The Guise of a Gentleman (Rogue Hearts)

by Hatch, Donna

  “I don’t know if I should admire you or despise you.”

  Jared smirked. “It’s a curse to be irresistible to women, but I do my best to survive.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep any future daughters of mine under guard whenever you’re in England,” Greymore said.

  “How is marital bliss?”

  Greymore softened. “Unlike anything I ever imagined. She adds a dimension to my life that I find most gratifying.”

  “Not dreadful to be tied down?”

  “Anchored, my man, not tied down. She gives me purpose and meaning.”

  “Careful, old friend, you are beginning to wax poetic.”

  “Perhaps, but I see things differently now. Having a wife and a child on the way makes me want to be a better man.”

  Jared shrank back with exaggerated fear. “I hope it isn’t contagious.”

  Greymore clapped a hand on his shoulder. “One day the elusive Jared Amesbury will stumble into the lure of matrimony. I only hope I’m there to see it.”

  Jared shivered. “A cage is not for me.”

  Unbidden, an image of a lovely angel with soft hands and concerned eyes settled before his memory. She possessed a sweet, uncomplicated beauty that brought out a protective side he did not often indulge. Her gentle touch had soothed him. Between her tender hands and the compassion in her eyes, she reached a spot in his heart he had not known existed. She’d shown remarkable courage and a healthy wit.

  The lady claimed to be married, and he sensed no duplicity in her, but the unpracticed, hesitant way she had kissed him revealed her inexperience.

  Her husband, should he actually exist, was either a fool who neglected her or a prude who knew nothing about pleasuring a woman. Perhaps he was an impotent fossil.

  Despite the brave lady’s assurance, Jared knew their paths would cross again. He hoped his next encounter with her would again be sans husband.

  CHAPTER 3

  Wearing her chemise, stays, and underskirts, Elise sat at her dressing table while her maid arranged her hair. After winding small strands into loops and pinning them into place, the maid curled the ends. Pink rosebuds peeped out from her curls, and slender tendrils curled around her neck. The rest of her hair showered down the back of her head in ringlets.

  Elise gave her reflection a wry smile. “I’m not taking my bows to the queen, Morrison.”

  The aged maid grinned. “It’s your first real social gathering in years, ma’am. Might as well create a sensation.”

  “My presence alone will create a sensation,” Elise said dryly. “The neighbors have labeled me a recluse.”

  “You never looked at your new gown when it arrived, ma’am. I would’ve liked to have seen it on you sooner so I could make any necessary alterations. I can’t believe you wouldn’t go for more than one fitting.”

  Elise waved a hand. “My modiste has never sent an inferior gown yet, and my figure hasn’t changed since my last order. Although she nearly suffered an apoplexy when I requested an evening gown in this color.”

  “It has been far too long.” Morrison retrieved the new gown with a flourish and helped Elise into it. As she buttoned up the back, she gushed, “Lovely shade. So nice to see you in something other than your usual somber colors.”

  As she stood watching her reflection in the long mirror, Elise had to admit the dress was magnificent. Her customary drab colors always made her skin pallid. The deep rose, almost burgundy, with a paler pink sheer overskirt, gave her fair complexion a healthy glow. Tiny pink satin rosebuds lined the sweetheart neckline and trailed down the sides of the parted overskirt in front. Satin roses also touched each capped sleeve.

  The lifting of her spirits at the flattering shade and style of her evening gown fell as she realized that by wearing such a creation, she’d officially come out of mourning. It seemed a betrayal to Edward.

  Then another thought struck her. Would the gentlemen view it as an announcement that she might be interested in an affaire? She hoped not. Not that they would be interested, anyway.

  Morrison glanced inquiringly at her. “Are you unwell, ma’am? You’ve grown suddenly pale.”

  “No, Morrison. Unfortunately, my health is wonderful, and I feel compelled to attend the soirée as I’d promised.”

