A Rake's Redemption

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Devlin pulled the latch and stepped inside. He could feel Warwick follow him into the room, but ignored him. His entire attention focused on what he would find in the house.

  A darkened room greeted him. Sparse furniture. An empty fireplace along the far wall.

  There in the corner, Mr. Peterson stood with his back against the wall. A pistol pointed directly at Devlin’s heart.

  He’d been a fool, he should have entered with the pistol ready to shoot. Now the other man had the advantage. His heart pounded as he stared into the black hole at the end of the gun.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” the agent said.

  Devlin noticed a bulge under the man’s jacket at the left shoulder and a dark spot. Tomas had hit him, thank God, Devlin thought. At least someone had done something right this day.

  His mind raced as he chastised himself for being such a fool.

  A whiff of lavender and rose reached him. Miss Jones had arrived. Damn it. Couldn’t the women listen just once in her life?

  Shifting, he made sure to place himself between the pistol and Rebecca.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You don’t get to know,” the man said with a sneer. “Now, if you will move aside, I will be on my way.”

  What? just like that, the man thought he could get away. Had the man even seen the pistol at his side? The room was rather dark. Maybe he had missed it. Devlin subtly moved his arm to hide the weapon behind his leg. Not a lot. Just enough, though.

  Warwick smiled and said, “You can’t kill both of us.”

  Devlin examined his agent. The pistol was rather small. The kind easily hidden in a man’s pocket. It wouldn’t have a lot of firepower, Devlin never would have used such a weapon on the dueling grounds. But here, in this small room. It would be more than sufficient.

  Suddenly, he knew, the man had another pistol. He couldn’t have hit Tomas from that distance with the small weapon in his hand.

  “I don’t need to kill you both,” Peterson said. “Are you really willing to die today? I must tell you, I am. I either escape, or it is the hangman’s noose for me. That tends to focus a man’s desires. Now move.”

  The man waved the gun for them to step aside.

  Devlin felt at a loss. If he moved, the man would escape. If he didn’t, Miss Jones might be hurt. His fingers twitched, maybe he could raise the weapon and strike before the man could return fire.

  No, he thought, although the man had hit Tomas from a good distance. He could not risk it. Miss Jones was too close.

  He sighed and prepared to step aside when Miss Jones said, “Embezzlement. That is why, isn’t it?”

  Devlin stared at her in shock. ‘Be quiet’ he wanted to yell at her. Do not make yourself a target.

  “It is obvious,” she continued, “you thought the previous Duke was on to you and killed him. You hired men to try and kill the new Duke. If there was no heir, the title would revert to the Crown. They would never discover your activities. To them, it would just be another estate to manage, they’d probably never even go over the books.”

  Mr. Peterson cocked an eyebrow in admiration. “Very good, Miss Jones. In fact, so good that you have just won the privilege of accompanying me. I think I can rely on His Grace being very careful if you are with me.”

  Devlin noticed Warwick taking a step to the left. Not much, but just a little more distance between them.

  “But, I went over the books,” Devlin said with a frown. “Everything was as it should be.” He needed to keep the man engaged. If he got away, and took Miss Jones with him. The thought sent a cold chill down his spine. No, it would not be allowed to happen.

  “You might have thought different once you started a tour of the outlying estates,” Peterson said with a laugh. “It seems you don’t have as many new bridges and barns as the books allude to. It is amazing how much a man can pocket when nothing is built.”

  Devlin felt a slow sense of shame wash over him. He should have inspected his holdings. Why hadn’t he been more diligent?

  “Why not simply take the journals,” Warwick asked. “Why the fire.”

  Peterson laughed, but only shook his head.

  “You, My Lord,” Rebecca said. “If he took the journals it would only confirm your suspicions.”

  When would the woman learn to be quiet? She shouldn’t even be here, let alone drawing attention to herself. Devlin gritted his teeth and shifted slightly. Maybe if both he and Warwick rushed the man. One of them would surely get him.

  He shifted again, reaching out and pulling Rebecca behind him.

  “That is far enough, Your Grace,” Peterson said. “It is time that I and Miss Jones were leaving.”

  Devlin saw the certainty in the man’s eyes. He was taking Rebecca, they seemed to say, and there was nothing the Duke could do to stop him.

  A shuffling noise outside the door drew Devlin’s attention. Who else was refusing to follow instructions?

  “Your Grace,” he heard Scruggs yell. “Is everything all right.”

  Peterson’s eyes grew, the pistol jumped to cover the door. It was all that Devlin needed. Shoving Rebecca behind him with his left arm, he raised his right and fired.

  The pistol ball hit Peterson square in the chest, pushing him back into the wall.

  The man looked down at the gaping hole in his chest, then back up at the Duke. He obviously was fighting to understand what had happened. His eyes cleared for a moment, then he began to bring his weapon to bare.

  Devlin held his breath, fighting to keep Rebecca behind him. He had used his one shot. It should have killed him instantly.

  The black hole at the end of the barrel slowly rose. Devlin swallowed, and waited, but then, at the last moment, Peterson’s eyes rolled back into his head as he slumped to the floor.

