The Last Wicked Rogue

by Lauren Smith

  He kissed his way across the bare expanse of her delectable collarbone and down to the mounds of her breasts. His hands dug into her hips, uncaring if he wrinkled her gown. She rocked against him, straddling his body, her legs moving to either side of him. He made no effort to push things too far. Not for propriety’s sake. Propriety could hang. He simply wanted to have her, the object of his desire, the first woman he’d ever courted, to kiss him as madly and passionately as she wished with no worry as to whether to expect anything more.

  Lily ran her tongue over his lower lip when his mouth returned to hers, and he growled softly, nipping at her bottom lip. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pressing closer, a whimper escaping as she parted her lips wider, letting his tongue thrust as deep as he dared. He wanted her to feel him, to feel how it would be someday soon when he took her to bed and claimed her.

  Finally their mouths parted, and he tried to catch his breath. His heart raced wildly, and he wasn’t sure he would ever calm down. He was trembling. She laughed breathlessly as she placed slow, teasing kisses on his chin, his throat, his ear. The woman was a goddess, one he wished to worship for the rest of his life.

  “Was that all right?” he asked as he tried to pull his thoughts together. The woman had unraveled him completely.

  She pressed her forehead to his, breathing just as hard. “You know it was more than all right. It was wonderful.”

  The knot in his chest loosened, and a warmth spread through his body as her fingertips smoothed over his face, tracing his jaw and lips before sliding down to his neck and shoulders. He moved his hands along her lower back, exploring the gentle curve of it before he cupped her bottom, his breathing still heavy. He felt in that moment that this woman owned him, just as he owned her, and that sweet, gentle possessiveness made him bold enough to speak again.

  “May I take you out tonight?”

  She moved her head to rest on his shoulder, her lips teasing his ear. “What would we do?”

  His hands tightened on her. “Anything you like.”

  “An opera?”

  “Yes, an opera,” he agreed. “And perhaps, until then, we could spend the entire day in this room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Her laughter made his head spin with delightful dizziness. “I think Emily and Godric might object.”

  “If they cannot get inside, we will not hear their objections.”

  Lily chuckled and nuzzled his cheek as she relaxed into him.

  The tension that had seemed coiled so tight in this beautiful woman began to ease. All Charles wanted was to hold her, to let her know she was no longer alone, that he was there for as long as she wanted him.

  “I don’t wish to forget anything about this moment,” he said, and pressed another kiss to her lips.

  “My lord, that is your lust speaking.” The tone of her voice hurt him, though it was a fair thing to say given his history. How could he explain what he felt to her? That this was different from anything he’d ever experienced?

  “Lily, I’ll be the first to admit that I know nothing of love, but what I feel now is not simple lust.” He cupped her face in his hands, making sure he had her full attention. “I have a history with women, as I assume you must know given your time spent with Emily.”

  “I do. But the past is the past.” She laid her head on his shoulder and let out a soft sigh.

  “If it doesn’t matter, then why do you not trust me when I say I have feelings for you?”

  She didn’t immediately reply. Her slender fingers danced along the buttons of his waistcoat, tracing the ivory-colored pieces.

  “It’s not that I do not trust you. I do not trust the happiness I feel in your arms. It cannot last.” She suddenly straightened and pulled off his lap. He tried to reach for her, but she waved for him to stay back.

  “I’ve been here alone too long. I must go before the servants begin to gossip and ruin Emily and Godric’s good names.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “But…I would still like to go to the opera with you tonight.”

  “Even though you don’t trust the happiness you feel with me?” He couldn’t help but challenge her with her own words.

  Her eyes burned into his. “I don’t trust it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” She pulled the chair away from the door and vanished into the corridor.

  The room felt empty, as though she’d never been there. Vanished again. The bouquet of flowers she’d left behind was the only proof of her existence, and the gardenias seemed to mock him in his renewed state of loneliness.

  Charles sat alone on the couch. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed, as though the weight of the world had been laid upon his shoulders. There was no point in staying here if he couldn’t be with Lily until tonight.

  Simpkins was waiting for him in the hall, holding his hat and coat. Charles accepted them silently and was halfway out the door when the butler spoke.

  “Love that requires patience, understanding, and forgiveness is a love that will last long after lust is gone.”

  Charles stared at the butler for a long moment, and then he answered Simpkins with a nod. “Thank you.”

  Simpkins stared at Charles down his nose. “The beverages are still off-limits to you, my lord, but good luck.”

  Charles smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “And to you. I fear I scuffed up the floorboards moving some furniture around.”

  He could feel Simpkins’s hard stare as he left. If looks could kill, Hugo’s revenge would have been cut short by one furious butler.

  17

  Ashton Lennox sat in a chair at Berkley’s club, an abandoned glass of brandy hanging precariously from his hand. His thoughts were miles away. He’d done his best to seek out the man he knew as Kilkenny, who Ashton was convinced was one of Hugo’s spies, but the man hadn’t shown.

