The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

Her legs stilled, then her arms, signaling the arrival of death. Garenne waited a moment, then lifted the pillow away from the woman’s face and threw it across the room. He took in the frozen look of terror on her face and smiled, the irritation of the mission easing slightly.

  He stood and walked to the window. Squinting through the dirt and grime, he eyed the women across the street. Standing within the pool of light cast by the newly lit lantern, the small group included a round, buxom redhead, a tall blonde, and a petite black-haired one, all more than willing and expertly able.

  “I’ll bury myself in the black-haired whore. Or perhaps the blonde tonight?” A slow smile curved his thick lips. “All three it is.”

  “Bloody British rain,” Will cursed, tugging his hat brim lower on his forehead. Sol pinned his ears back and snorted, clearly in agreement with his master.

  “You’ve no one but your beloved Lucinda to blame for this,” Will said to the stallion, brushing water from his mane. Given that the horse was soaked, the action did little good and was more a rough gesture of affection. “Well, Lucinda and a mare named Winnie.”

  He’d ridden at breakneck speed, not stopping until he reached the Rosemont Inn despite the dizziness that threatened to unseat him. He was terribly tired and the pain from his wound unbearable, the countless hours spent astride only having adding to his misery.

  The rain quickened, accompanied by a tepid wind from the north. Will turned up the collar of his greatcoat just as the dim light from the Rosemont’s muddy yard came into view.

  He turned Sol into the yard and slid from the saddle, nearly falling to his knees in the dank mud. A young man approached and Will handed him the reins.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out several coins. “Has a Lady Lucinda Grey taken a room for the evening?” he asked pointedly, dropping half a crown into the flat of the man’s palm.

  The man stared at the coins in Will’s hand, scratching his head in earnest. “There’s only one lady of quality that’s taken a room for the night. Blonde, blue eyes, traveling with a companion—an older woman.”

  Will dropped the remaining coins into the man’s hand. “Thank you. Take care of my horse and there will be more where that came from.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Will thumped Sol on the rump and walked toward the inn. Strange candles, those, that they would dim as one drew near. He squinted at the lights that flanked the front door, blinked once, then again, but they continued to dim.

  Before Will knew what was happening, the night sky had engulfed him and he was falling, though there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it.

  * * *

  Lucinda stared up at the darkened eaves of her room in the Rosemont Inn, restless and weary.

  The trip to Bampton Manor always felt endlessly long, and today’s journey was no exception. Lucinda had wanted to travel straight through, stopping only to secure fresh horses. But Charlotte had objected, insisting Lucinda would be of no use to Winnie if she arrived exhausted and addle-brained from lack of sleep.

  “Shouldn’t the patrons be abed by now?” Charlotte asked, stifling a yawn.

  Lucinda rolled to face her aunt, tucking one hand under her feather pillow. “I highly doubt that anyone is thinking on what they should do, Aunt.”

  The Rosemont’s tavern was exceedingly popular, though it had nothing to do with the quality of the establishment. On one of her many trips between London and Oxfordshire, Lucinda had discovered that the Rosemont was the only watering hole for some twenty miles.

  The carousing had started innocently enough with a snort of laughter floating up here and there through the floorboards. But in the last hour the intensity of the evening had taken a turn for the worse.

  “Too true, dear girl,” Charlotte answered. “Too true.”

  The bed dipped slightly as Charlotte rolled from her back to her side. “I suppose absolute silence would fail you as well with all that must be on your mind.”

  “Winnie, you mean?” Lucinda asked apprehensively, fingering the rough bed linens.

  “Yes, my dear. Who else would I be referring to?”

  Lucinda chewed her bottom lip. “Precisely.”

  “Although,” Charlotte began, “there is the duke.”

  Lucinda froze, thankful for the darkness that filled the room. “The courtship is proceeding as planned,” she lied, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sol will be ours by summer.”

  “Perhaps you did not hear me, my dear. I mentioned the duke, not the horse.”

