Along Came a Rogue

by Anna Harrington

  When she parted her lips hesitantly beneath his soft cajoling, he swept his tongue tenderly inside, increasing the intimacy of the kiss until she trembled, until the hand at his chest stopped pushing him away and instead clung to him. A pang of victory pulsed through him, followed by an immense wave of relief. A heavy sigh heaved from him. She was his…finally.

  “If I had known five years ago the woman you would become,” he whispered as he swept his mouth along her jaw to her ear, “I never would have let you go. Not even then.” He smiled against her ear as she shivered from the soft flick of his tongue against her earlobe. “Although my career would have definitely suffered.” He laughed at himself as he took her earlobe between his teeth and sucked gently. At the shivering response he elicited from her, warmth blossomed in his chest. The warmth of possession. “With you to distract me, I never would have become a major.”

  She froze, her body stiffening against his with a catch of her breath. Then she shifted away. He leaned in, following her like the pull of a magnet, but she turned her head and pushed at his chest once more. Hard enough this time that she slid out from underneath him and out of the chair, putting half the room between them before his surprised mind thought to reach for her.

  He looked down at his palm in utter bewilderment. A fresh wound ripped through his chest, and he flinched with pain. In his hand, she’d left the ring.

  “You’re wrong about us, Grey,” she told him, shaking her head adamantly. “What we shared was amazing. You made me feel so feminine, desirable…,” she admitted in a whisper. “You made me feel wanted.”

  His eyes narrowed in white-hot anger as the niggling voice warning inside his head turned into a scream. This wasn’t a list of the reasons for why she wanted him; it was a rationale for rejection.

  “But we’re not the same people we were five years ago. You have your career, your future plans—” She choked, and he thought he heard a sob in her voice. “We’re from different worlds.”

  His heart stopped, and in that moment’s tiny death, he prayed he hadn’t heard her correctly. Surely, she didn’t mean…But she did. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to himself. And when his heart started again, the pain of it stole his breath away.

  He knew this woman better than anyone else in the world, yet for Emily to be so cruel as to say something like that, and directly to his face—the warmth inside him vanished instantly, replaced by an icy bitterness.

  “Please understand. I have to think of my baby now.” Her hands slid down to her belly, but her eyes never lifted to meet his. “And no matter how much we care for each other, no matter if there’s love—” Another rasping choke as the words caught in her throat, another sob. She drew a deep breath and hurried on. “If we marry, you can’t protect me and my child, not from society. I’ll be cut direct at every opportunity, whispered and gossiped about in front of my face, no longer welcome anywhere in Mayfair…I’ve seen it happen to women for indiscretions far less serious than the lo—than the closeness you and I shared.”

  Love. She was going to say love. His chest burned with betrayal, with the same pain as if she’d slapped him.

  She shook her head. “I can’t allow that to happen, not when my baby’s future is so important.”

  His eyes hardened on her. “So that’s it?” he drawled resentfully, his hands fisted at his sides to keep from shaking her. “You want me to believe that you’re refusing marriage so that you can keep waltzing at balls.”

  A blush of guilt colored her otherwise pale face. “This isn’t as inconsequential as you make it out to be.”

  “Damn you,” he said softly.

  A soft gasp tore from her. “Grey!”

  “Damn you for lying to me again.” He saw her flinch beneath his words— Good. She deserved to know the piercing pain she’d sent spiraling through him. “Even now, after all we’ve been through together.”

  She swallowed. Hard enough that he could see the undulation of her throat even from so far away. “I-I’m not—”

  “I know you, brat.” He took slow steps toward her, more to keep his own anger in check than from fear of chasing her away again. “You don’t give a damn what society thinks of you.”

  Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at him silently, her lips falling open—every inch of her so blatantly showing that she knew he’d caught her in her lie yet still desperately clinging to it. But the tears were real, and so was the anguish behind them. He’d come here, engagement ring in hand, because he wanted to protect her and stop her from ever crying again, only to end up putting her into tears himself. But he had no intention of leaving her unprotected, even if he had to toss her over his shoulder and drive away to Gretna Green.

  “Why are you refusing me—the real reason?” he demanded. He cupped her face in his hands so she couldn’t retreat from him again. “What is it that you want? Tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

  “I want you to do what you planned all along,” she forced out through trembling lips, “what you told me you would do that first day in the carriage…love me and leave me.”

  His heart tore at the anguish he saw on her face. When he’d told her that, he’d believed it of himself. But she’d changed him, and he no longer wanted that life. What he wanted now was her. “I am not leaving you, do you understand? Not now, not ever.”

  “I want you to go to Spain.”

  “I am not leaving—”

  “Just go!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “Please, just leave!”

  Pain surged through him, mixing with anger and rising betrayal. To blatantly lie to him once again, and to offer that, of all reasons, as her excuse— “I’m not going anywhere,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

  Her hand darted up to swipe at her eyes as she whispered, “Then I will.”

  Without a glance backward, she fled from the room.