  Grinning, Morrison tied a cameo-adorned ribbon around Elise's throat. “Don’t you fret, ma’am. Just a dinner party, like any other. Five years is a long time to mourn. It’s good you’re returning to society again, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “I fear Lady Standwich’s reasons for inviting me are not as benign as she claims.”

  “Oh?”

  “She seems to feel it her duty to help secure a second husband for me, despite all of our previous conversations to the contrary.”

  “She did well when she introduced you to your dearly departed husband,” Morrison pointed out.

  “I’ve a son to raise and an estate to manage. I have neither time nor desire for courting nonsense. Or husbands.”

  “Mother, you’re beautiful,” seven-year-old Colin declared.

  Elise turned from her looking glass to smile at her son standing in her doorway. She crouched down and opened her arms in invitation. The child dropped a book with a thud and ran to fling his arms around her neck.

  “My son, you are beautiful.” She kissed his towhead and pushed his hair back away from his cherubic face. “Mother is going to Lady Standwich’s dinner party, so you be good and remember to say your prayers.”

  “Yes, Mama. Do angels hear my prayers?”

  “Yes, my love. God and His angels.”

  “And Father is an angel?”

  “He is. And he’s watching over you, so be good.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Colin, barely two years old when Edward died, didn’t remember his father, but Elise tried to impress upon her son that he’d been an exemplary gentleman. She hoped Colin would emulate his father as he grew into adulthood.

  She glanced at the book he’d dropped. “What are you reading, son?”

  Colin retrieved the book lying on the floor and held it out to her.

  Elise sighed. “Another book about pirates?”

  “Yes, Mama, but this one’s a navy captain who hunts pirates,” he said, part sheepish, part defensive.

  She watched him dubiously. “Very well, if it doesn’t glorify wicked men who harm others.”

  Colin peered at her from under his golden lashes. “But pirates aren’t all bad, are they, Mama?”

  “Pirates lie and steal and hurt innocent people, Colin. Don’t you think that makes them bad?”

  “Suppose they have no choice?”

  “Men can always choose to behave with honor, Colin,” she said sternly. “Never forget that.”

  He considered momentarily. “Father would never have been a pirate, would he?”

  Elise almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous image of her immaculate Edward wearing an eye patch and brandishing a scimitar. “Absolutely not. He would never have thought of stealing or harming anyone.”

  Colin’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Remember the word I use to describe him?”

  He thought for a moment and grinned. “Inter-gritty!”

  She smiled. “Integrity. It means he behaved as he ought, even when it wasn’t convenient.”

  A footman approached. “The coach is ready, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Albertson.”

  She kissed Colin again and gathered him close. “I will see you in the morning, my love.”

  He snuggled into her. She inhaled his clean child’s scent and held onto him as long as he let her. After a moment, he wriggled away and trotted out.

  Elise rose and donned her gloves and a wrap. Lady Standwich and her soirée awaited. Hopefully, the dear woman’s apparent designs on finding a new husband for Elise could be thwarted without embarrassment to either of them. Or to the prospective suitor, whoever the unfortunate gentleman might be.

  Ins
ide the Standwich home, Elise waited in the reception line to greet the hostess, nodding politely to others in attendance, many of whom she had not seen since Edward’s death. She smoothed the folds of her gown with trembling hands. Then she chastised herself for her anxiety. She knew these people. Some of them, such as Lily, she’d known since her childhood.

  Inside the drawing room, murmuring voices and soft laughter rose above clinking glasses and footsteps. Bejeweled ladies in clouds of perfume glided by.

  Lily held out both hands to her. “Elise! How delightful to see you, my dear. What a lovely gown.”

  Elise stared at Lily. She was positively radiant as she stood next to Mr. Harrison.

  “How kind of you to say,” Elise managed. “And may I say you look lovely as well?”

  Lily smiled graciously and turned to her affianced. “I believe you know Mr. Harrison.”

  “I do, indeed. Congratulations on your upcoming marriage, Mr. Harrison.”

  “I am undeserving of this lovely lady, but selfish enough to ask her to have me, regardless,” Mr. Harrison replied.

