UNFORGETTABLE ROGUE (The Rogues Club, Book Two)

by Annette Blair

  Alex went and placed her arms about him, laying her cheek against his strong, unbending back. “Ah my prideful rogue. They are your clothes, purchased with your money, clothes that were relegated to the rag bag when it was thought you died. Surely your pride will allow you to wear rags?”

  He turned to face her. “No.”

  Alex stepped nearer. “If you could bring yourself to do so, Claudia might have her season this fall.”

  Her final words, or her stroking the hair from his brow, appeared to snuff his ire. “I hate London Society.”

  Alex pulled her hand away and stepped back. “I wonder you spent so much time there earlier this year, then.”

  He cursed. “Leave it be, Alex.”

  “How can I leave it be when you left us struggling for months without caring whether we were fed or sheltered?”

  “Of course you were fed and sheltered. I knew you were, besides which, I had every faith in your ability to care for everyone, otherwise I would not have left them with you in the first place.”

  “So I have heard.”

  Hawk’s head snapped up at that and his eyes narrowed.

  Alex shrugged away the question in his look. “Why Bryceson? Why did you not come home to us?”

  “If I knew, I would tell you. I will admit, however, that Sabrina believes I was running away.”

  “From us? There would be no reason. Now if your father were alive, I would understand.”

  “You would understand what?”

  At the fury in his tone, Alex firmed her stance. “You know, yourself, that your father acted the tyrant, much as you are doing right now. He would never approve of you, broken as you are. Your words.”

  “Do not be ridiculous.” Hawk said. “My father has nothing to do with any of it. The man is long since dead.”

  “But never buried. You scrambled for his approval your whole life, Hawk, and never received it.”

  Hawk’s eyes narrowed at that and the light of challenge entered them, though he remained rigid and silent.

  “I do not believe you went to war for the glory, as Judson thinks,” Alex said, “but for your father’s approval, however posthumous. He was a hard man, Hawk, cold and heartless … as is any father who would prefer his son dead, rather than imperfect.”

  “We do not know that for certain,” Hawk said, desperate to forgive the unforgivable, Alex feared. “I simply supposed as much.”

  “Where a parent is concerned,” Alex said, softly, “supposition is usually based on fact. I think your reason for speculation was just.”

  Hawk gathered his dignity about himself like a shield, much as his father had been wont to do, but Alex did not think the son would appreciate the comparison. “You go too far,” he said.

  “In that case, I apologize. Let us return to our discussion of Claudia’s season, then.”

  “Claudia is not to have a season,” Hawk replied with so much icy dignity that Alex feared she had lost the man she loved. “And you will not be discussing me with Chesterfield, if you please, ever again.”

  “Bryce—”

  “That is the last I will say on the matter.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When they sat down to dinner, Hawksworth looked twice into his soup bowl—belly up, soft and white, tiny little feet, spiny back, sleepy eyes. “Excuse me,” he said. “But there seems to be a hedgehog in my soup.”

  “There you are, you naughty—” Beatrix’s expression melted with love, and she smiled. “Oh, how cute. Nanny is having a nice warm soak.”

  Hawk raised a brow and made to scoop the complacent critter from his cock-a-leekie soup. “Ouch!” Not complacent now, but a hard, spiny ball.

  “Do be careful,” Bea said. “You will hurt her.”

  “Hurt her? She pricked me. Look, I am bleeding.”

  Bea kissed the wounded finger Hawk held up for her inspection. “Do not feel bad. She will get used to you. Let her scent your hand and soon she will let you rub her soft little belly.”

  Hawk barked a laugh. “Myerson,” he said as his man began to pour their drinks. “I fear there is too much meat in my soup.”

  Bea gasped and Hawk winked as he slid his over-full soup bowl in her direction.

  After a fresh bowl of soup was placed before him, Hawk cleared his throat and looked about the table. “I am afraid, Claudia, that I have some rather disappointing news for you.”

  Claudia stiffened. “What is it?”

  “We must postpone your season for this year.”

