The Rogue to Ruin EPB

by Lorret, Vivienne

At the door, he expelled an irritated breath through his nose and looked through the sidelights toward Sterling’s. “Have you hired a butler yet?”

  Taken aback by the sudden change in topic, her mood sobered somewhat. “I believe I’ve narrowed down my decision. Why do you ask? If Mr. Finch is tired of coming here, then . . .”

  “It isn’t that. It’s just”—Reed raked a hand through his hair—“hang it all . . . I don’t want him to know how soundly you’ve bested me. This clobbering was even worse than the teapot.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her in an uncontrolled flow of joy. She tried to stop it by cupping her hand over her mouth, but then her eyes watered, giving her away. “It will be our secret, then.”

  Watching her, Reed’s expression softened. He drew near and lifted a hand to her face, collecting the wetness from her lashes with the pad of his thumb.

  At his warm touch and the heated look in his gaze, her breath quickened. The remaining mirth was trapped in her body, humming like a bumblebee caught in a night-blooming flower, waiting to burst free of the petals.

  “I would rather take something else,” Reed said in a low drawl. His gaze dropped to her mouth as he put his damp thumb to his lips, tasting her. “But I’m waiting for you to give it.”

  That unrepentant rogue made it impossible to breathe, or to think of anything other than leaping into his arms. And she wanted to so badly her body ached. Her own gaze strayed to his mouth, craving the scalding press of his flesh to hers.

  But down the hall, she could hear the duchess and her uncle in conversation, readying to depart. Ainsley could imagine how shocked and disappointed they would be to discover her in the throes of kissing—even more so than Mrs. Darden had been.

  Ainsley expelled a long, frustrated sigh and quickly opened the door. She practically shoved him out onto the pavement. “Good night, Mr. Sterling. Pleasant dreams.”

  Reed stared back at her, the gold glow from the foyer glinting over that smoldering ember in his iris. Then he grinned at her wickedly, the way the devil might when he knew someone was close to succumbing to temptation.

  “When it comes to you, highness, all of my dreams are scandalous.”

  Shamefully, she wanted to hear more. Wanted to ask him to describe one in detail. But before she made that mistake, she closed the door sharply and leaned against it, her heart beating like a heathen’s drum.

  They would both be better off to leave certain curiosities to the safety of dreams.

  Chapter 19

  “A few minutes were sufficient for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  Reed watched from the window of his office the following morning and saw the exact moment when Ainsley spotted the primroses on her doorstep.

  She stalled on the threshold and stared at the cluster for the longest moment as if she didn’t believe they were there. Then she smiled. And he smiled, too.

  Highness, you will have to work all the harder now to prove that our little encounters have meant nothing to you.

  Ainsley glanced across the street, her focus on the door to his gaming hell, perhaps waiting for him. Then, apparently believing that he wasn’t going to make an appearance, she slipped outside and gathered the plump bouquet he’d tied with a crimson ribbon, bending her cheek to the buttery blossoms. Before she went back inside, she wavered on the threshold, uncertainty in her posture.

  Then shyly, she pressed her fingertips to her lips and looked once more at Sterling’s.

  “Damn it all, it’s true,” Raven muttered beside him.

  Reed nearly jumped out of his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to see that you’ve gone soft and moony-eyed.” Raven shook his head in disgust.

  Reed snatched the ledger from his grasp. “The tallies from last night?”

  “Yes. But the numbers aren’t good.”

  “We’ve had slow nights before. Nothing to be concerned about.” And yet, skimming the figures, Reed was concerned.

  “There’ve been other rumors,” Raven continued with an ominous pause. “It seems that Mitchum fellow didn’t take your invitation to leave London, after all.”

  Reed clenched his fists, his knuckles popping. “Where is he, then?”

  “He made a friend of one of your enemies. The last man you ever fought, in fact.”

  “Lord Savage?” When Raven nodded, Reed cursed, incredulous. The marquess refused to let go of that fight, harping that the match had been rigged by someone who’d slipped him a sleeping draught beforehand.