  Elise smiled politely. Mr. Harrison and Lily exchanged loving glances. A tinge of jealousy churned in her stomach but she stamped it out. She’d been married and it was wonderful. Now as a widow she was…perhaps not blissfully happy, but adequately content.

  “Thank you for coming,” Lily added. “I cannot tell you how honored we both are that you’ve come.”

  Aware of the line of guests waiting to greet the hostess and the man at her side, Elise inclined her head and moved away. She declined a drink and moved to the open doors leading out to the gardens illuminated by colored paper lanterns. The breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle stirred her dress as she stepped into the meticulously tended garden.

  She’d expected a terrible sense of betrayal for attending her first social event since Edward’s death, but only felt vaguely out of practice. And guilty for not being more grieved.

  A fountain splashed into a pond where candles floated like glowing lily pads. The tiny flames cast swirls of light on the dark, rippling water. She skirted the pond, watching the reflections.

  “Mrs. Berkley?”

  She turned to face a lean man a few years older than herself. “Lord Druesdale.”

  “Wonderful to see you after such a long time. You look lovely as ever.” He bent over her hand.

  “How kind of you to say.”

  “Druesdale, on the prowl already?” came a deep voice.

  She looked up into a pair of aqua eyes set in a handsome face. And caught her breath. Her heart stalled.

  The man she’d rescued from hanging—and who’d so boldly kissed her—grinned down at her. Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped back.

  His dark hair had been styled in the latest fashion; short at the sides and back, tousled and curly on top. She knew first-hand his waves were his own and not the result of a valet’s hot-iron. Meticulously dressed in a suit of superior quality, so unlike his attire in the woods at the time of the near hanging, he watched her, completely poised. All signs of the man struggling to draw his breath vanished. Even the bruises had faded. She wondered if his rope burns had healed or if they still marred his skin underneath his cravat.

  For an instant, she almost preferred the opened shirt. Then she flushed at her own brazenness.

  His eyes glinted as if her discomfort pleased him in an unwholesome way. She remembered the feel of his lips against hers. Her face flamed in embarrassment and in another, more secret fear.

  Lord Druesdale turned to the gentleman. “Whenever I have the attention of a beautiful lady, you always appear. I liked you better when you were abroad.”

  The newcomer chuckled without taking his eyes off Elise. She swallowed, reduced to a state of speechlessness under this handsome, virile man’s stare.

  Lord Druesdale cleared his throat. “Mrs. Berkley, may I present the Honorable—” he coughed delicately, as if he found the term amusing “—Jared Amesbury.”

  Ah. So this was Jared Amesbury. Elise found it difficult to believe that the man she had saved from near death could be the same respectable gentleman of whom Lily Standwich had spoken so fondly. The knowledge left her with more questions than answers.

  Mr. Amesbury’s teeth flashed white in the dim light. “Mrs. Berkley.” He looked far too pleased.

  “Mr. Amesbury.” Her cool tone should have discouraged him, but his grin widened.

  Appallingly flustered, she almost refused his offered hand but relented to avoid making a scene. He kissed the back of her hand, and when he straightened, his fingers remained closed over hers a second longer than they ought. She remembered his touch without the protection of her gloves, and the warmth that contact had invoked. Her face burned. She hoped the garden’s darkness would shield her expression.

  “Lord Druesdale, may I have a word?” someone outside her line of sight called.

  The lord scowled at Mr. Amesbury as if he had designed this need for his absence, and bowed to Elise. “Forgive me, Mrs. Berkley, I appear to be wanted. I hope to see you again shortly.” He shot Mr. Amesbury an indecipherable look and moved away.

  Mr. Amesbury moved closer to Elise. Her heart pounded as he neared. His smile turned smug as if he knew her thoughts.

  “Despite your earlier refusal, I’m glad to finally learn your name. At least, part of it. What is your Christian name?”

  “Missus,” she said through clenched teeth, and turned to leave.

  “Wait. Please don’t go.”

