When You Wish Upon a Rogue

by Bennett, Anna

  He looked much the same as he had the previous Friday evening—agitated, exhausted, and generally at his wits’ end. Unfortunately, his weary state didn’t detract from his attractiveness. The planes of his face were eminently masculine, from his straight nose to his pronounced cheekbones to his square jaw. The moonlight illuminated the light stubble on his chin and the golden streaks in his collar-length hair. His long, sinewy legs sprawled across the cab, and the muscles of his shoulders flexed beneath the stretched fabric of his jacket, making the interior of the coach seem rather intimate and warm.

  “The drive won’t take long,” he said. “And, as you requested, I made certain that all the staff left for the weekend, and there’s nary a maid nor a footman in sight. They’re delighted to have some time off.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, that means we’ll need to fend for ourselves. We won’t have a butler, housekeeper, coachman, or, most importantly, a cook.”

  “I feel certain we’ll survive the night,” she said with a smile.

  The lights of town began to fade, and the landscape outside their windows changed from boxlike buildings and paved streets to lush fields and twisting roads. The farther they traveled from London, the more she relaxed.

  For tonight, she wasn’t Miss Kendall, the unfailingly proper, ever-dutiful daughter of a destitute baron who would soon be betrothed to a marquess.

  She was simply Sophie.

  And for once, the possibilities seemed limitless.

  At last, the hackney cab rumbled up a long, winding path, leading to a striking structure that appeared one part medieval castle, one part soaring cathedral. Gothic windows, a massive arched door, and a pair of pointed turrets probably would have made the manor house look foreboding to most people, but Sophie found it strangely beautiful and unique.

  When the coach rolled to a stop, Reese hopped out and turned to help her disembark before remembering himself and quickly shoving his hands in his pockets. He paid the driver and arranged for him to return at eleven o’clock the next day.

  The driver readily agreed, and as he drove off, Sophie realized that for the next twelve hours she and the earl would be entirely alone—a prospect that both thrilled and frightened her.

  Chapter 9

  Reese led the way up the steps to Warshire Manor—the house he still thought of as Edmund’s. Reese had lived there as a boy but had spent little time there as an adult—until three months ago.

  That’s when he’d received a cold and carefully phrased letter offering condolences and informing him that his older brother Edmund had “succumbed to injuries resulting from a tragic hunting accident.”

  The solicitor’s missive had requested that Reese return home immediately to see to his brother’s funeral arrangements, attend to several important estate matters, and take up his duties as the new Earl of Warshire.

  But Reese hadn’t been able to get past the first, soul-wrenching paragraph. The part that had said Edmund—the brother he’d worshipped—was dead.

  In Reese’s mind, this house would always belong to Edmund.

  He was the one who had exorcised the demons their father had left behind.

  He was the one who should have lived here until a ripe old age, secure in the knowledge that his children and grandchildren would carry on the family name and bloodline.

  But Edmund was gone, and since the continuation of the family line now depended on Reese … well, it didn’t stand a chance.

  He led Sophie up the brick front steps, resisting the urge, once again, to offer her his hand. “Watch your step,” he said, wishing he’d thought to light some lanterns outside before leaving the house.

  He pushed open the door and ushered her inside, pausing in the dimly lit entrance hall. Sophie’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the room’s cavernous ceiling, ornate buttresses, and elaborate stonework. “This is amazing,” she breathed. “Otherworldly.”

  He couldn’t say that he’d ever had such romantic notions about the house, but he liked that Sophie did. She could find the beauty in anything.

  “Come,” he said, picking up a lantern from the gilded side table flanking one side of the entrance. “I had a room prepared for you. I’ll take you there so you can make yourself comfortable.”

  As he led her down the long, marble-tiled hall, she craned her neck to observe the ancient tapestries adorning the walls and the swirling geometric patterns gracing the second-story windows. “You grew up here?” she asked, with more than a little awe.

  “I did,” he said, thinking it best not to mention that he’d left it all behind at the first possible opportunity.

  Halfway down the hall he waved an arm at the grand staircase, and she followed him up the steps to the first landing. “There’s a sitting room and a library on this level,” he said, noting the keen interest that sparked in her blue eyes. “Please, make yourself at home here. Wander anywhere you like.”

  “I’d love to see more,” she said. “In fact, I wish it were daylight now, so I could roam the grounds and explore the garden.”

  “I don’t see why we need to wait for dawn,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s place your portmanteau in your room, and I’ll take you to the garden right away.”

  “Could we do that?” she asked, almost rapturous.

  “We can do anything we like.”

  * * *

  Reese led Sophie to a guest bedchamber that was three times the size of her room at home. Decorated in shades of gold and pale blue, it was fit for a queen. The four-poster bed that held court in the center was far grander than any she’d slept in before; even her bed at Fiona and Gray’s couldn’t compare.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said earnestly.

  “I’m sure I shall,” she replied, a little breathless. “Where are your quarters?”

  “Just down the corridor in my old room,” he said. “I can’t bring myself to move into the master suite.”

