The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  “Do not think about it. For now simply believe that he will come back, Mary.”

  She held John again and sobbed against the front of his coat.

  “I am sorry.” John said gently.

  But no words were going to bring Andrew back. No that was a lie, perhaps the words Caroline was speaking beyond the door would bring him back.

  The door handle turned.

  Mary pulled away from John, wiping her eyes, as the door opened. It was Richard.

  He looked from Mary to John. “We are finished. I believe Lady Kilbride would appreciate your company, Mary. John, may I stay with you and dine here before I return to town?”

  “Of course,” John answered.

  Mary brushed past him to speak with Caroline, hurrying across the room, ignoring the magistrate. Let John play the obsequious role to try and influence the man; she had nothing to say to anyone who could think Andrew guilty. Caroline had risen from the chair, but she was shaking terribly.

  Mary gripped Caroline’s hands. They were cold and within one she gripped a handkerchief one of the men must have given her during her interview. “I am sorry you had to endure this.”

  “Better that than for Drew to suffer because of me.”

  A tear escaped her eye, and then more fell, Mary leaned to hold her, but instead of simply comforting Caroline, she cried too, and then they clung to each other.

  Caroline broke their embrace, first. She looked embarrassed as she wiped her eyes. “I am sorry.”

  Mary wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “You have no cause to be sorry.”

  “I do, this is my fault.”

  “It is not…” Mary breathed. “It is no one’s fault, and we are going to remain calm, that is what is best for Andrew, and we are going to feel confident and trust Richard to return him to us.” Mary regurgitated John’s words. She had to believe them. She would be unable to keep breathing if she did not.

  “The magistrate did not believe me, not wholly. He is going to speak with one of my lady’s maids to ask her to confirm what I have said, the whole thing is mortifying… and then I think of Drew in a cell, alone. When he has done nothing to deserve it.”

  Mary gripped Caroline’s hand again. “I know. I know you are both innocent. I know you have both been through so much. But that is over now. We will have faith.”

  Caroline gave her a tentative smile. “Thank you. Thank you for your concern. But most of all thank you for loving Drew, he needed a woman like you—”

  “And I need him—” Mary smiled, but a tear escaped.

  Caroline wiped it away with the handkerchief she held. “I am glad for you both.”

  A light knock struck the door, which had been left ajar. “Come!” Mary called.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” It was Kate. “It is just, I wished to let you know we are serving dinner, your uncle is staying with us to dine Mary, and he sent me to fetch you to ensure you came to the table.”

  Mary nodded. She wished to speak to him, she wished to ask him how Andrew was.

  “Will you dine with us, Lady Kilbride?” Kate looked to Caroline.

  Mary looked at her too.

  Caroline shook her head.

  “I will leave you then. Come when you are ready, Mary,” Kate said.

  Mary looked back and nodded, then Kate left them.

  “I’m sorry,” Caroline whispered. “I feel as though they must think I am rude, and disrespectful of their hospitality, but I… I cannot tell you how… how I feel. I… do not like to be in company, not any more. Do you think the Duchess would send my dinner to my room?”

  “Of course she will, you must not feel pressed.”

  “Thank you, Mary. I will retire then.”

  “Yes. But send a maid to fetch me if you need me.”

  Caroline nodded.

  They left the room together, then while Caroline moved to the stairs Mary turned toward the dining room her heart racing. Caroline was not well. She had been damaged by her family and damaged by her marriage, and she was becoming more withdrawn by the day. She needed her brother here. He should not be locked away accused of something that was a monstrous lie.

  * * *

  At dusk another visitor arrived, and again Drew stood as the keys jangled.

  The door opened.

  Wiltshire entered. He did not smile.

  The door shut. “There is no news yet.”

  Drew sat, because there was too little room for them both to stand. Wiltshire remained on his feet.