  Dead, there was no doubt. Dead, Devlin thought with relief.

  He could feel Rebecca behind him. She was uninjured. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him.

  The one thing in this world that could not happen was the loss of Rebecca. His new world could not exist without her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rebecca put down the quill and stared at the paper on her desk. This was it then. There was no going back.

  For five days she had held her breath, waiting for the news of her and Devlin to reach Pine Crest from London. Every moment, she had dreaded seeing the shame in the girls’ faces when they heard what she had done.

  No, she could not live her life like this.

  Devlin had been the perfect gentleman of course. He had made no further advances. He had treated her professionally, always courteous, but never close.

  Never touching her. Oh, how she had wished that once, just once, he had taken her in his arms and made her forget.

  Sighing, she folded the paper and started downstairs. There was no need to seal it. She would be handing it to him personally. It was the least she could do.

  It was time. The girls were safe. Lord Warwick had returned to London to make his reports to the Crown. The Magistrate had ruled the shooting as fully justified.

  Life was returning to normal here at Pine Crest.

  Her heart broke, but she forced herself forward. This was the only solution.

  He would be in his new study she knew. He seemed to spend a lot of time there. He had even had Mrs. Fuzzy and her kittens returned to the room.

  “Come in,” he said in reply to her knock.

  Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she entered.

  He smiled when he saw who it was. Oh that smile, she thought. It would be the last thing she remembered on her deathbed.

  She slowly made her way to his desk, and then held out the paper for him.

  “What is this?” he said with a frown.

  Rebecca didn’t answer, but waited patiently for him to read the document.

  His brow began to narrow as he read. At last turning into an angry scowl.

  “Your notice!” he exclaimed. “You ar
e leaving us? Leaving the girls?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. That was why she had put everything into the letter.

  “Why?” he demanded. His voice rising.

  “You know why, Your Grace. I can’t stay. Not after what happened in London.”

  “To hell with London,” he yelled. She stepped back, surprised at his reaction. Surely he knew this was going to be her only solution.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said as she turned to leave.

  “Please stop, Miss Jones. Can’t we talk about this?”

  “No, Your Grace, there is nothing more to say.”

  He held up his hand, demanding she halt while he reread the letter again.

  “This says you are leaving in two weeks, correct?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. That will give you time to have the agencies send someone else to take over my duties.”

  He shook his head. His eyes narrowed and intensified. “We can manage a few weeks Miss Jones. If you are so set on leaving my employ. It might as well be now.”

  Her heart sunk. Now? But she hadn’t talked to the girls, hadn’t prepared them. She hadn’t prepared her own heart. Now? The thought terrified her. She would never see him again.

  “In fact,” he continued as he opened a small box on the side of his desk. “Here is ten pounds. It should more than cover the wages owed and the next week.”

  She stared at the money in his hand. Was he really throwing her out? Did she mean so little to him? She wasn’t ready. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

  “After all,” he said, “if you are worried about nasty rumors. Best that this happen quickly.”

  She swallowed, and slowly nodded her head. Yes, he was right. It was best that she make a clean break.

  Stepping forward she gently accepted the ten pounds, being careful not to touch him. The last thing she wanted was to feel that familiar tingle. Yet, it was also one of the things she wanted most in this world.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, unable to look up into his eyes. “I will see the girls one last time, if I might.” Her heart was ripped into pieces, and she could feel a tear burning at the corner of her eye.

  No, she would not cry, not in front of him.

  The Duke cocked his head to one side and studied her for a moment.

  “So, Miss Jones, you are no longer an employee of mine. Is that correct?”

  She frowned, confused for a moment. “Yes, Your Grace, that is correct.”

  “Good,” he said. “That eliminates one of the problems I have been wrestling with.”

  Her heart fell to her stomach. Did he despise her that much? The tear in her eye was long gone to be quickly replaced by an anger building inside of her.

  “I am sorry Your Grace was unhappy with my services,” she said through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t careful, she was going to tell him what she really thought of him.

  He smiled down at her and stepped forward, taking her hands in his.

  That tingle, it was back. Even now, when she was furious at him. That tingle was still there.

  “Oh, Miss Jones, I have never been disappointed in you. It is just that a man cannot ask an employee to marry him. It just isn’t done. I have been fighting with the issue for this past week. Trying to find some way around it.”

  Her heart stopped beating. What had he said? Marry? No, she must have heard wrong.

  “Now that you are no longer in my employment, that problem has been solved. The other issues remain of course.”

  Rebecca shook her head trying to clear it of confused thoughts. “What issues?” she heard herself asking. No, she thought, she should have asked him to repeat what he had said.

  He chuckled. “How to ask you really. I mean, what woman would want to be married to me? She’d have to take on the duties of a Duchess. Would have to help raise my three wards. Become the Mistress of Pine Crest. Most of all, she would have to share my bed every night.”

  Rebecca felt her knees grow weak. He was serious. But how? Why? A dozen doubts crashed over her. Was this because of her reputations? She wasn’t a Lady, he needn’t worry about her.

  She looked up into his eyes. Trying to judge what was behind all of this.

