The Rogue to Ruin EPB

by Lorret, Vivienne

  A confusing jolt of pleasure fluttered inside her at the possessiveness in his statement. She prided herself on being an independent thinking woman, and yet there was something alluring about having him think of her as his. And the way he looked at her and held her made her thoughts turn inside out, her pulse galloping.

  Likely she would never be able to balance the accounts with him in the room.

  Distracting her, he nipped the corner of her mouth and murmured, “The secret to whistling is knowing where to put your tongue. Give me yours, highness, and I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 28

  “Those were the words; in them lay the tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted the real misery of the business to her.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  The following day, Reed walked with Ainsley down the lane, her soft hand twined with his. He lifted it for a kiss, hardly able to believe this day had actually come—he was happily married to Miss Prim and Proper. “I think you’re going to like the surprise I have for you.”

  He tried not to sound too proud. But it wasn’t every day a man was able to show his wife just how far he’d come in the world, making his way with his own two hands.

  “I feel as if we are attending a masquerade,” she said with a glance to her teal satin gown and voluminous skirts. “I am overdressed for a stroll, and yet quite underdressed as well.”

  His gaze dipped admiringly to the creamy swells fairly spilling over the ruffled edge of the low-cut bodice. “You look rather fetching.”

  “I seem to recall you saying that as you pretended to assist me with the buttons up the back,” she muttered, clearing her throat with tender reproof.

  “It isn’t my fault if that color makes your skin look good enough to eat.” He grinned as her cheeks flushed pink in the sunlight. “And besides, I would give you dresses enough to fill ten wardrobes, and enough fichus to blanket all of London, if you so desired.”

  “I possess all that I need. Besides, my clients at the agency would think I’m putting on airs.”

  “Perhaps you won’t always be at the agency.”

  “Will you have me playing hostess at Sterling’s?” Her brows arched, a smirk toying with the corner of her mouth. “Or, now that you know my proficiency for numbers, will you have me keeping your books? I could, you know. I know how to stretch a farthing.”

  He chuckled. “Raven keeps the books for me. And besides, if I had you at Sterling’s, it would fall to ruin.”

  Her steps slowed and she frowned. “I was in earnest when I told you my tricks are over. And I hope you know that I would do anything within my power to undo the damage I’ve done to your business.”

  “Highness, I only meant that, with you near me, I would be too distracted to stay on task. Even now, I cannot seem to keep myself from sweeping in for a quick kiss,” he said, demonstrating and earning a shy smile. “What is past is past. We are different now—I, a married man and you, my lovely whistling wife. Come on, then. Let’s hear that splendid music you make.”

  “Do you really think it’s splendid?”

  The piercing, off-key sounds she’d produced long into the evening hours had made him happier than any man could stand to be. “As I said, it’s all a matter of knowing where to put your tongue.”

  She narrowed those pretty brown eyes, her sooty lashes crowding together. “Why do I have the notion you made a bawdy jest?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, all innocence. “Perhaps you’re still thinking of all the wicked things you did last night with that shockingly skilled tongue of yours.”

  She blushed scarlet then burgundy. “I was only trying to see if I could please you the same way that you . . . Oh, stop grinning at me, you wicked man.”

  Unable to control the impulse, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her again, his hands cradling her face, tilting her, tasting her. He would never get enough of her mouth. Not for as long as he lived.

  Last night had been about more than just the pleasure she brought to him. It was about seeing another side of her.

  They’d been lying together in the loft—at her request because, apparently, she liked how cozy it was—and she’d asked about the scar on his arm. When he’d told her the story about the carriage house and Lord Bray and Finch, she’d pressed her lips there. Then wordlessly, she’d slipped out of her nightdress, and climbed over him, pressing tender kisses all over his face and his body, her unbound hair falling over him like silk. She’d explored and tasted him, shyly suckling his tumid flesh into her warm mouth.

  And yet, in those endless, passionate moments she’d done more than arouse and pleasure him. She’d given herself, little by little. Releasing her inhibitions bit by bit. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to wait long before she trusted him unreservedly.

  He wanted to obliterate Nigel Mitchum from her mind, and to let her know that she was safe. That she could be free with him.

  “Reed,” she said, pulling her lips from his, breathless, her gaze soft and sleepy. “Let’s go back to the cottage.”

  He nearly tossed her over his shoulder, and sprinted back toward home. But then he reminded himself that the cottage was not their home, even if she’d made those tiny four walls more welcoming than he could have known was possible. Because of her, the cottage had become a wonderfully euphoric place that he would visit often in his memories. And perhaps, in the years to come, they would take a stroll down the lane and reminisce beneath that tiny thatched roof.

  “We aren’t going back,” he said, gesturing with a nod up the lane, “for we have almost arrived at your special surprise. It’s just up the way.”

  She exhaled her impatience but dutifully looked ahead, the sunlight turning her eyes to amber gems. “I don’t see anything other than a monstrously large house. We must be on the grounds of some local lord’s estate and will soon be accused of trespassing if we go further.”

  “Thankfully, the owner of Harrowfield does not mind our trespassing.”

  “Oh?” Her brows arched. “Are you acquainted with him?”

  Reed laughed, a mixture of eagerness and pride swimming in his veins. He couldn’t wait to show her inside, to let her see the fruits of his labor.

  Reaching down, he took her hand again and brought it to his lips. “Aye, and so are you. In fact, you’re married to him.”

