How to Marry a Rogue

by Anna Small

  The throbbing vein diminished on his forehead, but his color was still high. “The best solution would be to drink my hemlock now, before Lockewood hears of it.” He contemplated her for a few seconds before shrugging. “Either way, we should not go to Aunt Adele. I fear the poor lady will have an attack should we tell her what happened. I’ll send word you’re ill and will be staying with me until you’ve recovered. In a few days, I’m sure I can think of some way to salvage your reputation.”

  She hid her pleasure at avoiding another dull week with Aunt Adele and Lady Priscilla bemoaning the state of the cakes. Still, she possessed a slight fear of what the sweet old dear would say to her if word reached her. Despite protesting against the ton’s ridiculous rules, she knew she should not have ignored them. Jack was perfectly suitable company in private, but not in public.

  Jack stared out the window as they rode back to the chateau. Georgiana couldn’t help but pity him, for he looked so distracted.

  He seemed to sense her gaze upon him and spoke without looking at her. “You may stay with me under one condition. No, two. Firstly, you will not question my habits or try to rearrange things. I am used to being alone, and prefer it that way. Secondly, you will keep to the house and gardens. I cannot risk anything else happening to you whilst you’re under my protection.” He grunted. “For all the good it has done you thus far.”

  “Goodness, Jack! How you and Jonathan flutter about, like two squawking hens. I am perfectly able to take care of myself.”

  “Harrumph!”

  “Oh, yes, forgive me, Jack. It was I who invented that preposterous lie to Lady Richmond.”

  He poked the air. “Do not look so pleased with yourself, Georgiana. At least, you may be reassured you’re better off without Herbert Richmond. That aside, you can be certain your brother will have it in for us both.”

  “You are probably correct.”

  “More than probably, I fear. I have few friends in this world, your brother being the oldest and best of the lot.” He sighed heavily. “Why did I not say I was your cousin?” He pounded the side of the carriage, causing her to jump at the noise.

  “I know why.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Pray, tell me, since you know so much.”

  “You do not want me to marry anyone.”

  He stammered and sputtered a reply but could only make a feeble noise.

  She wanted to laugh at his reaction. “You still insist on seeing me as a child, Jack! That’s why you didn’t want Herbert Richmond to marry me.”

  He pulled at his collar. The knot in his neckcloth was a loosened circle of fabric about to come apart completely. He tugged at the window and stuck out his face. The scent of lavender from nearby fields wafted into the carriage. When she objected, he shut the window with more force than was warranted.

  “That is precisely the reason.”

  She merrily picked through a packet of sweets he’d bought her earlier in the day, popping them into her mouth one after the other.

  ****

  Despite the potential scandal about to effectively destroy her chances of ever finding a husband, Georgiana almost danced across the threshold of Jack’s chateau. Jack apprised his servants, Philippe and Marie, that she would be a guest for the long term due to illness in Bolbec, and Marie set about preparing a chamber. It was not her previous room, but further down the corridor and away from Jack’s suite.

  She had little to unpack and joined him for supper in the dining room. Although the meal was superb, she picked at her food, finally giving up on the lamb and selecting a crusty roll. Her stomach writhed as if something was knotted and twisted inside. When he still had not started a conversation, she took the lead.

  “For all we know,” she said, tearing the roll into little pieces, “Lady Richmond will not say a single word. She might be so insulted Jonathan didn’t tell her about us she will remain silent.”

  “There is no us,” he growled, draining his second glance of wine.

  Picking at the bread helped her avoid looking at him. He hadn’t touched his dinner except to stab a boiled potato a few times.

  “Well,” she said at length, glancing at him before lowering her eyes again, “it’s possible nothing will come of it. We can go back to England and act as if nothing happened.”

  He carefully set down his fork, leaned back into his chair, and regarded her as if she had just announced she was going to sprout wings and fly.

