The Kiss of a Rogue

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  So instead, she had sat on the bench, hidden from view of most of the estate, and waited for the duke to wake up. Which she hoped he did before the rest of the household rose for the day. Otherwise, she would have been forced to awaken him and that would have made for a rather awkward moment. Not that the one that had transpired between them had been all that proper.

  When the duke finally stopped laughing, he wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. "Well, I thank you, Miss Northrup. You have protected me against all manner of wild beasts it seems. I am most grateful." Then he looked down at his disheveled state as he released a great sigh. "And I suppose I should seek out the care of Dr. Hastings soon to determine if I have sufficiently cracked my skull so that I might be considered addled."

  "Why ever would you think that you have lost your wits, your grace?" Abigail was completely confused. Other than the few moments immediately after he had awakened, he seemed perfectly lucid to her.

  "Because I am about to do this." And without any warning, the Duke of Hathaway leaned down and kissed Abigail Northrup as if he was a man dying of thirst and she, a cool country stream.

  The moment Adam's lips met Abigail's, he recognized that he should not be doing this. She had come to his aid. She had chased off a hedgehog for him. And yet, from the moment he had opened his eyes and saw her sitting on that bench, he had wanted nothing more than to kiss his brunette goddess until she sighed with pleasure in his arms.

  It made absolutely no sense in the least.

  Especially since just the previous day, he had vowed to do better by the women he came across in his life. No more whoring or carousing with the lowest sorts of creatures. No more hiding from women of Quality rather than attempting to redeem himself and his reputation.

  He was going to be a better man. A respectable man. He vowed that by the end of the house party, he would be looked upon as something other than an irredeemable rogue.

  And then he went and did this. Hell and blazes. He had to be the most foolish man alive. Either that or he really was brain addled.

  Adam found women pleasing, certainly, even though he did not do particularly well with wooing those in Society. That was no secret by half. In the past, he had also, on occasion, kept mistresses and indulged in Covent Garden with some degree of frequency. He had also admittedly made something of a fool of himself with Miss Phoebe Banbrook, much to his everlasting shame. And, of course, there was his enormous blunder with Lady Diana to consider. But never had he laid eyes upon a woman and found himself utterly and completely consumed with need for her as he had with Miss Abigail Northrup.

  Hence his assumption that he was truly brain addled.

  In fact, the woman in his arms was far from the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. Her hair tended to the dark brunette, almost chestnut, more so than the lighter shades he tended to favor. Her eyes, now that he could see them, were the color of a fine scotch - something he vowed never to consume again if he could help it - where he normally tended to prefer a woman with blue eyes. Her chin was too strong, her eyes set too far apart and her nose not nearly as small as some English misses.

  Yet, when taken all together and combined with curves lush enough to make even a man of God contemplate sin, she was...exquisite. And something inside of him snapped. He could not describe it, nor the reason for it. He simply knew that he wanted her.

  So he kissed her. And given the way she was kissing him back, she also thought it was a delightful idea as well. Imagine that. And for once when kissing a woman, Adam thought of nothing else but her and the way her lips felt beneath his. That too, was something that had never occurred before, lending more credence to his addled brain theory.

  Abigail should not be doing this. She should not be kissing a duke. Especially not this particular duke. He was rumored to be a monster, throwing over the woman he had long been thought betrothed to, and first granting and then later rescinding permission for his sister to wed the man she had long set her cap for. He had dallied publicly with Miss Phoebe Banbrook and with an Italian opera singer of some note who as also known for her rather "loose" reputation. Abigail knew all of this. After all, she read the Town Tattler, just like any other woman of some social standing did. She knew this man was not to be trusted.

  So why was she allowing this liberty?

  Because he was sinfully handsome. And because he kissed wonderfully. And he smelled divine. And this could very well be the last kiss she ever received. Might as well make it a magnificent experience.

  For it truly was. And more.

  Though he tasted a bit like scotch, the heat and desire of his mouth more than made up for it. Hathaway used his tongue to trace the seam of her lips and she opened for him, tangling her tongue with his as he pulled her closer into his embrace. It felt like heaven, and she was reluctant to put an end to the madness. But if he would not, she must. They could not be caught out together. Not like this. It would not end well for either of them. Especially him.

  When he pulled away slightly, she pressed her hands to his magnificent chest and pushed lightly. That was enough to give him pause and he looked up at her through lust-clouded eyes. And then, suddenly, his vision cleared and he came back to himself.

  "My lady," he said thickly, "I should apologize."

  Instead of scolding him, however, his garden goddess smiled. "Don't you dare apologize for that kiss. It was magnificent. Even if nothing can come of it." He didn't quite understand her reasoning on that topic, but his mind was still too muddled to comprehend much. He saw this woman. He desired her. Beyond that, his thinking wasn't all that complex at the moment.

  "Then I won't," he replied with a smile. Truly, this woman was peculiar. Then again, she was a miss and not a lady. Did it matter? He did not think it did. At least not to him. "But I agree that ravishing you in the garden is probably not my best idea at the moment." Ravishing her in a bed on the other hand....but no. He could not.

