by Anna Small
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Anna Small titles
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
How to
Marry a Rogue
by
Anna Small
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
How to Marry a Rogue
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Anna Small
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-356-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-357-5
Published in the United States of America
Other Anna Small titles
available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
TAME THE WILD WIND
IN THE ARMS OF AN EARL*
*a finalist in the 2013 Launching a Star Contest
Dedication
Dedicated to Walter, for his loving support and never shirking from Mr. Mom duties while I'm lost in a book.
For Megan, who is my greatest inspiration and comic muse.
For Connor, who makes me laugh and brings me joy.
And to Don, Lisa, James, Chelsea, and Devon, with love.
My thanks also to my best friend, Carolyn Sarah Leister, who graciously allowed me to use her name in the creation of Mrs. Leister, even though Mrs. Leister is a notorious tart of the British stage!
Chapter One
“Your husband is the most insufferable brute who ever walked the earth! He simply must allow me to go abroad with Aunt Adele.”
Georgiana Lockewood emphasized her frustration with a sharp stomp of her foot on the thick Aubusson carpet.
Her sister-in-law, who nearly always gave in to whatever Georgiana asked, sank lower in her chair, her attention focused squarely on her knitting needles.
“Jonathan has your best interests at heart, Georgiana,” Sophie said. “He doesn’t want you to be so far away when…” A blush stained her cheeks as she laid a light hand upon her belly.
Georgiana swept an irritating lock of hair from her shoulder with so much force a breeze stirred her skin. “I want to be here when the baby arrives, but Aunt Adele said this would be her final trip to France. It may be my last hope for any sort of fun before my dearest brother chains me to some…” She waved her hand as if she could pluck the proper word from the ceiling. None presented itself. With an elaborate sigh, she sank beside Sophie’s chair, her silk skirt tangling around her legs. She slapped a fold out of the way. “Please, Sophie. You must talk to Jonathan. He always does whatever you say.”
Sophie’s eyebrows rose so high Georgiana wondered if they’d touch the soft brown curls skimming her brow.
“My relationship with your brother is not suitable for discussion, my dear. Besides, you are wrong. Jonathan has his own mind, and if he thinks you should stay here in town, you should obey him.”
It was the obey Georgiana could not bear. She was getting nowhere, and quickly. Sophie was her last hope against the brother who had been more of a father to her since their parents died years before.
Father? She grimaced. More like commander. Sometimes she wished Jonathan had allowed her to live with their late uncle’s wife, their scatterbrained, though well-meaning, Aunt Adele. The sweet old dear would have permitted all sorts of adventures, not locked her away like a criminal. True, her cage was filled with elegant furnishings and outings to town, but it was not enough.
When her brother married, Georgiana had hoped for an easily swayed ally in his new bride, but the demure, soft-spoken Sophie had proven to be as dominating as he was. While she was grateful for the security they provided, Georgiana had experienced the drawbacks of living under their roof more than once.
She watched Sophie for any miniscule sign of wavering, but her lips remained firmly pressed together.
“I had hoped I could be gone for the season,” Georgiana announced, adding an elongated sigh for good measure. “There are certain people whom I’d rather not meet at Vauxhall or a ball.” She swiped her cheek in a pretense of tears, hoping her reference to a most indelicate situation two years before would cause some reaction in Sophie. An indelicate situation she herself had instigated, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.
Just as she’d hoped, Sophie’s lips trembled. She knitted with such a sudden ferocity Georgiana feared the baby cap would turn out lopsided. “Please, do not think upon that…that terrible person. Besides, you probably wouldn’t see him in any case. Jonathan said he is not in town.” Her needles stopped clicking, and she met Georgiana’s stare. “Jonathan made some inquiries before we left Fairwood Hall. He didn’t want things to be difficult for you, either.”
“How thoughtful of him,” Georgiana muttered. Fiddlesticks. It was her last card in this tricky game she was trying to play. She plopped down into a chair opposite Sophie and picked at a loose thread on the watered silk covering. Her brother’s home in Grosvenor Square had always been a veritable playground of delights, situated in the middle of everything exciting and bright in London.
But she couldn’t enjoy herself this year, try as she might. Vauxhall Gardens held no enchantment, and she’d tired of strolling through St. James’s Park, no matter how many treats Jonathan bestowed upon her. Even the promise of attending Almack’s proved uninspiring, despite Jonathan’s gift of several new gowns and baubles. This was her first grown-up season, but she had spent it aimlessly roaming the corridors and criticizing everything from the cakes at tea to the way the chambermaid kept her room.
