The Irish Rogue

by Judith E. French

  The Irish Rogue

  Historical Romance

  by

  Judith French

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-947833-24-1

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2000; 2016, 2018 by Judith E. French. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Meet the Author

  Dedication

  For Ellen, with love

  Fortune aids the brave.

  —Terence

  Chapter 1

  St. John's Churchyard April 1820

  The earth seemed to crumble beneath Anne's feet. She staggered back, unconsciously protecting with a gloved hand the new life inside her. She stared at her betrothed in disbelief, as stunned as if he'd struck her with a clenched fist.

  "You said you loved me," she stammered as the solid chill of a marble tombstone halted her retreat. "You promised to marry me...."

  His cool tone smothered her remaining hopes. "You are such an innocent. You should thank me, you know. Not many women have the benefit of expertise such as mine in their first alliance."

  Rain dripped from the overhanging trees, soaking Anne's cloak and hair. The night was raw and damp. Puddles of water seeped up through her kidskin boots, but her mouth felt almost too dry to answer. "You call yourself a gentleman," she whispered. "I believed you. I brought my things because you told me that we were going to New Jersey to be wed." Her throat constricted with emotion. "I'm carrying your child, Stephen. Doesn't that mean anything? What am I supposed to do?"

  In the dark, Stephen was little more than a shadowy outline of a broad-brimmed hat and greatcoat against the deeper blackness of the wooded churchyard. His mocking voice seemed to come from a distance to echo off the mossy stones and swirl around her. "Are you certain that it's mine?"

  "You can ask me that? After I defied my father to come here? After all your vows of love and—"

  "Spare me your pitiful whining. You were willing enough to be bedded. Mayhap you found someone else to keep you warm after I left Maryland."

  Anger replaced terror and Anne stiffened. "We've made a child between us. Can you turn your back on that?"

  He shrugged. "That's your problem. Get rid of it, or have your father buy you a red-cheeked farmer boy too stupid to realize that his fields have already been plowed and planted."

  "If I were a man, I would call you out on a field of honor and—"

  Stephen chuckled. "If you were a man, you'd not be in this unfortunate condition, and I'd never have been attracted to your charms."

  "My father will come for you."

  "If you're stupid enough to let that happen. He might try. But I'm an excellent shot. I killed a man in Bristol in a duel over a woman. That's why my family sent me to America. Naturally, his wife's reputation was ruined. So send Papa after me with hounds in full cry, but he could end up in a grave. As for you, Anne, let us agree that a gentleman can be forgiven many slips, a lady none."

  Anne had never hated anyone before, never wanted to hit and keep hitting until she drew blood—not until this moment. "Why? Why me?"

  "Don't be a fool. I thought you gullible but never stupid."

  "My father's money?"

  "Of course. I have needs that require somewhat more than my family allowance provides for."

  A vile taste flooded Anne's mouth. "You admit that you're nothing but a fortune hunter?"

  He laughed. "Don't take it so to heart. You've a pretty figure and a talent for pleasing a man. I would have married you if I hadn't met a better prospect. But it would have been a mistake for both of us. I'm really not cut out to be a Maryland farmer. Philadelphia is more my style. My plump Quaker heiress is too well bred to object to my personal life, and her father is much wealthier than yours."

  "Burn in hell, Stephen Preston!" Sickened, ashamed, Anne turned and fled down the crumbling brick walkway out of the walled cemetery to a waiting carriage.

  A wavering circle of lantern light illuminated her sister Mary's pale face. "Anne! Is that you? Hurry. Get in, out of the weather."

  Bells on the leather harness jingled, and the horse moved restlessly between the shafts. Mist enveloped the high-wheeled chaise as Anne climbed onto the damp seat beside Mary. Icy droplets ran down Anne's face, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  "What's wrong?" Mary clutched at Anne's arm. "I thought I heard voices. Where's Mr. Preston? Isn't he coming for your trunk?"

  Anne shook her head, so overcome by loathing for Stephen that she found it hard to speak. "I've been such a fool."

  "You're not calling off the elopement?" Mary's tone took on an edge of hysteria. "You can't go home to Papa without a husband. You've got to—"

  "It's over. Finished." Anne's eyelids prickled. She wouldn't cry for the likes of Stephen Preston. Not now. Not ever. "Papa was right. Stephen is a lying, despicable swine."

  "Oh, oh dear." Mary covered her mouth with her hand. "What will you do? What will we do? If anyone finds out, the family will be ruined."

  "Stop blubbering and give me the reins." Anne took the lines and slapped them over the horse's back. "We're going back to your house. It's late. We don't want George to find us gone." Mary's husband was a self-righteous man who had strong opinions about proper behavior for ladies. Anne had never liked him, and she knew the feeling was mutual.

