When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Bathsheba was still sitting there, deeply uncertain, when the front door opened again, and there came the sound of Danny’s familiar tread in the hall. A moment later he was in the doorway. “Bathsheba! Could I have a word?”

  “Of course,” she said as he came in and took Liam’s seat. “Are you well? I didn’t expect you so early.”

  He nodded. “Perfectly well. I’ve got something to tell you, which I hope will come as happy news.”

  “Oh.” She tensed. Danny looked braced for a bad reaction, which put her on guard. What had he done?

  “This job in Greenwich has been very profitable,” he said. “I told you Mrs. Brown engaged me to repair her late husband’s library. It happened to include a number of—er—erotic books, of which I’m sure the lady was ignorant at the start.” He went pink. “Catherine—Mrs. Brown, I mean—and I spent a great deal of time together, sorting out which books ought to be restored and which ought to be sold or disposed of.” He cleared his throat, looking young and awkward for a moment, and in a flash Bathsheba knew what her brother was going to say. “She’s wonderful, Bathsheba. Everything I ever admired in a woman, and she doesn’t even mind my lost arm.”

  “Danny,” she said blankly.

  “I will never abandon you,” he added forcefully. “I’m going to complete the job as planned, and she’s going to pay as planned. But the money is for you. Catherine and I . . . We’ve discussed marriage. I can never repay you for how you cared for me after the war, but now you won’t be stuck keeping house for me—”

  “You rogue!” She jumped up and ran to throw her arms around him. “You’re in love! Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  He grinned bashfully. “Because I wanted to have the money first, and I refuse to take it from Catherine before the work is done. You would be welcome to live with us, of course, but”—he gave her a knowing look—“I suspect you might not wish to. With this sum, you should be able to keep this house and Mary. Catherine’s manor house is in a quiet part of Greenwich, and it might be too remote for your taste.”

  She thought of Liam’s secluded house and how lovely and private it was there. If she were newly married, a spinster sister-in-law was the last person she would want to share that house with. “Of course you want your own home, with your bride. When shall I meet her?”

  “Soon,” said her brother, his face brightening with relief and pride. “I’ve been trying to work out how to tell you for some time. Catherine—She advised me weeks ago that I ought to tell you.”

  Just as Liam had advised her to tell Danny, and have a life of her own. And now—oh goodness—she didn’t need to decide about Lady X. She could tell Danny or not, and either way she would be independent.

  She forced her mind away from that and back to her brother’s happiness. She asked him about his betrothed bride, and to her amusement, Danny spoke at great and rhapsodic length about Catherine Brown. In his telling, she was beautiful, sensible, and utterly charming. Her late husband, a man twenty years her senior, had left her a comfortable income and a small manor near Greenwich. Danny, who had once been a bit of a hell-raiser, was looking forward to life as a country gentleman.

  When Danny had finished extolling his beloved’s virtues, he gave Bathsheba a somewhat abashed look. “I could have mentioned her sooner, I suppose.”

  “You suppose rightly,” she replied. “But I can see you’re in love, so I must forgive you. No man is sensible when he’s in love.”

  He ducked his head, grinning like a fool. “I should have known you’d take it well.”

  Bathsheba blinked in surprise. “You thought I wouldn’t? Why?”

  A flush covered her brother’s face. He opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. “Well—er—I meant to say . . .”

  Suddenly she felt very conscious of the reticule on the chair beside her, the one she’d left at her lover’s house after their last rendezvous. Danny hadn’t told her because he worried that she would feel alone and unwanted, when all this time she’d been keeping her romantic activities from him, just as he had done with his. “Never mind,” she said in a rush. “I understand.”

  “Perhaps you should come live with us,” Danny replied, his face still pink. “I hate to think of you alone—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She steadfastly refused to look at the reticule. It seemed to be taunting her over her declaration to Liam that everything between them was over. If only she’d waited another day. If only Danny had told her this sooner. “Think of your Catherine, who will likely not want to share her home with her new husband’s spinster sister.”

  He looked torn, but let it go. “I feel responsible for you, Bathsheba.”

  She forced an uncomfortable smile. “You shouldn’t.”

  “I do. Our father would expect no less of me. If ever you are lonely or in need—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she cut in forcefully, trying to fend off the image of sitting alone in this house, writing stories about love and passion, but never finding them. If she listened to the men around her, she’d end up sunk in pity over her sad state, and Bathsheba had a mortal disdain for self-pity. “Perfectly fine. Invite me to dine with you from time to time, provide a nephew or a niece for me to dote upon, and I shall be content.”

  His face eased. “Of course. Nothing daunts you! You’ve got more backbone than most men of my acquaintance, Bathsheba.”

  “As a woman,” she said dryly, “I expect that’s fairly typical.”

  He laughed. “No doubt.” He rose. “I’m glad to have told you at last. It’s been weighing on me for a while now.”

  “Then why didn’t you say something sooner?” She shook her head. “What puzzling creatures men are.”

  He merely laughed again and went up the stairs. Bathsheba remained where she was, feeling at once happy and a little maudlin. Danny, married! She would have a new sister. Bathsheba said a heartfelt prayer that she and Catherine Brown took a liking to each other.

