A Rogue's Surrender: Regency Novellas

by Lauren Smith

  Rose slumped against the house, watching him gallop away on his horse. What was she to do? She could not marry him. A lump formed in her throat. How could her father promise her to such an odious devil?

  She raised a fisted hand to her mouth, forcing back tears. Becoming distressed would only make the situation worse. There had to be a way to stop this madness. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the cottage and made her way to the kitchen.

  The sweet smell of fresh-baked tarts comforted her as much as the sight of Gran bent over a ball of dough. “Your confections smell heavenly.” She forced a small smile. It would do no good to tell Gran about her confrontation with Wolfe. The knowledge would only cause the dear old woman to fret.

  Gran’s skirt rustled against her starched apron as she carried a golden-brown and red tart to the table. “They are for the Devontons, but one will not be missed.” She placed a hot pastry before Rose. “Would you be a dear and deliver them for me? They will be ready in a snap.”

  Rose nodded. She took a bite, but her upset stomach refused to let her enjoy the treat. Her gut contracted as she lowered the delectable confection back to the plate.

  “Is something amiss?” Gran studied Rose through warm hazel eyes, her spectacles slipping down the bridge of her nose.

  Drat her inability to conceal her emotions from Gran. “It is nothing, truly. Please do not fuss.” She reached for the tart again. How bird-witted of her to think she could spend time in Gran’s company without the woman noticing her upset.

  Gran rested her warm, wrinkled hand over Rose’s. “I will not press, but I cannot help fretting. I saw Mr. Wolfe taking his leave. You are very dear to me, and I know what he is doing to you.” She gave a gentle squeeze. “If only--”

  Rose dropped the pastry back to the plate. “There is no use in it, Gran. We can no more change the past than we can control the seasons.” She had told herself the very same thing at least a hundred times, but found little comfort in her words. Nothing would come of focusing on the past, when her future was what needed fixing.

  Gran moved back to the counter. “Everything will work out, one way or another. It has to.”

  “I believe that too, Gran.” Rose pinched the top of her nose and looked out the kitchen window. What other choice did she have?

  Rose tapped on the Devontons door, pushing her troubles to the back of her mind. She would have time enough later to consider her situation. For now, she wished to enjoy the company of old friends. The Devontons had been a part of her life for as long as she could recall. They were close friends of her grandmother’s, as well as long-time neighbors. After they became homebound, Gran had taken it upon herself to look after them. Rose gladly took on the tasks of delivering food and running errands for them.

  The door creaked open. Mr. Devonton stepped aside, a warm smile lighting his weathered face. He leaned, with one hand against the wall. “Come in, dear.”

  She grinned back at him, while lifting her basket. “Gran sent me to deliver some fruit tarts.”

  “What a pleasant surprise.” His smile broadened. “Do come in.”

  Rose stepped into the quaint space, the basket dangling on her arm. She nodded to Mrs. Devonton.

  Mr. Devonton shut the door behind her. As he turned back, he wobbled on his feet.

  She caught him before he fell. “Allow me.”

  He wrapped his arm around her as she guided him to the worn settee where Mrs. Devonton sat. Their declining health broke Rose’s heart a little more each time she visited. They were no more than shells of the people who once danced with her around the yard.

  A groan rattled from Mr. Devonton, as he lowered himself onto the settee. Mrs. Devonton offered a warm smile.

  “Your Gran is the best baker in London. It is always a pleasant surprise when she sends us some of her fare.”

  “I will be sure to tell her you said so.” Rose began to unload the basket. Some of her fondest memories involved this elderly couple. She used to spend hours here while Gran visited with them. She would help Gran and Mrs. Devonton with household work or sewing. Afterward, Mr. Devonton would regale her with fanciful tales.

  “Why, if I were a might younger, I would sneak over and help myself to your Gran’s treats.” Mr. Devonton chuckled. “Do have a seat and visit for a spell.”

  “I would love to. Just let me put these away first.” Rose picked up the tray of fruit tarts, moving toward the cabinet.