  "Oh, goodness," Mary fretted. "George will be livid. He'll blame me, Anne. The last time I disappointed him, he cut off my allowance for weeks. And Papa... Papa will disown us."

  Anne wiped the rain off her face and leaned forward trying to see where the horse was going. "He can't disown you, Mary. You already have your inheritance settlement."

  "You don't. You know how Papa can be. He'll cut you off without a dime. Nancy Swift's family st
ruck her name from the Bible when she..."

  "Had a baby. Surely you can say the word. You've given birth twice yourself."

  Mary bit her lower lip. "But my girls were legitimate," she whispered. "If you... If you don't marry Mr. Preston at once, I shudder to think what people will say about us. Lucy and Margaret may never find husbands in Philadelphia."

  "Or Baltimore." Rage seethed in Anne's chest. She wanted to scream, to kick something. But tantrums were Mary's domain. Anne had spent nearly a quarter of a century being the practical sister, the reasonable one. And it was too late to change. She could only vent her anger by poking fun at Mary's irrational fancies.

  "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Anne. George would hardly condone a prospective bridegroom from Baltimore. His family has been an important one in Perm's town since—"

  "Since Noah built the ark." The gelding's iron-shod hooves thudded against the wet cobblestones. "And the girls are what? Two and four? Surely George will be seeking good matches for them by Christmas."

  "This is serious," Mary persisted, wringing her hands. "I don't think you realize how serious this is. I should never have let you talk me into being a partner to your deception. You are the eldest. You're not supposed to lead me into wrongdoing."

  "You thought it was great sport until now. Hiding the meetings from Papa, sending me Stephen's letters hidden in yours. Romantic, you said."

  "It was. Mr. Preston was so handsome, so English. And he seemed to be of such good breeding." Mary clutched Anne's arm. "What are we going to do?"

  "Do?" The horse slowed. Anne peered through the fog. She wasn't familiar with these streets at night, but she had a pretty good sense of direction. She reined the horse left.

  "Not that way," Mary corrected. "We can't get through that way. The workmen are digging some sort of hole in the street. We have to go around the cemetery. Take a right here, then left, down two blocks, then left again."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I've lived here for five years, haven't I?" She began to fret again as Anne reluctantly turned the horse's head to the right. "I should never have let you come to visit. If you'd stayed at Gentleman's Folly, none of this would have happened and your innocence would still be intact."

  "Stop it, Mary. Don't make things worse than they are. All I need to do is find a husband."

  "But Mr. Preston—"

  "Forget Stephen. I'm lucky to have escaped him. I wouldn't have him now if it cost me my immortal soul."

  "But you must have a husband."

  "Of course I must. But at this point, any other God-fearing man without foul breath or nasty habits will serve." They were alone in the narrow lane. Here and there a light glowed, but most houses were dark. Mist blanketed the city, distorting sounds eerily.

  "You don't mean that."

  "Don't I? I'll do what many women before me have done." Anne made her plans as she spoke. "I'll make a marriage of convenience. I'll trade Papa's fortune for a man's name and protection. He'll gain the plantation, silver, and slaves, and my baby's name will be saved from the brand of—"

  "Don't you dare say it," Mary warned. "Such words are best not thought of by a lady, let alone uttered. And how will you find a gentleman willing to trade his honor for your acres? Especially since the... the child must be claimed as his own and come first in all future inheritances."

  "Leave that to me, little sister," Anne replied, trying to ignore the hollow ache in her chest. "I will find a proper husband."

  "You'd best do it soon, then. Within a month at least. Any more and everyone will guess. Besides, having an early birth is nearly as bad as having one without a father." She pointed. "There, turn there."

  "What's that?"

  "Mercy save us!" Mary cried as a burly sailor lurched in front of the carriage.

  "Watch where yer goin'!" he warned.

  Anne yanked on the reins as a second drunk staggered from a recessed doorway. Through the opening, she could hear curses and raucous male laughter. "Where are we?" she hissed to her sister. "We didn't come this way."

  The horse tossed its head as the two swaying seamen delivered a volley of blistering oaths. Anne seized the whip and cracked it over the gelding's head. "Get up!"

  The blasphemers dived for the safety of the gutter as horse and carriage jolted past. Mary clung to the seat, wide-eyed. A block later, Anne slowed the horse to a trot, unwilling to risk the animal's safety on the slick cobblestones.

  "Look at that, would ya," a man with long dirty-blond hair said to his companions from the interior of the tavern. Swinging a crutch under one arm, he heaved himself up and pointed to the chaise rattling away through the fog. "What do ya make of 'em?" His two companions shouldered their way through the regulars onto the street.

