The Care and Taming of a Rogue

by Suzanne Enoch

  Suzanne Enoch

  The Care and Taming of a Rogue

  For Hugh Jackman,

  whom I find very inspiring.

  Very. Inspiring.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Captain David Langley stepped down from his hired hack and…

  Chapter One

  Bennett Wolfe stepped down from the hired hack and tossed…

  Chapter Two

  Now calm yourself, Bennett,” Jack said, closing the library door…

  Chapter Three

  Bennett borrowed a horse from Jack and rode to Ainsley…

  Chapter Four

  Phillipa Eddison waited in the breakfast room until her tea…

  Chapter Five

  Well, this is charming,” Jack muttered, clapping Bennett on the…

  Chapter Six

  I still wish I’d thought of letting him catch me…

  Chapter Seven

  Phillipa’s pulse jumped as Bennett crossed the room. It seemed,…

  Chapter Eight

  Bennett sat in the breakfast room at Howard House and…

  Chapter Nine

  For the last time, Livi, I don’t know what Captain…

  Chapter Ten

  Hayling, I’m not asking much,” Bennett said, attempting to keep…

  Chapter Eleven

  Bennett walked back into Howard House, favoring Hayling with a…

  Chapter Twelve

  Someone knocked at the front door as Phillipa sat down…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bennett turned away from the window so quickly that Kero…

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t appreciate you befriending Geoffrey behind my back.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kero, up,” Bennett muttered, handing the vervet into a chandelier.

  Chapter Sixteen

  And here,” Bennett murmured, trailing a finger along her ribs,…

  Chapter Seventeen

  I hope you’re not angry with me,” Livi whispered, taking…

  Chapter Eighteen

  Are we back to roses?” Phillipa asked, as Barnes opened…

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m telling you, she has no suitors.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Phillipa read mainly histories and true accounts. On occasion, however,…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bennett looked about the crowded main dining room at White’s…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bennett jabbed his rhinoceros-horn knife through the middle of the…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Phillipa knew the inn lay to the south, and she…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Suzanne Enoch

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Captain David Langley stepped down from his hired hack and gestured for the driver to help unload his things. Though it was twilight and the air smelled like rain, he took a moment to gaze at the white and gray house before him; after all, he hadn’t seen it in three years.

  The downstairs rooms all glowed with lamplight—his parents were in residence. More importantly, the generous lighting meant they were in tonight, thank God. “No. I’ll take that one,” he snapped, grabbing the large leather satchel from the driver and slinging it over his own shoulder. Then he marched up the three shallow steps and rapped the brass horse’s head knocker against the front door.

  It opened almost immediately. The tall, sallow-faced servant began a polite inquiry and then snapped his jaw shut, his skin paling to aged parch ment. “Captain Langley!” he exclaimed. “Saints be praised!”

  “Varner.” David stepped past the bowing butler and into the foyer. Faithful servant or not, Varner was not whom he wanted to see. “Where might I find Lord and Lady Thrushell?”

  “In the dining room, sir. Shall I see to—”

  “Yes, please get my things inside before the rain begins, and pay the driver.”

  “Of course, Captain. With pleasure.”

  Passing halfway down the foyer to the closed double doors on the left side, he paused for a moment, shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder a little. Three years of hell he’d lived through, and now, by God, he had something to show for himself. Taking a breath, he pulled open the doors and strolled inside.

  “Hello, Father. Mother.”

  “David!” His mother, her pretty hair now salt-and-pepper-colored but her figure still whip-thin, shot to her feet and rushed to embrace him. “Oh, my darling boy! Your note said you wouldn’t be crossing from Calais for another two days!”

  “The weather looked to worsen, and I didn’t want to wait,” he replied.

  The sight beyond his mother wasn’t the one he expected; in fact, it rather dampened his enthusiasm at the homecoming. Damned Bennett Wolfe again. From thousands of miles away, even from beyond death, the man still managed to throw rocks into his path.

  He tempered his smile. “And Lord and Lady Fennington. How pleasant to see you again. I only wish the circumstances could have been more favorable.”

  By now everyone at the table was on his or her feet, coming forward to welcome him home. His father shook his hand, looking proud and pleased to see his son and heir again. “Home from Africa,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’s a miracle.” The earl sent a glance over to Randolph Howard, the Marquis of Fennington. “Especially given the difficulties you encountered.”

  Fennington nodded, offering his hand, as well. “Thank you for sending us word of my nephew’s demise. It was very gentlemanly of you, considering that he didn’t even bother to tell us where his latest adventure might be taking him.” He sighed. “Truth be told, for the past four or five years I haven’t been certain whether Bennett was alive or dead. Now, at least, I know.”

  David’s mother was pulling him toward the table, informing him that he must be famished and needed to eat some good English cooking. “Have you informed anyone else of your return?” she asked, trying to push the satchel from his shoulder. “I know some ladies who will be very happy to see you. Especially back from the Congo. The only shame is that you won’t be featured in one of Captain Wolfe’s famous books now. Oh, that would have been marvelous, but I don’t suppose he could have written a last one before he died.”

