Rogue's Lady

by Julia Justiss

  The air of ruthlessness about him made her almost as uncomfortable as the insolent way he inspected her when her grandfather wasn’t watching, his eyes darkening with a lust he made no attempt to conceal. An unpleasant shiver passed over her skin at the thought of being near him on the darkened terrace, even with her grandfather and cousin beside her. Nor did she wish to do anything that might encourage in him the mistaken impression that she had the slightest desire for his company.

  “Count von Strossen, you must have lost your way,” Alessandro said pleasantly, though Allegra sensed her cousin had no more liking for the Austrian than she did. “This is but a small insignificant garden, unworthy of your notice. Let me lead you back to the south terrace. With the fountains at play, a stroll there is most refreshing.”

  “But the most delectable ornament in your garden is here. I should find a stroll with her much more…satisfying.”

  Even in the darkness, Allegra could see her cousin frown at the Austrian’s provocative wording. With the fluid situation in Italy at this moment, the governments the French had imposed being dismantled and the local landowners dancing a delicate ballet with the Austrian powers who sought to replace the French, she knew her grandfather could not afford to antagonize the count. Which doubtless accounted for the fact that the duke had not discouraged his frequent visits to the palazzo.

  Before Alessandro could return a heated reply, she said quickly, “Overwhelmed as I am by your courtesy, Count, I fear I am fatigued. Grandfather and Duke Alessandro were just bidding me good-night before I retire.”

  As if he recognized and appreciated her sudden weariness for the tactic to avoid him it was, the count smiled. “Would that I might do my poor part to assist you, Duchessa,” he murmured. “Another evening, perhaps. Another evening soon.”

  Though she wasn’t truly tired, Allegra had no more desire to return to the fawning attention and gallant compliments that awaited her in the ballroom than she did to suffer the count’s lustful hand at her elbow. Leaning up to kiss her grandfather’s cheek, she said, “Good night, nonno, Alessandro.” According the count the smallest of nods, she turned away, her duenna hastening to follow.

  From behind her came the count’s soft laughter. “Ah, a disdainful woman,” she heard him say to Alessandro as she hurried toward the entrance. “How much more satisfying to compel the surrender of such a one than to master any of those witless creatures so eager to please a man.”

  Closing the door upon his words, Allegra repressed another shiver. Sensitive situation or not, she vowed she’d risk creating a political incident before she’d allow the count to “compel” her “surrender.”

  Up in her room half an hour later, her formal dress discarded in favor of a silk night rail, Allegra leaned upon the stone balustrade of the balcony outside her chamber. She wasn’t in the least sleepy, nor did she feel like perusing a book. The stars spangling the heavens and the faint sound of a plaintive melody emanating from the distant ballroom fueled a restless longing in her heart.

  Wonderful as it had been to have spent the last three months in pampered luxury, she’d gradually come to think ’twas like living in a theater in which she was the principal player, surrounded by a cast of maids, dressers, friseurs and footmen who refused to let her do anything more useful than choose what new gown she would wear and which elegant hairstyle and bonnet would accompany it.

  Though she felt guilty about the reaction after all the love and attention her grandfather had lavished upon her, she had come to feel more hemmed in than ever before in her life.

  She’d thought the restrictions imposed upon her by the ton in London confining, but the limitations on a well-bred lady’s behavior here were even greater. She soon discovered she was not permitted to walk a step outside the house without Signora Bertrude, a solemn older lady chosen by her grandfather specifically, Allegra surmised, judging by the duenna’s sole topic of conversation, to school her in choosing a husband. Often when she walked in the gardens, the signora summoned a maid or a footman to join them as well.

  With difficulty Allegra had persuaded her grandfather to allow her to ride about the grounds rather than be driven in a coach. But when she rode, she was preceded by an outrider and accompanied by at least two grooms.

  When, feeling a compulsion to venture beyond the estate, she expressed a desire to visit the nearest town and inspect the shops, her duenna replied that the duchessa need only state what she required and the requisite tradesmen would be summoned to bring their wares to the palazzo for her consideration.

  Though she supposed a gentleman had more freedom, Allegra was beginning to appreciate why her father had chosen to leave this house and pursue his music abroad.

  She missed being able to ride and walk and shop without an entourage. And as much as Italy excited her admiration with its beauty and diversity, she was finding she missed the deep green hills and quiet dales of England.

  Her grandfather’s house was exquisite and the affection he’d shown her heartwarming, but the bitter truth was that she didn’t feel she belonged here, either.

  To her initial surprise but growing understanding, she’d also found that she did not miss Rob. Once the first wave of hurt and humiliation eased, she began to realize she had probably never felt more for him than the vestiges of youthful hero worship that, confused by grief and desperate for a home, she’d attempted, but never quite succeeded, to convince herself was love.

  As had been brought so forcefully and painfully to her attention during her last interview with him, she hadn’t really known the mature Rob at all, as he didn’t know or appreciate her. Aside from a mutual grief over his father’s death, they no longer had anything in common.