  “Yes, Uncle Bryce,” Claude said stoically then she wilted for half a beat. “But if a girl cannot be seen in the places where eligible men congregate, how is a she to find a husband?”

  “A husband?” Hawksworth said, arrested by the notion, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I had not thought of your come out in quite that way. You are too young, at any rate, and the marriage mart is a hornet’s nest. I promise you would hate it.”

  “Which words can only be spoken by one who has experienced the phenomenon,” Alex said.

  “I am as old as Alex was, when you married her,” Claudia said.

  “Really?” Hawk regarded Alex, just then, with rather too much concentration, she thought, considering the fact that they were in company. Now if they had been alone….

  Almost as if he read her, Hawk started and cleared his throat, looking away.

  Alex thought life might get easier if he could read her. And she did not know who was being more stubborn here, the uncle or the niece.

  What was Claudia hatching, anyway? To her willful mind, only one eligible male existed in the kingdom, and he now lived— “That reminds me,” Alex said. “Hawk’s heir has struck again. It seems that he lost Hawks Ridge in a card game.”

  Giff turned to Hawk in horror. “Shoot the blackguard.”

  “Baxter or Chesterfield, Uncle? Though I must say, the notion has merit in both cases.

  “Gifford, hush,” Hildy said. “Bryceson, please, the children.” Then she patted Hawk’s arm negating her scold. “Forget about Hawks Ridge, dear. Huntington Lodge is as much your home as it is ours, is it not Alexandra?”

  “By law, it is entirely his, Aunt.”

  “Except that the Lodge is not really—” No. Yes. It could be, Hawk thought. Because Alex was here, and his family, the Lodge could become his home. He could try to make it so. He shook his head. “It is ours,” he stressed. “Every splintered plank and broken brick.”

  “Do not forget the leaky roof,” Beatrix added.

  “Thank you, Bumble Bea, but Alex has taken it upon herself, more than once, to make me that particular reminder.”

  Alex kicked him beneath the table.

  “Ouch.”

  “Who won Hawks Ridge?” Giff asked.

  “Oh,” Hawk said. “I thought you realized. Chesterfield is the happy new owner.”

  “Chesterfield lives next door?” Claudia cried coming to life. “Famous. I shall go and visit him this afternoon and welcome him to the neighborhood.”

  “You will not,” Hawksworth snapped.

  “Chesterfield, by God.” Giff laughed. “Now I understand your willingness to pursue pistols at dawn.”

  Claudia looked chagrined. “Oh, but Uncle Hawk, visiting him is the polite and neighborly thing to do.”

  “If you set one foot on Hawks Ridge property, young lady, I shall have you locked in your room until you are thirty. And until that advanced age, you will not so much as exchange greetings with the blighter.”

  “Why do you consider him a scoundrel? Is it because he won your estate? That was an honest wager, was it not? Or is it because he nearly married Alex? You must know that Alex does not—”

  “Claudia!” Alex widened her eyes to display her plea with determined clarity. “That will be enough,” she said. “Enough!”

  “Of course.” Claude bit her curving lip and gave her unappetizing plate of cold mutton and mashed turnips rather more attention than was warranted, drat the girl.

  Wi
thin moments, however, she looked up. “Uncle Hawk, Chesterfield is our neighbor across the Dyke, like you and Alex were growing up. If I cannot go and visit him, can he not at least come to visit us?”

  “Absolutely not. That man is not welcome here. You will not speak to him or look at him. You are not to wave, if he passes the gate.”

  “But I … admire Chesterfield a great deal,” Claudia admitted, her face pink.

  Alex leaned near Hawk to speak in confidence. “He will be a constant temptation living so near.”

  “For Claude or for you?” Hawk straightened without her answer. “Claudia, there are a goodly number of better men than Judson Broderick for whom to set your cap.”

  “But I love him,” she cried with all the drama of youth.

  “You what?” Ashen faced, Hawk placed his spoon beside his bowl, as he gazed from his wife to his niece. “Do you, both of you, love the knave?”

  “He is not any of the things you have called him,” Claudia said. “And I do love him.”