  “You are very sweet, dear.” Mrs. Devonton pushed herself into a standing position. “Allow me to help.”

  “That is not necessary. It will only take a moment.” Rose brushed against the counter as she turned back to her task, knocking the tray of tarts to the floor. “Dear me. Do sit back down while I clean this up.” She stooped to retrieve the wayward tray before piling the confections onto its cool surface. “My apologies. I have gone and ruined them all.”

  “Do not fret over it, dear. Nothing is ruined.” Mr. Devonton’s voice filled the space. “They are still edible. Just stack them on the tray. A bit of house dust never hurt anyone.”

  A wave of shock went through Rose. She would not consider eating food that had landed on the floor. All the same, she did as he wished, stacking the treats back on the tray.

  “Would you care for a spot of tea?” Mrs. Devonton asked when Rose glanced up. “I can prepare it while you set the tarts to right.”

  “There is no need. I have finished.” She placed the tray on the counter. Turning to the couple, she unclasped her crimson cloak and hung it on a hook near the door.

  The latest altercation with Wolfe raced through her mind as she prepared tea. “And make no mistake we will be wed.” A chill ran through her. She would die before she ever agreed to marry the vile man.

  “You seem distracted, dear. Are we keeping you from something?” Mr. Devonton exchanged a glance with his wife.

  “It would not do to deny I am a bit distracted. All the same, there is no pressing matter requiring my attention.”

  A bigger lie she had never told. She needed to get home so she could find a way to drive Wolfe off.

  “Please do not feel that you must keep us company. We understand you have other duties.” Mrs. Devonton smiled, but her gray eyes appeared sad.

  “Nonsense. You are the furthest thing from a responsibility. I consider you both family, and enjoy our visits. There is no need for me to leave so soon.”

  She meant every word, but all the same Rose did not feel like good company today. Her stomach tensed. Perhaps Mr. Devonton would have a solution.

  She glanced at him sitting near his wife, his back slightly hunched. No. She would not worry them.

  Rose closed her eyes for a moment, chasing the thoughts of Dewitt Wolfe away, before carrying the tea tray into the sitting area.

  After enjoying her drink, she fastened her cloak, scooped up the empty basket, and took her leave. The conversation with the Devontons proved to be just what she needed. She managed to forget her troubles for a short while, but the time had come for her to return home. She had to return to reality--back to Wolfe’s threats.

  If only she could prove a misdeed on his part. She kicked at a stone, as she entered the wooded path. He had done something ill-sorted to gain her property, she had no doubt on that score. Surely, his actions must have been criminal. If she could find proof, perhaps he would wind up in Newgate Prison.

  She recalled the story of a jewel thief Mr. Devonton once shared with her. If only… she shook her head, pushing away the foolish thought. Young ladies did not consider such indecorous lines of thought.

  Chapter Four

  Try as she might, Rose could not recall any helpful clues during her interactions with Mr. Wolfe. She needed help of the professional nature, but the authorities would never pay her any mind based on her lack of both evidence and coin. The constable would think her mad if she pressed her case. Mr. Devonton’s words whispered to her from the back of her mind. I would sneak over and help myself.

  Pe
rhaps it was not so foolish after all to behave a bit indecorous where Mr. Wolfe was concerned. If she disguised herself as a boy, she could break into Wolfe’s office. Doing so may prove fruitful. She could find evidence of his misdeeds, something tangible she could take to the constable. But what if she got caught?

  She squinted as she stepped back into her yard, the forest no longer shielding her from the sun’s rays. Once her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she glanced around, looking at the familiar landscape.

  A lump formed in her throat as her eyes drank in the cottage she had called home for so long--the stone façade, the cheery porch, her lush flower garden. All were dear to her. She pulled her cloak closer around her in the light breeze. How could she ever let her home go? She had to save her cottage--somehow.

  Lord Aubry’s carriage came into view, parked in front of the house. Rose stopped. Her heart rate sped up. Your fancy lord tried to purchase the cottage. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. What would he want with her home? More importantly, why the devil was he here now?