  The new Lord Lynton had considered it inappropriate to ride with her or teach her fencing or billiards, as he’d done with careless grace when they were younger. Of course, she forced herself to recall, surprised to find the memory no longer stung so sharply, all along he’d been in love with another girl, one who, from what she’d gleaned, was as blond and proper and biddable as Allegra was not.

  Despite their shared past, only in her wishful imagining had there ever been the possibility of a future with Rob. He’d seen her simply as a responsibility he needed to turn over to someone else so he might get on with his own life unencumbered.

  Admitting that no longer hurt as it once had. In fact, she was beginning to develop a reluctant understanding of his position, though she still fiercely resented his characterization of her family.

  She had to smile, recalling that the only man she’d had any interest in being turned over to was the one man in London Rob seemed most to dislike.

  He was also the one person she’d missed most since leaving England. How many times had she met some unusual or interesting new personage, experienced a new sight or smell or taste, and wished Will were here to share it with her! How often she’d imagined his reaction to some new circumstance, wished she might have the benefit of his intelligent observations or smiled to think of the witty rejoinders he might have made.

  She missed the friendship they’d developed, where she might express what she thought and felt without eliciting the alarmed or disapproving looks her comments sometimes evoked in her Italian family and servants.

  Just as keenly, she missed the titillating warmth of being near Will, the velvet timbre of his voice that could send shivers of wicked delight across her skin, the look from those vivid blue eyes that made her lips and cheeks burn and her stomach churn with need.

  She placed a hand over it now. If it had been Will instead of the count who wished to stroll in the dark garden with her, or tiptoe up to her chamber to help her into—or out of—her night rail, she would have had a very different response.

  Where might he be now? she wondered. Waltzing across some ballroom with one of the ladies on her list? Or perhaps even engaged to be married?

  If he wasn’t yet, he soon would be. His love of Brookwillow was too strong for him to shrink from doin
g whatever he must to secure its restoration.

  If she ever wished to contact him again, she should do so before he pledged his troth to another woman. Unlike Rob, who believed Will possessed no sense of honor, Allegra knew that once he exchanged his vows, though he might dally discreetly, he would never distress or embarrass his wife by openly corresponding with another woman.

  Suddenly she felt the overwhelming need to share all that she’d experienced with Will before that event occurred. Besides, she’d promised to let him know how she was doing, hadn’t she?

  Fired by the greatest sense of enthusiasm and purpose she’d experienced since finding Papa’s family, Allegra carried a brace of candles to her desk, took out a quill, ink and paper and began to write.

  THREE WEEKS LATER, Will sat at his desk, reading through again the missive he’d received this morning from Allegra. His heart had leapt in his chest when Phillips had handed him the post and he’d seen the letter with his name upon it in her flowing hand. Wanting to savor it, he’d waited until after the day’s work was completed to take it into the library where, glass of wine in hand, he meant to slowly devour every word.

  Even after having read it through twice, though, the news she’d conveyed still astounded him. As the full import sank in, he threw back his head and laughed.

  Allegra Antinori, scorned by the ton as the daughter of a lowly musician, was in truth the granddaughter of a duke. Indeed, a duchessa in her own right. The woman he’d once asked to marry him outranked him by several degrees!

  The Malverns’ travels must have taken them beyond the reach of the regular post, for surely they knew of this and if they’d conveyed the news to London, Lucilla would have heard it. He had no doubt that, knowing how isolated he was from ton gossip, she would have informed him at once.

  As proud and fiercely grateful as he was to learn of her radical rise in station, the dismaying implications of her news soon sobered him.

  ’Twas unthinkable now to imagine going to Italy and begging Allegra to return with him as the wife of a lowly baron on an insignificant bit of English countryside. Not when her grandfather doubtless envisioned arranging a grand match for her with a gentleman of the highest rank.

  For a moment, the pain that squeezed his chest robbed him of breath. As it eased, he picked up his wineglass with trembling hand and downed a large swallow. His hard work at Brookwillow, he thought sardonically, had done little to accomplish one purpose for which he’d originally thought to bury himself in the country. Allegra Antinori still had a stranglehold upon his heart.

  Of course, he’d made no real attempt to free himself of his love for her. Instead, after leaving London he’d thrown himself into the work at Brookwillow, believing each step he took in its restoration brought him closer to the day when he might leave England to search for her.

  With the aid of some tenants along with craftsmen hired from the city, the manor’s whole roof and all the rotten wall beams had been replaced so that the structure was now secure against rain and wind. He’d sent the tenants back to their fields with the interior still incomplete, planning to reassemble the working party during the winter while the land lay fallow. Though much still needed to be done, he’d been able to have the furniture moved back into the rooms for which it had been designed and to open up the library for daily use.

  The fields, too, had responded to the attention lavished on them. If the weather held fair and the summer rains were plentiful, Brookwillow should produce its first saleable crop since his father’s death.

  In fact, everything had been progressing toward realizing his dream for Brookwillow. Its fields would soon be waving with ripening wheat, its rooms repainted and repapered, its marble front hallway gleaming, the coffered ceilings restored to original splendor. He’d smiled as he went about his work, a glow of pride and anticipation warming him as he envisioned finding Allegra, rescuing her from a life of penury and bringing her home to be mistress of Brookwillow.

