Falling In Love Again (Heroic Rogues Series)

by Marie Higgins

  Finally, she leaned forward and swept her lips across his. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before she tore her mouth away. Her cheeks stained pink as she stepped away. She turned to the clothes on the end of his bed and picked them up.

  “Where do you want me to put these?”

  That was it? That was all she had to say? But he couldn’t get over that kiss. Even as short as it was, lightning had passed through him, stunning him completely. He wanted so much more.

  He pointed to his trunk. “In there.”

  She knelt in front of it and lifted the lid. Lying on top of his things was the miniature he’d taken from her father’s room along with letters. She gasped and picked up the picture. Quickly, he rushed to her side, but it was too late to take it away. Now he had to tell her the truth.

  She looked up at him, the tears now gone from her eyes. Instead, confusion filled her expression.

  “Where did you get these?”

  Sighing heavily, he moved to sit on his chair, leaning his elbows on the table. “I took it from your father the day I killed him.”

  She picked up the letters then joined him at the table, looking at him through suspicious eyes. “Why?”

  “Because that’s what highwaymen do.”

  “Are you saying you stole these from his trunk?”

  He shrugged. “You call it how you like, and I shall use my own terms.”

  “You told me yesterday you didn’t take anything of value.”

  “This was the only thing, I assure you.”

  “Why do you still have these items? You killed my father nearly a year ago.” Her eyes pleaded for the truth.

  Sighing, he nodded. “I searched through your father’s personal items, looking for parchments from the Royal Navy. Instead, I found letters and your picture.” He reached across the table and took the picture away. As he gazed upon it, he remembered what his thoughts had been back then. “The woman’s loveliness in this miniature captured my interest.” He rubbed his thumb across the bottom. “She has huge, innocent eyes, and a mouth made for kissing.” Marcus looked up at Isabelle and smiled. “I had never seen anything so beautiful before, so I kept it. Almost every day since, I’ve stared at your picture, wondering if I would ever meet you.” He shrugged and pointed to the missives still in her hand. “Of course, after reading the letters your father had written, I put the pieces together and realized you were his daughter.”

  “I had gathered as much.” She nodded. “So this is how you knew who I was.”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I would have eventually.” He reached across the table again, and held her hand. “Isabelle, I’m not the evil man you may think.”

  She tilted her head, still meeting his gaze. “Why did you kill my father?”

  That was another thing he didn’t want to tell her, but somehow this enchantress had put a spell over him to make his mouth jabber like a loose-lipped woman. Then again, he wanted her to think differently about him. He didn’t want her to fear him anymore. Only to trust him.

  “I had been introduced to Commodore Stanhope six months prior to the time I shot him. I met him in New York.” Her eyebrows lifted in question. “I have a different life other than being a pirate or a highwayman. Your father didn’t know my true identity.”

  She nodded and relaxed her fingers in his hold.

  “From that moment, I knew your father was a man who couldn’t be trusted. So, when my men stopped the stagecoach your father was on that fateful day, I knew I couldn’t turn my back on him. As it happened, I did turn my back, and he pulled out a pistol hidden in his coat. He almost shot me. Since I was quicker, I fired my pistol first, killing him instantly.”

  She frowned. “Perhaps he felt as I did that first day, that we needed to protect ourselves from you.”

  “Your father knew if he was quiet and bided his time, I’d have eventually released the prisoners. Like you mentioned before, I do have a reputation for releasing prisoners.”

  She let out a sigh. “Then I’m very fortunate you didn’t try to kill me for what I did to you.”

  He stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “I shudder to think what might have happened if things had turned out differently.”

  She kept silent for a few minutes as her gaze moved over his face. The softness in her eyes melted his heart, and he wanted to hold her next to him so much he ached.

  “Captain? May I ask you another question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I cannot stop thinking about my dire situation… the one my father put me in. I fear when I get to New York, I’ll find myself penniless.”

  “You just might, my dove.”

  “So I wondered…” She took a deep breath. “Would you return the dagger to me?”

  Doubt snuck into his heart once again. Why did she want the dagger so much?

  “The weapon is probably worth a lot of money,” she quickly continued. “If my father has left me without funds, I could sell the dagger and use the money.”

  He nodded as relief washed over him. Perhaps he’d been too quick to doubt. “True, you can.”

  “So, will you consider giving it to me?”

  They’d grown close since she’d stabbed him, and he knew she was starting to trust him. “I’ll certainly consider your request.”

  “That’s all I ask.” She exhaled deeply and glanced down at the letters. “Do you mind if I take these back to my room to read them in private?”

  “Not at all.”

  She smiled and pulled her hand away before standing. “Thank you.”

  He let her leave, his heart dropping with each step. Would she thank him for ridding her of an inconsiderate father as well? Or would she always hate Marcus because of it?

  * * * *

  Isabelle sat on the tiny cot, reading her father’s letters as tears dripped down her cheeks. According to the missives, her father was returning to England to stay at home with her. He was finished with the Royal Navy and they’d be a family again. He mentioned bringing home her inheritance and promised to buy her the prettiest gowns and do all he could to introduce her into society. In his own handwriting, he apologized for being gone so long, but mentioned he did it for her.