  Lucinda turned her face into the pillow, frightened that she might cry. “The duke? Well, he is …” She swallowed, urging the lump in her throat to move lower. “That is to say—”

  “My lady!”

  The sound of their coachman’s voice was punctuated by three loud raps upon the wooden door.

  “Rogers?” Lucinda and Charlotte said in unison, the bed nearly breaking in two from the force of their combined exodus. They fumbled about in the dark for their dressing gowns, Lucinda finding hers first, then dashing toward the door.

  She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Rogers, what is it?”

  “I am sorry to disturb you both, but the innkeeper has need of you,” he said, averting his eyes. “Seems there’s a gentleman that’s fainted and they don’t know who he is.”

  Charlotte knotted the robe’s sash about her waist and came to stand next to Lucinda. “Rogers, I don’t mean to be obtuse, but how on earth might we be of assistance? In all likelihood there are several individuals passed out below-stairs.”

  “Beg your pardon, my lady. This gentleman didn’t drink himself to sleep. He’s injured. But he asked after Lady Lucinda before planting himself facedown in the yard.”

  Both women gasped in horror.

  Charlotte reached for Lucinda’s arm. “Who on earth could it be?”

  Lucinda patted her aunt’s hand reassuringly despite the macabre curiosity she felt. “I can’t imagine. But surely there is a reasonable explanation.”

  Rogers continued to stare at the door. “Er, will you go and see him?”

  “Oh, of course,” Lucinda replied, taking Rogers’s offered candlestick. “We’ll be but a moment.”

  Charlotte closed the door firmly and turned to where her things were. “Have you any idea—”

  “None at all,” Lucinda interrupted, struggling to pull her nightgown over her head.

  “Come, let me help you,” Charlotte said, walking to where Lucinda stood by the rumpled bed and reaching to pull at the gown. As soon as they were both dressed, Lucinda hurried toward the door, readying to open it.

  “My dear, a moment,” Charlotte said, prompting her to turn back.

  “Yes,” Lucinda replied, her brows knitting together.

  “I know that it has been a trying time for you, what with Winnie and …” she paused, taking Lucinda’s hands in hers. “Well, I do worry that the sight of a grievously injured man may be that proverbial straw.”

  Lucinda tried to smile. “Are you calling me a camel?”

  “Lucinda!” Charlotte attempted not to smile. “What I am trying to say is, there’s a limit to the number of misfortunes one person can endure.”

  Lucinda gripped her aunt’s hands tightly as if to keep herself from falling. “Aunt Charlotte,” she began, looking down at their joined hands. “Sometimes in life, the only option one has is to continue on. Would you not agree?”

  “Wholeheartedly,” Charlotte confirmed, freeing her hand and reaching to caresse Lucinda’s cheek. “When did you become so wise, my dear?”

  “Precisely fifteen seconds ago,” Lucinda answered, offering her aunt a lopsided smile. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  The two walked to the door, opening it slowly.

  Rogers stood in the hallway. “Come with me, then, ladies.”

  They followed him down the dimly lit corridor, the sounds from below having quieted somewhat.

  “Here we are,” Rogers said, gesturing to
the last door on the right. He opened it and stepped aside, allowing Lucinda and Charlotte to enter. “I’ll be in the hallway if you need me.”

  The women nodded at the coachman, then stepped across the threshold. A man in dark traveling clothes stood with his back to the door, obscuring the bed just beyond.

  He turned at the sound of their entry. “Splendid. One of you is Lady Lucinda Grey, I presume?”

  “I am she,” Lucinda answered hesitantly.

  “Well, come along, then,” he urged impatiently. When Lucinda failed to obey him immediately, he let out a rather loud harrumph of displeasure. “Ladies, I am a man of science and, as such, social graces are not my forte. Please, forgive me,” he said, quickly bowing. “Dr. Elijah Forrester at your service.”

  Lucinda and Charlotte bowed and made to properly complete the introduction. “Lad—”

  “All right, then. Who might this man be?” Dr. Forrester interrupted. “I’ve a patient in Dunsford who requires my attention.”