  “And what will you do, should she accuse your brother of going back on his word? A broken engagement is nearly as bad as your going about with no chaperone but me.”

  She groped for her glass and took a sip of wine. “I don’t know.” She tried to smile and gave a little hopeful shrug. “Whatever happens, I shall always be grateful for what you did. At least I won’t have to marry her grotesque son.”

  He raised his glass to her. Only a smear of wine remained on the bottom. “Huzzah for that.” He set his glass down and folded his hands on his chest. “I’ll write Lockewood myself in the morning. With any luck, he won’t have enough time to plot my death before we go home.”

  She giggled, but her laughter died at his continued serious expression. “Just tell him I made the blunder. He can be angry with me all he likes, and you will be innocent.”

  “A fine thing to do—blame my terrible lack of judgment on a child.” He pushed away from the table and stepped around to the back of her chair to pull it out while she stood. “To bed, Georgiana. This time, I pray you—do not venture down the corridor and sneak into my bed. I can only tolerate one scandal at a time.”

  A rapid blush seared her face and tingled through the rest of her at the vision his words inspired. “I…I won’t go to your chamber,” she stammered.

  He offered his arm while they walked upstairs. “We’ll have a fresh start in the morning. Perhaps we’ll go for a drive. I always think better when I’m moving.”

  He opened her chamber door and remained outside while she stepped in. She turned to face him and pressed her hand to his chest before she could stop herself. He glanced down at her hand but didn’t move it away.

  “Do not trouble yourself, Jack. I know it will be all right.”

  A shadow of a smile touched his lips for a moment, though the crease in his forehead remained. He lifted her hand and kissed it, then gave it a little shake.

  “I’m sure it will. Sleep well,” he said, his eyes twinkling. He added unexpectedly, “Mrs. Waverley.”

  It took her a second to catch what he’d said, but he’d already turned away, heading to his own chamber. He closed the door behind him, and she followed suit, although she didn’t go to bed for a long time afterwards. Instead, she sat by the window and stared at the full, bright moon.

  Crickets and frogs chirped in the garden below until the night echoed with their cacophony. An owl hooted by the stables. A low yowling of the resident tomcat indicated he’d found a mouse. But all she heard was Jack’s voice, repeating over and over—

  Mrs. Waverley.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgiana greeted Jack at breakfast. By his red-rimmed eyes and unkempt hair, it was obvious he’d had just as sleepless a night.

  Although she was grateful for the end to Jonathan’s matchmaking, she dreaded facing her brother. As if Jack read her thoughts, he patted her hand from across the table.

  “I’ll send word to Lockewood about meeting the Richmonds. I’ll say it was a terrible misunderstanding on Lady Richmond’s part. Perhaps she will remain quiet about seeing us together, and you’ll be back in the marriage game with none the wiser.”

  “I am grateful to you, Jack, regardless of how cross Jonathan becomes with me.” She smeared a dollop of jam on her croissant. She’d had a restless night, alternately dreaming of Jack as a gypsy, riding a shaggy horse and fighting off wild beasts for her sake, and of Herbert Richmond, who had metamorphosed into a giant cake monster with two raisins for eyes. “I will say it until I die, Jack, but I am eternall
y grateful you spared me Mr. Richmond. I should have made him as miserable as he would make me.”

  “I heartily agree with you, for once.” Jack made a sandwich of his eggs on a piece of toast and then stuffed it into his mouth so she would laugh at his crude manners.

  “Love is nothing but pain and misery. Poor Alphonse! He is forbidden to marry the woman he loves, and all because her father is a miller. For all we know, he is the best miller in France, but it matters not. He and the girl shall be miserable for the rest of their lives.”

  He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “They will not be miserable. She will be married off to another miller’s dullard son, and your poor Alphonse will find happiness with a snobby heiress.” He waved his napkin at her. “Perhaps Lady Priscilla and Aunt Adele have plotted for you to be his bride. That would be a good excuse for your breaking it off with Richmond. Imagine, Georgiana; you may be the next Madame Alphonse Whomever-the-devil-he-is and will have to look over your shoulder for a spurned miller’s daughter come to do you harm.”