  Her breath quickening, she marched toward the cottage. Pushing open the door, she ignored the familiar squeals of complaint that discharged from the old wood panel. A part of her wanted to grin at his arrival, but most of her wanted to throttle Lord Aubry.

  After placing the basket down on a bench and hanging her cloak near the door, she entered the drawing room. Her breath hitched at the sight of the long legs of his trousers stretched out in front of him, as he chatted amiably with Gran. Her gaze traveled up his narrow abdomen to his wide chest, as if drawn by a magnet. When she stopped at his handsome aristocratic face, heat engulfed her cheeks.

  She was doing it again--ogling him. She should take him to task for trying to buy her cottage--her home--out from under her; she should not be standing here swooning over his physique and his far too handsome face.

  The heat of attraction spread through her bloodstream, forcing a flush all the way to her ears. Rose ripped her gaze from his and settled her attention on her grandmother. “The Devontons send their appreciation.”

  Gran sipped her tea with a nod, her eyes locked with Rose’s. She set her cup aside, and patted the chair beside her. “Come. Sit with us.” A small smile curved her lips.

  Lord Aubry’s sky-blue gaze met Rose’s, setting her body aflutter. Mercy. How did he manage to discompose her so with a simple glance? When he grinned, her knees wobbled. She had never seen a more perfect smile. His entire face lit up. The anger she felt only a moment ago ran away with her reason.

  Breaking the connection, she walked to a high-back chair and sat, folding her hands in her lap. Curiosity unfurled in her and she let her anger burn it away. She would not allow him to steal her home anymore than she would allow Wolfe to do so. She could not permit herself to be taken in by his handsome face. Straightening her spine, she met his gaze. “Forgive my directness, my lord, but why are you here?”

  “Rose.” Gran pinned her with a stern stare. “You must not present such forwardness. It is vulgar.” She looked to Lord Aubry. “Please excuse my granddaughter’s actions. I am afraid she has not been herself of late.”

  Rose’s cheeks blazed, but she did not allow embarrassment to rule her. Perhaps her forwardness was improper, but also necessary. Her home was at stake. Had Gran been privy to her reasons for ignoring society’s rules, she would not have chastised her. In fact, Gran would have likely posed the question herself.

  “It is quite all right, I assure you, Mrs. Oaklawn. No offense has been taken.” He turned his attention back to Rose. “I wish to provide you my assistance.”

  “We are not in need of assistance.” The words came out strong, despite her nerves. That was a calm lie. Where had she learned such a skill?

  “Miss Woodcourt, I was here when Mr. Wolfe burst into your home, then again outside of the constable’s office.” He pulled his legs in and leaned forward. “At the very least, please enlighten me as to what is going on.”

  Her heart pounded against her corset as she averted her gaze. Should she admit the truth? Should she tell him about Wolfe’s attempts to force her hand? Perhaps he did wish to help.

  She met his studying gaze once more. No. She would not, she could not confide in him. There was too much at stake for her to trust a man she did not know. Maybe in time she would be able to trust him, but that time was not now. Not until she knew he was worthy of her faith.

  “Our situation is no concern of yours, my lord.” She stared at him in challenge.

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his gaze trained softly on her face. The sincerity in his eyes fractured her defenses. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach under his attention. Heaven help her. That gaze of his could warm the River Thames in the dead of winter.

  For a sliver of a moment she saw him as a possible ally. She pressed her lips into a firm line. No, she must wait until he had proven himself trustworthy.

  “Very well, Miss Woodcourt. I respect your determination to keep whatever is going on a private matter.” He nodded toward Gran. “Should you find yourself in need, do not hesitate to contact me.”

  Gran nodded, but remained silent. Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. Perhaps Gran thought it best not to share as well. More likely, she did not feel it was her place to divulge Rose’s secrets. Regardless, she was grateful for Gran’s silence.

  A thought struck Rose as she watched Lord Aubry stand. Her pulse quickened, she still needed answers. Their exchange had detoured her from her purpose, but she still needed to find out why he had tried to purchase her home. She stood, gingerly stepping in front of him. “May I show you out, Lord Aubry?” She led him to the front entrance.