  “Lady Kilbride has confirmed everything you said, but of course it could just be a ploy the two of you have agreed—”

  “It is not—”

  “I have not finished.” Wiltshire lifted a staying hand. Drew leant forward resting his elbows on his knees with a sigh and his head bowed as he listened. “The magistrate intends to speak with a former ladies maid, who may provide evidence on whether or not the beatings took place. If she confirms that she saw the beatings and the bruises, then the Magistrate has said he is willing to accept the charge is not true…”

  Drew looked up. “Did you see Mary? How is she? How is Caro?”

  “I saw Mary and I myself watched her eat. John has promised to ensure she does so from now on. She is worried, and she sends her affection to you but she is a strong girl, she will cope.”

  Cope with what? His death?

  “She has us, Framlington, we will not see her suffer. Your sister, however, is insecure and frightened; she did not wish to tell her story but she did so to help you. She is as frightened for you, now, as she was for herself. But she is safe with John, and I promise you whatever happens she will receive the same support as Mary. We will not see her harmed or left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I also took the liberty of speaking to your father…”

  Drew stood up, astonished and instantly irate, his hands curling to fists. “You did not, Your Grace. I have no idea who the hell he is.”

  “So I discovered.” Wiltshire answered, not reacting yet not regretful. “Is Lady Kilbride your sister?”

  Drew’s eyes narrowed. “If you hope to get me off on those grounds, you cannot, Caro and I share a mother, but the Marquis is not our father.”

  “I see.”

  He did not see, he would have no concept of it, no more of a concept than Mary had had. But now he knew just how low a match his niece had made. “You could of course leave me to hang. You would be rid of me then.”

  Wiltshire’s eyebrows lifted. “You think I think less of you because of your parentage. I do not judge a man by his birth, I judge him by his actions, Framlington. I judged you ill when you ran off with my niece. I judged you even worse when you chose to brawl over her with Lord Brooke in a public place, and I admit, when I heard this accusation I thought you the lowest of scum.

  “But now I know the truth. You helped your sister, not harmed her, and I have seen how Brooke respects you despite that brawl, but most importantly I know of your true affections for my niece. I judge facts, Framlington, and so now I know the truth I am doing my utmost to get you out of this mess and I will continue to do so. But I can tell you, neither you nor Lady Kilbride will have any help from your family.”

  “Pray tell me something I do not know.”

  Wiltshire’s hand gripped Drew’s shoulder. “It is of no matter now, you have Mary’s. We are your family.”

  Devil take it… Emotion caught in Drew’s throat, and punched him in the chest. This was what he’d craved when he’d watched Mary – to be a part of a family like Mary’s. He had hoped to steal her away and make their own, he had never considered that he might become a part of hers. “I am grateful, Your Grace.” No more words would come without the emotion inside him spilling over.

  “Not Your Grace, just Richard,” Wiltshire’s grip on Drew’s shoulder firmed. “You are my nephew now.”

  “Enough!” The shout echoed from beyond the door.

  When the door shut behind Wiltshire. Drew sat ba
ck down, his head gripped in his hands as images of Mary swayed around in his head.

  He had felt uncomfortable on the peripheries of Mary’s family, now he seemed to be being dragged right into the heart of it. There were benefits, obvious benefits, but hell he did not fit, he would not fit

  Chapter 39

  The dawn light crept across the grey stone in the cell, shining through a small, square, barred window.

  Drew sighed.

  He was extremely bored of lying on an uncomfortable mattress, staring at the same four walls.

  How people survived years in prisons he had no clue. The hours of the day were marked only by the jangle of keys.

  The first came when a lump of dry bread was handed through the bars.

  The second came an hour after that… Too early for luncheon.

  Drew stood, gripping the bars and trying to peer along the hall through the small, square opening.

  Peter smiled at him from beyond the jailor’s shoulder.

  Drew stepped back.

  This was damn degrading, to be so reliant on others – but he had always, in some way, been reliant on Peter, even at school Peter had been his fighting partner to keep the bullies at bay.