  Sophie nodded, filing away the information for future use. “You know,” she said softly, “we don’t have to go to the garden tonight. The whole reason I’m here is to try to help you sleep. If you’re spending half the night escorting me around your estate, you’ll miss out on precious hours of rest.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb, thoughtful. “Earlier today, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t tie my own damned cravat. My head pounded, my fingers wouldn’t work, and all I wanted was a few hours of sleep.”

  “And now?” she probed.

  He dragged a hand across his jaw. “I just want to spend time with you, like a normal person.”

  She chuckled at that. “You are a normal person.”

  For several heartbeats he stared at her, his expression unreadable. At last he said, “Only when I’m with you.”

  A shiver, sensuous and sweet, stole over her skin—and though she was halfway across the room from Reese, she felt as though he’d caressed her. With his words.

  “How about this?” she said slowly. “We’ll spend no more than an hour in the garden, then I’ll brew some tea for you and see if I can coax you to sleep.”

  He nodded. “I’m beginning to think you could coax me to do just about anything,” he said gruffly, making her body tingle again.

  Flustered, she set her portmanteau on a bench and tossed her shawl on the bed. “You know, I think a brisk walk will do wonders for both of us. I’ll follow your lead.”

  They wound their way through a maze of corridors and back staircases, eventually arriving at a pair of heavy wooden arched doors. “This is the entrance to the ballroom,” he said, leaning a shoulder into one of the doors till it creaked on its iron hinges and slowly swung open.

  Sophie ventured into the center of the room, huge, empty and dark, and slowly turned in the center, admiring every detail. The polished parquet floors were covered in intricately shaped shadows from the towering windows along one wall. Moonlight painted the room the color of a pale purple orchid—ethereal an
d exquisite.

  “My brother used to host grand parties here,” Reese said, as if trying to imagine the room filled with guests and music and revelry. “But I prefer it like this—quiet and bare.”

  “I like it this way too,” Sophie admitted.

  “This may surprise you,” he said dryly, “but I’m not very fond of balls.”

  “You mean you’re not fond of dancing?” she asked with mock surprise.

  “As a rule, no.” He walked up to her and held a hand above her head like they were waltzing. She spun a few times, careful not to brush against the planes of his chest or the protective, almost possessive, arc of his arm. But the brief make-believe dance left her feeling dizzier than it should have. She chuckled as she pirouetted away from him and caught her breath, pretending she found his gruff charm only mildly amusing.

  But the truth was that Sophie had loved that moonlit, music-less dance with Reese. Wouldn’t have traded it for a hundred waltzes beneath glittering chandeliers.

  Reese strode to a set of French doors at the rear of the room and pushed them open as though he were her escort into another kingdom. Sweeping an arm toward the terrace and the plants and trees beyond, he said, “Welcome to Warshire Manor’s garden.”

  Sophie stepped out onto the flagstone terrace and was immediately enthralled. “Reese,” she whispered. “It’s unlike anything I’ve seen.” It was just as he’d described—dying, desolate, dark. But it was also so much more.

  From her vantage point near the house, she could see at least three distinct parts of the expansive garden. A foreboding stone pavilion stood in the center, like the hub of a wheel. To the left was a thicket of gnarled black poplars, prickly bushes, and creeping vines. The area to the right was a sea of nothing but pale, ash-gray asphodel flowers, rippling softly in the warm evening breeze. Behind the stone pavilion Sophie could barely make out another section—perhaps the most enticing of them all. It was difficult to discern in the darkness, but she glimpsed an apple orchard and massive stone fountains that mimicked waterfalls.

  The stark contrasts within the garden enchanted her, but its most unusual feature was perhaps the one directly in front of her, lapping at her feet. The entire landscape was surrounded by a moat.

  “Watch your step,” Reese warned as she approached the murky river water, which swirled and eddied as though monsters lurked below the surface. “It’s deeper than it looks.”

  She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. “You say that as if you’ve gone for a swim or two.”

  “Not so much a swim as a thorough dunking,” he said good-naturedly. “Come on. There’s a bridge over here.”

  She followed him to an elaborate footbridge made of dark wood planks embellished with iron and stone. On one side of the bridge stood a sculpture of a life-sized, sinister-looking creature that was half dog, half beast.

  “This is the closest thing Edmund and I had to a pet,” Reese quipped. “Sophie, meet Rex.”

  A chill skittered down her spine as she put it all together: the pavilion, the moat, the strange trees and plants … and the ferocious guard dog made of stone. “That’s not Rex,” she whispered.

  Reese turned to look at her, his expression curious. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s Cerberus,” she said slowly. “Hades’ dog.”

  “But he only has one head,” Reese countered.

  Sophie reached up and ran a hand over the cool stone at the dog’s neck. A couple of areas were not as polished as the others—almost as if the stone there had been chipped away and filed down. “I think he must have had three heads at one time.”

  “Cerberus,” Reese muttered. “That would explain why our pet dog had such ferocious-looking teeth. But why place a statue of Cerberus here? It seems rather random.”

  “Not at all,” Sophie said, more than a little awed. “It all fits perfectly. Unless I’m mistaken, this entire garden is modeled after the Underworld.”

