The Right Kind of Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  “I’ve been a fool.” Meg hung her head. “You know I’ve loved Hart for an age. I couldn’t allow him to take a wife without at least trying to see if I stood any chance.”

  Sarah’s eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Meggie, I understand, truly I do. I’m sorry I haven’t been more of a help to you. You know I’ve always been convinced he would break your heart. He’s never been the type to treat a lady like a prize. I fear he’ll take a wife, deposit her in the country, and go about his business with women like Lady Maria Tempest.”

  Meg gasped. “Maria Tempest? Is that who he’s been with?”

  “Until recently, I believe.”

  MT. Meg had her answer. Lady Maria was who Hart thought he was meeting that night. Maria Tempest was a gorgeous widow with raven hair and black eyes. Half the male members the ton chased after her.

  “I know you’ve always had my best interest at heart, Sarah.” Meg laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “But I cannot help but love him. He’s just so handsome and noble. He was so kind to me that day my mother ordered you both from the house. When he smiled at me and said such nice things, it was all over. I’ve loved him ever since.”

  “I remember,” Sarah said softly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Meg pressed a hand to her chest. “I was so ashamed.”

  Sarah squeezed Meg’s shoulder. “He’s always been gallant to a female in distress, my brother. It’s his long-term commitment to them I question. I’ve always believed Hart would obey our parents and choose a wife from his pick of the lot. Not that he doesn’t adore defying Father, but I’ve believed he wasn’t interested in who he takes to wife. After his awful experience with Annabelle, he’s been resigned to his fate.”

  “I know. It’s true.”

  “It’s not because I wouldn’t adore you for a sister-in-law, Meggie. You know I would, but I couldn’t stand to see your heart broken. Hart is a rogue after all.”

  “I know it. I’ve always known. I wish it made a difference to me. I wish I could want Sir Winford. Truly, I do.” Meg stepped forward and hugged her friend tightly. “Oh, Sarah. I could have been ruined. Hart could have been forced into marriage with me, which of course he doesn’t want and I don’t either, not that way, anyway” Meg groaned. “I should have known better than to ask for Lucy’s help.”

  “Don’t worry. No one will ever find out about this.” A determined look shone in Sarah’s eyes.

  Meg planted both fists on her hips. “Thank you, Sarah, you’re a true friend, and I intend to tell Lucy she is no longer employed as my matchmaker at my first opportunity.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The wind was high on Hampstead Heath as the racers and their audience gathered on Thursday afternoon. Although she hadn’t yet had a chance to ask Lucy to stop matchmaking, Meg had arrived at Lucy’s prompting. Well, not only Lucy’s prompting. More specifically because Lucy had sent a coach to fetch her, and, true to her word, the duchess had also sent servants to Meg’s parents’ house to assist with the packing. A circumstance that had not pleased her mother. When Lucy swept into the foyer and asked for Meg to accompany her to the heath, Mother had had no choice but to allow her to go or risk offending the duchess.

  The coach had taken Meg to Lucy’s house, where she had yet another fabulous new gown waiting, this one of navy blue with white dots, a matching dark blue reticule, white kid gloves, and a navy-and-white-striped bonnet. Meg felt like a dressed-up doll yet again as she accompanied the duchess to Hampstead Heath, where either Hart or Sir Winford might break their necks. It would serve either or both of them right.

  Sarah also accompanied the two. She and Meg had determined it would be the perfect time for Meg to ask Lucy to cease her matchmaking efforts. Meanwhile, Lucy’s husband, Derek, and Sarah’s husband, Christian, had accompanied Hart in Christian’s coach.

  “Who do you think will win, Lucy?” Meg asked as the coach jostled to a stop along the heath.

  Lucy peered out the window at the bright, sunny afternoon. “My money is on Hart.”

  “Are you serious?” Sarah asked, looking nonplussed. Her voice was high with surprise.

  “Entirely. I have fifty pounds on the matter.” Lucy grinned.

  “Have you ever seen Sir Winford ride?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course not, but Hart is a superb rider and Goliath is certain to best whatever animal Winford brings.” Lucy adjusted her bonnet. “Who you want to win is the more interesting question,” she added to Meg, her different-colored eyes sparkling.

