Redeeming the Rogue

by Donna MacMeans

  “As did I,” Arianne said softly. Her heart twisted. “But it is clear he did not.”

  “I’m surprised your brothers haven’t rushed forward to defend your honor.” Mrs. Summers swiped at the corners of her eyes before her hand came to rest on Arianne’s shoulder. “They should have forced the blackguard to marry you.”

  Her former teacher’s loyalty lifted her spirits a little. She patted the older woman’s hand. “I wouldn’t have wished for marriage to a man who didn’t love me. I remember my mother’s pain at the hand of my . . . the old Duke. I’ve resigned myself to living a quiet, independent life.” She smiled at her teacher’s reflection. “As for my brothers”—she glanced down—“I haven’t told them.”

  “You haven’t written!” Mrs. Summers exclaimed. “Why, I’m tempted to take my hand to pen. They should know what happened!”

  “No,” Arianne stated forcefully. “I forbid you to write them. It would come to no good. I would not wish for marriage to the Baron under those circumstances.” Nor would she want William to feel guilty about sharing the recent discovery of their parentage with her. There was little William could do to change recent events, but Arianne would spare him the pain of trying.

  “But the gossip!” Mrs. Summers exclaimed. “Don’t you know what will happen to you when news of the Baron’s insult reaches London? You were used, child. He should pay for that.”

  And marriage to her would be the punishment? No. She didn’t want that. Fortunately she didn’t need that.

  “Even without a husband, I shall never be destitute,” Arianne said. “My brother’s allowance will keep food in the larder and coal in the grates.” His money couldn’t alleviate her loneliness or eliminate her shame. She would have to learn to live without the sort of company she’d enjoyed these many years. She’d have to learn to live without the sort of joy she saw on William’s face when he married his heiress.

  “The ambassador said he would do everything in his power to keep the news from leaking to London society,” Arianne continued. “While I realize he can’t stop it forever, we should have a little more time to enjoy London. Then I suppose we can retire to Sanctuary, my dower property in Worcester. A quiet life alone in the country.” Arianne sighed. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “It is for someone like yourself who has spent most of her life involved in embassy parties and politics around that very world,” Mrs. Summers grumbled half under her breath.

  Arianne chose to ignore her. “Still, the question remains,” she said. “Do I look like someone’s mistress?”

  Mrs. Summers sighed. “No, child. You still look as fresh and beautiful as a new dawning day. If someone mistook you for a mistress, it was probably his own lustful yearnings speaking—nothing else. Now, best you get to sleep, or else someone will mistake you for a paid chaperone with packed luggage under her tired eyes.”

  Arianne hugged her former teacher. “I’m glad you agreed to be my chaperone. Your loyalty and friendship mean more to me than all the silly parties and receptions in London.”

  Mrs. Summers’s cheeks flushed. “To bed with you now, else there won’t be any silly parties or receptions to attend.”

  As soon as Mrs. Summers left, Arianne’s shoulders heaved with an inner sigh. A few weeks ago, she thought she had the world figured out. She thought she’d found the key to a life with a safe companion by her side, someone who’d never raise a hand to her. In hindsight . . . well, what was done was done. No one would invite such disgrace into a marriage. She had mussed too many handkerchiefs over the incident. Yet her eyes moistened anew, and she knew she’d muss another.

  THE NEXT MORNING, MRS. SUMMERS’S WORDS CAME BACK to haunt Arianne when she opened her morning paper to the society news column.

  Mrs. Albert Sugden announced that she will have the honor to host the Baron Von Dieter, his sister, Miss Marianne, and his fiancée, Miss Sharpe, when they arrive from Vienna this week to enjoy the sights and amusements to be had during the London season. A ball has been planned in their honor. Mrs. Albert Sugden had the fortune to meet the Baron when she recently traveled to Vienna . . .

  “He’s coming here!” Arianne exclaimed, clenching the ironed paper hard enough to wring the ink from the page.

  “Who, dear?” Mrs. Summers asked from the opposite side of the table. “That young man from last night who set you into such a dither?”