  The desperation in his softly spoken words arrested her movement. Slowly, she turned back to him. His disconcerting eyes traveled over her face with such intensity it seemed a physical touch. She wondered if he looked at every woman thusly. He probably did. The rake!

  “I wanted to thank you again for your assistance in the woods.” A seductive tone rumbled his voice.

  “You’re welcome,” she snapped. Her own rudeness shocked her, but this womanizing cad deserved to be brought down a peg or two.

  “And to apologize,” he added, unperturbed. “I offended you that day. I do not wish to destroy any chance I might have in the future to become better acquainted.”

  “I believe we are too well acquainted already.”

  “But I’m in your debt. Please allow me to thank you properly.” His lazy smile and smoldering eyes made her wish she had worn a dress with a higher neckline.

  She nervously touched the cameo on the ribbon at her throat. “It’s not necessary to thank me. Besides, I doubt I can trust your definition of ‘properly.’ ”

  He laughed softly. “You’re a perceptive woman, Mrs. Berkley. However, I have something less nefarious in mind.” He executed a courtly bow. “I thank you, madam, from the bottom of my heart, for coming to my rescue.”

  From an inner coat pocket, he retrieved a velvet drawstring bag, opened it, and inverted it in his hand. A perfect pearl lay in his palm.

  He held it out to her. “There is an island in the Pacific where the natives harvest these from the ocean. You can’t see it in this light, but it’s pink. The chief gave this to me to thank me for saving his son. So, to thank you for saving the boy and me, I hope you will accept this token of my gratitude. And, I hope, as an apology.”

  She stilled at his unexpected words.

  He added, “I offended you with my impulsive behavior, and I humbly beg your forgiveness.” A smile lurked around the corner of his eyes despite the contrition in his tone.

  Had a man ever left her so thoroughly confused? He was a muddle of a perfect gentleman and an incorrigible tease. Truly he was a cad. She’d just have to ignore those annoyingly strong elemental stirrings he aroused in her; they would be extremely inconvenient if she, as a mother and widow, followed them.

  She indicated the pearl. “Truly, this is not necessary.”

  “Please take it.” He grinned with roguish charm. “Otherwise, I’ll be honor-bound to find some other way to thank you.”

  Something in hi
s tone dispelled her guard. Laughing softly at his audacity, she picked up the pearl and admired it. “Very well, I accept, lest you become even more outrageous in your expression of gratitude.”

  A place in her heart was touched that he’d be so thoughtful as to have brought her a gift that possessed sentimental value, rather than merely one of monetary worth—not that she should be accepting either one from a stranger, but somehow, she could not refuse.

  Archly, she said, “And as you were clearly not in your right mind after such a terrible ordeal, I forgive you for your misconduct.” She wrapped the pearl in a lace handkerchief and put it in her reticule.

  His smile appeared both wicked and relieved. “I cannot express how much that means to me. I have thought of you often since that day.”

  “You, sir, continually breach the boundaries of propriety.” If only she could slow down her traitorous heart and force it to accept her decision to dismiss him as beneath her notice. But she couldn’t simply dismiss someone whose very presence filled the entire garden, and whose thoughtfulness touched her more than she cared to admit.

  She almost uttered a sound of disgust. When had she become so easily ensnared by the charms of a libertine? She took another step backward and lost her balance. With a cry, she teetered at the edge of the pond.

  His hand shot out to catch her by the arms. Laughter leaped into his eyes while he slowly pulled her closer to his broad chest. His clean and earthy and so very masculine scent crept into her senses. For one brief moment of insanity, she enjoyed his nearness, his arms around her making her feel safe, protected, desirable.

  Where had she left her wits?

  “Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her eyes and shrugging off his touch.

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “Do you really fear me so? Or is it that this isn’t proper, either?”

  “Of course this isn’t proper. And I’m wise to mistrust a man whose conduct and intentions are questionable, at best. Unless I have my gun, of course.”

  His lazy laughter rang out, filling her with slow warmth.

  She barely controlled the impulse to smile. Instead, she raised her chin while trying to look appropriately irritated. “You laugh at me, sir?”