  Savage had taken sour grapes and made vinegar with them.

  “For the past two nights,” Raven began, “Savage has been hosting exclusive parties and fights in his ballroom. And guess who’s the main attraction? His new friend, Mitchum. Undefeated, too.”

  What was Savage up to this time?

  For a full two years after their fight, he’d called Reed a coward, challenging him whenever they’d met on the street. But Reed had earned the money he’d needed to open Sterling’s. There’d been no reason to fight again.

  Glowering down at the ledger, he dropped it onto the surface of his desk. The strangest part was, before the fight, he’d actually thought Savage wasn’t that bad of a fellow . . . for a blueblood.

  “There’s more,” Raven said, sifting a hand through his dark hair, his gray gaze hesitant. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  “No. I don’t suppose I will, considering how I’ll have to beat you senseless before I get all the information out of you.”

  Raven—usually so sure and cocky, proclaiming to know that Reed was coolheaded—took a step back. “According to one of the girls at Miss Molly’s, there’s even talk of Lord Savage shopping around for a place to put an exclusive club. Only, he says that Sterling’s will be vacant as soon as you become”—Raven hesitated—“Mr. Matchmaker.”

  So that was the banner Savage was waving now, then?

  Reed expelled a slow breath. Calling a man a coward was one thing. At least it kept the patrons interested in seeing if there would be retaliation. But this?

  “Very well. We’ll see what happens tonight. If nothing changes then I’ll host a lottery again. That worked before.”

  Raven shook his head. “I dunno if a lottery will be enough. Seems to me that the only solution is for you to fight again. With you sparring Pickerington and all, that’s what everyone’s expecting. It might be the only thing that’ll bring them back. And for most of us,” he said as he made his way to the door, “Sterling’s is the only family we have.”

  As Raven left, Reed turned to the window. There was so much at stake, not only for himself but for everyone around him.

  Yet, his primary thoughts centered on Ainsley. He’d come so far in earning her trust, knowing her better, day by day. She was afraid of letting him get too close, of letting him inside her life, and especially her heart. And he knew without a doubt that she would never marry him if he stepped back into the ring.

  Reed hoped that Raven wasn’t right. All Sterling’s needed was a good turnout this evening and everything would be back on course.

  * * *

  “And there she is, the bride-to-be,” Mrs. Teasdale announced from the doorway of Ainsley’s office, clutching her hands to her bosom. “Hard at work on planning your nuptials?”

  The mere idea of Reed caused Ainsley’s stomach to lift, tilting toward her lungs. It had been happening all day, distracting her. She was never on task for more than five minutes before she caught herself thinking of him. And twice, she’d even sighed as if her lungs had sprung a leak. Such a nuisance.

  Even now her gaze strayed to the full bouquet of primroses on her desk. All but one. She’d taken a nick-petaled blossom and pressed it into a book in her bedside table, the crimson ribbon tucked in between the pages.

  “Actually,” she answered, forcing her gaze back to the stack of papers on
the desk, “I have been inundated with subscription renewals from former clients all day, in addition to interviewing potential butlers.”

  “If you’re undecided, I could help. Always willing to lend a hand, dear. Especially now that you’re getting married—oh, what a happy event.” Mrs. Teasdale clapped her fingertips together as if it were her own wedding.

  Ainsley kept the conversation on a more productive track, steeling herself against the power of the primroses. “I think we shall hire Mr. Clementine. Although thirty-seven is somewhat young for this station, he’s a staid fellow and comes with impeccable references. Jacinda vetted him already, and Briar finds him affable enough.”

  “I hope he’s a comely and virile young man, then. That’ll keep your uncle from swaggering through the halls as if he’s heaven’s gift to the world of females. He spends so much time writing those awful poems that they’ve ruined his vision.” She dusted her hands together and walked over to the forgotten tea tray. “Collided straight into me in the kitchen as if I weren’t even there. Then, instead of apologizing like a gentleman ought, he made a fuss about some big to-do on the street holding up his carriage and keeping him from an appointment.”