  “You will not believe this…” Brooke began when the jailor closed the door. “Wiltshire confronted Kilbride last night. It was deliberately done to be a spectacle. He challenged him in the middle of Devonshire’s ballroom, raising his voice so all could hear and denouncing Kilbride’s claims as an utter lie and when Kilbride argued, he turned to the crowd and told them they would hear the truth in the morning.”

  “Those were bold words,” Drew rubbed his unshaven jaw. “I am not so convinced. It is still the word of a bastard against the word of a nobleman.”

  Sitting, Peter risked the fleas again. “Ah, but not now. Now it is the word of twenty nobleman and one bastard, against one single man. They were all there, Pembroke’s uncles and cousins, gathered together and standing behind Wiltshire, ready to defend, and when Wiltshire was done, then the room was abuzz with women claiming you must be the wounded party. Now Harry and Mark plan to attend every event, to brag about being your friend.”

  “To win women.”

  “To win women.” Peter laughed.

  Drew shook his head, smiling.

  “Your parents were there. They walked out.”

  “Please tell me Wiltshire did not threaten them too?”

  “No, he merely glared.” Peter laughed again.

  Drew grimaced. “I have had enough of this place.”

  “I’m sure by the end of the day you will be out.”

  “I wish I was sure.”

  Peter grasped him in a masculine grip, and struck a palm against his back then let him go. “I am sure. That is enough. Tomorrow you shall be at Pembroke’s. Do you think he will mind if I call on you there?”

  “I doubt he would turn you away.”

  “Good enough. I will call on you in a day or two.”

  “Enough!”

  “I am sick of that man’s voice ordering my day…” Drew whispered bitterly.

  “It will be over soon. I shall see you again at Pembroke’s.”

  The door shut behind Peter.

  Drew sat down to resume staring at the damned walls.

  * * *

  When the keys jangled for the fourth time Drew did not get up, it would be the evening meal, and surely then too late for any word from the Magistrate…

  Devil take it…

  “Stand up, Framlington.” It was not the guard, but a different man.

  Drew’s heart pounded. But then beyond the man he saw Wiltshire, and Wiltshire smiled.

  “I am here with word from the Magistrate, you are cleared of the charge and free to go.”

  The stranger held out a rolled parchment, which Drew presumed confirmed the Magistrate’s acceptance of his innocence. “Here.”

  Drew grasped it, not that he needed a piece of paper to tell him he had done nothing wrong.

  Wiltshire held out a hand.

  The air rushed into Drew’s lungs as he accepted it. Wiltshire’s grip clasped about his. I am clear. Wiltshire let go. And welcome in Mary’s family…

  Drew jogged down the stone steps ahead of Wiltshire, eager to get out.

  God he never thought he would feel so happy to see sunlight.

  “You may stay with me tonight, so you can shave and such. I will run you out to Pembroke Place in the morning or we could make it tonight, before dusk, if we leave now.”

  Drew looked back. “I wish to see Mary.”

  “Then we leave now. You will find that the numbers have grown there, though, the family has been gathering.”

  Drew’s heart pounded hard. He wanted to see Mary but he did not welcome the trial of meeting her entire family again. Had he not endured enough? It seemed he was not to have a reprieve after all.

  One of Wiltshire’s footmen held the carriage door.

  They drove through London during the fashionable hour. It made their journey slow as carriages crowded the streets to enable the elite to be seen… When they peered at Drew, he pulled down the blind.

  Wiltshire laughed.

  Drew’s natural impatience rose. He itched to leap from the carriage and run to Pembroke’s, not that that was even possible, or would get him to Mary any faster.

  Wiltshire gripped Drew’s arm. “We’ll get there lad, however long it takes. Cool your temper and learn to consider the consequences before you let it rise.”

  Drew moved his arm. “I am grateful for all you have done, Richard, but do not tell me what I should do, you’ve no right.”