  And now she wouldn’t have to hide anything—not her writing, not her evening activities. She could even bring a lover here if she wished. Her gaze fell on the sofa where Liam had sat just half an hour previously, and her hand settled on the reticule he had returned. She hadn’t even missed it, which was unusual for her. Bathsheba liked everything in its proper place.

  Absently she pulled open the strings and drew out the small notebook, and felt another pang in her heart. What a ninny Liam must have thought her that first night, planning to take notes when he was planning to drive her out of her mind with passion. On impulse she flipped through the pages of the notebook; what had she written in here?

  At first she thought it was nothing of import; there were scribblings about her book, but she’d already written those parts. But halfway through there was a different handwriting, and she blushed as she realized it was Liam’s.

  He’d read her notes. He’d commented on them, too. Her mouth curved as she read his suggestions about the blacksmith; she’d made that character a clever fellow, just as Liam thought she ought to do. Some of his comments were so irreverent, she could almost see the sly expression on his face, which made her smile widen wistfully.

  She turned another page, and her amusement slid away. There had been so much she wanted to know about seduction and pleasure. When Liam agreed to her daring proposal, she’d wanted to be prepared. She’d made a list and written down her questions.

  And Liam had answered them.

  In her notebook.

  Chapter 12

  Liam stalked down Totman Street in a terrible mood. He had pondered long and hard about what he ought to say to Bathsheba, but somehow he’d still made a hash of it. This was not what he had expected; normally his coolly rational approach achieved what he set out to do. Knowing Bathsheba as he did, he’d even though it would be best.

  Did she really cling to secrecy because of her brother? It was hard to believe that. Daniel wasn’t likely to throw her out, not after the way Bathsheba had saved his life and
business. And Bathsheba herself wasn’t cowed by much; she was eminently logical, unlike every other woman of Liam’s acquaintance. On the other hand, Liam’s interactions with Angus forced him to acknowledge that sibling relations were not always founded in logic and sense.

  What was he to do now? Every day of the past three weeks had made the truth of Angus’s words evident: This could only end well if she married him. And he’d botched it.

  He hadn’t made the decision to go see her lightly. It had been over three weeks since she spent the night with him in St. John’s Wood, her soft warm body curled up next to his. Three weeks was more than enough time to realize what he wanted and formulate a cogent argument that would persuade her. He’d thought she would be receptive; there had been that moment when she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, for all the world as if she cared about him. That moment, Liam now recognized, had been his chance to tell her he hadn’t thought about that damned bargain in weeks, that he could only think of her and how much he wanted her.

  But then his brother appeared and ruined the moment. Caught off guard, Liam had done the wrong thing, which was to send Bathsheba away and let Angus stay. More than once he had replayed the scene in his mind, wherein he ordered Angus away and swept Bathsheba back inside the house to explain at length why their affair ought to continue indefinitely, with a wedding thrown in for good measure.

  So much for his plan to work gradually toward telling her he loved her. How could he be so decisive and bold in business, but second-guess every word when it came to a woman?

  He reached Tottenham Court Road and scowled at the heavy traffic that blocked his way. He must regroup and try again. What would persuade her? He couldn’t get their conversation out of his mind, in the dark before dawn as she lay in his arms. She was clever and resilient and strong. In the face of heartbreak and trouble she had held herself together, caring for her brother and fighting to keep their business going. Liam admired all that tremendously, and yet it meant he had less to offer her. In fact, the only thing he had to offer . . .

  Was the one thing she had asked of him. Passion.

  Abruptly he spun on his heel, almost colliding with a plump matron behind him. He said a hasty apology as she squawked in protest, but his steps didn’t pause as he strode back the way he’d come.

  He rapped loudly on the door of her house. It hadn’t been half an hour since he’d left, she must be still at home. When the wide-eyed maid opened the door, he pushed past her into the tiny hall. “Is Miss Crawford—?”

  She appeared in the parlor doorway before he could even finish the question. Without hesitation he closed the distance in two steps and caught her in his arms as he kissed her, desperately, hungrily, longingly. She gave a startled squeak, but then her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back. Her mouth was soft and willing, and Liam promptly forgot everything else.

  When he lifted his head, she blinked up at him as if dazed. “What—?”

  “That’s what I meant to do before,” he said. Belatedly realizing the maid was standing behind him, watching avidly, he pulled Bathsheba back into the parlor and shut the door.

  Her blush was beautiful. In fact, she was beautiful, her hair disarranged, her eyes soft, her mouth rosy from his kiss. Liam couldn’t think how he’d never seen it before.

  “But you said . . .”

  “That was my mistake. I spoke when I should have acted.”

  She blushed deeper, but without any sign of disapproval. His confidence returned in full force. Now that he had her in his arms, everything felt right again. “We’re good together, you and I,” he said, cupping her cheek in one hand. “Always have been. Always will be, I suspect.”

  “Liam,” she said, her face scarlet. “I . . . I . . .” With a great effort, she seemed to gather herself, pushing back a little and finally meeting his eyes. “You wrote in my book.”

