down from the vehicle, he blinked in surprise at Rafe. “Afternoon, Mallory. I was just thinking about you.” His brow was deeply furrowed. Whatever his thoughts, they hadn’t been good.

  “You’re just from Westminster?” North asked.

  Aylesbury nodded. He eyed Rafe warily.

  “I know you sit on the Committee for Privileges,” Rafe said. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to ask you about my claim or my uncle’s counter claim. Did you receive that today?”

  “A short while ago. The attorney general delivered it rather quickly since we were already taking up discussion of your claim.” Aylesbury was taller than average, with a somewhat youthful appearance despite being in his later fifties. His brown hair was partially gray, making it appear light, while his eyes were a dark coffee brown. He stepped to the side so the grooms could take care of the vehicle and horses, gesturing for North and Rafe to accompany him.

  “I don’t feel as if I’m speaking out of turn to tell you there are some who are alarmed by the revelations in your uncle’s counter claim. They plan to ask you to answer questions before the committee.” He grimaced. “Is any of it true?”

  “I haven’t read it, so I can’t say for certain. I believe he accuses me of having been a criminal?”

  “Yes. A thief, a fence, and an illegal moneylender.”

  Rafe held his head high and kept his spine stiff. “All of that is true.”

  “Hell,” the earl breathed, looking to the side. When he returned his attention to Rafe, his gaze had darkened. “Then your uncle may very well retain the title.”

  The injustice of it, given what Mallory had already gotten away with, made Rafe clench his hands into fists. “He murdered my parents. That fire was his doing. He wanted the earldom and was willing to kill my father—and me—to do it. My nurse decided she couldn’t let me die, so she and her brother kidnapped me and my sister.”

  As he spoke, the earl’s and North’s eyes widened.

  “Does Harry know this?” North asked.

  “Yes. He’s been investigating the crimes. Unfortunately, we have not been able to find proof of my uncle’s involvement.” A horrible, scratchy heat climbed Rafe’s back and settled at his nape, making him perspire.

  Aylesbury scrutinized him. “How do you know he was to blame? Don’t think I’m doubting you. If Harry is helping you, I trust you are right.”

  “Selina and I spoke to our nurse recently. She was quite ill and has since expired, so she is unable to provide testimony.”

  North put his hands on his hips, his tawny eyes narrowing with frustration. “Well, that’s bloody inconvenient.”

  “She spoke specifically about my uncle’s plan to have the fire kill my father and me so he could inherit the earldom. He didn’t want my mother or Selina to die, apparently.” When he thought of his mother trying to save his father and dying in the process, he wanted to rage at anyone who could support Mallory’s position.

  Aylesbury stared past Rafe and let out a low sound. “That…makes sense.” He looked at Rafe and hesitated.

  Rafe’s skin pricked with foreboding. “What?”

  “I knew your father very well. I liked him immensely. When I think about how my son married his daughter, I’m a bit overcome.” He cleared his throat, and his brow furrowed. “There was a rumor that your uncle had also fallen in love with your mother during her first Season. But she chose your father.”

  The heat on Rafe’s neck and spine intensified. He recalled what their nurse had said about their uncle, that he’d wanted everything his brother had. Did that include his wife?

  Rafe struggled to breathe. “You’re saying my uncle was jealous.” He tried to fight through the thoughts assaulting his brain. “What was he planning? Wasn’t he married to my aunt when my parents died?”

  “Yes, she didn’t become ill until ten years ago or so.”

  “Christ, was he going to kill her too so he could have my mother?” Nausea swirled in Rafe’s gut.

  “I doubt he would admit it even if that were true,” Aylesbury said with disgust. “We should inform the committee of all this information.”

  North crossed his arms over his chest. “Without evidence?”

  “I think we must. I don’t doubt the veracity of any of it. Why would Mallory lie?” The earl looked to Rafe. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  “I’ve freely admitted my criminal past. That should answer your question.”

  Aylesbury exhaled. “Indeed it does.”

  “Can we assume you had a reason for that behavior?” North asked. “You were kidnapped, were you not?”

  “We were. Our nurse’s brother was a footman at Stonehaven. My uncle enlisted him to start the fire. The nurse was to save Selina but leave me to die. She took us both and gave us to her brother. She was afraid because she hadn’t followed my uncle’s instructions. Her brother brought us to London, where he used
us to steal and swindle. After a few years, he sold us to a man who ran a number of gangs.”

  Both men stared at him, their expressions full of first shock and then sympathy.

  “I am not proud of my past but I am proud I survived it,” Rafe said. “I did what I had to do with what was available to me.”

  Aylesbury clenched his jaw. “Harry will find the proof you need.”

  “He’s running out of time,” North said, earning an angry glare from his father.

  “Well, you have my vote.” Aylesbury clapped Rafe’s upper arm. “You’re part of the family, and we won’t turn our backs on you.”

  “Thank you.” It was all Rafe could think to say. He was incredibly humbled by this man’s acceptance. It gave him hope that there was perhaps a small chance Anne would forgive him.

  As he walked toward Upper Brook Street, his thoughts turned completely to her. He’d barely slept last night, wondering if she’d been able to find her rest.

  Would she give him the chance to apologize? To explain?

  He didn’t know how long he could wait to find out. It seemed the more time passed, the less likely he would be able to win her back.

  Be patient.

  He wanted to scream the word no, that he was done being patient. If he waited for Harry to find proof of Mallory’s crimes, justice might never be done. And if he waited for Anne to summon him, he might lose her forever.

  Rafe wasn’t going to let either of those things happen.

  Moonlight spilled through the opening in the drapes in Anne’s room. Lying on her side, she forced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep. Though why she expected this time would be any different from her other attempts over the past two hours was a mystery.

  Because you’re a bloody optimist.

  And because she couldn’t stop thinking of Rafe. Of how much she loved him. Of how she missed him. Of how hurt she’d felt.

  She’d thought of little else all day, choosing to remain in her bedchamber and sitting room in order to brood by herself. Jane had visited a couple of times, but Anne hadn’t felt like talking.