  "Ever the rogue, I see," but a smile tempered her words and he could tell that she was not truly angry with him. "I trust you can find your way back to the house?" She nodded in the direction of the stately manor house that rose up behind them like something out of a gothic dream, all angles and crenellated tops mixed with more traditional design elements.

  "I can," he said, finally having enough sense to set her away from him. Though he did note she had not objected to being held in his embrace. He would save that information for later. It might be useful to have at least once female in residence at Fairhaven that could tolerate him. Or at the very least, was not inclined to throw objects at his head as his sister was on occasion. "And, thank you. For not abandoning me to the ravenous hedgehogs." Then he sobered. "I know you could have. And likely should have. You risked much to make certain I was well. And I do truly thank you."

  A blush stole up her cheeks and he thought it only made her more beautiful. "I did what any decent person would have, your grace." She smiled and it lit up her entire face. "And I would have tossed any hedgehogs that dared to come near you over the nearest shrub." Actually, she wouldn't have for she enjoyed the funny little creatures. But Lord Hathaway didn't need to know that.

  "I will see you inside?" It was a question and not a statement.

  For a moment Abigail hesitated before nodding. After this morning, it would be unlikely that she could stay away from him. He stirred up far too many feelings inside of her for that. And she liked his kisses far too much not to see if she could somehow manage to steal another. Or three. "Yes, your grace. I believe that you will."

  Then, without another word, she was gone, disappearing back into the garden as quickly as she could. She did not want him to think her any more forward than he likely already did. And she was afraid that if she remained in his presence any longer, she might do something she would truly regret.

  Chapter Two

  Town Tattler

  So my dear and faithful readers, the magnificent Season that is 1820 London is all but draw
n to a close. There are still a few Society types left in Town, but most of us have already decamped for the more relaxing setting of the English countryside. All but those who are attending the Duke and Duchess of Enwright's infamous, end-of-season house party and masked ball, of course. Odd how something that was once viewed as so scandalous that it could not be spoken of in public has gained so much respectability that now all of the lords and ladies of the land clamor for an invite. But that is often the way of things, is it not, faithful readers?

  I am given to understand that Lord Adam Reynolds, the Duke of Hathaway, is among the guests at the elite affair. I have heard whispers over the last few weeks that many a Society door has been closed to him, especially now that word is out that he will likely end the betrothal of his sister, Lady Sophia, to Lord Alex Selby, the future Earl of Chilton. If he has not done so already. Rumors have abounded for years about "deficiencies" in the young lord's character but, to my knowledge, which is I confess rather extensive, nothing was ever proven. Or much spoken about in polite circles. And it has been known for some time that Lady Sophia has her heart set on this man and no other. So what has changed? I cannot say, but something clearly has. And will this potentially broken betrothal be the end of our infamous dastardly duke in Society? Especially if this supposed incident with Selby turns out to be, as our beloved Shakespeare wrote, much ado about nothing? Perhaps. Or perhaps the duke will be proven correct in his suspicions - whatever they may be. Only time shall tell, I suppose.

  -Madame C

  Taking a sip of her tea, Abigail glanced surreptitiously around the breakfast room, fearing that someone might call her out on her shockingly scandalous behavior. Thus far, no one had, but that did not mean that the house party guests were unaware of what she had done little more than an hour ago. Then again, if they did know, surely she would have been cast out by now. She doubted that even her dear friend Lucy could save her from the censure of Society were that the case.

  After all, what Abigail had done was far too brash, even for someone like her, a woman known for doing as she pleased. Of all things, she had been alone with a man. An unwed man. A partially naked man. A man who had a reputation so terrible these days that if she was linked with him, she might as well leave the house party that very instant and return to Plymouth in disgrace.

  Except that Lord Hathaway seemed like a very nice man. A little...odd, perhaps, but then that was no great sin. She wondered once more if his reputation was deserved and decided that perhaps it wasn't. And if it was, then she should judge for herself and not rely on the gossip of other people. She should get to know him at this party and see if he truly was this rogue looking to ruin all decent young ladies, as she had heard so often over the course of the last month or so.

  At that thought, Abigail wondered what on Earth was wrong with her. She was looking to retire from Society and take up life as a spinster, not bring down scandal on herself and her family. Or find a husband when she had made it very clear she did not wish one. Not to mention that she knew better than to act so brazenly and court trouble. So why she had done so, she could not explain. Well, other than the obvious - that Lord Adam Reynolds was a ridiculously handsome man, of course. There was no getting around that.

  She had known from the first that being alone with the duke was wrong, but she had been unable to stop herself from settling down on the bench and waiting for him to wake. Then, to make matters worse, she had kissed him like some sort of common trollop! What must he think of her? Certainly he must think her the loosest and most wanton of women.

  Except that she wasn't. Not really. It was merely her upbringing - not that it was an excuse, especially in Society. But it was the truth. Aboard her father's sailing ships, she had seen unclothed male chests on numerous occasions, though none quite so fine as the duke's. To be fair, things like that were also a large part of the reason her mother had demanded that Abigail and her brothers return to England to live - so that Abigail, at least, could have a proper upbringing, one where the rules of Society were explained and adhered to.

