The Rogue to Ruin EPB

by Lorret, Vivienne

  “At the moment, I can’t recall,” Reed answered, watching her with an alert intensity she’d never seen before. He looked as if he didn’t know what to make of the vision before him. He even blinked. Twice. “I’ve never seen you with a babe before. Who is your visitor?”

  With a handkerchief, Ainsley wiped at the drool collecting beneath the baby’s pouting lip. “My niece, Emma. She’s not in the best of tempers this morning. Nothing will dissuade her from telling me how miserable she is.”

  “She’s likely cutting her teeth. Finch’s daughter is enduring the same and he is having little luck as well. My mum knitted her a bizarre one-eyed doll that has seemed to help distract her. Does your niece have a doll, or even a rattle?”

  He hesitated on the threshold, then stepped into the room.

  It wasn’t in him to leave someone floundering, and she smiled at this knowledge. “Yes, but no object holds her interest.”

  “Hmm. Have you tried bouncing her on your hip?”

  “It only works for a short duration. I fear she realizes that I have no idea what I’m doing. I was never very good at providing comfort,” she admitted with a regretful sigh. “When my sisters were little and they would suffer scrapes and bruises, I was there to dry their tears but also quick to assure them that what happened would mend. I’d even remind them of a previous scrape or bruise that had not left a permanent mark. What they required, I’m sure, was someone to coddle them for a while. Oh, but their tears would always burrow inside of me, making me feel just as wounded and helpless. Much like now.”

  Hearing her own words—though it was difficult over the wailing of her niece—Ainsley cringed inwardly. She hadn’t meant to reveal more of her failings to him.

  “Don’t discount yourself too quickly,” he said plainly. “From what I know of your sisters, they have fared well from your guidance. Both are intelligent, agreeable, and seemingly content with their lives. At least part of the reason for that is because they had you to give them strength when they needed it.”

  Ainsley’s breath stalled in her throat. That was, perhaps, the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. She didn’t know how to respond.

  Feeling inordinately shy all of the sudden, she tucked her head toward Emma and bussed her cheek. “Don’t worry, dearest,” she said, “when this is all over and you’re able to eat Mrs. Darden’s scones, you’ll see that the pain was worth it.”

  Reed chuckled. “A truer fact has never been spoken. Especially the ones brushed with the divine honey glaze with almonds on top.”

  Ainsley should have known this about him. They’d been acquainted for so long, she should know everything about him. But, after the moments they’d shared in her uncle’s study, this seemed very much like a new day. A fresh start.

  “Those are my favorite as well,” she said quietly, lifting her gaze when he came closer.

  His nearness was as inviting as a warm fire on a cool morning. And when he spoke, his low uncultured drawl burrowed deep inside her, making her heart quicken. “Have you tried dancing with her?”

  “I’m afraid that was another thing I was never good at. While Jacinda and Briar had lessons with a dancing master, I was seeing to my uncle’s accounts.”

  “Perhaps you lacked enjoyment in the amusement because your teacher wasn’t as skilled as he ought to have been,” Reed said, misunderstanding. He held out his hand and, reflexively, she gave hers. “I, however, have been told that I am quite light on my feet.”

  She felt her lashes pinch together, her spine stiffening. “Have you, indeed?”

  “Aye.”

  “And just how many women have showered you with such praise?”

  “Enough.” He grinned, a roguish light glinting in his mismatched eyes as he tugged her closer. “But I only want to hear it once more. From you.”

  “Well, you wo—oh—”

  He turned her in a full circle, cutting off her diatribe in a breathless spin, her skirts swishing around her legs. Emma gurgled with a laugh, her drooling mouth curling up like a bow.

  “The skill has aided me against many a sparring opponent,” he said, guiding her into another twirl, making her giddy. “See? It’s as easy as a country dance. And now we’ll simply sway together as if we’re her rocking chair.”

  With one hand still holding hers, his other settled on her waist with the baby between them, she felt a smile bloom on her lips, helpless against the insistent tug. “It appears as though you have the power to sweep even the smallest of women off her feet.”