  Lucinda stepped past the doctor and turned to look upon the man, the flickering candlelight casting him in shadows, though the hideous bruising on his face was readily apparent even in the dim light.

  She gasped and stepped forward, her hand flying to her mouth. “Will?!”

  Charlotte rushed to the bed. “Good Lord,” she uttered with horror, steadying herself against the doctor.

  Forrester propped Charlotte upright and cleared his throat. “You know this man, then?”

  “He is the Duke of Clairemont,” Lucinda said haltingly.

  The doctor gaped at her. “The … who?”

  Lucinda brushed past him, blinking rapidly in the hopes that Will’s injuries were nothing more than a trick of light. “Who did this to him?”

  The doctor reached for his kit on the side table and began to rummage through it. “We might never know.”

  “Surely you’re not implying that he …” Lucinda paused, her voice shaking with the effort. “That he will not wake?”

  “Well, one never can tell in these sorts of situations,” he replied simply. “Only time will tell.”

  Lucinda reached to stroke Will’s hand, noting the smudges of dirt and blood on his hands and face. “Is there nothing that we can do?”

  Dr. Forrester produced a small leather pouch from his kit and gestured toward Will. “Actually, yes, there is.”

  He handed Lucinda the pouch then reached for Will’s shoulders, pulling him to a seated position. “Now, if you’ll hold him thusly I will stitch up his back.”

  Charlotte reached for Lucinda’s arm. “My dear, the duke is undressed—”

  “Aunt Charlotte,” Lucinda pleaded in a low tone. “The doctor needs my assistance.”

  Charlotte’s brows knit together as she considered her options. “All right.”

  Both Lucinda and Charlotte leaned forward in order to see the wound, the amount of coagulated blood encircling the gash making them gasp.

  “Why was this not seen to immediately?” Charlotte demanded, fanning herself vigorously with her hanky.

  The doctor gestured for Lucinda’s help. “No one could identify the man. How was I to know if he could afford my services?”

  Lucinda bent down and exchanged places with the doctor, the substantial weight of Will’s debilitated body coming to rest against her as she faced him.

  “He is the Duke of Clairemont,” Charlotte said angrily. “He could very well die and you would be held—”

  “Please,” Lucinda cried, halting her aunt’s indictment. “It is of no consequence now.” She looked up at the doctor and swallowed. “Just do what needs to be done.”

  The room fell silent as the doctor prepared the needle and set to work.

  She held Will about the waist with the greatest of care, the feel of his bare, sweaty skin on hers oddly comforting.

  Resting her chin on his shoulder, she breathed in his familiar scent and tried to will him awake. She watched the doctor draw the thread through the wound over and again, panic rising in her stomach with every stitch.

  You cannot die, she screamed in her head, tightening her grip about his waist. Please, hold on. There’s so much I need to say.

  “That should do it,” the doctor said, dropping his instrument on the side table and picking up a length of linen. He bandaged the wound and pulled Will from Lucinda, the absence of his body leaving her bereft.

  Charlotte put her hand on Lucinda’s shoulder and squeezed. “What signs are we to look for, Doctor?” she asked worriedly.

  “Well, if the duke does not wake up, then we’ve a real problem,” he answered, swiping at his needle with a cloth then returning it to his kit.

  “He will,” Lucinda whispered. “He has to.”

  Dr. Forrester held his palm to Will’s forehead. “I do hope you’re right,” he said.

  But he was shaking his head as he said it.

  A heavy hand on his aching forehead forced Will to awaken, and then the pain began in earnest.

  “Christ,” he blew out, struggling to sit up, then wishing he hadn’t, the pain from the tortuous wound on his back multiplying in intensity.

  He opened his eyes to find three hazy forms leaning over him. He squinted, bringing his view into focus—one stranger, Charlotte, and Lucinda.

  And that was when he found his voice. “What in the name of all that is most holy is going on?”

  “Dr. Elijah Forrester, Your Grace,” the man said, reaching to press on Will’s jaw. “You were found in the yard. Luckily, Lady Lucinda was able to identify you.”