  “It makes no difference to me. I only hope they both live through it.” Meg crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window.

  “Liar.” Lucy shook her finger at Meg. “You want Hart to win.”

  “He could use a bit of modesty,” Meg replied, lifting her nose in the air.

  “Give me an arrogant man over a modest one any day,” Lucy said with a wink.

  “Yes, well, Lucy, we want to tell you something,” Sarah began, glancing at Meg who sat beside her. She settled her hands in her lap. “Meggie and I have been discussing her marital prospects.”

  Lucy blinked at them. “Yes?”

  “It came to my attention the other evening at your dinner party, that you might have conspired to put Meg and Hart in a”—Sarah cleared her throat—“compromising position.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Lucy continued to blink at Sarah innocently.

  Sarah sat up even straighter. “Do I need to point out that any one of your servants should have been searching for silver polish before Meg was sent after it?”

  “Meg volunteered!” Lucy interjected.

  “You could have refused her,” Sarah countered.

  Lucy flourished a hand in the air. “Why in the world would I refuse her when it became immediately clear to me that the sticky silver closet door was the perfect excuse for Meg and Hart to be found together in a compromising position? Obviously.”

  “So you admit it?” A look of astonishment swept across Sarah’s features.

  “Of course I do. What is your point, dear?” Lucy sniffed.

  “My point is that you’re doing Meg a disservice,” Sarah replied. “And I—”

  “No, Sarah, allow me.” Meg cleared her throat. It was high time she spoke for herself. “Lucy, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me to date, but I see now that I’ve been going about it all wrong. Hart and I would make a terrible match. I would, however, appreciate your help in bringing Sir Winford to heel. I have resolved to stop trying to catch Hart.”

  “Yes,” Sarah added. “It’s a fruitless pursuit. It’s cruel to poor Meg. My parents will disown Hart if he marries her. Most important, I think he’d make her a poor husband. He’s charming as the day is long, but he’s a complete rogue.”

  “My dear Sarah,” Lucy replied, a perfectly serene look on her face. “I absolutely adore you, but you are woefully ignorant of how matchmakers work. We don’t make matches based upon dowries and parents’ preferences, as I hope you’ll recall from your own match with Lord Berkeley. We make matches based on love and only love. Let me assure you, reformed rogues make the very best husbands. Besides, I seem to recall you being worried about your parents disowning you if you didn’t marry the Marquess of Branford, and you appear to still be a member of the family.” Finishing her little diatribe, Lucy sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, a catlike half smile on her lips.

  Sarah sat in dumbfounded silence for several moments. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

  Meg glanced back and forth between the two ladies. Was Lucy actually changing Sarah’s mind?

  Lucy lifted a hand and smoothed one dark eyebrow. “Well, you’d best begin thinking of it that way, because as the bard said, love and only love makes the world go round. That’s all I’m concerned with. I know Meg loves Hart and I have reason enough to believe Hart may love her back. He certainly is interested in her.”

  “How do you know that?” Sarah asked, glanc
ing uncertainly at Meg.

  “He’s kissed her … twice,” Lucy replied.

  Sarah swiveled to face Meg, astonishment on her face. “What? Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Meg squeaked, her face heating.

  “Why in the world haven’t you told me?”

  “It’s not exactly like that,” Meg replied.

  “It’s exactly like that,” Lucy retorted. “I think they have an excellent chance at finding true love together.”

  Sarah leaned forward in her seat and searched Lucy’s face. “Do you really think so?”

  Meg continued to glance back and forth between them. Had the world gone mad? “Sarah, are you allowing her to talk you into this?”

  “I want to hear what Lucy has to say,” Sarah replied.

  Meg fell back against the velvet squabs and covered her eyes with her hand.

  “Do you truly think it’s possible that Hart loves Meg back?” Sarah repeated.

  “I do. I truly do,” Lucy replied. “Now may I suggest that instead of thwarting your friend, you help her become your sister-in-law? She’s already got quite the Romeo and Juliet plot to overcome, and I for one want to see this end in a happy marriage and laughter instead of poison and tears.”

