Rogues to Riches (Books 1-6): Box Set Collection

by Erica Ridley

  She swallowed. No sense drawing out the torture. Stoic, she played all three cards one by one, then lifted her chin. Three of hearts. Three of spades. Five of diamonds. A measly pair. Of threes. Charlotte had just lost seventy pounds on the most foolish wager of her life. She glanced up.

  Mr. Fairfax was ashen.

  Slowly, as if touching his hand was more pain than could be withstood, he displayed his hand.

  Nothing. She stared in disbelief.

  Ten of spades. King of hearts. Jack of diamonds.

  He had nothing.

  Silence engulfed the table.

  She’d won. Charlotte stared at the cards in disbelief. She’d won.

  Mr. Leviston cackled. “I reckon it’s off to clean chimneys for you, Fairfax. Or whatever mischief the two of you decide to get up to.”

  In a trice, the nameless horror on Mr. Fairfax’s face vanished as if it had never existed. His visage resumed the same sunny cheer he had displayed earlier.

  He shrugged and clapped Mr. Leviston on the shoulder. “Fortune giveth, and fortune taketh away.”

  “Every time.” Mr. Leviston chuckled. “Shall we have another go tomorrow? I suppose I could scare up a shilling or two.”

  “You know I’ve never said no to a game,” Mr. Fairfax replied easily. He fixed his magnetic gaze on Charlotte. “Shall we, my lady?”

  As she nodded her acquiescence, her mind was not on the short walk to her chamber, but on how blithely both men shrugged off staggering losses and agreed to repeat the same foolishness the following day.

  Were they daft? Charlotte had always supposed town gentlemen could not possibly be as careless and as dissolute as the society papers painted them, but she had clearly been too generous.

  Resolute, she rose to her feet. Good. She was glad they were foolish. She could not possibly feel guilty at relieving them of more money than she normally spent in a year if they didn’t even have the good sense to miss it. She would be a much better mistress to these purses.

  Hope fluttered in her belly. In fact, with two hundred pounds, she could hire a maid before taking the next hack north. She would do so first thing in the morning.

  As for tonight… Well. Perhaps fortune truly was on her side.

  She slipped her hand about the crook of Mr. Fairfax’s arm and let him lead her from the table. With the exception of an off-color jest, he seemed honorable and dignified. With a man like that seeing her safely to her chamber, no scoundrel would dare accost her.

  As they exited the common guest area, another gentleman was entering. He pulled up short the moment he laid eyes on them. A chill swept over her as his gaze lingered far longer than necessary.

  Please be a friend of Mr. Fairfax, she repeated in her mind. Please.

  He squinted at her with obvious interest. The wrong kind of interest.

  Her stomach sank.

  “Do I know you, miss?” His brow furrowed in concentration. “You look incredibly familiar.”

  “I have one of those faces,” she said automatically, and all but hauled Mr. Fairfax out of the common area before the other man could recall where he might have seen a face like hers. Or why Charlotte Devon shouldn’t be allowed in the same vicinity as respectable folk.

  To his credit, Mr. Fairfax made no protest at being dragged bodily from the room.

  As soon as they were safely out of sight, second thoughts immediately crowded Charlotte’s brain. The scene was so familiar, she hadn’t even questioned it. But what if the man wasn’t confusing her with her mother? She was in Scotland now. Far from London. What if he hadn’t recognized her, but rather her father’s rubies? Wasn’t that why she’d dropped the assumed name and begun wearing the family jewels the moment she’d crossed the border? Didn’t her plan hinge on someone recognizing them and leading her back to her father?

  Stupid girl. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. She was going to have to unlearn two-and-twenty years of rejection and automatic denial if she meant to have success with this mission.

  The positive side, however, was that if people were starting to notice a family resemblance, her father must reside in the general area. To be sure, this innkeeper hadn’t recognized his name, but someone would—and soon. Her shoulders tensed. If only she knew which it was. Did her mother’s famous face carry this far north, or was her father almost within her reach?

  “Congratulations on a wonderful win tonight.” Mr. Fairfax’s warm voice melted over her. “Enviable display of luck.”