  Except she no longer needed him to search for or rescue her. Brookwillow might be looking better than it had in years, but he could offer Allegra nothing to compare to the wealth, power or position she now enjoyed.

  He swallowed hard, staring into his wineglass as he forced himself to face that bitter truth. He should reply to her letter, congratulate her on her good fortune, and finally begin the process he should have started months ago of trying to purge her from his mind and heart.

  Except…except. Snatching up her letter, he reread the last part again. “My grandfather’s estate at San Gregillio is so beautiful, Will,” she wrote, “I would love you to see it. If you—and your new bride, for I know you must soon be married—should ever embark on a tour of the Continent, I do hope you’ll stop and visit. I should be so delighted to meet you again and hear all the news of home…” After thanking him for his kindness, she had signed the letter, then added “Please do come if you can.”

  It seemed she was quite anxious for him to visit. Amid all the good news and the many and interesting experiences she recounted since leaving England, did he detect a note of homesickness? Might she be lonely, longing as desperately to see him as he was to see her?

  Might he still have a chance to win her?

  You, Will Tavener, are a hopeless dreamer, he told himself, throwing the letter down in disgust. Reading between the lines of her note not what she’s written but what you hope might be there.

  The paper drifted down to settle next to the list of eligible maidens she’d given him before her departure. He kept it propped on his desk in honor of the lady who’d inspired him to seize his life in his own hands and begin the restoration of Brookwillow.

  With hard work—and Domcaster’s funds—he’d accomplished more than he would have dreamed possible a year ago. Might he succeed too at the seemingly impossible task of winning her hand?

  Was it even fair for him to attempt it, now that persuading her to come back to Brookwillow would mean so enormous a drop in status for her?

  Unable to decide, he jumped up and paced the library, his thoughts zigzagging back and forth between the desire to seek her out and the resolution to refrain.

  He was still pacing when Barrows entered to join him in a glass of brandy. Another benefit of living far from the censorious eyes of the ton, Will reflected, was being able to freely associate with this man who, like the Phillipses, had since boyhood been as much friend as servant.

  Observing Will’s activity and the expression on his face, Barrows raised his eyebrows as he walked over to pour himself a glass. “What catastrophe has befallen us now?” he asked. “Has Domcaster decided to call in his loan?”

  “No disaster,” Will replied. “At least, nothing of that sort.”

  “Then I must conclude this proclivity to frantic motion has something to do with the letter from Italy that arrived this morning. I hope the young lady hasn’t fallen into difficulties.”

  Will laughed shortly. “Quite the opposite. It seems she rediscovered the family of her father—which just happens to possess a dukedom.”

  “How fortunate for the young lady,” Barrows replied, studying Will’s face. “You will offer her my congratulations when you send your own, I trust.”

  Will looked away. “I…I am considering delivering those congratulations in person. She’s invited me to visit, you see,” he said, striding over to his desk and holding up the letter. “To tour her grandfather’s estate. With the work on the house on hold until winter and the crops already planted, I’ve half a mind to go. ’Twould be a marvelous opportunity to visit the Continent—and see how she is faring, of course.”

  Barrows uttered a long-suffering sigh. “I best begin packing our bags, then. No, not a word about leaving me to supervise the estate while you go loping off to Italy. You forced me to remain in London when you brought Miss Antinori to Brookwillow the first time, and see what a botch you made of that.”

  “It isn’t as if I’ll need your expert assistance to try to persuade her to come back wit
h me,” Will said irritably. “She’s a bloody duchessa now, for heaven’s sake. Besides, you’ve never before interfered in my affairs of the heart.”

  “I’ve never before had to serve you while you prowled around like a bear with a sore paw, snapping at everything. Oh, you’ve been better since we returned to Brookwillow, but if I were to let you go alone and you failed to win Miss Antinori this time, I daresay you’d be so intolerable upon your return to England that I might have to let the razor slip the first time I shaved you.”

  For a bleak moment, Will considered what his life would be, stripped of any hope of winning Allegra. “If I came back without her, I’d probably want you to.”

  Barrows tipped back the rest of the brandy. “Exactly,” he said, setting down the glass. “So how soon do we leave?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  NEAR NOON TWO WEEKS LATER, Allegra strolled a graveled allée in the formal garden, relishing the shade provided by the sculpted yews and the wind-drifted moisture from the fountains. Already the afternoon promised to be scorching.

  A reluctant Signora Bertrude sat on a nearby bench beside a wilted maid, both fanning themselves, having failed to persuade Allegra that ’twas already too hot to venture into the garden. But after being confined to the house all morning by visitors and feeling too restless to remain shuttered within until the evening cool made walking outside pleasant again, Allegra had insisted on coming now.

  She was about to take pity on her attendants when a footman trotted up. “There’s a gentleman come to see you, Duchessa,” he said.

  Allegra suppressed a groan. “Offer him refreshment, Federico, but tell him ’tis too sultry for me to receive any more visitors this morning. I shall see him tonight.”

  “So I already told him, Duchessa, but he was most insistent that I at least bring you his card.” The footman held it out to her, shaking his head in disapproval. “A foreign gentleman, English, I think, who speaks our language not very well.”