  She scowled. “I am not part of any wedding plot. A plot of Lady Priscilla’s, anyway. As if I would marry someone like Alphonse. Besides, he is in love with the miller’s daughter.” She shook her head. “It is tragic two people in love must be apart, when those who do not love each other would be forced to marry.”

  Jack dropped his napkin on the table. “All this talk of millers’ daughters! Love is not the problem, Georgiana. It’s the timing. I, for example, have never experienced the wretched invention. I see a woman I want; I court her. If she will not have me or when I grow tired of her, it is over. Finished. No broken hearts, no weeping eyes. No tear-soaked pillows.” He gave her a meaningful look, and she bristled.

  “I did not cry into your pillow the other night.”

  “I heard the odd sniffle now and then.”

  “Perhaps it is this drafty old place. You need to have your windows seen to.”

  “Bother the windows, Georgiana. You are still in love with that miserable sod, Mitford, and you will not admit it.”

  “I am not in love with him anymore.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I do not believe I ever loved him.”

  “You gave a very good impression of being in love with him.”

  She glowered at him. “I grew up with him the same as I grew up with you. I am not in love with you, Jack Waverley. I merely sought an escape, and Edward happened to be there.”

  He shook his head slightly, his lips pursed in amused irony. “Say what you will, Pudding Face. If he had married you before the mighty Jonathan discovered you, you would be lamenting the state of your marriage, chained to that worthless wretch.”

  Despite the excitement of first love spurring her to a horrendous lack of propriety or common sense, she was relieved nothing more had come of her botched elopement than a disgraceful journey back home with her brother. To his credit and her infinite relief, he’d been gentle, sympathetic even, and had not mentioned the matter to her again after his initial lecture urging her not to waste her love on a man like Edward Mitford.

  A shiver ran through her. Imagine if she had married him. She’d be cursing her state from the first day, as he’d already caused a few scandals involving young heiresses who’d been as taken with him as she had been. Only they didn’t have as good a brother as Jonathan, and one girl had gone north to distant relatives, never to be heard from again.

  She resumed her preparation of her croissant. “If ever I do marry, it will not be to anyone I am in danger of loving. I will find an old fat man with gouty legs and a sour disposition. He will leave me alone, and I shall not bother him. Then, I shall be as happy as I can be.”

  “That will never do, silly girl. Even an old man with gouty legs will wish some attention from you.”

  His knowing look caused her to blush. She gave up on her ruined croissant and dropped it on her plate. He shrugged.

  “You need to marry someone quiet and kind. Not a Richmond or a Mitford, God forbid. Someone with as much money as you, so you may be assured he isn’t using you. You need a man who’s steady, and patient.” He sipped his tea and added another spoonful of sugar to his cup. “A blithering fool, in other words.”

  She stirred her teacup. “Someone who is your complete opposite, you mean.”

  “Precisely.” He made a face at her.

  She giggled. “I should marry you, Jack. Then I won’t have to be afraid of anything ever again, because you will always be there with your sharp knife.”

  “Don’t forget the swords. I’m awfully good with a sabre.”

  “And your fists. Jonathan told me about your boxing matches.”

  “He talks too much.” But he smirked with pride.

  She stifled another laugh. “Why have you never married?”

  He sighed and concentrated his attention on his cup. “I may very well have to, and sooner, rather than later. My grandfather recently informed me I must marry before the tender age of thirty, or he will cut off my allowance. I’m a good fighter, but not that good.” His eyebrow arched in self-deprecation. “I rely on his money, and he knows it, damn him. Of course, I can always tell him to take his money and go straight to the devil. Then, you will have to visit me in my little den beneath a bridge. Perhaps you can bring me a hot supper once a week so I do not starve to death.”