  “Is that a compliment, highness? Or a confession?”

  “Neither,” she said instantly, her cheeks heating with color.

  He flashed a wicked smile but made no comment. He simply swayed back and forth, keeping her body moving in time with his, her heart thrumming in a decidedly contented rhythm.

  But Emma started to fuss again, gnawing on her chubby little fist.

  “I think, perhaps, she is overtired,” Ainsley said, brushing her cheek across her niece’s downy tendrils.

  “Then sing her a lullaby.”

  Ainsley issued a soft laugh. “I have already wounded her ears with my screeching this morning.”

  Drat! Why could she not stop telling him all the things that were wrong with her?

  “I thought all debutantes possessed an array of accomplishments meant to entertain guests and delight their husbands.”

  Reed was teasing, she knew, yet it had always bothered her that she wasn’t good at anything that mattered. She wasn’t as crafty, nor did she know as many languages as Jacinda. And she didn’t possess a pinky’s worth of Briar’s innumerable talents. All she could do was write lists, add and subtract figures, and make the difficult decisions of how to run a household on a meager income. Nothing that she could demonstrate for the delight of her husband.

  As she was pondering all her failings, Reed began to croon to her niece, saying, “Hush now, little one, and rest your head,” his words gradually turning into a song, a low lullaby of sorts.

  At once, Ainsley was entranced. The rich baritone was as silken as sun-warmed dew on tulip petals. She wanted to close her eyes and listen to him for hours. Emma must have felt the same. Gradually, her head sagged wetly against Ainsley’s shoulder, her fractious grunts fading into sleepy, sweet-scented yawns.

  Whenever Reed held Ainsley, he didn’t only push past her boundaries but seemed to push some of his strength and certainty into her as well. In his arms, the doubts she’d always carried with her weighed nothing at all. And for that reason, she was sorry that the child had fallen asleep because then Reed released her and stepped back.

  She felt the loss instantly. Left to stand alone, she was a cut flower without a vase.

  A disturbing thought, indeed.

  “I’ll leave you now,” he whispered, passing a gentle hand over the baby’s auburn hair, and lightly over Ainsley’s cheek. Then, moving to the doorway, he paused once more, as if she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want him to go so soon. His attention shifted to the red leather book lying on the console table. “A matchmaker’s book for a matchmaker?”

  If Ainsley had been paying attention, instead of allowing herself to be distracted by foreign notions, she would have remembered the flower tucked between the pages.

  Too late, she saw the fringe of vellum as he reached for the book. She started forward, too, ready to hide it safely away. But in her clumsy haste, she knocked it loose.

  The book fell back to the table, and the slip of vellum drifted aimlessly to the floor.

  If it weren’t for the baby in her arms, Ainsley might have thrown herself on it. Anything to keep Reed from discovering her secret.

  But it was no use. Reed was already bending toward the fallen treasure, his fingers closing over the folded edge.

  As he picked it up, he studied the pressed flower carefully. Then looked at her, head cocked in surprise. “Is this the same—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it isn’t.”
>
  A slow grin curled his lips. “I think it is, highness. I remember the little nick on the petal.”

  Without thinking, her gaze dipped to the nick on his upper lip. “It isn’t what you think.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” he said, repeating her own words. Still grinning, he tucked the vellum carefully back inside the book. His pleased gaze flitted over her features. “Just in case you’re wondering, now would be the perfect moment for you to kiss me.”

  She blushed furiously at his outrageous flirtation, temptation tingling on her lips. “I’m certain that moment came and went at least five minutes ago.”

  “Where is the key for your clock? I’m going to wind it back.”

  She refused to smile. “Why, again, did you come to call?”

  “Perhaps I needed to see what fichu you were wearing today. I like this one—the netting is so fine I can see right through it.” Ignoring her gasp, he moved closer and slowly reached up to tuck a loose tendril behind her ear. “Will you be wearing it when I return this evening?”