  Sarah turned to Meg. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Meggie, I’ve known you loved him forever. I never meant to be so thoughtless.”

  Meg couldn’t help it. She sat up straight and let her hand drop away from her face, renewed hope coursing through her. “It’s not your fault, Sarah. It’s not as if he’s always loved me back.”

  “No, but as Lucy says, perhaps he could. If given the right circumstances to get to know you.”

  “Precisely,” Lucy said. “Which is why I’ve been trying to put them in each other’s paths. This race is the perfect venue to do so yet again.”

  “But he’ll be racing,” Meg said. “Not paying attention to me.”

  “Both men are racing to impress you if I don’t mistake my guess,” Lucy replied.

  “No, that cannot be true.” Meg shook her head, afraid to believe, but desperately hoping Lucy was right.

  “What if it’s true, Meggie?” Sarah wore a hopeful smile as she tugged on her gloves.

  “I’m certain it’s true,” Lucy said as the coach rolled to a stop on the heath. “Now, Sarah, let’s join forces as ladies always should and go see to it that your brother falls madly in love with your closest friend.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When they arrived at Hampstead Heath, Meg couldn’t help but notice Lady Eugenia. The woman wore a pretty lavender-colored gown. Her light hair was hidden beneath her obviously costly bonnet, and she stood at Hart’s side with a sunny smile on her face. Meg narrowed her eyes when the woman put her hand on Hart’s arm and laughed at something he said. Harlot. Obviously.

  “I’ll jot off with Derek to set up the starting point,” Lucy said.

  Sarah turned to Meg. “I’ll distract Lady Eugenia. You go greet Hart.”

  Meg turned to do just that, but Sir Winford came bustling up to them, leading his horse behind him.

  “Miss Timmons, there you are. I was hoping you would come,” the knight said, a wide smile on his face. He looked relieved to see her.

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Lucy replied, her expression pitying.

  After they all greeted one another, Meg eyed Sir Winford’s horse. Lucy was right: The animal, while quite fine, was no match for Goliath. “Are you feeling confident?” Meg asked him, after Lucy and Sarah excused themselves and trotted off across the field in different directions.

  “Yes, indeed.” Sir Winford patting his horse’s flank. “Though I’ve heard Highgate can be reckless,” he continued with a disapproving look on his face.

  “Oh, he’s not reckless, he’s—” Meg stopped and coughed into her glove. It was better to leave off the rest of that sentence. Why should she defend Hart to Sir Winford?

  “Will you give me a token, Miss Timmons? Something I can take with me during the race, to know I have your support?” Sir Winford began to reach for her hand but stopped himself.

  Now probably wouldn’t be the time to mention that Lucy had fifty quid riding on Hart. She glanced up into Sir Winford’s bright blue eyes. The knight seemed so sincere, so kindhearted. Meg mentally kicked herself for the hundredth time. Why, oh why, couldn’t she love someone as simple to love as Sir Winford would be? No, she had to love the most complicated man in the kingdom.

  Meg glanced toward Hart only to see Lady Eugenia tying a lavender scarf to his sleeve. Meg clenched her jaw. “Yes, of course. I’ll give you a token.” She pulled her own dark blue scarf from her bonnet and tied it around Sir Winford’s sleeve. “There. There you are.”

  Sir Winford smiled broadly, bowed to her, mounted his horse, and took off at a clip toward the starting point.

  Meg tried not to look in Hart’s direction again, pacing back and forth along the uneven ground. She was just about to go back and sit in the coach until the race began when the sound of horse hooves came trotting toward her.

  She looked up to see Hart halt Goliath next to her. He wore tight riding breeches, black top boots, and a dark gray coat, and looked as if he’d been born to ride the magnificent steed.

  He tipped his hat to her. “I wasn’t certain I’d see you here today.”

  “Why is that?” She desperately hoped she sounded nonchalant. Why did the man have to look so good in riding breeches? Why hadn’t she taken note of what Sir Winford was wearing?

  “You mentioned something about needing to pack for your move.”