  Arianne grimaced. “I was not in a dither.” Though in truth, thoughts of Mr. Rafferty had kept her restless most of the night. Not thoughts of him, she corrected herself. Thoughts of why he’d selected her as the suspect mistress. Yes, that was the gist of it. Certainly it wasn’t his smoldering stare, or his devilish lips that she’d managed to set to bleeding, or that seductive rhythm in his speech. She shook her head. “No. Definitely not. I was referring to the news that the Baron is coming to London with his horrid sister and his new fiancée.”

  “I don’t recall you calling Marianne ‘horrid’ before.” Mrs. Summers calmly sipped from her teacup.

  “That’s because you didn’t see her superior gloat when the Baron announced his future wife. I always suspected she was disappointed in her brother’s choice of me. She managed to show her colors when I was most vulnerable.”

  “Perhaps the Baron is coming to London specifically to seek you out,” Mrs. Summers said. “Perhaps he wants to apologize or offer an explanation for his actions.”

  A sharp pain knifed its way through Arianne at the thought of seeing the Baron again. Maintaining a calm façade while he waltzed with his newly announced fiancée in Vienna had been difficult. So difficult, she pleaded a headache and left before the dance was through. She had no intention of letting him see the blow he had dealt. “An apology will not change the damage he has done to my reputation,” she said, willing her hands not to shake. “Besides, what he may seek to mend, I believe his sister intends to destroy.”

  “So what do you plan to do?” Mrs. Summers asked. It was clear she had no solutions to offer beyond seeking her brother William’s assistance.

  “I’m not certain.” Arianne thought a bit. “I don’t plan to see him.” That much she knew without doubt. To look into his eyes and see pity reflected there would just be too painful. “A meeting like that would set tongues wagging, I’m afraid,” she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

  “If he still gazes at you as he once did, the ton would most certainly whisper,” Mrs. Summers agreed. “But you can’t stay here and hope to avoid him. Perhaps it’s time to visit one of your brothers.”

  To appear suddenly at one of their country estates unannounced would surely elicit a number of questions on their part. Questions she’d be hesitant to answer.

  William’s ancient butler, Hastings, appeared in the breakfast room as silent as a vapor with a note upon a tray. He carried the silver platter to Arianne. “For you, my lady.”

  She stared at the cream envelope for a moment, hesitant to open it. What if it was an invitation to the Sugdens’ ball? She coughed modestly, thinking to plant the seeds of an onset of illness, then removed a single sheet from the envelope. Once she recognized the embossed letterhead she managed a deep breath of relief, then quickly scanned the brief contents. “There is one place I intend to go,” she said with a quick nod to Hastings. He retreated as silently as he arrived.

  “Where would that be, dear?” Mrs. Summers inquired.

  “Lord Henderson says that he is desirous of a meeting this afternoon.” Hiding her concern from Mrs. Summers, she wondered why the head of the Home Office wished to speak to her. Had he learned of the incident in Vienna?

  “Perhaps the diversion will present a solution to this problem.” Mrs. Summers shook her head. “I just don’t understand whatever made the Baron change his mind. I had honestly thought your matchmaking skills had played in your favor this time.”

  “Accidental,” Arianne said as she picked up a mister to spray the fishbone fern sprouting on the corner plant stand. She’d have to sp
eak with the housekeeper about a better regimen for these plants before she left on her next trip—wherever that may be. If news of her misadventure had reached Lord Henderson, it might be time to settle into Sanctuary. She hoped not. She wasn’t ready to isolate herself from the world just yet.

  “Did you say something?” Mrs. Summers asked.

  “I said my supposed matchmaking skills are purely accidental,” she said as she took her mister to spray the plants in the next room.

  “Accidental or not,” Mrs. Summers called after her, “it’s time Cupid’s Mistress fell under her own magic.”

  Magic? Arianne swallowed her laugh. If she truly possessed magic, the Baron would be sitting on a lily pad luring innocent flies in his own stagnant frog pond and the arrogant Mr. Rafferty would be . . . Well, she mused, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d make him. Though the vision of a four-footed animal with a loud bray crossed her mind.

