Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “How did you get that?” Harlan suddenly exploded, his face turning a mottled red.

  “And hair!” Sophie continued, unfazed by the hysteria in his voice, “Christ, I have never had the joy of touching hair so rich it flows through your hands like the mane of a fine riding horse!”

  “Sophia!” Harlan protested with a gasp and tried to seize the letter from her.

  “And in parenthesis...” she added as an aside, turning to Jack. She actually winked at him then, and laughter erupted from his lips, despite his utter confusion.

  She wasn’t even angry. He’d be damned. Had she planned this all along? Why didn’t she tell him? He would have reveled in her purpose, egged her on, even. Hell, he’d have given her free passage!

  She went back to the letter, waxing poetic once more. “And they love to be ridden, Jon... I know this firsthand!”

  “Sophia!” Harlan objected, his tone growing angry now. His face turned a deeper shade of red.

  Everyone had gathered around them by now, and every eye remained on Sophie.

  “... never have I known women so earthy in nature,” she continued, louder than before, with an artistic flair of her hand. “If you experience the carnal joy of one woman’s bosom, you must not think her the exception because the next will make you yearn to feel her native soil between your toes forever and run like a savage through the jungles of her birth. You will nearly forget you are a civilized man and never again wish to languish in the misery that is Boston.”

  Harlan had written that? If so, he was more an idiot than Jack had ever supposed.

  Laughter erupted from the crowd.

  “Sophia, I can explain!” Harlan pleaded with her. “Give me the letter, please!”

  She jerked it out of his reach. “Not for all the Vanderwahl money would I be dragged so soon from this paradise!” she finished passionately.

  “I can explain,” he said again, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

  “Don’t bother!” Sophie said, turning away, returning to Jack.

  Harlan started after her. “Sophia, my darling princess, I can explain everything!”

  She whirled to face him, rounding on him once more. “Don’t ever call me that again! I have good news for you, Harlan! You don’t have to worry about the encumbrances of matrimony! Not with me! Not ever!”

  Jack shook his head, realizing in that instant that this had, indeed, been her intent the entire time. This moment was what she had come for.

  And he was damned proud of her for standing up for herself.

  “And furthermore, you don’t ever have to leave this place if you don’t wish to!” she told him, and folded the letter in her hand, keeping the evidence. “And better yet you never again have to worry an inkling about Vanderwahl money!” she assured him.

  She turned once more, leaving Harlan looking as though he’d been slapped in the face by his mother. She walked proudly toward Jack, looking every bit the woman she was, and handed the letter to him.

  “It was never your money I cared for!” Harlan lied without hesitation.

  “I love you, too,” she told Jack, ignoring Harlan, smiling, and then she spun on her heels once more, going back to Harlan, her demeanor suddenly fierce again.

  Jack found himself grinning.

  She loved him.

  She’d said so.

  “Oh no?” She poked a stunned Harlan in the ribs, and said, “Every man should have such an understanding fiancée, eh? And a father-in-law willing to plunk down good money in support of his cause?”

  Harlan remained speechless.

  “Well, you were right about one thing Harlan Horatio Penn the third! I am not wasting away! But I won’t be bearing your children—not in this lifetime!” She poked his chest once more.

  “How dare you think to make me wait for you five, six more years for you to deign to return to me! And how dare you belittle my interest in your studies! And how dare you suggest that women have no patience or capacity for learning! And perhaps you couldn’t have chosen better,” she said in finale, “but I certainly can! And have!” she added with a nod.

  And then she turned and left him one last time, coming toward Jack, her smile radiant.

  Jack’s heart swelled with love for her.

  And pride.

  And joy.

  She returned to him with shoulders squared, and a determined stride, confidence exuding from her person.

  “You can’t do this to me!” Harlan railed at her back. “You can’t choose him over me, Sophia! It’s utterly disgraceful!”

  Sophie ignored him.

  “What will your father say?”

  “I don’t care!” she replied, without turning.

  Harlan advanced on them suddenly, his hand raised and pointing indignantly at the skies, “And don’t think I won’t tell him you’ve been carrying on with that... that...”

  Jack set Sophie aside when she reached him, entrusting her into Kell’s arms.

  Harlan was close at her heels.

  “Excuse me an instant,” he told her calmly, and then hurled a punch at Harlan, catching him completely unawares with his false sense of security and interminable arrogance. It sent him flying backward once more onto his rear, adding another bruise to the collection on his face.

  Some men never learned.

  “What the hell was that for?” Harlan asked him, outraged, glaring at him.

  Jack shrugged and brushed himself off. “For the hell of it,” he answered glibly, and then turned and took Sophie into his arms.

  He kissed her thoroughly, thrusting his hand into her beautiful hair, reveling in the feel of it between his fingers, soft and fine. He looked at her with pride in his heart. “Ready to go, flower?”

  Sophia nodded, feeling joy as never before.

  He shook his head, chiding her. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this was what you came for?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, laughing, “Because it wasn’t any of your business, Mr. MacAuley.”

  “Saucy wench!” Jack said, and grinned at her. “Is that any way to speak to your fiancé?”

