The Rogue's Proposal

by Jennifer Haymore

  She limped inside, gripping her cane. The postilions entered behind her, bringing her and Luke’s luggage. They slipped away quickly to tend to the horses and carriage, leaving her alone with Baldwin in the small entrance hall.

  She twisted her hands over the smooth polished wood of her cane, gazing up the stairs, hearing the muffled sounds of masculine voices from above. She wanted so badly to go up and see what was going on, but Luke had told her to stay. She stared at her cane, balanced on one foot, and waited, standing in the center of the small entry hall for an indeterminate length of time. Baldwin stayed by her side, silent but solid.

  Minutes later, Luke came downstairs, followed by two men. He was angry—that much was evident in the harsh ice blue of his eyes and the tight, flat line of his lips. His expression softened minutely when he saw Emma waiting for him.

  “Come,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her close. “We’ll go up to the drawing room. You need to get off that ankle. Baldwin, please bring us some refreshment. It has been a long day of travel.” He didn’t deign to glance at the two men as they brushed by and turned toward the kitchen.

  “What is this about?” she whispered as they began to ascend the stairs.

  He bent his head so his lips were close to her ear. “They’re searching for evidence. They’ve a warrant. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

  She frowned at him. “Evidence of what?”

  He helped her settle onto the chair that had become her favorite—a soft, velvety brown armchair that seemed to swallow her up in comfort every time she sat in it.

  His expression was bleak. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”

  “Oh…Luke,” she breathed. “Did you…do anything?” Perhaps one night, in a state of drunkenness, he’d done something awful…

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Turning away, he pushed a hand through his hair and went to fetch the footstool for her.

  She raised her leg, and he slipped it under, grasping her calf and adjusting her foot gently on the footstool’s cushioned surface.

  “Do you think it was…recent?”

  He shook his head. “It can’t be. I haven’t done anything untoward since I met you in Bristol. Hell, I haven’t even made any wagers recently.”

  “What about when you have been…sotted?”

  “No.”

  “So it must have been before that. Can you remember anything?”

  Still on one knee in front of her, he gazed at her steadily. “I’d rather not remember anything before you, Em.”

  She reached out to him, and he covered her hand with his. “Believe me,” he said softly, “I cannot think of anything I’ve done—ever—that would result in two Bow Street officers searching my house with a warrant.”

  “I believe you,” she told him, her eyes locked onto his. She added softly, “I will always believe you.”

  The corners of his lips curled upward, and he kissed her hand before rising.

  Delaney came in with a tray of refreshments. They both stared at the tray, covered with cakes and other freshly baked sweet delicacies from the cook, along with a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

  Neither of them touched the food or the drink. Acutely aware of the two men searching the house, Emma was sure her stomach would rebel if she ate anything right now, and it seemed Luke felt the same way.

  They didn’t wait for long. It was less than five minutes later when the door burst open.

  “My lord, we are arresting you for the theft of six hundred pounds from Lord Winchell. You will come with us.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  Luke shook his head. “You’ve the wrong man. I am not acquainted with Lord Winchell.”

  “Nevertheless, you are in possession of a false bill of sale for a blood-horse. Lord Winchell became aware of the fact you duped him after your agent took his banknote and then did not return with the beast as promised,” the man, a dark-haired giant, said. “You will come with us, sir. You will come willingly or we will take you by force. The choice is yours.”

  “This is absurd,” Luke spat. “I know nothing of this.”

  “We found the bill of sale in your valise.”

  And it all came together. The bill of sale regarding the horses sold by Roger Morton in Newmarket had been among the papers she and Luke had found in Morton’s office…Emma vaguely recalled that one of the men she and Luke had intended to seek out had signed his name as simply, “Winchell.”

  Morton was responsible for this.

  Emma rose to her feet. Luke rose at the same time. The men came forward, grabbing his arms simultaneously.

  Her eyes locked with his.

  “I didn’t steal anything,” he growled.

  “I know,” she told him.

  “That is for the jury to decide, I’d wager,” one of the officers said grimly.

  She was strong. So was Luke. This was simply another of Morton’s nefarious schemes. But the ruse was over. Finished. She wouldn’t let him get away with it this time.

  The two men began to lead Luke away. He appeared to be too stunned to do anything other than comply. But at the doorway, he turned to face her. “Stay here.”

  “What? I can’t—”

  “Trust me,” he told her, his voice strong and even. “I will acquit myself of this ridiculous charge and be home with you soon.”

  And then he was gone, pushed out by the two men, the door closing with a thud behind them, leaving Emma alone in the shrieking silence of the drawing room.

  * * *

  The Bow Street officers had taken all of the evidence—all of the papers Luke had removed from Morton’s office in Wapping. Emma was furious at herself for not making copies of those documents, but then again, she’d hardly been given the chance.

  She sat in the drawing room as twilight began to cast shadows through the room, wondering where they’d taken Luke. To Newgate? Was he spending the night in some dank prison cell in the company of violent criminals?

  Would he have nightmares tonight? She hated the thought of him waking from a nightmare among strangers.