  Out of Gran’s hearing, Rose stopped and lifted her gaze to his. Her insides pulsed with a need she could not identify. She glanced away and composed herself before meeting his eyes again. When she opened her lips to speak, nothing came out. Her mouth had gone dry as if it were stuffed with cotton.

  He turned and gathered his top hat and gloves. “Good day, Miss Woodcourt.”

  She could not let him walk out before getting an answer from him. With no time to ponder her course, she reached out, touching his gloveless hand. The warmth she felt in that touch sent sharp tingles shooting through her, causing her to jerk back.

  “Why did you attempt to purchase my cottage?” She wanted to look away as her cheeks once again burned, but forced her gaze to remain on his.

  Lord Aubrey smiled warmly at Rose. “As I said before, I wish to be of assistance.” He opened the door. “I will be available when you are ready to ask for it.”

  Before she could untangle her thoughts, he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him.

  Drat the man. She leaned against the hard oak surface, palms pressed to the wood. Outside, Lord Aubry disappeared into his black lacquered barouche. His words echoed in her mind. Assistance. Her heart squeezed. She doubted he would be so willing to help if he knew the whole truth.

  “You should have told him about Wolfe’s threats.” Gran’s voice broke in on her thoughts as she placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder.

  Rose flinched at Gran’s unexpected criticism. “He is a lord, Gran. He is honor bound to uphold the laws of England.” She angled her head to meet Gran’s gaze as the carriage turned out of the drive. “If I tell him, he might enforce Wolfe’s documentation.”

  “He is a man who wishes to help. He just might be powerful enough to put a stop to Wolfe’s wickedness.”

  “That may be true, but he could just as easily add more trouble to the heap we already face.” Rose moved toward the stairs. “It is too great a risk.”

  “There can be no reward in life without taking chances,” Gran insisted, following her. “As surely as the sun rises to greet us each morning, Wolfe will win if you do not take some risks to halt his advances.”

  The words stopped Rose mid-step. If she shared her secrets, Lord Aubry could prove trustworthy. But, if she continued to hide them, she would never know. S
he swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. If he turned against her, she could lose more than her heart.

  Rose glanced over her shoulder. “Confiding in Lord Aubry is not a risk I am willing to take, Gran.” She mounted the stairs with a different risk in mind. Tonight, she would sew breeches. Tomorrow, after Lady Julia’s fitting, she would put her plan into action. She just prayed it would work.

  Chapter Five

  Dewitt Wolfe leaned toward the window of his carriage and pulled the curtain back far enough to peek out. He had done his research and discovered much about the earl. “Hunter Thorne, Earl of Aubry.” The name soured his tongue. What a fool the man was to go anywhere near his Rose.

  His pulse sped when the earl came into sight. He peered through the split between the curtains, studying Aubry as he moved down his porch steps and disappeared into his barouche. Aubry would never have Rose. Dewitt would stop him. Of that, he was certain. He had removed much larger obstacles to his desires in the past.

  As the carriage jerked into motion, Dewitt settled back against the seat. He had instructed his driver to follow Aubry. Now he would wait for their final destination to be revealed.

  He covered his mouth to suppress a yawn. The night had been long. He followed Aubry from Rose’s yesterday, after deciding not to shoot the nuisance as he left her cottage. Alas, he had no wish to find his neck in a noose--not after getting away with all of his other nefarious deeds. Instead, he followed the fool home then waited all night for him to leave again. At last, his patience was being rewarded.

  Another glance out the window revealed Aubry’s carriage moving down Piccadilly. He scowled. Was the earl paying another visit to Rose? He would challenge the man to a duel and put a quick end to his meddling! No. He knew nothing of the earl’s skill on the field of honor. He would be foolhardy to challenge Aubry without such knowledge.

  His carriage creaked to a stop, and Dewitt stole another glance between the curtains. They had not traveled far enough to be at Rose’s. Her cottage sat on the outer edges of London.