  * * *

  Grey angrily slammed shut the front door of his rented town house, stopping his man Hulston in his tracks in the foyer as he scrambled to open the door for him.

  “Major, you’re back,” Hulston said with flustered surprise, knowing the purpose of Grey’s afternoon mission and having put much care into dressing him for it. “And so soon.”

  Muttering a string of curses, Grey yanked off his coat, hat, and gloves and shoved them all into Hulston’s waiting arms. Then he slapped the ring box down on top of the lot of them. “Get rid of this!”

  “Sir?” Hulston blinked in surprise, not daring to press for more explanation.

  “And tell Mrs. Smith to take the night off,” Grey ordered, stalking toward the stairs. “I’m going out for dinner.”

  “But, sir—”

  “And then I plan on spending the rest of the night at the clubs.”

  “Which club?” Hulston’s face reddened, even more flustered than before as he held the ring box at arm’s length in a futile attempt to hand it back.

  “Whichever one lets me through the door,” he grumbled, the words too true to be amusing.

  “But, sir!”

  He snapped out another curse, this one aimed at Hulston’s ancestry. “I don’t care what you do with that ring. Pawn the goddamned thing and spend the money on drink and whores for all I—”

  “Major, you have a visitor waiting,” Hulston blurted out before Grey could interrupt him again. “I told her you wouldn’t be back for hours, but she insisted.”

  Damnation! The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a visitor, especially a female one. After this afternoon, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for anything regarding women and had no other goal for the evening than getting blindingly drunk.

  “I’m not receiving visitors.” He headed up the stairs. “And you can tell whoever is waiting that she can take her parasol and shove it up her—”

  “Nathaniel.”

  The mature female voice stopped him in mid-step, his foot hovering above the stair. He knew before he turned around—

  “Lady Henley,” he said cu
rtly but politely, facing her as she stood in the doorway to the drawing room.

  The last person he wanted to see right now was the stern old woman from his youth. Emily had damned him to hell with her rejection, only now for the devil herself to appear in the flesh.

  But with no other choice, he shoved down his anger and descended the stairs. He bowed stiffly to her. “Viscountess.”

  She nodded her head regally. “Major Grey.”

  He motioned toward the drawing room. She had always been inexplicably generous toward him, when the stiff-spined dowager was rarely kind to anyone outside her own family. He wouldn’t insult that generosity by asking her to leave, even if at that moment he’d rather shoot himself than entertain a visitor. “Shall I ask Hulston to prepare tea for—”

  “I shan’t be here long enough for tea.” Her old but sharp eyes swept over him critically, and he had the odd impression that she was sizing him up. Like an opponent before a fight. Good. He could use a fight right now, the anger over Emily’s rejection still burning hot inside him.

  With the help of her cane, which he suspected served more as a weapon than a walking support, she spun on her heel and charged into the drawing room.

  He followed after, gritting his teeth. The very last person he wanted to see right now…when he wanted nothing more than to be making his way to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

  Not taking a seat—apparently, she didn’t plan on staying even long enough to bother with sitting—she stopped in the middle of the room and faced him, thumping her cane firmly against the floor.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, ma’am?” Although no pleasure rang in his voice as he ground out the question, getting right to the point. There was nothing to be gained in attempting polite conversation, not with her.

  Her brow rose haughtily. The viscountess had always possessed an intimidating air, even when he first met her twenty years ago. Her crusty imperialness was one of the traits he’d liked best about her, and very few people had the arrogance—or bravery—to defy her. “Your name was mentioned at Lady Agnes Sinclair’s garden party.”

  Well. That was a damned lie. Lady Agnes Sinclair was the spinster sister to the late Earl of St. James, aunt to the current earl, and if rumors could be believed, a particular favorite of Wellington’s. No one who would have given a scoundrel like Grey a second thought. While he could imagine several scenarios in which his name might arise amid a group of society women, it certainly wouldn’t have been at Lady Agnes’s garden party. And certainly not in a context to which Lady Henley would have been privy.

  “Was it?” He kept his face carefully blank, not giving a damn what those tea party biddies had said about him, yet he felt compelled to ask. Because she expected it. “In what context?”

  “Oh, just the usual gossip.” She dismissed that with a wave of her gloved hand, which confirmed the falsehood for him and frustrated him even more.

  He folded his arms impatiently across his chest. God knew, with the way he was feeling right now, he might just throttle her if she didn’t soon get to the reason for her visit. “And?”

  “I remembered that you used to work in the stables at Henley Park. I wanted to see you again for myself, to discover with my own eyes what kind of man you had become.”

  Another lie. He knew from contacts within the War Office that the old woman had been keeping an eye on him since he left Henley Park for the Peninsula. Odd. Why would Lady Henley call on him at his home, then lie about her motives? She’d given him a job when he’d been starving and homeless, and later, she was the reason he was commissioned into the First Dragoons. He would always be grateful to her. But being grateful didn’t mean he trusted her. Or wanted her nosing around in his life.