  And so that she might one day snare a titled gentleman as her husband to increase the family's social standing. She had to admit that a duke, even a disgraced one, would do nicely in that regard.

  Abigail felt her face flush with the memory of the duke's delightful chest and the hardness of his muscles beneath her fingertips. Oh, this was wrong, just thinking of him in such a sexual manner! She had no right to do so. Just as she'd had no right to watch over him the way she had. She really should have left him there on the ground. Then, unexpectedly, Abigail remembered their heated kiss, and she was certain her face was scarlet, for it felt so very hot. However try as she might, she could not forget how perfect the whole encounter had been. Well, perfect and perfectly scandalous, if one wished to be precise.

  Yet no one around Abigail seemed to notice that anything was amiss with her. No one seemed to be able to tell that she had just been kissed to within an inch of her life, even though she felt as if the damning secret was written all over her face. In fact, no one was paying any attention to her at all. Sitting here, she had the distinct impression that her scandalous acts had not been noticed by anyone, so perhaps there was no harm done after all. Other than in her overactive imagination, of course. Which, she had to admit, did get carried away rather often.

  Likely, she was making the situation out to be worse than it actually was. It had been just a kiss. A kiss that had made her toes positively curl, but still just a kiss. Then again, many young women had been ruined for less. On the other hand, she was no longer as young as she had once been. Nor was she of the highest reaches of Society. Not that it likely mattered. After all, she was merely a merchant's daughter and about as far away from a lady as one could be.

  Except that Abigail had been kissing the Duke of Hathaway. The Dastardly Duke. And that was the very last thing a woman with a sterling reputation - and one who wished to keep it that way - should have been doing.

  If she was found out, there would be consequences to be certain, and not just from her family. She would receive an ear blistering from Miss Cutwright, which would be the least of her problems. She and the duke would likely be forced to wed.

  By Miss Cutwright, if by no one else.

  The older woman had decided that it was her mission in life to make certain that Abigail was properly wed to a titled gentleman, and to put a stop to what she termed "all this spinster nonsense." It was a futile effort. Abigail knew that. But Miss Cutwright still lived under the illusion that one day, a handsome man of the peerage would sweep in and whisk Abigail away to his castle filled with gold and staffed by more servants than one could count. And if Abigail was caught kissing a duke, which would, of course, further the old woman's plans? Then so much the better.

  None of that was likely to happen - not even after that ever-so-delightful kiss with Lord Hathaway. Oh, Abigail knew she was attractive enough to the right sort of man, though a large part of her charm was her dowry. She knew that particular fact very well. However she was not a noblewoman and, unless she married well above her station, never would be. And therefore, she was not nearly as attractive to the men that populated this house party as other female guests were. That was the harsh reality of her life.

  Therefore, it was unlikely that anything would come of the kiss with the duke, even if the entire episode was somehow discovered. That was a twisted bit of logic, but Abigail didn't care. It would suffice for now so that she could put her mind at ease and enjoy herself. And really, so much of her life was made up twisted logic these days, what was one more event, really? It was a stroke of madness that she was even at Fairhaven in the first place.

  In fact, if not for her unlikely friendship with Lady Enwright, Abigail would not be at this house party at all. Abigail did not move in the same rarified circles as most of the guests here did. In fact, had she not dashed into Madame LaVallier's dress shop to escape a sudden downpour several months ago, she would not have even met the duc
hess, who was in the exclusive modiste's salon having a new ballgown crafted.

  But she had dashed inside the shop, and to Abigail's surprise, she and Lady Lucy Enwright had much in common. What could have been a disastrous afternoon - for one did not merely duck into an establishment such as Madame LaVallier's if one was not invited or a regular patron - turned into a delightful time of tea and new-found friendship.

  Even so, Abigail had been surprised when the invitation to the exclusive house party and masquerade at Fairhaven had arrived, franked by the Duke of Enwright's seal. She had assumed that it was some sort of joke, but because she had faith in the general kindness of Lady Enwright, Abigail had packed her bags and set off for the ducal estate just outside of London. When she had arrived at the sprawling front portico, she had at least partially expected to be met with derision and laughter. After all, she was not really one of the duke's normal set.

  Instead, she was met by the duke and duchess themselves. And when the duke had bowed low to her and intoned in his rather gravelly voice that any friend of his duchess was more than welcome in his home, Abigail had felt warmed from the inside out. She hadn't expected such a welcome, especially from a man like the Devil Duke who was known more for his cold - and often times terrifying - reticence than for his warm and friendly demeanor.

  However, it was clear that he adored his wife, and if Abigail's presence at the house party made Lucy happy, then no one should dare question Abigail's presence, lest they find themselves tossed out on their arse.

  That had already happened to the Earl of Whitehaven who had questioned Abigail's presence at the house party last evening. When news of the earl's cruel comments regarding Abigail had reached the ear of the duchess, Lucy had been incensed on her friend's behalf. And when Lucy St. Vincent was unhappy, her husband always made certain to discover whom the source of her upset was - and deal with them in what he deemed an "appropriate" manner. Which was how the earl had found himself turned out on his ear before midnight the first night of the house party. Much to his embarrassment, of course.