  Three

  “SO, RAFFERTY . . .” LORD HENDERSON STOOD BEHIND his desk in his London quarters. He gestured for Rafferty to take one of two chairs opposite. “What were your impressions of last night’s reception?”

  Rafferty pondered the selection of chairs, not entirely comfortable with his back toward the door, but stepped before a high-back chair off to the side, thus minimizing unanticipated threats. Surviving in the murky world of government secrets made such ordinary decisions a complication of risks.

  “You can let down your guard, Rafe,” Lord Henderson said, compassion warming his eyes. “You’ll be quite safe here.”

  Rafferty nodded toward the window before accepting the seat. “Nevertheless, I left Phineas watching your doorstep.” He retrieved the folded paper from his pocket. “These are dangerous times. We intercepted a note from Barnell last night suggesting something is afoot. If the Fenians are preparing for another assault, the two of us together could make an appealing target.”

  “A note?” Henderson took the paper and scanned the brief contents. “How did you get this?” He raised an eyebrow at Rafferty. “Or perhaps I shouldn’t inquire . . .”

  Rafferty grinned. “A thief tried to rob Phineas and me while we walked to the reception. We lightened his pockets instead.”

  “Walked?” The second eyebrow rose to join the first. “Unlike your usual haunts, hansoms traverse Mayfair.”

  “I was in no hurry to arrive.” Rafferty averted his gaze. Henderson could never understand his discomfort around the upper crust. While he may be as well educated as the gentry, the similarities ended there.

  Henderson glanced at the note. “How do you know the ‘B’ is for Barnell?”

  “The thief admitted as much. It was a slip of the tongue. One he instantly regretted.”

  Henderson lowered to his chair, dismay in his expression. “I was afraid of this. Lord Weston was concerned that recent events in America suggest the Fenians are exploiting the immigrants for money and arms to stage another attack on the Queen. While I don’t understand the full measure of this message, I’m certain ‘Yanks’ refers to the Irish immigrants in America.”

  “What recent events?” Rafferty asked, suspicious. “If the Fenians have spread to America—”

  “Basil Toomey has been spotted there.”

  Rafferty lurched from his seat. Toomey! He’d searched so long for the foul beast, he’d given up hope of finding him alive. He’d assumed the devil had claimed one of his own and the bastard’s soul burned in eternal hellfire. Now, to discover that the villain still lived . . . his jaw tightened. “I’ll sail immediately.”

  “Sit down, Rafe. I understand your urgency, but there’s more you need to know.”

  “I’d prefer to stand,” Rafferty insisted. “The more time spent here, the less opportunity I’ll have for catching the bastard.”

  “Sit!” Henderson glared, pointing to the chair. “Toomey will still be there when you’ve heard all that I have to say.” Reluctantly, Rafferty acquiesced, and Henderson continued. “I can’t allow you to hunt Toomey in America as you might here. There are matters of diplomacy involved . . . especially now. I sent you to that reception last night for a reason.”

  “You knew about Toomey earlier?” His eyes narrowed. Lord Henderson knew of his determination to find Toomey. Why had he kept this information secret?

  The butler, a man old enough to be Henderson’s grandfather, interrupted. “Excuse me, my lord, but Lady Arianne Chambers requests an audience.”

  “Excellent. Send her in.” Henderson smiled, then glanced at Rafferty. “I invited Lady Arianne, as you may have need of her unique abilities. I had hoped you two would meet at the reception.” His brows raised in question.

  “Unique abilities?” Rafe was familiar with women who possessed unique abilities of a basic, more intimate nature, but Lady Arianne Chambers had already assured him that “a sister of a duke” would have no such inclinations. Pity that. His dreams had run rampant last night of that very same lady panting about her relationship to the Duke as he clasped her pert little bottom, while his common but straining—

  “Lord Henderson.” Green finery burst into the room, banishing his pleasant reverie. Both men immediately stood. Lady Arianne swept right by Rafferty in her headstrong march toward Henderson. A lavender scent trailed in the wake of her flounces and lace. Drat. She’d corrected her fragrance from last evening.