  “Then you must find someone more suitable.”

  “How?” Claude cried. “We live in the wilderness.”

  “Bryceson,” Aunt Hildy said. “You will have the poor child mooning about the house, staring out windows, for the next year.”

  Alex nodded. “With you know who passing by the gate thrice a day.”

  “Give it up, Alexandra,” Hawk said. “You win.” He reached over to cover Claudia’s hand with his own. “Claude, if you can be satisfied with a compromise, the Duchess of Basingstoke has offered to sponsor you for the coming fall season. Sabrina and Alex arranged everything. When we reach London, however, you will be under strict orders from me to choose a more appropriate suitor.”

  “Yes, Uncle Hawk,” she said, unable to hide the light of triumph in her eyes, making Alex wonder, again, what she was up to.

  “Alex,” Hawk said. “You will write to the Duchess and accept her kind invitation first thing in the morning. We will depart for London in three weeks, and I, for one, will be glad to see the last of Chesterfield.”

  “I like Viscount Chesterfield,” Beatrix said. “When I got sick in town that winter, he rode a great distance in the snow for a doctor. Alex said I might have died, if not for him.”

  “Is this true?” Hawksworth asked, turning to Alex.

  Alex nodded. “An inflammation of the lungs. Little Miss Mischief frightened us nearly to death.”

  “Alex did not sleep for fully five days,” Aunt Hildegarde said. “I was afraid that she would become so weak and exhausted that she would contract the disease herself.”

  “I was fine.”

  Giff winked meaningfully at her before turning to his nephew. “You should know, Hawk, that no one could have taken better care of us all in your absence, than Alex did.”

  “I doubt even you could have done so well,” Beatrix said.

  Hawk nodded. “I knew she would take superb care of you all. We owe her a great debt of gratitude.”

  “We do,” Aunt Hildegarde agreed, sending a prideful smile her way.

  “Do not be silly.” Alex frowned, embarrassed. “Any of you would have done as much for any of us who needed you.”

  “Except that you are always the one we go to when anything needs fixing or settling or deciding, dear,” her aunt said.

  “Now I am home,” Hawk said. “You must come to me when you need anything taken care of. Together we must ease Alexandra’s burdens.”

  Bea shook her head, doubtfully. “I do not think that will work, Uncle Hawk. With a cane, you will not be able to do half the things Alex does.”

  Hawk sighed, rose, and dropped his napkin into his plate. “Then I shall have to throw the blasted thing away.” He bent over Beatrix and pressed his lips to her little brow. “I am glad you did not die that winter, Pup. I would have missed my Bumble Bea.” He straightened and cleared his throat. “Alexandra, do you care for a walk on the terrace?”

  Alex was concerned that he had pushed himself too hard that day. “You perhaps did not walk or ride so much when you were in London, Hawksworth. Do you not think you have had enough exercise for one day?”

  “I do not, thank you very much. I shall practice walking with, or without, your arm. If you care to join me later, you will find me on the terrace.” Hawk quit the room without another word, leaving them all to sit in an uncomfortable, almost palpable silence.

  “He is bristling,” Giff said. “To head the family again. Though he is not yet physically capable.”

  “Are you saying that I am being too … too managing?” Alex asked, certain she was.

  Giff rose, kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder. “You have been a darling and a savior to all of us, Lass, especially to me, after the way I barked at you all in early days.”

  He regarded the rest of the family. “I am saying that we must be careful, when we praise Alex, that we are not disheartening Hawksworth. From my own experience, after my time in the colonies, I know that a man home from war has much to deal with that is not within sight of his family, but in his head and his heart. The demons of war can be dark and tenacious, distorting even the obvious goodness in life. Past and present become entangled with a soldier’s confusion and self-reproach for living when others perished, and with his need to make life as it once was. Except that he cannot go back, because time has passed and people have changed and learned to live without him.”

  Giff smiled, easing the sad sobriety about the table. “Give Hawk time. Be patient with him. Let him know that he is loved and needed.”