  She wiped another stray tear. Why had her father attempted to kill Captain Hawk? Why wasn’t he thinking of his daughter who waited patiently for his return?

  Her gaze fell on another letter in her lap. This one spoke of Viscount Lockwood, her betrothed. In earlier letters her father had sent, he mentioned he’d met a man, Matthew Winston, and they worked out a deal to have her wed when her father returned. In those first few letters, her father had written as if her betrothed was not titled, but according to these letters, her betrothed had been an earl’s son all along. It didn’t matter. She’d heard stories about Matthew Winston. The selfish man was crooked, and cheated anyone he dealt with. Now she wondered if he’d taken advantage of her father as well.

  Why had her parent wanted her to marry a man like that?

  Isabelle would never be happy married to a man she didn’t love. Yet if her father hadn’t left her any money, she had no other choice but to seek out Lord Lockwood.

  Groaning, she flung back onto the bed and threw her arm over her eyes. Money was what she needed, and soon. Her aunt and uncle had helped her the best they could, and now they were the ones needing a hand. With her inheritance, she must pay them back.

  If she even had an inheritance.

  She rolled on her side to stare at the closed door. On the other side of that wall was a man who made her heart beat an uneven rhythm, and kissed unlike anything she had ever experienced. Never before had she felt like a woman. She did not think she could feel this way about the viscount, especially knowing he was so greedy and cold-hearted.

  What were the odds that Hawk held tender feelings for her? Could she make a man like him fall in love with her and want to marry her? She knew her
feelings had grown in such a small amount of time, and she realized he was a different man. If given the chance to start a life with her, would he leave pirating and thieving behind and stay with her forever?

  There was only one way to find out.

  And the way her heartbeat hammered with excitement, she knew she had to at least give it a try. Starting tomorrow, she’d do everything she could to make him fall in love with her.

  Chapter Seven

  Turbulent thoughts filled Marcus’ head the rest of the afternoon. Isabelle remained in his mind even though she wasn’t in the room. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her eyes glistening with tears of gratitude. His lips still tingled from the memory of her brief, but earth-moving kiss, and his arms still ached to hold her.

  Isabelle would be here any moment with his dinner. Earlier, he’d sent word to the cook to have her bring two dinners so she could eat with him.

  Now he wanted to say things that would make her happy. Perhaps he’d ask about her aunt and uncle. He wanted to know more about what made Isabelle the kind of woman she was, especially since she had such a rotten example in a father. Strange thing was she didn’t seem to think poorly about her sire. If she pursued her inheritance, Marcus had no doubt she’d discover what kind of man her father had been.

  Hawk’s door opened and Isabelle walked in with a tray of food, enough to feed two. Good. He’d finally have some company.

  He pointed toward the table. “Set it there and I’ll join you.”

  Another of his men had replaced Gabe as Marcus’ watchdog and followed her inside. Marcus scooted to the edge of the bed, trying his hardest not to twist in any way that might tug at the stitches in his chest—since that’s what happened when he’d rescued Isabelle from Simon the other day.

  Murmuring from the other two drifted to his ears and didn’t sound pleasant. Marcus looked up to find Timothy’s desire-filled gaze on Isabelle as he gave her a leering grin. The man stood behind her as he moved his hands over her shoulders and back, with Isabelle trying to push him away.

  Anger shot through Marcus, making him want to rip his crew member’s head off. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Timothy’s eyes widened as his gaze moved to Marcus. “I’m just havin’ a little fun with the wench, Cap’n. No harm in that, is there?”

  If Marcus had more strength in him, he would have marched across the floor, grasped Timothy and beat him to a bloody pulp. “It is when she’s my servant. And she is not a wench, but a lady. You’ll do well to remember that.”

  “But Cap’n, do ye know how long it’s been since I had me a feisty women—”

  “Timothy,” Marcus barked. “You’re not to touch Miss Stanhope again. Is that understood?”

  He straightened his shoulders. “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Leave us, and explain to the other men that Miss Stanhope is not for their enjoyment.”

  Timothy nodded once then turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Isabelle’s eyes were wide as she stared at Marcus. Her chest lifted and fell in what must have been a large breath.

  A small smile sneaked across her mouth. “Thank you. Again.”

  She turned and set the tray on the table. He walked to the table and sat. The cook’s food always satisfied him, and tonight would be no different. His stomach growled for the fish and potatoes.

  She cleared her throat and sat. “I—I must say I was surprised at the way you handled Timothy, and especially with Simon the other day.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because I know how important your men are, and how you trust them with your life.”

  He nodded. “I do, but I cannot abide when they disobey my orders. I had instructed Gabe to tell them you were not to be touched, but when Simon and Timothy went against what I’d asked, I had no other choice but to reprimand them. I would do that to anyone who ignores my orders.”

  She took a bite of her potatoes, the smile remaining on her face. Why had he let a woman come between him and his men? Nothing had made sense anymore, and he blamed Isabelle for that.