  Sophie ignored Harlan’s lunatic raving. She laughed softly. “Was that your arrogant way of asking me to marry you, Jack MacAuley?” She tilted him a coy look, and he teased her lips with his tongue, biting them softly.

  He whispered into her mouth, “I do believe so.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Only under one condition...”

  “And what might that be?”

  “That you let me stay with you... no matter where you are.”

  “It’s a deal,” he agreed, sealing the bargain with another kiss. “I’ll just have to make you my new partner.”

  “Hey!” Kell protested, though his tone was tinged with laughter.

  “We’ll have to discuss the terms in depth,” Sophie assured him, smiling as she caressed the hair at his nape.

  “That’s easy enough,” Jack disclosed. “You can have anything you want...”

  “I already have everything I want,” Sophie said. “I have you.”

  “I’m going to write your father at once, Sophia!” Harlan threatened as Jack lifted her up and carried her away.

  “So am I, Harlan,” Sophie assured him, and she sighed as Jack kissed her once more. “I think this is where we’re supposed to sail away into the sunset and live happily ever after,” she proposed.

  “How ‘bout we walk into the sunrise instead?”

  Sophie laughed and clung to him tighter. “And live in a little white house by the lake?” he asked her playfully.

  She nuzzled against him. “A tent will do just fine, thank you very much.”

  “A woman after my own heart,” Jack declared.

  Penn could have every grant he pleased. He could have the money and the prestige. He could have anything and everything. Jack no longer cared.

  All he wanted was the woman in his arms.

  Epilogue

  Sophie worked by the light of a single lam
p. She had crawled out of bed once Jack had fallen asleep, even though he had forbidden her to work any longer tonight.

  “You’re tired, Sophia,” he’d said. “You can always finish the drawings tomorrow.”

  He didn’t understand. She had to finish them tonight, before the image blurred in her mind’s eye. It wasn’t work that compelled her, however. Years ago, she had painted a wedding scene, a perfect replica of the one her mother had dreamed of... except that the bride and groom had had no faces. Somehow, it had never dawned on her why she could not depict them, but now... now she understood with perfect clarity.

  She peered back at the bed... they had bought a bed for the ship and nailed it in place. The hammocks just didn’t have enough room for the two of them, and she couldn’t imagine sleeping without his arms wrapped protectively about her. He was so handsome lying in the moonlight, and she hoped she depicted every perfect feature in her drawing. He was beautiful, and she loved him fiercely. And she understood now that she had never loved Harlan at all... that Harlan had never loved her. She understood because never in her life had she felt such a glowing warmth for another human being. It was a joy that touched every aspect of her life, like a brilliant ray of sunshine that penetrated even through the darkest clouds, banishing every shadow.

  It was late but she wanted to complete the drawing before the morning when they would reach port in Belize... to send along with her letter home. She hoped her mother would see it and understand. And her father ... she knew he would. As she’d lain in bed with Jack, her father’s words of wisdom had come back to her like a light flipped on in the darkness. While she’d worried and fretted how he would view her decision to wed Jack she’d remembered something he’d said to her a night so long ago... a night not so unlike tonight, when she had labored over one of her pieces. She had been only eight years old then, but the memory of it was as clear now as though it were yesterday that he had knelt at her bedside.

  “Sometimes it takes a lot more courage,” he’d said, “to follow your own dreams instead of those of the ones you love.”

  Well, she was following her own dreams now, and she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. And she had so much joy in her heart that wanted everyone to be as happy as she was!

  She finished the painting at last, and stared at it.

  A pristine white gazebo, decorated with pure snow-white ribbons, sat in stark contrast to the opulent green lawns of her sprawling family home. Golden rays of sunshine penetrated a vibrant, rich green canopy of trees, and shone down like the touch of God himself on the couple in the gazebo. On the horizon, shiny black horses galloped in a distant meadow. She wondered if her father would understand its significance. She wondered if he would remember the tale he’d told her. She couldn’t live their lives for them, or even counsel them in matters she had no right to. But it wasn’t too late for them. It was never too late as long as there was breath in the body.

  Satisfied with the results, she set the painting aside, lifted the pen, and withdrew a clean sheet of paper from Jack’s desk.

  She began to write.

  September 12, 1899

  Dearest Mother and Father,

  Please forgive me for having taken so long to write. I do hope your visit abroad was lovely as ever.

  You will be quite relieved to know I did not murder Harlan, after all. In fact, I have much to thank him for. And oh, I got married, though not to Harlan, I’m pleased to say. I will explain everything in detail when I return to Boston—as soon as Jack and I complete the current expedition.

  It was a lovely ceremony held in a quaint chapel in Mexico and presided over in Spanish by a native priest. Now Mother, don’t fret because despite that I didn’t understand a word he said, Jack speaks the language quite eloquently, and he was sweet enough to translate everything. You will adore him, I assure you, as I do, and we promise to get married all over again when we return. You may, in fact, begin decorating the lawn, just as you so often described to me.

  In the meantime, I know you are happy for me because I am deliriously so!