  “Your Grace,” she began.

  “Devlin,” he responded. “I like it so much better when you call me Devlin. A man doesn’t want the woman he loves calling him by his Title. It just doesn’t feel right.”

  Her lungs joined her heart in stopping to functions. Had he said love?

  “But. But, I don’t understand,” she managed to say.

  “It is really rather simple. Rebecca Jones, I am in love with you. I have been for quite some time. I know that I am asking a lot of you. But will you marry me?”

  “But, you don’t believe in marriage, remember. The whole monogamy issue. I …”

  He smiled down at her, “Remember, I said that there might be a woman who could change my mind? It appears that you have done so.” That silly smirk of his sealed it. She would love this man and only this man for the rest of her life. What is more, he loved her.

  Air rushed back into her lungs, making the world spin. He was serious. He really did love her. This London Rake loved her. The world tilted for a moment as she looked up into his soft silver eyes.

  “Yes, Devlin,” she said. “I will marry you.” How could she ever do otherwise? “On one condition,” she added. “That we spend our wedding night in our farmhouse.”

  He smiled, then pulled her into his arms.

  “Of course my dear,” he said. “But, do not think you are making me wait until my wedding night.”

  “I never said we would,” she replied as she felt her dress fall to the floor.

  Epilogue

  Rebecca pulled the thread tight and looked up. The boys, three-year-old Benjamin and two-year-old Anthony were playing together on the floor.

  Her heart leaped every time she saw them. The future heir to the title and his brother. But to her, they were simply the loves of her life.

  As she watched, Tony broke away and waddled over to Elizabeth, holding his hands up so that she would take him onto her lap.

  The boys had learned early in life. Go to Aunt Johanna if you wanted a story, go to Aunt Isobel if you wanted an adventure. And go to Aunt Elizabeth if you wanted to cuddle.

  Tony was obviously tired and getting ready for his nap. She knew that he would fall asleep in Elizabeth’s arms. Benjamin would eventually crawl up next to his mother and lay his head on her lap. She loved these moments.

  The parlor door opened, and her husband entered. He had changed in subtle ways, she thought. Not in looks. He was still devilishly handsome, but in his priorities. Only the other day he had complained about having to go to London. Wondering why they couldn’t just stay here at Pine Crest.

  Their eyes locked across the room. That fluttery feeling jumped to her stomach as it always did when he was near.

  He smiled back at her. That secret smile that he only shared with her. He was letting her know that he was remembering their morning together in bed and thinking about the night to come.

  The man was insufferable, and she loved it.

  She watched as he knelt down to play with Benjamin. Teaching him how to arrange his toy soldiers. Her heart would surely burst with the love she felt for this man.

  Rebecca, Lady Hampton, smiled to herself. She thoroughly, and completely loved these moments. Enjoy them while they last, she told herself.

  She glanced over at the window seat, Johanna would be coming out next year. Elizabeth soon after. Both girls had begun to outgrow that awkward coltish stage and were quickly becoming beautiful young women. How long before they left and had families of their own?

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to put the thought aside. Enjoy it now, she thought. It was so much more than she ever thought she would have.

  All she could pray for was that they find the happiness that she had found.

&nbs
p; The End

  Charming a Rake

  Chapter One

  Stepping down from his coach, Mr. Nathanial Caldwell looked up at the solid yellow building and smiled. It still surprised him that they let him into the place. It was amazing what money and the right connections could do for a man, Nathanial thought. Without them, he was without value. With them, he controlled his world.

  Turning to his coachman, he said, “That’s it for the night, Jack.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the coachman said with a finger to the brim of his hat.

  Taking a deep breath and smiling to himself, Nathanial climbed the steps to the imposing oak door.

  “Are they here yet? Jensen,” he asked the footman as he removed his hat and gloves.

  “Yes, Sir, at the back table, like you asked.”

  “Good,” Nathanial answered as he slipped off his cloak and added it to the footman’s burden.

  Brook’s, a typical British gentleman’s club. Not as stuffy as White’s, but they still only allowed the titled, or rich. Preferably both. The members took the word exclusive to heart in places like this.

  The sharp smell of whiskey and pipe tobacco greeted him as he walked into the main room. The tables were full, typical for this time of night. Filled with men dressed in the latest fashion. Cards were spread in games of hazard and whist. An Englishman’s delight, he thought. Bring in some harlots and the place would remind him of Madam De Paul’s a few miles away. The same men, the same cards, but without the touch of snobbery.

  Several men turned to look at him as he made his way into the room. But that was normal. It happened whether it was a Duke’s Ballroom or a dock end tavern. A man his size just drew attention.

  He knew what these men saw when they looked at him. Nathanial Caldwell, a tall man, well over six feet. Impeccably dressed, broad at the shoulders, narrow at the hip. Black hair, and dark eyes. A nasty scar above his left eye, and a crooked finger that had never set right after that brawl in Cairo.

  Their silent sneers told their tale of what they truly thought of him. A commoner. Worse, a merchant’s son. That was all they saw. A member only because of his wealth. He knew very well, without his money, these men would never lower themselves to associate with him.