  Well, that was damned poor timing for this conversation. If he didn’t say anything now, though, Fennington would be suspicious later. David drew another breath, trying to decipher how to navigate this particular thorny path when he’d expected to find it wide open. “As a matter of fact,” he said slowly, “Bennett gave something into my care just before he died. Something that may improve all of our fortunes.” Carefully he set down the satchel and untied the fastening, then flipped it open. “His journals and some of his sketches,” he said.

  “By God,” Fennington breathed, leaning down as though he meant to touch the worn bindings of the topmost book.

  Swiftly David closed the satchel again. “He gave them to me. And no one but I will know how to piece them together and shape them into something coherent.”

  “Considering that his book about adventuring in Egypt got him a knighthood and a grant of land from Prinny, those things are very nearly worth their weight in gold,” his father observed, looking from him to the marquis. They were old, dear friends, but Fennington outranked him, marquis to earl. Silently David cursed his mother again for broaching a topic he couldn’t set aside in the face of Wolfe’s uncle.

  “How piecemeal are they?” Fennington pursued, still looking as though he wanted to snatch the entire bag and make a run for it.

  “Very, I’m afraid. Unfortunately the delirium completely
addled his mind before he succumbed to his wound.” David nudged the satchel with one booted toe. “And in any case, by the strictest interpretation of our expedition, upon his demise, Bennett’s things would belong to the Africa Association. If he hadn’t first given what little he’d managed to save to me, of course.”

  Both lords frowned at the mere mention of the Africa Association. “Damned Sommerset,” Fenning ton grumbled. “He’d deny us any profits at all if he got his hands on anything. Science, exploration—it’s easy to be philanthropic when you have more money than King Midas.”

  “Yes, but if the journals belonged to David,” his father mused, “with of course a credit to Bennett Wolfe for his help and inspiration, and perhaps the contribution of a passage here and a sketch there, and—”

  “And with a portion of the profits of course going to Bennett’s only surviving family members,” David took up, finally smiling again, “think of…of—”

  “Of the contribution we would be making to science.” Fennington grinned as well. “And to a very large and receptive audience.” He stuck out his hand again. “Fifty percent?”

  Damnation. An hour ago David had been contemplating one hundred percent, with no one the wiser. But on the other hand, with Wolfe’s family adding weight to the idea that this was somehow a tribute to the famous explorer, the book sales, the speaking engagements, the fame, the invitations from Prinny…He reached out and shook the marquis’s hand. “Fifty percent. If you’ll write the foreword.”

  “Absolutely. After all, I can only have my nephew officially declared dead thanks to your presence, there in the Congo and back here in London. Without you, his property would return to the Crown.”

  “Excellent,” his father said, shaking hands with both men in turn. “Varner! Some champagne! My son has returned from Africa after a three-year expedition!”

  David sat at the table as two footmen hurriedly set him a place. Thank God that Bennett Wolfe had finally overreached his own ambitions and been felled by a handful of natives carrying spears. He smiled again at the excited chatter around him. Yes, thank God that damned Bennett Wolfe was dead.

  Chapter One

  Unbreachable walls of rock confront us; it is no wonder that this western coastline of Africa has been so ill explored. By my reckoning we shall reach the mouth of the Congo River tomorrow. Nothing shall please me more than setting foot on the soil of this wild, mysterious land. I think I know and appreciate her more already than I do all of England.

  THE JOURNALS OF CAPTAIN BENNETT WOLFE

  Five months later

  Bennett Wolfe stepped down from the hired hack and tossed the driver a shilling. “My thanks,” he said, catching the bag the man heaved down at him and then pulling a second satchel from the shoddy interior of the vehicle. Not a great deal of luggage to show for three years away, but his trunks and specimen crates were on the way to Tesling, the small estate Prinny had given him six years ago just outside Tunbridge Wells in Kent.

  “You owe me another three shillings,” the man rasped, pocketing the one in his possession.

  “Four shillings for five miles?” Bennett retorted. “Drive that bloody thing into the Thames and I’ll pay you four shillings for the boat ride. And even that would be steep.” He hefted his things out of the road and dropped them again on the bottom step of the house looming over them. He hoped the dwelling hadn’t been sold as a boarding school since he’d last stopped by.

  “You have two passengers there,” the driver said stiffly.

  “Mm hm.” Bennett lowered his shoulder, and a black simian face fringed with white and gray fur appeared in the coach’s uncurtained window. “Come here, Kero.”

  At his summons the young vervet monkey leapt onto his forearm and scampered up to perch on his shoulder. From there she chittered at the driver.

  Bennett handed her a shilling, and aimed his arm at the top of the coach. “Up, Kero. Nende juu.” He looked at the driver as the cat-sized monkey jumped effortlessly onto the roof and sat. “If you’re willing to take that from her, then it’s yours.”

  The driver opened his mouth, frowning, until the vervet monkey yawned at him. After taking a look at her rather impressive canines he subsided, taking up the reins again. “Get that blasted thing away from me.”