  Baldwin came in to light lanterns and stoke the fire. He asked if she’d like dinner brought up, and when she demurred, he said quietly, “I will bring you a light meal, Mrs. Curtis. You will require nourishment.”

  A little while later, he brought up a tray of food, along with a letter that had arrived while Luke and Emma had been in Worcester.

  “For you, ma’am,” he told her. “It arrived just this morning.”

  “Thank you, Baldwin,” she murmured.

  She opened the letter distractedly…God, she wanted nothing more than to run to Newgate and demand they release Luke immediately. But that wouldn’t work. What would? What could she do?

  Start with this Lord Winchell…and the horse market in Newmarket. It was all she had, for now. Tomorrow, she’d go there.

  My Dearest Sister,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Further, I hope that you have made great strides in recovering that which you seek.

  I do not wish to cause you worry, but our father’s doctor has refused to see him until he is given additional compensation, since we have not paid him. There are no funds with which to pay…I did sell the desk in the study last week, but I needed to use that to pay for the workmen and materials for that leak in the roof I wrote about in my last letter.

  Perhaps we must give up our tea next. I will certainly do that before selling Mama’s jewelry, but I have been taking tea with Papa every day like you used to, and it seems it is the only time a little life flows through him. Otherwise, he is much the same, if not a little more listless and dull than usual. And the swelling in his body increases, now that the doctor will no longer provide him with his medicine.

  I know you are busy, dear sister, but we need you here. I fear for Papa. I fear our creditors. Another man came yesterday and said Papa owed him a great deal of money and warned that he could take the house from
us. The house is all we have left, Em. Where will we go if we lose it?

  I am sorry. I fear I reveal too much of my melancholy. I want so badly for you to succeed in your endeavor, but I feel helpless and impatient staying in this lonely house and waiting for word of your success.

  I will continue to pray for you…and for all of us.

  Your Loving Sister,

  Jane

  Emma stared at the letter, despair welling in her. She knew the man Jane referred to—Mr. Childress. Using his silver tongue, Henry had convinced Childress and her father to invest in a coal mine. Less than a month later, he had taken Childress’s money along with Emma’s father’s. There had never been a coal mine.

  It struck her that her father had been just as taken with Henry as she had. He’d trusted him. Even before their marriage, Henry had come to her father with schemes and investments, and her father—in some ways as naïve as her, evidently—had given him whatever he’d asked for.

  But how to answer this letter? Emma wasn’t sure she could.

  Dear Jane, Henry is alive! Imagine that! He counterfeited his own death and absconded with our father’s fortune…

  Or…

  Dear Jane, Well, not only is Henry alive, but he’s also somehow managed to have the Duke of Trent’s brother arrested for an act of thievery he no doubt committed himself.

  The Duke of Trent. Surely he could help.

  She closed her eyes. No. Luke didn’t like involving the duke in his affairs. But Luke had three other brothers on the Hawkins side. There was Sam, the eldest—he had been in the army, and Luke had told her he worked in some secretive business in service of the Crown. There were the two younger brothers, Lord Theodore and Lord Markus. Luke hadn’t spoken much about them, but she recalled that they both resided in Cambridge.

  Sam would be the one to ask. If she could find him. She didn’t know much, beyond the fact that he lived in London. Maybe Baldwin would know the location of his home.

  She called for the manservant. Moments later, he entered the drawing room. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She gazed at him for a long moment, then said softly, “I need help, Baldwin.”

  He gave an impassive nod. “Of course. How may I assist you?”

  “I must inform the Hawkins family as to what has happened,” she told him. “But your master…Well, I hesitate to involve the duke. Do you know where Lord Lukas’s older brother, Mr. Samson Hawkins, lives?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She released a noise of frustration. “How can you not know?”

  “I am acquainted with Mr. Hawkins, ma’am. He is a secretive, private man. I doubt many know the location of his residence.”

  “What about Lord Markus and Lord Theodore? Do you know where they reside?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They are in Cambridge.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “I believe so. I’ve a general idea. But unlike Mr. Hawkins, the two young lords have no reason to keep their location secret. They’d be easy to find.”

  “But…Cambridge?” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “How long would it take to travel there?”

  “The better part of a day.”

  The thought of Luke in prison for that long…it hurt her chest.

  She knew where the duke lived. In St. James’s Square. So close.

  Luke had said he could take care of himself, and she didn’t doubt it. But the thought of him being locked up for one minute longer, and all because she’d brought him into Morton’s sights, broke her heart. His brother was a duke, an extremely powerful and influential man. He would help Luke. She knew he would.

  And yet…it infuriated Luke whenever Trent became involved in his affairs.

  It would have to be Cambridge, then.

  Of course, she didn’t have the money to hire a post chaise to take her there. She’d have to take the mail coach, and she’d have to beg for the money from Baldwin for that. At least the mail coach would transport her to Cambridge quickly.

  And then the solution struck Emma like an anvil to the chest—Luke’s sister, Lady Esme! She was in residence at the duke’s house in St. James’s Square. She would know where Sam resided.

  Finally, Emma had a palatable plan.