  Ashton had stalked the man like a master hunter would a prize buck for the last month, biding his time and convincing him to at least talk. But it had all led to nothing. Then word arrived of a carriage accident just a block away from the ball that night, and he had quickly deduced what had happened. He’d been played again, chasing phantoms in the dark, just as Hugo no doubt wished him to.

  “There is something I’m not seeing. Some piece of a puzzle, a move upon the chessboard that I missed.”

  He had agents of his own following Hugo and his agents. Spies spying on spies. He had learned much about Hugo and the way he schemed, but there were things that did not add up. He finally understood Hugo’s hatred for Charles, but there was more to it than that, he sensed it. Something that had nothing to do with Hugo or Charles directly…

  He closed his eyes, remembering his own part in the events of that night.

  He and Lucien had been returning from a night at a local pub, the Pickerel, when they had seen two people struggling at the edge of the river alongside Magdalene College. He and Lucien sprinted across the lawn, shouting once they realized that one man was trying to drown the other.

  Then he’d seen Peter Maltby fly out of nowhere and dive into the river. Ashton and Lucien shouted more as the three splashed in the water, but they couldn’t understand what they were seeing. Then a young man’s gargling scream cut through the night, and Hugo crawled out of the river, gasping and smiling coldly. There was no sign of Peter or the third man. Ashton’s blood had roared in his ears as he feared what had happened to Peter. His friend wasn’t surfacing. Why wasn’t he coming back up?

  “What did you do?” Ashton had demanded of Hugo, but the question had gone unanswered. By then it had been too late.

  Godric and Cedric, two young lords he’d known in passing over the last few months, were wading into the river from the opposite side.

  “Two men are in the water!” Lucien called out. “Peter and a second fellow.”

  “It’s young Lonsdale,” Godric said as he dove into the water.

  Ashton and Lucien quickly dove into the watery depths as well. Hugo would have to wait.r />
  Ashton swam deep, finding Lonsdale in the murky depths with ropes and a heavy weight secured to his feet. Peter had a knife and was cutting the ropes. When he finished Charles scrambled for the surface but it was too far off. Peter struggled for breath. Ashton saw Peter’s body seize as he inhaled water and went still, his body carried away in the dark water, too far out of reach.

  Ashton had been a swimmer all his life and was capable of holding his breath. He helped Charles to the surface, but by the time they broke the surface Ashton was exhausted and unable to hold on. Godric and Cedric finally reached them and took Charles to the opposite shore. He threw up a mouthful of water and lay gasping next to them.

  Ashton looked back across the river. In the moonlight Hugo stared at them, furious and hateful, cursing them all. Peter was gone. He’d died trying to save young Lonsdale. A heavy cloak of despair settled over Ashton and the others as they all caught their breath.

  All of them, even Hugo, had been changed that night. And yet, that could not be the whole story. Charles’s father had killed Hugo’s in a duel. Hugo had never sought Charles out after that. It was a chance encounter that led to his attempt at murder. But why wait so long to come after them after that? Years had passed since that day. Had he simply been biding his time?

  No. There was something more to all this. Something that had occurred before Hugo’s renewed attempts at revenge. There had to be.

  Ashton set his brandy on the table untouched as he rose from his chair. There was one person who might have answers, but would she even agree to see him?

  He exited Berkley’s and hired a coach to take him to a quiet, respectable little street in Mayfair. He’d known for years who lived in this house, but until now he’d refrained from visiting. There were lines he still did not wish to cross, but the closer Hugo got to them all, the more desperate he became.

  He glanced around as he walked up the steps of the townhouse. The fine hairs on his neck rose. The street was busy with people and coaches and a few brave souls still riding horses despite the winter chill. If he was being watched, it would be impossible to tell. Ashton rapped his knuckles on the door and waited. After a minute the butler allowed him in, and he removed his hat.

  “Ashton Lennox to see Mrs. Waverly.”

  The butler nodded and entered a room off the entryway. He returned a few minutes later.

  “This way, my lord.”

  Ashton was shown into a drawing room. A dark-haired woman in her fifties sat at a desk, writing a letter. She looked up as Ashton entered, and he was struck by Jane Waverly’s beauty.

  She deposited her quill pen and stood. “Lord Lennox, how may I help you?”

  “I’m afraid I need to speak with you on a delicate matter.” He never thought he would be in a drawing room with the mother of their tormenter.

  Jane’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure I understand…”

  “It’s about Hugo.”

  At this she stiffened. “I have not spoken to my son in many years.”

  That, Ashton hadn’t expected. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” She walked toward one of the drawing room windows and gazed out into the frozen world of her garden. “After his father died, I went into mourning and he returned to school. I wrote to him weekly, but he never responded and never returned home. I eventually left my old home and moved here.”

  “I see.” Ashton cleared his throat. “I assume you know of Lord Lonsdale. Charles, I mean.”

  Jane nodded. “I do. I assume you know that I knew his father, Guy.”

  “Yes. That is part of the matter I wish to speak with you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “Were you aware that Hugo tried to murder Charles when they were at university?”