  Chuckling, Bennett clucked his tongue, and Kero returned to his shoulder, handing him back the coin. Of course she didn’t want it, because it wasn’t edible. He flipped it up at the driver. “Two passengers, two shillings.”

  The fellow caught it, ramming it into a pocket as he sent the vehicle back into Mayfair’s early evening traffic. “I’ll starve to death, I will,” he muttered as he departed, “with every bloke who gets himself a monkey thinking he’s some kind of daft old Bennett Wolfe and refusing to pay his full share.”

  That was a bit unsettling, since he was some kind of Bennett Wolfe, though not particularly daft or old. That having a monkey was now a requirement for being him was unexpected, since he’d adopted the orphaned vervet only a year ago and he’d been away from London for at least three times that long. He had more pressing things to see to at the moment, though, so he set that bit of oddness aside for later contemplation.

  As he topped the steps and reached the house’s small portico, the front door opened. A blue-liveried servant stopped well back in the doorway, eyeing him. “May I help you?” he asked, frowning either at him or at the monkey—or both.

  A new fellow—not unexpected, since old Peters had been aged enough to have shaken hands with Noah. And that had been four years ago. “I’m looking for Jack Clancy,” Bennett returned. “He wouldn’t still happen to reside here, would he?”

  “Lord John Clancy is entertaining at the moment,” the servant said, lifting his head so he could apparently look down his nose to a greater degree. “Is he expecting you?”

  Considering that Bennett hadn’t set eyes on Jack since his last sojourn to London, that didn’t seem likely. While it would be…polite to give the Marquis of Emery’s fifth son a bit of warning that he stood on the doorstep, he hated ruining a surprise. “Just tell him it’s Miss Deborah Mason’s brother from Oxford and I’ve just now tracked him down. And I’m not happy.”

  The door clicked closed, which was better than slamming in his face. Bennett pulled a peanut from his pocket and handed it up to Kero, who chittered at him happily as she pulverized the shell to pull out the meat.

  As he was beginning to lose the small bit of patience he’d been able to summon, the door flung open again. “Deborah Mason does not have a brother, my good—” The tall, fair-skinned man, a stunning shock of short red hair atop his head, closed his mouth with an audible snap. “Good God,” he whispered, going stark white.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  A heartbeat later Lord Jack Clancy took a long stride forward and grabbed Bennett in a hard, tight embrace. Clearly alarmed, Kero squawked and jumped onto the metal stair railing. Abruptly alarmed himself but for different reasons entirely, Bennett returned the embrace, then pushed his friend back a step. “What’s amiss?” he asked. “Your parents? Are they—”

  “No, no.” Jack clapped him hard on the shoulder and held on. “Everyone’s well. By God, Bennett, if this all turns out to be some kind of jest, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Bennett frowned. “What kind of jest?”

  “You were declared dead five months ago.”

  Dead? Christ, Langley. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. “I didn’t know,” he said in a retort that came out more as a growl.

  “We held a memorial in your honor. Thousands attended. I kept thinking it would be just like you to appear in the middle of it, having miraculously escaped from some disaster or other, but you didn’t. And then finally…” His friend trailed off, swallowing. “No matter. It’s damned good to see you, my friend. Come in.”

  “The butler said you’re entertaining,” Bennett countered, pulling back. He didn’t like being pawed over, and certainly not when he’d had no ide
a what was afoot. “I’m only here because you know everyone in London, and I’m trying to find word about David Langley.” If the bastard had reported him dead, it wasn’t only word that he would be after now, either. Slow anger slid through him.

  “Lang—Come in, Bennett. Please. No striding away into the dark just when you’ve crawled out of your own grave.”

  He nodded, though his mind was spinning out webs of now-likely circumstances. Of all the things he’d expected upon returning to London, finding out that he was dead hadn’t been one of them. The Africa Association would have taken ownership of his journals, his estate had more than likely gone to his bloody uncle Fennington—and, damnation, his specimens were all headed there.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your festivities,” he grunted, following Jack into the depths of the house. “Apparently I have to catch several people up about my not being deceased.” A moment later Kero was back on his shoulder, and Bennett reached up to scratch her behind the ears. However unlikable he generally found civilization, she’d never even ex perienced it before. “Is Langley in Town? I’d like to flatten his face with my fist.”

  “We’ll get to that in a moment.”

  Bennett took hold of Jack’s shoulder and yanked him to a stop. Lord John Clancy was a tall man, but Bennett was larger—he had been since they’d met at Oxford. “I’ve spent the last day and a half in four different coaches, and the two months before that on a ship. And the weeks before that, flat on my back. Not pleasant. At all. Whatever patience I used to have is long gone, Jack. What is going on?”

  “I haven’t seen you in four years, my friend,” Jack said in a quieter voice, pulling away and continuing forward again. “However off balance you feel at the moment, at least you knew you were returning to London. Until five minutes ago, I thought you were dead. So give me a damned minute, will you? Chat with my guests, say hello, and be a bit civilized, while I stop shaking in my boots.”