  Chapter 10

  Reese scratched his head, skeptical. “Granted, this might not be your typical English garden, full of obedient rosebushes and tidy hedges, but … the Underworld?”

  Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to capture the light from every star that shone above, and she nodded as if delighted to discover that his garden was some sort of tribute to Hades, God of the Dead. “Isn’t it fantastic?” she whispered, almost reverent.

  “Wonderful,” he said dryly. He gazed warily at the cloudy water lapping at the rocks beneath the footbridge. “Ready to cross the River Styx?”

  She gave Cerberus’s head an affectionate pat and strode to the center of the bridge before stopping abruptly. “I almost forgot. We’re supposed to pay the ferryman.” She inclined her head toward the water meaningfully.

  “Of course we are,” Reese grumbled, but he jammed a hand in his pocket, withdrew a coin, and flipped it into the water, where it landed with a plunk.

  Sophie’s gleeful expression made him want to toss a dozen more coins in the godforsaken moat.

  All his worries that she’d find the house too imposing or dismal had been for naught. Indeed, she seemed to appreciate its oddities and eccentricities.

  As he led her deeper into the garden, he could almost see her shrewd eyes assessing each area, wondering about the choices of flora, noting the spots that required attention. He could almost see her palms itching to prune and weed and tend.

  “I need to brush up on my mythology,” she mused. “I’m certain there are all sorts of clever clues hidden among the plants and sculptures.”

  “There are probably a few mythology books in the library,” he said, making a mental note to look for them on one of the nights when he was prowling the house in search of something constructive to do.

  “Did your father commission the garden?” she asked, running a hand over a balustrade of the stone pavilion.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I can ask the old head gardener, Mr. Charing, next time I see him.”

  “I’d love to know who designed it.”

  Sophie was curious about everything, asking scores of questions about the grounds and the house. Unfortunately, Reese had few answers.

  His brother, Edmund, was the one who had been groomed to take over the estate. The one who knew everything about their family’s history and heritage. The one who’d been unfailingly honorable, noble, and true.

  An unexpected wave of grief crashed into Reese, nearly taking him out at the knees.

  As if she’d sensed the sudden change in his mood, Sophie turned to him, concern marring her forehead. “This has been lovely, but perhaps we should return to the house and brew some tea.”

  Heart pounding, Reese glanced up at the monstrous manor house and wondered why he’d never noticed that it resembled a tomb. A dark, desolate crypt that could swallow him whole. He shuddered, feeling as though a thousand maggots writhed across his skin. And though a sliver of his mind knew that none of that was real, he also knew he couldn’t go inside.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he choked out, yanking at his cravat. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay outside for a while.”

  “Why?” She reached toward his arm, then quickly drew her hand back, as though realizing he was covered in thorns.

  Sweat broke out on his brow. “Sometimes, especially when I haven’t slept in several days, it feels as if the walls of the house will collapse on me. I know it doesn’t make any sense.” Not to a sane, good-hearted person.

  “Actually, it makes perfect sense to me,” she said softly.

  “It does?”

  She nodded serenely. “Being close to nature always calms me.”

  “I’ve never seen you be anything but calm,” Reese said, winding his way through the garden and leading her toward the house.

  Her face clouded. “You know what they say about appearances.”

  An image came to his mind, unbidden: Sophie dancing with her beau in Lady Rufflebum’s ballroom. She and Lord Singleton had looked perfectly matched. Perfectl
y happy. Perfectly in love.

  But what if they weren’t?

  Reese mentally slapped himself. He had no business questioning Sophie’s relationship. Jesus, he was pathetic for wishing for even one second that she might be miserable with Singleton.

  “I have an idea,” she said, drawing him back to the present. They’d already arrived at the footbridge, just yards away from the terrace. “I’m going to go inside and grab a few things. Will you wait for me just outside the ballroom? I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Certainly.” He would have waited there all night if she’d asked him to. “Can you find your way around the house?”

  She nodded confidently, took the lantern he’d set by the door, and gave him a reassuring smile before disappearing into the ballroom.

  But watching the darkness devour her made his palms sweat and his hands shake. He needed something to distract himself while she was gone. Something to occupy his mind and keep the demons at bay.

  He closed his eyes and pictured Sophie strolling through the garden like a goddess, spreading light and goodness everywhere she went. Twisted, tangled branches bowed before her. Pale, feathery flowers gathered at her feet.

  And then he knew exactly what to do.

  He had time before Sophie returned.

  He just had to make a quick journey across the River Styx.

  * * *

  Sophie found her way back to her bedchamber, opened a chest at the foot of the four-poster, and pulled out two thick quilts. She traipsed down the stairs, glided through the ballroom, and rushed out onto the terrace, slightly breathless.

  But Reese wasn’t in the spot where she’d left him.

  Her belly twisted and her heart lurched. She shouldn’t have left him alone, not when he was so clearly exhausted and distressed. She dropped the quilts, cupped her hands around her mouth, and was about to call out his name when she spotted him, a few yards away.