She leaned her head on her hand in an exaggerated display of despair and peeked at Sophie from
under her lashes. “I shall wither away and die here in London, and neither you nor my brother will shed a tear if I do.”
“You look healthy enough.” Jonathan entered the room and kissed Georgiana’s forehead before sitting on the arm of his wife’s chair.
She thumped a pillow so hard a tiny feather poked out of the stuffing and floated in the air. “You will have your laugh at my expense.”
“I am not laughing, Georgiana.” He crossed his arms and regarded her with the stern look she’d always thought resembled a grumpy old owl interrupted from its dinner of plump mice. “Two helpless females crossing the Channel and trekking across a foreign country is nonsense.”
“Aunt Adele is strong for her years, and I am no trembling ninny, afraid of her own shadow.” She gave him a defiant look before he could make fun of her. “You make it sound as if we will paddle across the sea in a rowboat and tramp across fields and brambles in our stockinged feet. The packet ships to France are safe, and Aunt Adele’s sister’s home is less than a day’s journey from Le Havre. We won’t require lodgings and can go straight on once we land.”
He shook his head, but his frown indicated a possible change of mind. A splinter of hope penetrated her anxiety, though only by a slight margin, as Jonathan’s reasoning was long-winded enough to make even Job clap his hands over his ears.
“It’s not safe.”
“The war is long over. Did you not mention at breakfast you hoped to take Sophie to Paris next year? And you’ve always told me to broaden my horizons.”
“With books and study. With music and art.” He stood and crossed the room, pacing like a caged monkey she’d owned as a child. His forehead beaded with sweat, a good sign he was losing his footing. “Besides, you’re too young to go abroad.”
Clenching her fists, Georgiana pushed up from her chair to face him. “I will be twenty in a month! Nanny Halifax left us years ago, in case you haven’t noticed. All I want is to…to see some of the world before you’d have me locked away for the rest of my life.”
A scowl crossed Jonathan’s usually amiable face. “You would compare marriage to prison?” He glanced at Sophie. “If the gaoler were as beautiful as my own bride, I should welcome Newgate.”
She gave him her best withering stare, but his expression remained immobile. She tried to catch Sophie’s eye, but her sister-in-law remained unnervingly focused on her knitting. “Yours is a happy marriage, but that is not the case for everyone. Please, brother, I wish to go to France. If you allow it, I promise….” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “I promise to address the loathsome subject of which you have been trying to force upon me lately.”
“The loathsome subject?” He gave a short laugh. “With an attitude like that, you will hardly be a bride worth winning.” He hooked his fingers into his waistcoat, a sign implicating he was about to make a decision. “I merely want you to become acquainted with my plans for your future, Georgiana. You will not have to marry…oh, for at least another year.”
A year was eons away. Aunt Adele sailed within the month. Who knew how Jonathan might change his mind until then? And there was always Sophie, dear Sophie, who could twist him around to her way of thinking if she really wanted to help her poor sister-in-law. “Whatever you wish, my dear, wise brother.”
He lifted his hand. “I have one caveat, before I give my consent. Aunt Adele is hardly a suitable companion to escort you. Two helpless females…” He turned to Sophie with a look that hinted he wished her support. “Do not you agree with me, Sophie?”
She shrugged just enough to placate them both.
Jonathan sighed. “I cannot consider all the logistics right now, Georgiana. Ask me in a few weeks.”
“We don’t have a few weeks! I’ve already made inquiries for our passage, and I have more than enough financial security. Aunt Adele’s sister lives in a chateau, Jonathan—not in a dilapidated cottage in the woods. Please.” She considered dropping to one knee, but he would not take lightly to dramatics.
“My dear, make her see reason.” Jonathan gave his wife an encouraging little nod, but she only lifted her knitting higher as if she had trouble seeing the small stitches.
Georgiana stared at her so hard she knew her sister-in-law could feel her gaze.
Sophie’s cheeks blushed a rosy hue. She looked up at her husband. “Had I owned the support of my family to venture abroad at nineteen in the company of a beloved aunt, nothing would have stopped me.” She winked at Georgiana. “Especially a stodgy older brother.”
He snorted.
Georgiana hopped from one foot to the other.
“Is that a yes?” she cried. “It is a yes! Sophie agrees with me, and you’ve always said how clever she is, Jonathan.”
Jonathan looked from his wife to his sister, as if searching for a weak spot. “Very well. But…” He silenced another exuberant outburst. “Aunt Adele and you will not travel alone. I will find a suitable escort. The last time that poor woman ventured to Bath, she’d gotten the date of the rooms all wrong. I won’t have you stopping at various inns because of her lapse of judgment.”