  “This evening?” she rasped, a hot breath caught in her throat as his fingertips grazed the sensitive underside of her ear before he withdrew.

  “Your uncle invited me to dinner on his way to the park. Didn’t I mention it?”

  But Reed did not wait for her to answer. He merely flashed a grin at her bemused expression and disappeared down the corridor. Not too far in the distance, she could hear him singing again.

  On Richmond Hill there lives a lass,

  More bright than May-day morn,

  Whose charms all other maids’ surpass,

  A rose without a thorn.

  * * *

  That evening, Reed was surprised to find that he hadn’t been the only one invited to dine. A little dragon was there as well.

  If it weren’t for the gray hair and wrinkles, the diminutive Duchess of Holliford might have looked like a child sitting in the armchair at the head of the table. Lifting a forkful of whitefish, she eyed him narrowly as if she suspected him of leaving bones in it.

  But a child she was not. Nor was she addlepated with age, much to his regret. She was sharp-witted and insightful, yet also demanding in her need to satisfy her curiosity.

  “I seem to recall a day when you paid a visit to me, Mr. Sterling,” the duchess began when the next course arrived and a fresh silver-rimmed plate was placed in front of her. “It was shortly after the viscount and his nieces arrived, and you were determined to purchase this townhouse from me.”

  “I was, Your Grace.”

  Across the table from him, Ainsley lowered her napkin into her lap, her slender winged brows knitted. She looked lovely this evening, with her hair piled up into chestnut ringlets at the crown of her head. Candle flame from the chandelier bathed her skin in a creamy glow, accentuating her dark features and the way her lashes bunched together as she studied him with skepticism.

  The duchess clucked her tongue. “Do not imagine that this arrangement will earn you the deed to the property. I am generous with my girls, but not with outsiders.”

  Outsiders? That was likely a polite euphemism for commoners.

  “Isn’t it possible that I would rather have Miss Bourne than a pile of bricks?” he asked simply. His focus on Ainsley, he saw the exact moment when color suffused her cheeks.

  “Pay no attention to Mr. Sterling, Your Grace,” she said in a rush. “He delights in saying the most outlandish things whenever the opportunity arises.”

  The little dragon eyed him shrewdly, nonetheless. “Pretty words, indeed, young man. Though time will be the best judge of things. It always is.”

  He inclined his head in agreement.

  Then Eggleston, apparently liking Reed’s declaration, smiled broadly and lifted his glass. “What a splendid time for a toast . . .”

  After they all drank to the health and happiness of the bride- and groom-to-be, dinner resumed with less pointed queries from Eggleston, most regarding Reed’s education and family. And he responded without elaboration, knowing that the duchess was weighing his every answer. Watching his every move.

  He felt like a banker at the door of a vault, trying to hide the key from cutpurses.

  “You must have seen a good deal of excitement at Sterling’s,” Eggleston said, chafing his hands together as he watched Mr. Hatman roll a linen-draped dinner cart into the room, presenting an elaborately molded brown pudding.

  Distractedly, Reed watched as the elderly man lifted a shaky hand and proceeded to drench the dessert with fine spirits. A deluge of spirits, in fact.

  “I have, indeed. Though perhaps those tales are not appropriate dinner conversation, my lord.” Reed earned a warm look of approval from Ainsley.

  Doubtless, she was unaware that such a small gesture sent his pulse hammering. Then again, it might also be the gown she wore this evening—an apricot-colored silk confection that reminded him of when he had seen the sleeve of her nightdress.

  He hadn’t been the same since.

  “Though you must be concerned about your gambling establishment’s future,” the duchess remarked.

  “Not at all, Your Grace. Sterling’s is in the black.”

  “At the moment, perhaps,” the dragon continued after a sip from her goblet. “However, there are rumors that the number of your patrons will fall considerably once you are married. After all, your fortune was made by men who were drawn to a basic male magnetism that they, themselves, did not possess. And a woman of good breeding has the power to polish away that tarnish those gentlemen find so enthralling.”