  “Lucinda, I am eternally indebted to you,” Will replied through gritted teeth, the man’s probing fingers doing little to ease his discomfort.

  “I am assuming those bruises on your face and the mighty gash on your back were not the result of your fall in the yard.”

  Will ran his hands through his hair. Well, now. Collapsing has never proven to be quite so convenient. “A band of highwaymen, Doctor. Some two miles back. I trust you’ll find a few strewn about in the bushes.”

  The women gasped, Lucinda’s hand moving to cover her heart. “Your Grace, how you can you be so cavalier when you—” She broke off, gathering her composure. “You could have been mortally wounded.”

  Will was enjoying this far more than he should. “But I am not mortally wounded, correct?” he asked, looking to the doctor.

  “No, not mortally,” the doctor replied, turning to his kit and pulling two bottles from the bag.

  “The blood loss from the wound on your back is what caused you to faint. Odd thing that gash,” he began, giving Will a questioning look before setting the bottles down on the side table.

  Will eyed the doctor with a superior glare. “I’ve incurred my share of injuries in the boxing arena and beyond. This latest round of scrapes hardly signify, I assure you.”

  “Very well, then,” the doctor answered succinctly, any questions he may have had concerning the wound having conveniently disappeared. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me below we’ll see to the instructions for the duke’s care.”

  Lucinda whispered something in Charlotte’s ear, to which her aunt answered firmly, “No.” A second bout of whispering began, the request being granted, though with conditions.

  “Rogers will be right outside. The door will be open at all times. Do I make myself clear, dear?”

  “Yes,” Lucinda answered quietly. “Of course. You have my word.”

  Charlotte looked to be rethinking her decision, but the doctor’s prodding won out, the aunt shuffling from the room while Lucinda stayed behind.

  “Lucinda, to say that I’m shocked would be an understatement,” Will teased, wincing with pain as he attempted to sit up.

  She moved to adjust his pillows, the smell of her filling Will’s nose.

  “Why are you here?”

  “In this bed—”

  “You know what I am asking of you,” she interrupted, pushing her long, golden hair from her face.

  Will settled into
the fluffed pillows. “I would hardly be a proper suitor if I allowed you to gallivant across the countryside alone.”

  “You knew that Aunt Charlotte accompanied me—”

  “And how would she have fared against the highwaymen, hmm?” he asked accusingly.

  She massaged her temples, the fatigue plain on her face. “Will.”

  “Yes?”

  She situated herself on the edge of the bed, careful to not touch him. “I cannot do this.”

  A sudden sense of dread filled the pit of Will’s stomach. “Lucinda?”

  “You told me once that you admired my honesty, did you not?”

  Will thought back to their first walk in the park when he’d paid her the compliment. “I did.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath, her gaze suddenly fixed on his. “I have not been honest with you of late. I have tried to be someone that I am not. Played at games that I knew nothing about. Inspired feelings in you for false reasons. And none of it has turned out as I planned.”

  Will reached out, placing his palm on the small of her back. “I am sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Reacting to my many moods and attempts to manipulate your feelings must have been exhausting,” she pressed, her eyes filling with tears. “I am the one who is sorry.”

  He would do anything to make her pain go away. Anything but tell her the truth, you loathsome cad. God, to sit there was torture, the knowledge that he was the one who’d manipulated her from the start burning a hole through his heart. “Lucinda, please, there’s no need to apologize. You are tired and overwrought with concern for your horse—”

  “Will, let me finish before I lose my courage,” she urged quietly.

  Will tensed, anxious to hear the words he’d been sure he never would, but terrified as well.

  She laid a hand on his cheek gently, the soulfulness in her eyes nearly making Will weep. “I ask nothing of you—only, know that I care for you deeply. And, I think I always will.”

  Will could not find enough air to fill his lungs, the weight of her declaration nearly knocking him back into unconsciousness. “Lucinda, I …” he began, choosing his words carefully.

  “Lucinda dear,” Charlotte called out from the hall. “The duke needs his rest now. Do come to bed.”