“Thank you, my dear, dear brother.” Georgiana skimmed the carpet as she crossed the room to embrace him.
He held her at arm’s length, his dark brows furrowed. “Do not thank me, yet. You may only go if I find someone trustworthy.” Deep in thought, he faced the hearth, picking up various statuettes as if the answer to his problem lay hidden in miniscule marble carvings. “He must be a gentleman who is capable and courageous. Someone who will lay down his life to protect you. A man above all manner of reproach with a sound moral compass.” He replaced a figurine of a boy playing a flute and hefted a statue of Hercules.
Sophie and Georgiana exchanged amused grins behind his back.
“Why, my dearest, you’ve just described yourself,” Sophie said. “Does such a man exist in the entire kingdom besides you?”
He gave a rueful laugh as he faced them. “Unfortunately, no. But there’s one who might do the job.” A tremor rippled through him, causing the silver threads in his brocade waistcoat to shimmer in the lamplight. “If I can persuade him to leave his”—he cleared his throat—“pursuits.”
Chapter Two
Jack Waverley licked the corner of his mouth and tasted blood. No whiskey for him later, as it would mean a hell of a burn in his torn mouth. He shook his sopping hair from his eyes, spraying the rowdy men with sweat and droplets of blood. Taking a deep breath until his ribs creaked, he rubbed his battered left fist with his right.
His opponent glared at him, and the two circled each other to the shouts and taunts of the inebriated crowd.
“Had enough, yer lordship?” his opponent jeered.
Jack grinned, his pulse pounding with a new burst of energy. “Not quite yet. After I lay you out, I intend to take on your brother.” He shook a strand of hair from his eyes. “And then I’ll take your sister.”
With a roar, the fighter lunged at him, but Jack stopped him with a clean uppercut to his jaw.
The man’s eyes rolled comically back into his head and he keeled over like a fallen tree.
Jack dusted off his hands and searched among the sea of faces for his second.
Talbot Reynolds handed him a clean towel, his face beaded with sweat from the pressing heat. “Good show, there, Jack. He didn’t see it coming.”
Before Jack could reply, a woman in a low cut dress and no corset gripped his ears and pulled his face down for a smacking kiss tasting of cheap wine and an unspoken promise only a man could detect. Had he not been exhausted to the point of falling down, he might have invited her into a side room somewhere. As it was, he merely offered a courtly bow.
“Yer a right strong brute!” She squeezed his biceps with forceful fingers.
Talbot pried her off him and sent her on her way with a smack on the bottom for good measure.
“Thank you, madam.” Jack’s gaze wandered after her retreating figure.
Talbot nudged his arm. �
��That’s another five hundred you’ve won tonight.”
Jack sponged off his sweaty face, scowling at the traces of blood smeared on the towel. “Five hundred to the good, but it nearly cost me a tooth.” He gave a tentative wiggle with the tip of his tongue. “I’m through with this lot for the night. How about a drink?”
“Or a long soak in a tub. You stink, Waverley.”
Jack spun around at the familiar voice. “Lockewood!” He gripped his friend’s hand, pumping it vigorously. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you see that last match?”
“Match, you call it?” Jonathan brushed at his sleeve where an overeager patron had clutched him in a fit of excitement, leaving a greasy smear on his spotless coat. His upper lip curled in disdain. “Looked more like a brawl.”
“Yes—but a brawl has no money to be won.”
“True; but the end result is the same.” Lockewood’s stare took in all of Jack’s bruises and bumps. Jack grinned.
“I never expected to see you in one of these places, Lockewood. Do not tell me you’ve reconsidered the charms of boxing? You’re strong enough, you know.” He gave his head a slight shake. Poor Lockewood looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else than in the roiling boxing dens.
“Thank you for your assessment, but I am here on another matter. I do hope you will assist me.”
“Anything, my friend. But let’s speak outside where the smell is decidedly less pungent.”
They walked outside, and Jack sucked in a lungful of cool air, wincing with every movement of his ribs. Talbot helped him with his shirt, and he gingerly stuck his arms in the sleeves. Jonathan handed him his topcoat.
“Do you still visit your grandfather’s winery across the Channel? Or has he bestowed that duty upon another?”
Jack’s mouth twisted. “My grandfather will only trust me to see to his business, no matter how much I loathe leaving my fascinating life here. Unfortunately, I will be off to Bordeaux at the end of the month, there to suffer under the spells of guileless young women and flowing juices of the vine.” He fastened the last button on his shirt. “Are you interested in a few cases?”