  She looked at him sharply, but his eyes were sincere. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps he was right. Perhaps fortune was finally on her side. Her heart felt light.

  Mr. Fairfax was proof that she was on the right path, the perfect path. The one from where she could start over, find her father, marry a respectable gentleman, and live happily ever after. She straightened her spine.

  Finding her father was her only chance to have a good future.

  As they neared the dining area, she pointed down a corridor to the right. “My chamber is just up the stairs at the end. If you prefer to leave me here…”

  “Nonsense.” Mr. Fairfax’s green eyes were surprisingly serious. “A wager is a wager. I’ll see you safely to your door, and not a step farther.”

  She nodded, grateful for his presence. It was awful to feel insecure, unsafe. A woman alone was always at risk.

  Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, for the first time since leaving home, she would be able to afford a maid. And the next day, or the day after that, she would have something even better. A home.

  A sudden buzz of conversation erupted behind them as a crowd of guests exited the dining area together.

  Loud footsteps clumped against the wood floor as a man, reeking of gin, staggered up to them, and reached for Charlotte’s arm. “I see you found your dìonadair, lassie.”

  Her limbs shook with fear.

  Mr. Fairfax instantly placed himself between Charlotte and the drunkard. “Sir, you overstep. I suggest you find your quarters and stay there.”

  The crowd from the dining area edged closer to watch.

  “Well, you know how it is.” The drunkard swayed as he tried to get another look at Charlotte. “With a puss like this looking for a protector, of course a man’s going to be interested. When you’re done with her—”

  Charlotte spluttered. “This man is not my ‘protector,’ nor am I looking for one.”

  The last thing she needed was for rumors of her supposed easy nature to reach her father’s ears. Even he wouldn’t be able to consider Charlotte respectable if she arrived with her reputation as ruined in Scotland as it was in England. But how else could she explain being on Mr. Fairfax’s arm, whilst clearly headed toward the guest chambers?

  Her mind spun. She needed the crowd to go away. “Mr. Fairfax is just… Mr. Fairfax is my…”

  “Husband,” he put in smoothly.

  “Yes, exactly,” she babbled before she could stop herself. That was the perfect excuse. “I am his wife. We are in a perfectly respectable marital union as husband and wife. Completely reputable and proper.”

  Splendid. It took all of Charlotte’s self-control not to drop her face into her hands at that blurted nonsense. A husband was a better excuse than a lover, but it was also a blatant lie. Mr. Fairfax had only agreed to walk her to her chamber, not to participate in any marital farces along the way. Soon she would be known as a harlot and a liar.

  The drunkard swayed forward. “Are you sure?”

  Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Even a drunkard didn’t believe such twaddle. She was the least respectable, least proper, least reputable woman in the inn. Any moment now, her name would be just as tarnished here in Scotland as it was back home in London.

  To her surprise and relief, Mr. Fairfax didn’t so much as change expression.

  “Of course I’m certain I’m the lady’s husband,” he repeated firmly to the drunkard. “Now find your room, or I will put you there myself.”

  Alarmed, the drun
kard scuttled backwards out of harm’s way before lurching down the opposite corridor.

  Mr. Whitfield stepped up from the rear of the crowd. “Fairfax, you sly dog. No wonder you were making eyes at her all evening. Why didn’t you just say that’s what you were about?”

  Mr. Fairfax met Charlotte’s eyes and hesitated.

  Her heart pounded. Would he lie to a friend? For her? She held her breath. In the haste to save her reputation, she hadn’t considered the ripples she’d be causing in his.

  He waved a careless hand in the air. “I’ll explain how it all happened next time we see each other at Boodle’s. You’ll have to buy me a glass of brandy, though. It’s quite a story.”

  Her shoulders sagged with relief. Mr. Fairfax had saved her reputation. He was an angel. Although… how the devil did he expect to get out of this without scandal?

  “I expect nothing less than a fantastical tale from you,” Mr. Whitfield said with a chuckle. “Boodle’s, then.”