  “Oh yes. That.” That was nonchalant, wasn’t it?

  “Are you still leaving?” he asked next.

  She reached out and patted the horse’s neck. “My father is leaving. I am obliged to go with him.”

  “Does that mean Sir Winford hasn’t offered for you?”

  That stung. Meg squared her shoulders. “Not yet,” she flung back at him. She raised her chin. Lucy would be proud, but Meg only felt sick.

  “You gave your scarf to him, though?” Hart’s voice was tight. Why did he say it in a way that made her feel guilty?

  Meg pushed her nose in the air. “You accepted Lady Eugenia’s scarf.”

  “So I did.” Hart’s voice was curt and short. “May the best man win.”

  “Indeed.”

  Hart galloped off, leaving Meg thoroughly confused. Had they just had a jealous exchange? She stared at his retreating form, blinking and wondering what to make of it.

  Lucy and Sarah joined her soon after and the three of them locked arms and watched as the riders met. The two men gave each other short nods and spoke briefly, no doubt wishing each other luck. Derek Hunt stood to their far right, a pistol in his hand, ready to fire a shot in the air to indicate the start of the race.

  “Where are they riding to?” Meg asked, biting at her lip. Her belly was filled with butterflies.

  “Across the field, down the valley, around the church, and back,” Lucy said.

  Derek called to the riders to determine if they were ready. They both nodded. The duke raised the pistol aloft and fired. The riders’ heels dug into the horses’ sides and both animals took off at breakneck speed.

  “Oh, I cannot watch.” Meg extracted her arms from her friends’ and lowered her head to stare at her slippers, which were partially hidden in the tall grass. The butterflies had not stopped their flight in her stomach. They made her queasy.

  “I can’t, either,” Sarah said, her voice filled with worry. “At least I don’t want to.”

  “Are you jesting? I’m going to watch the entire thing,” Lucy nearly shouted with glee.

  The party turned to watch as the riders galloped across the wide expanse of the moor and down the hill.

  “What’s happening?” Meg asked, still biting her lip and staring at the ground.

  “Hart’s horse is in the lead by at least one length,” Lucy replied, clapping.

  “I’d say two,”
Sarah added in an obviously proud voice.

  “Oh dear.” Meg wrung her hands. She dared a glance up. The riders had gone down the hill. She couldn’t see them. “He’s going to kill himself,” Meg breathed, wrapping her shaking arms around her middle.

  “Who?” Lucy asked. “Hart or Winford?”

  “Hart, of course,” Meg replied.

  “Seems to me Lord Winford is the less skilled rider,” Lucy replied.

  “Hart loves that horse,” Sarah added. “I just hope Goliath keeps him alive.”

  Many minutes later, the thundering of hooves signaled the riders’ return. Meg dared another glance. The two men came over the hill toward the finish line. Hart was in the lead by at least three lengths. The horses’ hooves thundered across the moor, kicking up bits of grass and mud as they went. As they topped the hill, a shocked cry shot through the small crowd. Meg held her breath and watched as Hart came riding hell-for-leather toward the finish with Sir Winford’s riderless horse behind him. The knight had been thrown.

  “Oh no!” Lucy exclaimed, her hand on her mouth.

  Meg gasped. “Sir Winford!”

  “Come with me,” Sarah ordered. She grabbed Meg’s hand and they rushed down the hill to find Sir Winford. Hart, who had looked back when he heard the crowd’s gasps, was already slowing his mount. He turned in a wide circle and galloped back toward the fallen man. He reached him before Sarah and Meg did. Hart dismounted quickly and ran over to where Sir Winford lay. Hart knelt next to the knight, clearly checking for a pulse in his neck.

  “He’s alive,” Hart called to the crowd, wiping mud from Sir Winford’s face.

  A relieved sigh murmured through the group. Winford’s horse had slowed and Derek Hunt rounded him up.

  Sarah and Meg rushed to Hart and Sir Winford. Out of breath from her run across the moor, Meg dropped to her knees, hovering over the knight. The man’s leg was bent at an unnatural angle and he had a nasty bleeding bruise on the side of his forehead, but his eyes were open and he was blinking.