  He’d stared at those pages in her little book for hours. “I couldn’t help but notice it was full of unanswered questions.”

  Her face grew very still. “And you decided to answer them.”

  “Yes.” How had he never noticed the tiny cleft in her determined chin? It was entrancing.

  “Did you mean what you wrote?”

  She’d read it. Even more, he belatedly realized it was clutched in her hand. His heart began a hard thudding in his chest, and a smile slowly curved his lips. He didn’t need to think of what to say; he’d already expressed himself. He plucked the book from her fingers. “Let me see . . .” He flipped through to the first page, titled Seduction. “Seduction is the art of making a woman fall in love with you, to bare her heart, to see her soul, to know her so deeply and intimately you would happily lose yourself in her and never want to be found. The seduction has succeeded when she wishes to do the same to you. It is the deepest sort of intimacy to bare one’s physical form as well as one’s heart to a lover, and there is also much pleasure to be gained in the removal of clothing by both.”

  She was watching him, her eyes wary. He nodded. “All true.”

  He turned the page to Timing. “Lovemaking should last until both have found their ultimate pleasure, whether this be accomplished at languorous length or in vigorously short order. After a lengthy separation, a man may hunger for his lover so desperately he would endure any inconvenience, risk any chance of scandal or condemnation, at one inviting glance from her. In other cases, it may better please both lovers to draw out the pleasure for hours. Sating this hunger in a variety of locales, and employing a variety of positions, will never fail to inspire a thrill of delight and prevent any trace of boredom. It is a firm fact, universally acknowledged, that any opportunity to please his lover, in any way he may, will be eagerly seized by a man caught in the coils of love.”

  “The coils of love,” she whispered.

  “It’s a very serious condition.” He turned another page and read what he’d written under Location. “There is no place on earth I would not want to make love to you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Can you doubt it?”

  She hesitated, her eyes shadowed. Liam cast off all subtlety. “I want you,” he said. “I want you in my bed every night, with no thought of scurrying away in the morning.”

  “Only because of the lo-lovemaking?” Color rose in her cheeks as she stumbled over the last word.

  Gently he tapped the notebook. “You must not have read all.” He turned to the last page, the one he had written only that morning before he went to Totman Street, the answer to her question about kisses.

  “A kiss is the communion of one soul with another,” he read. “A sharing of breath, of life, of love. At first I thought you would not welcome it; you only wanted knowledge, you said. I believed you did not love me, nor want to love me, so I avoided it. I did not want to fall in love with you, so I resisted.

  “But I am helpless to change my own feelings, and finally I could not escape what I wanted most: to feel you were mine, as I have felt myself to be yours since the moment you removed your cloak and wore almost nothing underneath.” Her eyes were wide with wonder. Liam dropped the book to the floor; he didn’t need to read the rest, for he knew it by heart. “You are like no other woman I’ve ever known. You are honorable, clever, sensible, and devoted, and since our affair began I have realized you are even more: passionate, wicked, and lovely . . .” She jerked in his arms, amazed, and he nodded once. “If you want nothing else from me, I will treasure the memory of our three nights together, and vow on my honor to keep them a secret between us, but you should know that I want more—your passion, your intelligence, your love.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Bathsheba seemed struck dumb. Liam realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her response.

  Her head came up. “Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

  “It took me awhile to find the words.”

  “Are you certain you mean them?” He scowled, and she blushed. “That is . . .”

  “Y
es. Every word.”

  “But what about—”

  “Bathsheba,” he interrupted, out of patience and burning to know, “will you marry me?”

  She gave a quick laugh, startled. “Of course I will. I’ve been in love with you for ages. Why do you think I asked you to seduce me?”

  That brought him up short. “That was the reason?”

  Bathsheba lowered her eyes. “You thought it was because you’re so very handsome and have the devil’s own charm, didn’t you?”

  He grinned. She’d said yes. Of course I will. No doubt or hesitation. And she was in love with him. “Naturally. And also . . . Because I wouldn’t think you immoral for asking.”

  “That would be hypocritical,” she pointed out—his lovely, logical Bathsheba. “But I had to know if you truly meant what you wrote.”

  Liam tipped up her face. “Is that any way to proclaim your deep and unwavering love for a man? By questioning his honesty?”

  “I only wanted to hear you say it!”

  “I love you,” he breathed, his mouth brushing hers. “Are you satisfied now?”

  She blushed, and smiled, and opened her mouth to reply just as the door behind them burst open.

  “MacGregor,” exclaimed Daniel Crawford. “What the devil?”

  Liam looked around. Bathsheba’s brother stood in the doorway, a fierce frown on his face. “I’m here to see your sister—”

  “I’m not certain I should allow that,” returned Crawford. “Let her go.”

  “Because I want to marry her,” Liam finished. “You’re ruining my proposal.”

  The other man’s jaw sagged. “Bathsheba,” he said in a tone of blank shock. “You? And this rogue?” Before either could speak, he said again, “Let her go, damn you. How long has this been going on?”