  The color drained from her face. “Murder?”

  “Thankfully, he was unsuccessful. We had not heard from Hugo for ages, assumed he moved overseas. But this past year he began making moves against Charles and anyone associated with him. I would spare you the details, but the matter has become gravely serious.”

  Even without the details, this news visibly shook Jane to her core. “Oh, my poor dear Hugo. What have you done?”

  “Charles told me about the duel between the fathers, but these renewed attacks, after so long, tell me he has new reasons to seek Charles out and punish him. I can’t help but wonder if there was more to the story.”

  Jane nodded at the chairs in the room. “Perhaps you’d better sit.”

  Ashton took a seat upon the gold-and-cream brocade chair. Jane ran her hands over her skirts, nervous as to how to begin.

  “I know why my son’s hatred has grown so strongly against Charles.” She paused, and Ashton had to prompt her with a nod before she would continue. “I grew up in the country, not far from the Lonsdale estate. I knew Guy Humphrey well, and over time an affection grew between us. But my parents did not approve of the match. It did not help that he was only the second son of the earl. They married me off instead to Baltus Waverly, who had just been knighted and was a favorite of the Crown. That was considered more valuable than anything Guy could offer. Guy married Charles’s mother, Violet. She was and still is a dear friend of mine.”

  “I am following, madam.”

  “However, I…” Jane cleared her throat. “I came to my marriage in the family way.”

  The room seemed suddenly devoid of air. Neither of them spoke as Ashton came to grips with this news.

  “You mean to say that Hugo and Charles are…”

  “Brothers,” Jane said quietly. “Half brothers.”

  “Charles doesn’t know?” Ashton’s question was more of a statement.

  “No. After the duel, Guy told me Charles should never be told the truth, that the bitterness and resentment between Charles and my son would only drive the wedge between them deeper.”

  Ashton felt as though he’d been struck in the chest. It was damnably hard to breathe. He added this to what he knew of Hugo, and how this knowledge would affect him. So much made sense now. Except, how did Hugo find out?

  “When did Hugo find out?”

  Jane paused and swallowed hard as she met Ashton’s gaze.

  “Would you tell me what happened? How he discovered this?”

  Jane nodded. “It was a little over three years ago…”

  London, September 1819

  Jane stood anxiously in the parlor, watching the clock on the mantel. A footman had brought tea in, and she kept wanting to pour herself a cup to calm her nerves. It had been so long since she’d seen her son. At last, her letters to him had finally received an answer. He was coming here to speak with her, to reconcile after his father’s death all those years ago.

  The door to the parlor opened, and her butler escorted her son inside. Her heart leapt at the sight. He’d grown tall and handsome, like his father. But unlike Guy, he had her dark eyes and dark hair, which had pleased her husband Baltus since he’d been dark as well. Still, it hadn’t erased the pain in her marriage, knowing that she’d come into her union with Baltus while carrying the child of first love.

  “Hugo,” Jane breathed, her lips trembling as she held out her hands. He approached her a little stiffly, but he took her hands in his as they sat down on the settee beside each other.

  “Tea?” she offered hopefully.

  “No, thank you. I…” Hugo cleared his throat.

  “Oh…” She sniffed, fighting back the sting of tears. But Hugo squeezed her hands gently.

  “I’m glad to be here, Mother. It’s been too long, and I’ve little excuse for staying away.” He sighed, meeting her gaze and allowing himself a smile. “Melanie and I are hoping to provide you with a grandson soon.”

  “A grandson?” Jane smiled widely. “What wonderful news.”

  “Mother…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to treat you so poorly after Father died. I held you accountable, and that was not right. Now that I’m looking toward fatherhood myself, I find I regret my behavior. I’ve been angry for so long, after
losing Father, and…I’ve done things I regret and I want to make amends.”

  Jane shook her head, simply relieved to see and touch her son again after such an absence. But guilt dug deep within her. She had to tell him the truth she’d kept from him for so long.

  “Please, tell me that you’ll start by forgiving Guy Humphrey’s son.” He had to. If he didn’t, Jane wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  Hugo stiffened. “Forgive Lonsdale? Mother, you know that I—”

  “You have to,” she said firmly, and her son’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Why?”

  She paused, fortifying herself for what must be said. “Because he shares your blood.”

  For a long moment, Hugo stared at her. His dark eyes, so like hers, seemed to puzzle over her words.

  “Shares my blood?” There was an edge of warning in his tone, one she should have listened to. But it was too late; she had to confess the rest of the secret.

  “Long before I ever met your father, I loved Guy Humphrey. He was the man I wished to marry but was forbidden to. When I married your father, I was already with child. You. You were my last gift from Guy before we parted ways as lovers and had to marry other people. But Baltus loved you like you were his own, especially when he found out he could not father a child of his own. He loved you”

  Hugo jerked his hands free of hers as though she’d burned him.

  “No.” He uttered the word in part desperation, part disbelief.

  “Yes. You and Charles Humphrey are half brothers. Don’t you see? You must bury the past and forgive him. He’s your blood.”