  Ainsley felt a grin tug at the corner of her mouth, but kept it to herself. “You don’t find my uncle handsome?”

  “Oh, well, he’s fine enough to look at, I suppose. That is, if you’re partial to blue eyes and all that wavy silver hair. But if you’ve seen one pair of blue eyes, you’ve seen them all. Two of my husbands had blue eyes. As for myself, I’ve lost a taste for them.” She made a face as she lifted the lid to the teapot and peered inside. “Why, this has gone cold and murky. How long has it been here?”

  Ainsley glanced at the clock with a start. It was much later than she thought. When Uncle Ernest had popped his head inside a moment ago, she hadn’t paid any attention. But come to think of it, he had said that he was escorting Miriam Canfield through the park and hoped to share an early supper—which usually meant that he would be home rather late.

  But now she eyed her visitor with curiosity. “Since this morning . . . What brings you here so late in the afternoon?”

  She sniffed. “I didn’t come at all last week. Thought you might have noticed.”

  “We all noticed, Mrs. Teasdale, that was the reason I sent a letter to your house, enquiring about your health.”

  “And mighty kind of you. Such a sweet girl.” She smiled broadly. “So you’re marrying Mr. Sterling, at last. I knew this day would come. There was always a bit of a spark between the pair of you.”

  Ainsley’s lungs suddenly felt like a butterfly conservatory, each insect taking flight at once. “I believe it was mutual loathing you sensed.”

  “Bah, that’s just passion working its way to the surface. If you ask me, when a body spends part of her days thinking about matchmaking and part of her days thinking about the rogue across the way, then something has to come of it. And it did, at last. I’ll bet you’ll have a babe on the way before the year’s through.”

  “Mrs. Teasdale, please.” The pen in Ainsley’s hand blotched the application. Instant heat rushed to her cheeks. Though she would never admit it aloud, her mind had wandered to what it might be like to have Reed’s child, more than a time or two. “The banns have been read, but it will be a long while—years and years—before we actually marry.”

  And perhaps not even then.

  She’d mulled it over quite fixedly and decided that she liked Reed a bit too much to marry him. Affection and passion muddied one’s thinking. And since her thoughts were constantly focused more on Reed than on the agency, she was clearly not in the proper state of mind to make any lasting decisions.

  After sharing those dreadful moments of her past, she’d felt a burden lift. It was a secret she’d carried too long on her own. And hearing the story of what he endured as a child, she knew that he understood.

  Only Reed could have made her feel safe instead of vulnerable. Sheltered instead of unguarded. She’d never felt that way before.

  It was terrifying.

  If she gave her heart to Reed, then he would have the power to shatter it beyond repair. She shivered at the thought, thinking of her mother.

  “Years and years? No, indeed. He wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t want to marry you straightaway. A virile man like him could only bide his time for so long, you know.”

  Ainsley looked down at her cup and saucer, her thoughts as brackish as the tea. In all honesty, she didn’t know how Reed felt about marrying her. Was it just that he was willing to take a wife? Any wife? Or did he genuinely like her?

  It would be so much simpler if the lending library had a book on him . . . with illustrations. Mmm . . . now there’s a thought.

  She cleared her throat, trying to keep her musings properly attired. “If you must know, Mr. Sterling was merely being gallant when he announced that we were to marry.”

  Mrs. Teasdale grinned slyly. “Gallant? An oaf like him? That is what you called him, isn’t it?”

  “I was mistaken about that. He’s actually . . . well . . . he’s actually quite gentlemanly when he chooses to be.”

  He could also be wicked to the core.

  Proof of that were all the scandalous dreams he’d caused. Dreams that went beyond the realm of mere kisses. Last night, she’d even dreamed of watching him undress through the window, then stripping out of her own clothing for him before rubbing balm on herself. And she’d awoken in a pulse-pounding frenzy, perspiration collecting beneath the bedclothes, her skin taut, breaths panting.