  "Rich doxies out for a thrill," the skinny one said.

  "Headed toward the docks, they was." Cove drained the dregs from his mug and tossed it into the gutter, then repositioned his padded crutch. "I didn't hear no gent in that carriage, did you, Shannie?"

  "Easy pickin's?"

  "Easy pickin's," the third agreed as they turned to follow.

  Across the way, a couple stood watching from the shadowy entrance of a tall brick house with shuttered windows. "What makes me think those three are up to mischief?" An Irish lilt sweetened the deep timbre of the tall man's voice.

  "No good, 'tis certain." The scantly clad woman gripped his arm. "Stay here with me tonight, O'Ryan. Haven't you enough trouble of your own? You know how you are when it comes to the ladies."

  "How am I?" He flashed a devilish grin as he touched her rouged cheek.

  "You don't need me to tell you," she purred. "You've a soft spot for the lasses." She stood on tiptoes to rub her voluptuous body suggestively against him. "Those three wharf rats are a bad lot. Why risk steel in your gut for rich nobs when you could be taking your pleasure between my sheets."

  He sighed with regret as he toyed with a rose-scented silken curl. Peg was a sweet broth of a wench who knew how to please a man. He couldn't see the shape of her talented mouth in the darkness, but he could feel it on his skin. Her musky scent lingered in his head, and his loins ached to take her up on her offer.

  Why, just once, couldn't he think of his own best interests? Forget his father's admonition that a man's duty was to protect the weak and never abandon a woman in trouble. "Old habits die hard," he muttered.

  "What's that, love?"

  He drew in a deep breath. "Nothing, Peggy, just remembering someone. Those three who followed the carriage, footpads, are they?" he asked lightly, knowing he wouldn't be content to leave well enough alone.

  "Worse than thieves. The bogtrotter with the yellow hair and the crutch is Ty Cove. Not meanin' to give offense," she added. "Them being Irish as yourself."

  "None taken," he assured her.

  "A rare devil with a knife is Cove. Word on the dock is he's responsible for the floaters found Sabbath mornings with pockets and throats slit. They say one of his victims fought back and smashed Cove's leg before he died." She caressed his burgeoning arousal. "Come back inside. 'Tis your lucky night, me great boyo."

  "Ah, Peggy, you'd tempt a saint. But you worry too much." The big Irishman kissed the crown of her head as he cupped her rounded bottom with his hand. "I heard a lass cry out from that gig. I've a mind to follow and see what Master Cove and his mates are up to."

  "You'll not listen to good advice?"

  He laughed. "When have I ever?"

  * * *

  Anne knew they'd made a terrible mistake when the cobblestones turned to gravel and the horse's hooves clattered against wooden planks. "This isn't right. Smell the rotting fish? I think we're going toward the docks." Spits of rain peppered her cheeks and dripped off her lashes. The light from the single carriage lantern only accentuated the ghostly white mist around them.

  The way was narrow. Windowless buildings crowded close on either side of the alley. They'd not passed a lit doorway in the last two blocks.

  Far off a dog bar
ked; Mary slid across the seat until she was practically sitting on Anne's lap. "George has forbidden me to come to the harbor, even in daylight. So many undesirables about. Ruffians everywhere. We have to turn around."

  "I am." Anne wished she could see how close they were to the water, but fog draped like a curtain beyond the gelding's head. "There seem to be crates and rope heaped along the sides of the lane. I don't want to risk breaking a wheel and overturning the chaise. I'd best get out and lead the horse." She passed the reins to her sister. "Hold these."

  "Do be careful."

  A sharp retort rose on Anne's tongue, and she suppressed it. What worse could possibly happen tonight? Anne tried not to think of Stephen's betrayal as she climbed down and felt along the carriage wheel, then down the shaft to take hold of the bridle. "Come on, boy," she murmured as she carefully turned the horse and carriage away from the dock.

  "What's yer hurry?"

  Anne gasped as a hulking figure with stringy yellow hair materialized out of the mist. The apparition's gait was uneven, and he seemed to be leaning on a staff.

  "Whatcha got in this trunk here?" another harsh voice came from behind them, the direction of the harbor. That one was Irish, too, his brogue so thick Anne could barely make out his words.

  Mary screamed.

  Anne leaped for the buggy whip near the right wheel. The trunk contained her best clothing, the trousseau she'd packed for her elopement with Stephen, and she had no intention of handing it over to a skulking thief. "Stay away from my luggage!" She plucked the whip from the holder as she scrambled to find the iron step to climb back into the carriage.

  "Get the goods!" the yellow-haired thug ordered. Hard-faced and quick, he closed in on the far side of the chaise. Anne saw that his stick was really a padded crutch.