  “I want to thank you for asking me to join you.” She flipped the napkin in her lap. “It pleases me that you don’t loathe my presence.”

  He chuckled. “My dear, I feel we have been growing closer. Don’t you agree?”

  Her face flamed red. “I think so as well.”

  “Can I assume we are friends now?”

  “Yes, you can.” She smiled.

  He took a bite of food, wondering what to talk about next. For some reason, he wanted to know about the man she was supposed to marry. Call him jealous, but Marcus didn’t want Isabelle with any other man but him.

  “I recall reading in one of the letters your father had that you are betrothed.” He tilted his head. “Have you given any thought to what might happen when your fiancé discovers you’ve been with a bunch of highwaymen for nearly a week; alone with the scoundrel who took you prisoner? Your wonderful fiancé may have second thoughts about your nuptials.”

  She nodded and lowered her gaze as she moved her food around with the fork. “Yes, I have thought about that, and I pray it won’t happen. If it does, then I pray I’ll be able to sell my father’s estates to have enough money to live.”

  He stabbed his fork into his fish and took a bite. “I see your reasoning. For your sake, I hope you’ll be able to collect your inheritance.”

  “If not, I pray you’ll return the dagger to me so I’ll have some means of funds.”

  “Very true.” He sipped his drink. “What will you do if you get your inheritance? Will you return to England?”

  “Of course. That’s where I live—where my family resides.”

  “Is that where your betrothed awaits?”

  “No, Viscount Lockwood is in New York. He was a friend of my father’s. I’ve never met the man.”

  Marcus arched a brow as he sipped his wine. Lockwood. He’d never heard of the lord. Poor woman, having a heartless excuse for a father made Marcus relieved he wasn’t part of England’s aristocrats anymore. Not that he ever was, since his old man had ignored him as a child then tried to kill him as a young adult.

  He nodded. “I hope Lord Lockwood is all you wish him to be.”

  She shrugged. “If I collect my inheritance, I don’t plan on meeting Lord Lockwood. Why should I? I will not have need of him.”

  “Wise thinking, to be sure.”

  “Captain? May I ask where you grew up?”

  He nearly choked on his food. Why did she want to know? Or was she merely searching for conversation? As long as they talked about themselves, what harm would it do? “England. My father was an earl, and married a fine woman of nobility. She bore him two sons.” He took another drink of his wine, wishing rum filled his cup instead. Every time he thought about his past, he wanted to get rip-roaring sloshed.

  She cocked her head. “Tell me, why are you against the Royal Navy? What happened in your life to make you hate them so?”

  “Life has a way of throwing sharp curves in my path whenever I think things are blissful.” He downed the remainder of his wine. Indeed, something stronger was necessary soon. “My mother died when I was young. My father sent me to live with my maternal grandmother in the country while he took my brother and moved to London so he could assume the role as Commodore, meanwhile putting my brother through the best schools to make him the earl he’d eventually become.”

  “Why did your father not groom you the correct way as the second son? You should have been sent to Eton, as well.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t important enough. My father looked upon me as the weaker son, and he couldn’t tolerate having a child like that. I wasn’t but a hindrance to him because of my sickly state. He’d once told me I was an embarrassment to him.”

  She gasped and her hands dropped to the table. “You cannot be serious. Why… What kind of father… He needs to be horsewhipped.”

  Her cheeks reddened as her expression hardened. It pleased Marcus to
know how much this upset her. “Not to worry, my dear. I’m quite certain I was raised better without him than if I had lived with the man.”

  She frowned, leaned her elbows on the table, and sighed. “Isn’t it remarkable how we have similar lives? Although I lived in my father’s house until I was twelve when my mother died, my governess was really the one who raised me until I went to live with my aunt and uncle. I rarely saw my father.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  “She was ill quite a bit, and I was never allowed to visit her as I’d wished. She died right after my twelfth birthday.”

  Why did he have to sympathize with her? He couldn’t help but relate, and in the process, it softened his drive for revenge.

  “Indeed, it’s remarkable.” He reached across the table for her hand, which she willingly gave. He twined his fingers with hers. “So tell me about your aunt and uncle. From the way you’ve talked, they sound like such loving people.”

  She finished chewing what was in her mouth before dabbing the linen cloth to her lips. “They are wonderful, but Captain, I don’t want to talk about them. I want to know more about you. Tell me about your childhood.”

  It bothered him that she wanted to know so much. It couldn’t possibly be because she cared about his life. So what was her motive? Yet by the softness in her eyes, it appeared she did care. A foreign emotion tightened in his chest. Although he’d never experienced this before, it made him feel more comfortable and at ease with Isabelle. It’d been a while since he felt this secure.

  “There’s little to tell. My grandmother raised me the best she could under the circumstances. When I was old enough to visit my father, his servants sent me away from the house, treating me as if I was some kind of disease. Others who hob-knobbed with my father refused to acknowledge me for the son I was, calling me a fraud.” Marcus pushed away from the table and stood, walking to one of his trunks. He opened the lid, knelt on one knee and pretended to sort through his clothes. Reliving his past brought back emotions he’d thought were dead.