  In case you are not... Mother, a very wise man once told me that happily ever after isn’t something someone can give, not even a mother who loves a daughter so very much. It’s a place inside your heart. I’ve found that place, Mother.

  I truly hope you’ll understand, and if not, at least forgive me for following my heart. I love him, Mother, and I am happier than I have ever been. And for the first time I have found a sense of purpose in my drawings. I am cataloguing Jack’s artifacts and discoveries, and doing quite well, Jack says. Enclosed you will find a few of my finest examples, along with a new picture I have just completed. Enclosed also is a letter written by Harlan as delivered to me by Jonathon Preston. It will explain much, I believe, and Father will find it of particular interest.

  Papa, I wonder if you have considered purchasing that horse farm you spoke of so long ago? It’s never too late. And I do agree, Mother truly has the most lovely smile...

  Sophie lifted her brows after writing that particular remark. Her mother did, of course, have a lovely smile... when she happened to smile... which wasn’t particularly often.

  A slightly crooked smile came to her lips as she wondered at her own matchmaking. Was it painfully obvious? To her it was, though her remarks were subtle enough that only her father should take them for what they were.

  “Until we meet again,” she signed the letter. “I remain your loving daughter, Sophia Vanderwahl MacAuley.”

  She signed the last of it with as much precision as she was able, every precious letter fashioned with painstaking love.

  Sophia Vanderwahl MacAuley.

  Jack stirred at her back, his timing impeccable.

  “Come to bed, flower,” he demanded.

  She turned to see that he had lifted his head from the pillow where they had both lain their heads, peering at her sleepily.

  “I can’t sleep without you.”

  Sophie laughed softly. “You can too, you rotten cad! I heard you snoring!”

  He managed a throaty chuckle. “Impertinent brat. Come back to bed. The drawings can wait until tomorrow.”

  Sophie smiled at him. “I’m coming, my darling,” she said, and stood, abandoning her letter on the desk until morning. He was right, it could wait.

  Feeling invincible, empowered, she went to the bedside. Staring down at him, she undressed so that he could see her by the moonlight, and knew by the expression on his face that he wanted her... cherished her. And somehow she knew that he would look at her that way even when she was old and her hair was gray.

  No words were necessary between them.

  With that knowledge and wearing only her most wicked smile, Sophie climbed into bed beside her husband.

  And they did, indeed, live happily ever after.

  Kissed by a Rogue

  Part I

  What sweet thoughts, what longing led them to this woeful pass?

  Dante

  Chapter 1

  England, Rose Park, April 1763

  What sort of man paid to have his sister’s heart broken?

  Lord Christian Haukinge tossed the parchment aside, and reclined deeper into the leather desk chair, contemplating the inconceivable notion.

  He didn’t bother considering the issue it raised: What sort of man accepted such a proposal? He already knew the answer to that one.

  The scribbled letter before him bore no salutation—a deliberate rudeness, a flagrant omission of his title—courtesy though it may be—and his demeanor, as he retrieved the parchment, shifted from indifference to keen irritation. His gaze skimmed the page once more, settling upon the last paragraphs.

  ... as she seems to have convinced herself no other beau will do, save you, fatuous as it seems, and she has set her face against the new contract I have put before her, clinging to your annulled betrothal simply to defy my wishes, I am forced to offer this proposal. Please consider the above remuneration for your services; the amo
unt is more than adequate for your brief employ, and, indeed, should prove quite useful in the refurbishment of your newly purchased estate. As to that, please accept my condolences.

  I am certain you shall wish to begin with all due haste, and look forward to your timely response in this matter. The sooner she has been suitably disillusioned, the sooner you might be compensated for your troubles. For the greater good, I do hope we might overlook the nature of our past relationship, and endeavor to assist each other in persuading my dear, misguided sister in choosing the right-minded course. The advance will assure you see it my way. Accept it in good faith. I shall enlighten you further when we are face-to-face.

  Signed simply, Westmoor.

  For the greater good?

  Bloody bastard.

  Christian’s lip curved with contempt—and then a thought occurred to him: If Westmoor knew he’d purchased Rose Park, doubtless his own brother had gotten wind of the fact, as well. Philip was likely choleric with rage, having to discover something of that nature second-or even third-hand. Damn… Christian might have given much to glimpse the expression on his brother’s face when he’d been informed of the fact.

  Gazing out from his office window, at the unkept garden, a rueful smile touched his lips. What a family he had; the elder a greedy thief, the younger a contrebandier.

  With a sigh he reached back to rip out the satin tie that bound his hair, and then thrust his long fingers through the unpowdered length of it, muttering sourly beneath his breath.

  Hell, at least he had no qualms over admitting the fact. Though it might seem appropriate to bear some measure of guilt… too bad he couldn’t muster the sentiment. In fact, he’d burn in hell before he’d regret a damned thing. And that in itself should have disturbed him, he supposed. But it didn’t. Not in the least. He was what he was, and he felt absolutely no remorse for his... enterprising. Supplies were needed in the colonies, and he simply transported those goods. Nor had he any falsely noble incentives to declare. His motives were quite simply self-indulgent.