  * * *

  The following morning, after a night of tossing and turning and worrying about how Luke was faring, Emma waited as long as she could tolerate. Still, it was only a little past ten when she arrived on the Duke of Trent’s doorstep.

  This could be a huge mistake, she admitted to herself as she raised her hand to knock. Within moments, a man—presumably the butler—answered the door. He raised an impassive brow at her. “Yes?”

  “Good morning. I’m Mrs. Curtis, a…a…friend of Lord Lukas. I’m here to see Lady Esme.”

  Oh, that had sounded quite bad. What would Lady Esme say to her brother’s mistress coming calling so early in the morning?

  “Please wait here. I will see if she is at home.”

  Emma waited. And…waited. She paced across the landing, wringing her hands, knowing that her patience had already frayed. Several minutes later, the butler opened the door again.

  “Lady Esme will see you. Please, follow me.”

  Breathing a long sigh of relief, she followed him into a drawing room decorated in shades of blue, with light blue wallpaper and royal blue furniture. “Please wait here, ma’am. The lady will be in shortly.”

  Another several minutes passed. Emma moved restlessly. She hovered over a rich wooden card table containing a chessboard. It looked like the chess game had been half played—and white was winning.

  She had gone to the window and gazed out onto the bustling St. James’s Square when the door opened behind her. She spun around as a young, dark-haired woman entered the room, followed by Sarah, the duchess.

  Emma forced herself to smile as Sarah made introductions.

  “It is lovely to meet you, Lady Esme,” Emma said. She was rather surprised at the lady’s appearance. Lady Esme’s coloring and features were quite different from both the duke’s and Luke’s. Her skin was olive-toned, her eyes deep brown, and her hair so dark as to be nearly black.

  “Likewise,” said the lady, although judging by the befuddled expression on her face, she’d no idea who Emma was.

  Emma thought of Luke in a dank, disease-ridden cell. She thought of the violent men undoubtedly surrounding him. She couldn’t wait. She’d half expected the duchess to be here, and she’d thought of ways she could ask Esme to speak alone.

  But Luke was in danger. Nothing else mattered but his safety.

  She licked her lips and tried not to focus on the duchess. “Lady Esme, I am a friend of your brother, Lord Lukas.”

  Lady Esme’s eyes widened. She flicked a glance at Sarah, then back at Emma.

  “Come, let us all be seated,” the duchess said with a sweep of her arm toward the blue-upholstered chairs and sofa. “Would you care for any refreshment, Mrs. Curtis?”

  “Thank you, no.” Emma strode to one of the armchairs and bent herself into it, although her body protested. Her body wanted to be in action—running to wherever they were keeping Luke and dragging him out of there.

  “I’ve come to ask for your help, my lady, in an urgent matter regarding your brother.”

  Again, Esme, who was seated on the sofa across from Emma, glanced at Sarah.

  “The best person to help Lord Lukas would be the duke,” Sarah said.

  Emma swallowed hard. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she gazed evenly at the duchess. “Forgive me, Sarah, but His Grace and Lord Lukas’s relationship is…strained. I’m not sure he’d approve of me appealing to the duke in this matter.”

  Emma knew she’d fall on her knees and beg the duke for his help, but only if it were her last resort.

  Sarah nodded and said quietly, “I have known Lord Lukas most of my life, Mrs. Curtis. Believe me when I say I understand.”

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But,
” the duchess added, her gaze hardening, and for the first time, Emma saw a steely will behind the duchess’s gentle demeanor, “if he is in any kind of danger, the duke must know about it. Their dealings are not always on the best of terms, but my husband cares deeply for his brother.”

  Emma tried to smile. “I know he does. And his brother cares for him, too.”

  The duchess quirked a brow, and Emma knew what she was thinking: Well, he doesn’t show it very well, does he?

  They gazed at each other in silence for a moment, both holding their ground. Lady Esme looked back and forth between the two women, her own gaze serious.

  Esme was the one to finally break the silence. “May I speak with her, Sarah?”

  After an additional moment gazing at Emma, Sarah gave a curt nod. She excused herself and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Emma released a long breath as she watched the duchess go, then she turned to Lady Esme, who was gazing expectantly at her, her dark brows drawn closely together.

  Emma had the feeling this young woman wasn’t one for politesse. And she was grateful for it. She got straight to the point. “My lady, I fear Luke is in grave danger.”

  Esme raised her brow at Emma’s familiar use of Luke’s name. But clearly, the duke and duchess knew of her intimate relationship with Luke. If Esme didn’t know by now, she would soon. In any case, Emma was beyond pretending.

  She continued. “I must find your brother, Samson. I feel he might be the only one who will be able to help.”

  Now it was Esme’s turn to give her an assessing gaze. “Help with what?”

  Emma clutched her hands together in her lap and said softly, “Getting Luke out of prison.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Half an hour later, Esme and Emma arrived at a small town house in a middle-class neighborhood. They were showed in to Samson Hawkins’s office by a male servant. As they entered the small, shabby space, Mr. Hawkins rose from behind a large, well-used desk.