  The last of the crowd dispersed.

  Charlotte winced and murmured, “I am so sorry.”

  “For that twaddle?” Mr. Fairfax turned her away from the crowd and led her down the corridor toward the stairs. “If anything, you’ve not only guaranteed my readmittance to Boodle’s, you even earned me a free glass of brandy while I’m at it. They’ll all have a great laugh over the time Anthony Fairfax was married for an entire minute.”

  Anthony. Charlotte smiled wistfully. He had a lovely name.

  Though she would never see him again, she, too, would look back on this moment with fondness. Not because it was a humorous episode, or because for one spine-tingling moment she’d been afraid all she’d worked for was about to come crashing down, but because it had been oddly empowering. She’d had no doubt of their ability to fend off a simple drunkard, but convincing a passel of Londoners that a handsome gentleman like him could be married to a nobody like her… She was very, very far from home indeed.

  It was magical.

  She climbed the wooden stairs with a curve to her lips. The happy smile died when she caught sight of her bedchamber.

  The door was ajar.

  Her palms went clammy. She gripped Mr. Fairfax’s arm. “Someone has been inside my quarters.”

  “They may still be there.” He touched his fingers to her hand. “Stay here and don’t move until I ensure it’s safe. If you hear any scuffling… scream.”

  She stared back at him, frozen in place.

  He disappeared inside.

  She tried to calm her racing heart. Everything was going to be fine. Probably. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Imagine muscles relaxing in the neck, the shoulders, the brow. Mr. Fairfax would be fine. She would be fine.

  She stifled a scream when he burst back into view.

  Alone.

  “No one is inside.” He covered her hands with his own. “Do you feel safe in there? Would you like a different chamber?”

  Did she feel safe? A bubble of hysterical laughter tangled in her throat. Had she ever truly felt safe?

  “It’s fine,” she managed. She would bar the door and find a maid at first light. “I’m fine.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I can stay, if you like.”

  Fear flashed through her and she shook her head wildly. Not at his offer to watch over her—for a town gentleman, he seemed surprisingly trustworthy—but because if a few steps together in the corridor could raise that many eyebrows, him spending the night in her bedchamber could ruin what little respectability Charlotte possessed.

  Yet the thought of being left alone was even worse. What if the thief returned to rob her? What if the blackguard wasn’t after her money or her jewels, but the unwilling company of a young woman with no one to call out to for help?

  “Not inside,” Mr. Fairfax said quickly. “I am happy to guard your door from the corridor. You may set as many locks and chairs for barriers as you like. I shan’t allow passage to a single soul.”

  “Y-you would sit in the corridor all night?” Her leaping heart slowed to a more sedate pace at the idea. She already felt safer at the thought of him guarding the threshold. She hoped his offer was sincere.

  “Keeps me from the gaming tables,” he answered cheerfully, and positioned himself against the wall facing her door.

  Relief washed over her. She flashed a grateful smile, but her nerves were still on edge. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  She appreciated a hall guard more than he could know. But why would he make the offer? Did he truly intend to obey her every command in order to repay the money he’d lost?

  A door creaked open down the hall.

  “As my lady wishes.” Mr. Fairfax tipped his hat. “I did offer to spend the night doing your bidding. Playing hall boy is certainly less tiring than what I thought you might demand of me. I should be thanking you.”

  “Shh,” she hissed as another door creaked open. “You never thought I was going to ask you for anything. Now mind your tongue. Someone might overhear you.”

  “But I like granting wishes.” His eyes widened innocently. “Have you no desires you’d like fulfilled? I haven’t the blunt to buy you a pony—or really anything—but I am quite good with my hands.”

  “Who’s making all that ruckus?” a scratchy voice called out. “Some of us would like to sleep.”

  Flames of embarrassment shot up Charlotte’s cheeks.

  Another door swung open, and a pale face in a mobcap peered out. “It’s Mr. Fairfax holding court in the corridor, by the look of it.”

  “Holding court?” cackled a voice down the other end of the hall. “Better hope it’s with his wife. Had no idea that yellow-haired girl was a married woman. Fairfax ought to keep her close.”