  He’d had enough of lying society women today. His lips curled sardonically as he held his arms out from his sides, insolently putting himself on display for her. “Have you satisfied your curiosity, then, my lady?”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, her eyes narrowed on his face. “You’ve been punched.”

  Reflexively, his hand went to his eye, bruised but no longer aching. “I have.”

  “Well, I certainly hope you deserved it.”

  He grimaced. “I did.”

  “And did you return the favor?” she demanded.

  “No.”

  She humphed with disappointment.

  He inclined his head, his patience with her visit growing thin. “In the future, ma’am, I will endeavor to please you by pulping at every opportunity any man who disagrees with me.”

  “Impertinent,” she scolded, yet he had the strangest feeling that she approved of his angry sentiment. With a lift of her chin, she pulled at the long sleeves of her old-fashioned dress and swiftly changed topics. “I was pleased to hear you were promoted to major. It was the least Arthur could do for you.”

  “Arthur?” Good Lord, the woman was frustrating!

  “Wellesley.” She blinked, visibly confused that he didn’t know whom she meant. “Why, Wellington, of course.”

  “Of course,” he echoed wryly, as if everyone referred to Wellington by his Christian name.

  “And now you work for the War Office.” A flicker of amused pride crossed her face, which stunned the hell out of him.

  He answered warily, “Yes.” For now. When Bathurst heard of his plans to marry Emily and decline Spain, he might not be employed there much longer. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on this cake of a day? No wife and no more career.

  “A fine life you’ve made for yourself for a stable boy.”

  “Thank you.” I think…He didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or an insult. And at that moment, he was too damned frustrated to care which. He blew out an irritated sigh, no longer able to tamp down his impatience. “My lady, why are you—”

  “Major Grey.” Her steely eyes pinned him. “I have been told that you inquired around Trovesbury Village as to your parentage.”

  He drew up straight. So this was why the dowager deigned to pay him a visit.

  But why should it matter to her if he’d written to the constable and to the old parish vicar, asking for any information they might have about a pregnant, unwed woman from nearly thirty years ago? Or that he’d bothered to look through the church’s record books when he’d been in Surrey last winter? A wild-goose chase. And none of her business. He’d been curious, that was all, then dropped the matter and not given it a second thought.

  Until now. Now he was surprised. “Why would you care—”

  “You must stop this, Nathaniel.” An order? A plea? Or a warning? He couldn’t tell from the odd intensity in her voice, the firm resolve on her wrinkled face. “There is nothing there for you to find.”

  His eyes narrowed. He’d had enough today of society ladies telling him what his life should be. “You don’t know that,” he snapped.

  “But I do. I had you fully investigated when you first arrived at Henley Park, just as I did all the servants employed there.” Her gray brow rose slightly. “Your father was not a blacksmith. You were left on the doorstep of the parish vicarage when you were only days old, and the vicar gave you to the orphanage. The name of your mother remains unknown, as it always will.”

  He forced his face to remain impassive, but he couldn’t help the unseen clenching of his jaw, the tightening in his chest as anger rose inside him. She knew—she knew about his past. And he suspected she knew a great deal more that she wasn’t telling.

  “Lady Henley,” he growled, “if you know—”

  “The past is dead, Nathaniel. Leave it alone.” She hooked her cane over her arm. “You have made a good life for yourself, better than even I had hoped. There is no point in dredging up harm and heartache now.”

  Better than even I had hoped…Confusion surged through him. “Why the hell should you care?”

  She didn’t even blink at the biting profanity. Instead, her head raised indignantly, and for a fleeting moment, he had a glimpse of the strong woman she must have b
een in her youth, the woman who ran Henley Park without any help from her philandering husband and eldest son. The woman who still made even the most imposing gentleman quake in his boots and most likely would have referred to the Prince Regent as Little Georgie if His Royal Highness had somehow entered the conversation. A more formidable opponent he’d rarely met.

  But he’d already lost one battle today with a willful woman, and he sure as hell didn’t plan on losing another.

  “Because Henley Park is Trovesbury Village,” she announced. “Everyone who lives there either works at the main house or possesses a tenancy. Asking questions will only raise speculation, and I will not tolerate rumors of illegitimacy attached to Henley.”

  Illegitimacy? Anger flared through him. After Emily’s lie this afternoon that he wasn’t good enough for her, he had no patience left for anyone implying that he’d overstepped his station. His eyes narrowed icily. “I never attached—”

  “Let me be clear.” Her chin raised impossibly higher, her eyes sharp. “I have always held a special affection for you, Nathaniel, and I have always wanted the best for you, including using my influence to make your way easier.”

  He glared at her, not knowing what to say to that. Not knowing whether he should thank her or toss her out on her bony, aristocratic ass.

  “But I will not let anyone ruin my family’s name and reputation by unleashing spurious gossip. Not even you, Nathaniel.”

  He forced through clenched teeth, “I am not unleashing—”

  She slammed her cane against the floor. “The Henley family name is unsullied, and I intend to keep it that way until my last breath!” Spinning on her heel, she stomped from the room, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him with a final warning. “Leave the past alone, and be happy with what you have.”