  “I think that is your lack, from what I’ve seen, you’ve had no one to guide you. Remember you will have your own family soon. I cannot order you but I can and will advise you. You may choose whether to listen.”

  Drew sneered, but even so… “You may call me Drew…”

  “Yet Mary calls you Andrew.”

  “Because I was fool enough to tell her it was my given name, and she now insists upon it to recognise all that I am, and not simply the man people see.”

  “I am getting to know you, Drew. You are aggressive only when you feel vulnerable, and now I think you’re nervous of facing the others. Yet if you let them near, they will welcome you. Set up your guard and it will take thrice as long for you to be accepted.” He looked out of the window on the far side, leaving Drew to his own musing.

  Drew pulled down the brim of his hat and slid down in the seat, resting his boot heel on the far side.

  Mary’s uncle laughed again.

  Drew smiled and shook his head.

  * * *

  Mary hovered in the hall on the first floor, her fingers on the banister as she looked along the statues, busts, portraits and numerous ancient things her brother and her grandfather had thought of interest and acquired. It all seemed so meaningless, so hollow.

  Laughter rang from the drawing room echoing along the marble figures and the plaster sculpting the ceiling. The house was full of people. John had sent for her mother and father, which of course had meant her sisters and brothers came too, but now the whole family had travelled out of London to stay with John.

  There had been a scene in town last night. Uncle Richard had challenged the Marquis of Kilbride and accused him of lying about Andrew and Caroline and of beating his wife. Poor Caroline had been mortified when Mary had told her. She had not come out of her room since everyone had arrived, she did not even wish for Mary’s company…

  Mary sighed.

  She wished for company, and yet she did not want to go into the drawing room where everyone had gathered to discuss the part they’d played last night and how exciting it had been to see the true villain cringe and stumble for words. Everyone, apart from her mother and father and John and Kate, had been there to support the principle of Andrew’s heroic act – helping his sister escape.

  Everyone now believed him innocent, and everyone had told her how happy they were that Lor
d Framlington was not the man they’d thought him.

  But all the well-wishing and self-congratulation was irrelevant. He is not here!

  She had been told that Richard believed whole-heartedly Andrew would be freed today.

  Yet…

  There was no surety.

  She could not sit, or even stand in the drawing room listening to their chatter and their laughter. It would make her want to scream.

  Yet nor could she go to her room, her room would be too silent. Sitting in her room would leave her head running free with fear, and her thoughts could not be distracted with books or sewing or anything quiet.

  Another round of laughter echoed from the room along the hall, and then one of her uncles began recounting another element of the scene from last night.

  Mary turned away and hurried downstairs.

  She would walk out in to the grounds. The air and the sunshine and the space would do her more good than anything within the house.

  When she reached the hall she said to the footman who appeared. “If anyone asks where I am please tell them I am merely out walking in the park.”

  She slipped out the front door, not stopping to pick up a cloak or a shawl or anything, but it was not cold.

  She did not go towards the lake though, or even towards the gardens at the rear of the house, her feet led her from the gravel at the front of the house on to the drive, pace by pace. Her arms clutched across her chest.

  She hoped her family were right – that Andrew would come home today.

  She walked past the stables. It was nearly six of the clock when she had left the house, surely if Andrew was to come today he would come soon.

  Her arms uncrossed and fell to her sides, as her pace increased, and they swung in time with her strides.

  Perhaps he was already on his way.

  Perhaps he was already near.

  She gripped her dress, lifted the hem, then ran.

  It was with desperation. With a desire to be with him. To fly to him. If she could have grown wings…

  She raced along the drive for a long way, her heart pounding and her hope crying out for speed, as if simply by her belief in his return he would come back. But then she became too tired and out of breath, and a stitch of pain caught in her side so she had to slow, yet she did not stop, she continued, walking instead of running, her arms swinging at her sides again as she still tried to hurry.