  “Fairfax ought to keep quiet, is what the rotter ought to keep!” bellowed a voice on the other side of the wall. “If that featherwit is still out there chattering to his wife by the time I put my robe on, I’ll—”

  Charlotte grabbed Mr. Fairfax by the wrist, yanked him into her bedchamber, and slammed the door.

  “As I was saying,” he began after the briefest pause. “One fine evening, after wagering on races along Rotten Row—”

  “Do. Not.” She held up a shaking finger and prayed her blush would fade by sunrise. Splendid. She exhaled deeply. Now what? As long as the other guests believed her married to Mr. Fairfax, her reputation was better off with him on the inside of the chamber rather than raising suspicion on the outside. “Don’t move an inch until I’ve had a chance to look about the chamber to see if anything is missing.”

  His teasing expression faded and his eyes turned serious. “How do you feel?”

  “Exasperated,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “With me.” He leaned against the door frame in obvious relief. “Excellent. For a moment there, you looked so pale and terrified that I was afraid to take your arm, for fear you’d shatter.” His eyes softened. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You had every right to be alarmed. But the intruder is gone. You are safe. No one will harm you while I guard the door.”

  Charlotte’s mouth fell open. Had he made outrageous comments in the corridor to distract her from panic? Her fingers slowly unclenched as she stared at him. It had worked, blast him. She had gone from shaking with terror to blushing in embarrassment—but she had entered the bedchamber of her own free will. Because she no longer feared it.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Although she did not approve of his methods, he had been good to intervene. Her mind had leaped from invasion of privacy, to thwarted robbery, to the thief returning to ravish her in a matter of moments.

  All of those things were everyday threats to a woman of her station traveling alone. It was a relief that, for one night at least, she would not have to lie at the edge of sleep, attuned to every creak of the floorboard and every scratch at her window. Her heartbeat was returning to normal.

  To her surprise, Charlotte was glad to have Mr. Fairfax with her.
He made her feel safe. Less alone. He made her feel… worth protecting.

  The last thing she wanted was for him to know the truth.

  She turned away to peruse the chamber in search of damage. It looked the same. Small. Clean. Simple, but remarkably tasteful for such a remote outpost. The wardrobe was open, but she might have left it that way. Perhaps nothing more had occurred than staff forgetting to lock the door after emptying chamber pots and refreshing the water pitcher.

  Or Mr. Fairfax might have just saved her from a terrible night, indeed.

  She gathered her skirts and the dregs of her serenity. Now that they were stuck together for the night, what was she meant to do with him? Her mother was the one skilled at entertaining gentlemen, not Charlotte. The opposite: she had always done her best not to call untoward attention to herself.

  And now she had a man in her bedchamber.

  Charlotte swallowed. The last thing she wanted was for him to divine her base upbringing. She would simply have to do as she always did, and pretend to be someone else. Someone better than who she really was.

  She motioned Mr. Fairfax into the sitting area and settled into a wingback chair near the fireplace with a demure shawl about her shoulders. The role of poor-but-respectable-miss came so readily by now, it was easy to forget she was playacting. Her muscles relaxed. She had spent her entire life trying to be someone she was not. A few more hours wouldn’t matter.

  Mr. Fairfax strolled close to the fireplace and paused next to the grate. He tossed her an arch look before lifting a poker. “Shall I clean the chimney? I don’t at all mind stoking your fire.”

  She pursed her lips, determined not to let on how much she secretly enjoyed the silly flirtation. Back in London, men didn’t bother. They assumed they could have her for a word and tuppence, and even when she rebuked them, they never quite comprehended that she was saving her virginity for something important. Her future.

  If she wanted any chance at being respectable one day, at a minimum she needed to keep her maidenhead intact.

  It hadn’t been easy. Not when her mother earned her living as a courtesan. Keeping house on the first floor, pretending she was no different from any other daughter with a mother who rarely left her bedchamber, had never allowed Charlotte to truly ignore reality. Not when every man who came to the door for her mother’s favors offered to buy hers as well.