  Embarrassed to think of it now, she took a hasty sip of tepid tea to cool her blood.

  “Well, that’s just fine, indeed,” Mrs. Teasdale said, eyeing her with a grin. “I’m glad all that talk of war is behind you and there’ll be no more tricks.”

  Ainsley suddenly choked, spewing tea all over her desk. She stood up, coughing and sputtering.

  There was one more trick, but she’d forgotten. The dinner for the servants and laborers at Sterling’s was tonight!

  “What is it? You look like you’ve had a fright.”

  “You came in through the kitchen, did you not? Was there a great deal of traffic on the street?”

  “More hackneys, horse carts, and men on foot than the eye could see.”

  Oh dear. “Mrs. Teasdale, I just remembered a plan of attack I put in place last week.”

  Ainsley crossed the room and walked briskly down the corridor. Then, from the library window, she parted the curtain to peer outside.

  An abashed laugh bubbled out. “I don’t think Mr. Sterling will be very happy about this.”

  Chapter 20

  “Her heart was in a glow, and she feared her face might be as hot.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  Ainsley kept watch at the library window. Her first successful attempt at ruining Reed Sterling was working.

  “Drat it all,” she muttered, worrying the corner of her thumbnail.

  Well into evening, the crowd on the street below had not lessened. Common laborers piled into Sterling’s by the droves, while dozens of fine carriages moved on without stopping.

  Slipping back, she grabbed fistfuls of brocade and closed the drapes. She only wished that she could shut out the stirrings of guilt, too. This was certainly a sorry way to repay Reed for all he’d done for her.

  If it hadn’t been for his suddenly announcing their betrothal, the agency would have been ruined. They certainly would not have received so many applications and renewed subscriptions by post. And worse, it was becoming clear that the problem mightn’t have been Sterling’s close proximity, after all. Perhaps, the ton had been waiting for her to marry.

  On a heavy sigh, she turned from the window . . . and saw Reed standing at the library door.

  Her guilty heart lurched, her hand flying to her throat. “Mr. Sterling! You startled me.”

  A candelabra sat on the low bookshelf between them. Pale light slanted over his hard-set features, int
ensifying the harsh shadows and the warning look in his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t invite the circus.”

  “They refused the invitation,” she quipped, trying to hide a nervous tremor that ran through her.

  “Do you know how much this is going to cost me? How many of my patrons will never return?”

  She swallowed. “You could simply send the others away.”

  “If you were in my place and saw scores of people—their faces filled with more than hunger but with eager delight at the prospect of gaining admittance to your fine establishment—could you send them away?”

  Put that way, no. And admittedly, she had known, even when she’d plotted this trick, that he couldn’t have done so either.

  “If it makes a difference,” she hemmed, “this was all in place before you announced our betrothal.”

  He flung out his arm in an infuriated gesture. “Yet you purposely kept this scheme from me as if you still saw me as the rubbish next door and not a man who deserved your respect? I could have prepared for this, Ainsley.”

  The hard edge of anger in his voice twisted her stomach into a tight knot, and she placed a hand over it. “We were at war.”

  “Are we still?”

  Her throat dry, she didn’t answer.

  He heaved out a gust of breath, and rolled his head back against the door, lifting his face to the ceiling. “And now you’re acting skittish with me. That is just splendid.”

  “It’s my nature to be wary when confronted with an ill-tempered man.”

  “Perhaps with others, but not with me. You’ve always been different with me.”

  But Ainsley had never seen him this way, tension emanating from every pore with an underlying edge of desperation. “I think you should go.”

  “Damn it all, Ainsley. I’m not going to raise my hand to you!”

  “I know that,” she shouted back in defense.

  Then she took in a deep breath and looked closer at the man across the room, at his pained expression. Sterling’s meant everything to him. He’d fought for it and now his life’s work was being threatened. He was cross, even angry, and rightly so considering what her subterfuge likely cost him. If the same had been done to her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to rail at him and even do worse things, like plot against him.