  Reed refused to shift in his chair or reveal that this same thought had been on his mind as well. Especially this evening before coming here.

  Walking through his club, the crowd was noticeably thinner. He hadn’t bumped a single shoulder. But he wasn’t about to admit it to the duchess. Instead, he decided that a bland response was required.

  Yet before he could speak, a fireball erupted in the corner of the room in a great whoosh. Gasps around the table followed. Hatman staggered back, waving a napkin. A brandy-soaked napkin.

  It was only an instant before it went up in flames, too.

  Ainsley and Reed both sprang into action. She assisted the bewildered Mr. Hatman into a chair. Reed doused one fire with a few stomps of his boot, and the other with a glass of water over the rippling blue flame. Eggleston crossed the room and opened the window.

  Waving a silver tray to clear the smoke, he chuckled ruefully. “How did you like our pudding spectacular, Mr. Sterling?”

  The charred, drenched pudding issued a final slow wheeze before the center dome collapsed into a puddle. “Is this a nightly occurrence?”

  “Reserved for special occasions only.” Ainsley coughed, but with a laugh and a full, heart-stopping smile.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t from the smoke either.

  “We could all dive into the remaining disaster with our spoons,” she rasped, “or retire to the parlor now. In a minute, I’ll pop down to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Darden if she has a few scones left from this morning.”

  It took Reed a moment to respond. Her smile still had a firm hold on him.

  But so did the duchess’s warning.

  He could imagine, too easily, how a life with Ainsley could change him, soften him into a man whose primary excitement was pudding fires and smiles. But no matter how appealing it was, he couldn’t let it happen.

  His goal was still the success of Sterling’s, and he needed to make sure that Ainsley knew he wasn’t about to change.

  “A game of cards in the parlor sounds like just the thing,” Reed said with a lift of his brow. “I could teach you how to play. Or is that too sinful of an amusement for a woman of good breeding?”

  She paused in handing Mr. Hatman a glass of water and speared Reed with a cool look. “I know the rules and the object of many games, sir. If that is the way you wish to spend your evening, then I will have my uncle fetch the fish.”

 
“Mere tokens? Afraid to play with real coin?”

  She gave him a mysterious grin he’d never seen before. “I’m quite certain it would be best for you if we did not.”

  Reed was never one to back down from a challenge. A pity for his bride-to-be. Doubtless, she wouldn’t like how this night played out.

  * * *

  Ainsley laughed at Reed’s dumfounded expression as he stared at the pile of ivory fish on her side of the table.

  Well, she had warned him, after all.

  Following the first few unlucky hands of whist, Uncle Ernest and the duchess decided to repair to the sofa across the room and read poetry. Then Reed, with a sly grin, suggested piquet. And that was where it all began to fall apart. At least, for him.

  His gaze slanted to hers. “You’re either a Captain Sharp or were educated by one.”

  “Hardly.” She scoffed. “We had few visitors to the cottage and spent little time in the village. In fact, the only reason I know the games at all is because I found a book in my uncle’s library when we moved to his estate.”

  “Clearly, you’ve played quite a lot.”

  She shook her head and grinned impishly. “Not actually. The few times I practiced with Jacinda and Briar did not end well. They were unhappy—like you are now—and I was left bored. Card games are far too simple and I prefer more of a challenge. After all, if I’m going to spend my time on something, I should like it to be worthwhile.”

  He leaned in, staring at her intently as if he desired nothing more than to burrow into her skull and sift through the contents. “How did you do it, then?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve always had a knack for numbers. I just seemed to know what cards you held, that’s all.”

  Ainsley shrugged and rose from her chair, trying not to laugh at seeing him in such a state of bewilderment. She had set Reed Sterling on his ear and he didn’t know what to make of her.

  It was impossible not to grin. She couldn’t recall having a jollier time in her entire life.

  After bidding farewell to the duchess and her uncle, Reed followed her out into the corridor, brooding every step to the sconce-lit foyer.