  “Oh, dear.” She couldn’t imagine Jack living in poverty any more than she saw herself married to Herbert Richmond. “How terrible, Jack! And what are you going to do?”

  He drank the last of his tea and set the cup on the table with a clatter of china. “I’m going to enjoy myself as much as I can in the little time I have left. I think in about—oh, three years, I should be ready to settle down. Perhaps I’ll marry a little goose like you. Have you any rich friends interested in a man who only wants them for their dowry?”

  “No friend quite so desperate as to settle on you. I know Jonathan wishes for me to marry soon, but I am not about to give up my own freedoms, just as you don’t want to give up yours.”

  “I did not know you were a pugilist.”

  “I am referring to being able to play my music whenever I like and not be at the beck and call of some bothersome man who can’t decide how to tie his neckcloth.”

  Jack indicated his bare throat with a flourish. “Which is why I scorn the blasted things.”

  “Here in the country, you may scorn them all you like. When you return to England, you’ll be buttoned up and tied around the neck just the same as the rest of us.”

  “Then I shall never go home.” He reclined in his chair and closed his eyes with such a comical expression on his face she laughed. “I have an idea, Georgie. I will find a boringly suitable husband for you, and you may find an equally loathsome bride for me. That way, Jonathan and my grandfather will leave us alone. We can meet once a year for luncheon and chortle over a pot of tea at how we tricked them both, while our long-suffering spouses remain at home.”

  She exhaled slowly, studying him. “As much as I would enjoy seeing you trapped forever in matrimony to a shrew, I know just the proper girl for you, Jack. Do you know Veronica Fielding? She has a tidy inheritance as well as her father’s charming house in town.”

  “Hmm…can’t say that I’ve heard of her.” He leaned forward, interested. “What does she look like?”

  Veronica’s sweet smile and well-endowed charms came to her mind. The image of Jack’s muscular arms sweeping Veronica into a darkened bedchamber unsettled her. She quickly shook her head. “Never mind her. I forgot she is missing her front teeth and has an appalling laugh.”

  “Really? What does her laugh sound like, then?”

  “Have you ever heard a pig in a sty when its brethren have pushed him aside?”

  Jack shook his head, his lips tight.

  “Well,” she said leisurely, cutting a piece of sausage into slices, “that is what she sounds like.”

  “There must be other girls you know who won’t mind being chained to me for the rest
of their mortal lives. Can you think of any others whose laughter does not imitate barnyard animals?”

  “Only women who would disappoint you and test your limits of reason, I’m sad to say. I would suggest Leticia Haversham, but she has sworn to join a convent if she can’t marry her father’s footman.”

  “He must be the perfect specimen of footman if she would refuse a man like me. Perhaps I should eschew boxing and learn a lowly trade in taking care of carriages and horses.” He cocked his head to the side. “You know of nobody else?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “It is hard to believe you know so few eligible ladies, Georgiana. Where did Lockewood send you to school? A dark castle in the middle of the Bavarian forest?”

  She divided her sausage slices into little rows. “It doesn’t really matter, does it, Jack? Any woman you marry would be unsuitable.”

  “How do you mean, pray?”

  She echoed his sigh. “You enjoy drinking, gambling, and fighting. Not many wives would put up with such behavior.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised with what a woman puts up with if there’s a promise of five thousand a year.”

  “Not if she fell in love with you. A woman who loved you would make your life miserable.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table and stared at her. “Yes, I see your point. Better I choose someone who has no interest in love, but a cold-hearted, soulless fiend who will let me do as I please, regardless how lowly and sordid. Is that what you suggest?”

  She nodded once. “Exactly. Someone who feels the same way about love and marriage as you do.”

  “You should do the same. Find a scholarly man more interested in what lies between the pages of a book than in making you happy.”

  “I shall stay here with you, then. Nobody bothers one here in Bordeaux. Even the servants stay out of sight. It’s as if we are the only two people in the world.”