  Not a shy, retiring miss, this Lady Arianne, he mused. His mother, may she rest in peace, may have likened her to a fairy merrow. What a shame that such energetic passion had been wasted on a woman determined not to use it in a way that mattered.

  “Lady Arianne, how lovely to see you again.” Henderson nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I must admit I was surprised by your note. Especially as I had a disturbing encounter last evening and wished to consult you about—”

  “Me?” Rafferty interrupted.

  She quickly turned toward his voice, shock halting her tirade. Her widened eyes sampled the whole of him, before focusing on his injured lip. A soft pink rose from her neck, and for an instant, he imagined her upper-class brain could read his decidedly lower-class thoughts. He lowered his eyelids and offered his best provocative smile. Shocking the prim and proper Lady Arianne was proving most entertaining.

  “You’ve met Mr. Rafferty?” Henderson nodded in his direction, a twinkle barely hidden in his eye. “He’s one of my best investigators and well suited for the part he’s to play. I had hoped you would have an opportunity to observe him.”

  She was certainly observing him now, he thought with an inner victorious gloat. The colleens at Brannigan’s would have already removed his shirt if he were to offer them this same unspoken invitation. The flush rising from her neck turned a shade darker, yet otherwise she appeared unfazed. “We met yesterday evening,” she said hesitantly, her gaze still latched onto him. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rafferty.”

  She was a miserable liar. He’d wager she was just as uncomfortable as her perusal was making him. His earlier lurid imaginings had inspired certain areas of his body to action. Fortunately, she turned her attention away from him and toward Lord Henderson, allowing him opportunity to compose himself.

  “I’m sorry, did you say you needed my help for a part in a play?” Lady Arianne’s brows knitted in confusion. “I assure you I have no talents in theatrics. Perhaps—”

  “Not a play, my lady.” Henderson gestured toward the chair beside Rafferty. “Please take a seat. I have much to explain.”

  Lady Arianne sat, allowing the two men to reclaim their seats as well.

  “I have already mentioned to Mr. Rafferty that recent events in America require his attention. We only have a small diplomatic presence in America. Too small to even warrant an embassy. Therefore, I propose to send Rafferty to Washington, D.C., as the British minister to head up the legation there.”

  “British minister?” Rafferty exclaimed. “That’s preposterous!” He could hardly search for Toomey if he were entangled in diplomatic hogwash.
/>
  “Lord Weston is the British minister in Washington,” Arianne protested. “Why would you replace him with Mr. Rafferty?”

  Compassion replaced all vestiges of humor in Lord Henderson’s face. Rafferty leaned forward, anticipating this might be “the event” spoken of earlier.

  “It grieves me to tell you in this manner, Lady Arianne. Especially as I know you’ve a close relationship with Lord and Lady Weston and Kitty, their daughter, but . . . Lord Weston has been murdered.”

  “Murdered!” Her eyes widened while color drained from her face. Fearing she might faint, Rafferty stood, prepared to catch her should she slump in unconsciousness. He needn’t have bothered. She snapped open a fan and directed a current of air toward her face, but she never lost awareness. Impressed, Rafferty reclaimed his seat. Lady Arianne was apparently made of sterner stuff than the gentry lassies he’d had occasion to meet.

  “How is that possible?” she gasped, dabbing at the corners of her glistening eyes with the tip of her glove. Behind the flurry of her fan, hidden from Henderson’s observation, her lips trembled. Only Rafferty, seated to her right, saw her silent fight for control. Damn. He remembered too well his own battle for control when as a young boy, the headmaster sternly informed him that a Fenian bomb had made him an orphan and that tears were not to be tolerated, especially not in public. Damn English with their stiff upper lip.

  Rafferty retrieved his handkerchief from his inside pocket and extended it in offering. She raised her glance to his, her lips fighting for a semblance of a grateful smile before she reluctantly accepted the linen. In that moment, Rafferty wished he had met the man that elicited such an emotional reaction from this courageous young woman.

  “Lord Weston was the kindest man I know.” She delicately pressed his cloth to the sides of her nose. “Does Kitty know?”