  Alex saw Beatrix up to bed, helped her wash and heard her prayers. While she sat with the child until she slept, she considered Giff’s words. Not only was he correct in everything he said, but she realized that Hawksworth’s burdens were worse for his having lost so much, including his heritage. No wonder he seemed unsure of everything.

  Even she must seem lost to him, if he believed she loved Chesterfield, which she had encouraged to gain his attention. Gad, she wished she knew how she should proceed.

  After Bea fell asleep, Alex went out to the terrace to look for Hawk.

  When she arrived, Giff strode her way. “Enjoy the summer-like evening. It is beautiful,” he said as he made to climb the steps back into the house. “This old curmudgeon needs his beauty sleep. Goodnight you two.”

  Acting stiff and unconcerned, perhaps somewhat upset with her for not joining him sooner, Bryceson silently laid his cane on a nearby bench and offered her his arm. Alex took it and squeezed. “Bumble Bea is all tucked up and sends good-night kisses,” she said, by way of apology, catching his nod of understanding, or forgiveness.

  They began to stroll quietly, each lost in thought.

  “I will not fail them again,” Bryce said, breaking the reasonably-comfortable silence.

  “Oh, Bryce. Of course you will not. You never really did.”

  “Did I not?” His grimace of self-derision was more felt than seen. “Do not patronize me, Alex. I failed you, royally, by marrying you and leaving you to mop up my mess.”

  “What mess?”

  “I am sorry, I misspoke. I left you as the sole support of my family, with no home, or even a living to provide for you all—no mess there.”

  Alex smiled. “Our family.”

  “Ours, then, though you should not have needed to care for them alone.” He hesitated and regarded her pointedly before walking on. “Not that you did, entirely, if Bea is to be believed. Judson helped, I take it.”

  Alex bit her lip. “Not in the way you suppose. You know this is the first time you use his Christian name.”

  “I must be softening in the head. Likely because of what he did for Beatrix. Lord, it makes me sick to think of nearly losing her.”

  “Well we did not lose her, and yes, in that way, Judson did help.”

  “Then I must be grateful to the man, and we do have a mess now, one I made myself. But I am here, now, to straighten everything out, though, God help me, if I had not re
turned I would have served you better.”

  Alex stopped and turned to him. “If you do not stop feeling sorry for yourself, Bryceson Wakefield, I swear I will strike you.”

  “I am sure you would, if you were angry enough. I expect you would beat me, or toss me off the terrace in much the same way you tossed me from the bed this morning.” But Alex did not laugh as Hawk intended.

  He reclaimed her hand, placed it on his arm, and patted it. “I am not feeling sorry for myself, but for you, Lexy.”

  To his surprise she threw off his hold and strode off in a rage, before turning to face him. “Stupid, stupid man. How can you not know?”

  Hawk frowned in bewilderment. “How can I not know what?”

  Alex began to advance on him, and sensing the strength of purpose in her stride, he began to retreat at the same pace.

  She grinned. “You are running without your cane, Bryceson. Did you realize it?”

  Hawk faltered for running at all, not for lacking his cane. He needed to face his ghosts, not run from them. He should ask Alex, right out, what she owed Chesterfield, and in exchange for what.

  Except that he was not as yet ready to deal with her answer.

  Her person, however, he was very much ready to deal with. Too ready. Eager. Hawk straightened his spine and remained in place.

  “Good,” Alex said as she continued advancing. “You will allow me to catch you, I take it?”

  “We will see who is caught,” Hawk said, reaching out and pulling his wife firmly into his arms.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Once Hawk had Alex well and truly captured, she raised her arms and feathered the hair at his nape with her soft, sweet fingers, kissing his scars and giving him her full, tantalizing attention. He responded by opening his mouth over hers at first opportunity.

  Her response thrummed him to life, and he moaned and tasted a trace of mint on her lips and thought it never more delightful.

  Hawk had barely acknowledged, even to himself, since his return to England, the strength and inevitably of his attachment to Alex, his overwhelming desire for her, yet suddenly the veracity of it seemed written, as if in blazing stars, across the darkening night sky above them.