  * * *

  Ainsley loathed surprises, and this one was no different.

  In all the time that she’d known Reed, he’d never mentioned a country manor. And now she was wondering what other monumental things she didn’t know about her husband.

  The notion made her uneasy.

  “You’ve been quiet this past hour, highness. Aren’t you going to tell me what you think of it all?” Reed asked as they climbed a wide mahogany staircase.

  With her thoughts worried and distracted, it was difficult to absorb the vastness of the rooms, the vaulted ceilings trimmed with plaster molding, and windows enough to overlook the view of the considerable grounds from every angle. There were Turkish carpets, fine furnishings, and oil paintings, and . . .

  “It’s lovely. Unexpected and overwhelming, but lovely,” she admitted on a heavy breath, her hand gripping the polished rail.

  “Aye.” He grinned proudly. “Remember that eccentric baron I mentioned, whose servants would come to my father’s tavern on their off days? Well, this was his until he passed away a decade ago. The house sat empty for a time, giving me the chance to win a few more fights, open Sterling’s, and then buy it for myself.”

  She glanced at his fists and tried to swallow down her uncertainty. “Why did you never mention this before? And for that matter, why did you not bring me here straight from the church?”

  He offered a half shrug. “Because you weren’t yourself.”

  The landing at the top of the second floor hosted a little sitting nook framed by a window before the corridor split off in two directions. It was quiet here, their steps muffled by a red-and-gold r
unner. But her thoughts were not silent.

  She studied his profile as they walked down a paneled corridor, arm in arm. “So you’ve said. But that does not explain why you chose the cottage of your childhood, instead of the home where you live whenever you visit the country.”

  Though, for as long as she’d known him, he’d spent nearly every day at Sterling’s.

  “If you must know, I thought the cottage would bring you to the realization that you actually married me.”

  “I knew it the moment it happened. I was there in the church, if you’ll recall.” Ainsley tried to keep the terseness from her tone, but if the tightening of his forearm beneath her hand was any indication, she failed.

  She didn’t want to argue, especially after spending these euphoric two days together, but she had to make sense of it all. “Then what about after we established that I was of sound mind—why not tell me then, hmm?”

  “If I recall, we were otherwise engaged. It didn’t seem to matter in those moments.”

  His quickness to dismiss her query pinched her already too-tender feelings. “Surely, you expect things like honor, trust, and honesty from me. You wouldn’t want me to hide anything from you.”

  His keen indigo eyes fixed on her, a muscle ticking at the hinge of his jaw. “It is a house, not a deception. I wasn’t keeping a secret from you, so banish those dark musings I see stirring in that frosty gaze.”

  Ainsley stared back at him, hard, thinking his request was impossible. Didn’t he know her at all?

  However, because Reed had never proven himself to be a deceiver, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tried her best to quell the uneasiness brimming inside her.

  Seeing the alteration in her demeanor, Reed leaned in to kiss her cheek. “There. We’re making progress already. Our first married tiff and it is all swept under the rug.”

  The only problem was, whatever went under the rug would have to be dealt with sooner or later.

  They walked on toward a long narrow room, papered in a cheerful yellow, with dormer windows set into the slanted ceiling, and a view of the lush gardens below.

  Reed tugged her fingertips playfully. “Aside from my apparent oversight in not telling you about my house the day we first met—”

  “Or the day we married,” she muttered.

  “—what do you think of the place?” He gave her a wry sideways glance. “Can you see yourself here for all the years of our lives? That is, if we do not manage to kill each other first.”

  She felt a grin tug at the corner of her mouth. “It is quite grand.”

  “Just grand enough, I should think.”

  “Mmm . . .” she mused with a nod, looking around at all the gleaming surfaces, the cloying scent of turpentine and beeswax polish in the air. There were a number of servants who lived here, at least two dozen had been lined up to greet them when they’d arrived. “It will be a great deal to take on, however. Especially if the agency continues to increase our clientele, and I don’t see why it shouldn’t. Many of my days will be occupied in London, overseeing accounts, just as yours will be at Sterling’s. I’m sure I’ll be able to manage, but it will take time for me to build a rapport with the housekeeper, to learn the names of all the servants, keep track of their duties and salaries and off days.”

  “You needn’t concern yourself with any of that. I have a steward and fine housekeeper who keeps everything spit spot. Not only that, but, Mr. Adachi—the butler for the gentleman who’d once lived here—is still here. He practically runs the place for me since I spend most of my time in London.”

  She looked at him, bewildered. “Then what would I contribute?”

  “Oh, perhaps you would like to decorate this room.” He pulled her into his embrace, his hand settling into the small of her back to pull her flush against him, and nibbled on the underside of her jaw. “I thought it would make a nice nursery. It has space enough for more than one or two beds.”

  The idea of having his children, of holding them in her arms, warmed her. Yet she was chilled by the way he presented it. An undercurrent of tension skittered through her veins, trapped and looking for an outlet.

  So here was this enormous manor house and she would have no part in managing it, other than choosing decorations?

  Did he expect her to spend her days frittering around the house arranging flowers, and pushing one child in a perambulator in the garden while another was growing in her womb—and to repeat the process until they’d filled every room in the house? Was that truly all he wanted from her?

  When Reed arranged to marry her, had he given thought to how their lives would fit together? Or did he merely want a broodmare?

  He could have married any woman for that.

  And perhaps that was at the crux of her worries—that she didn’t matter to him.

  “Of course, you could choose any room you’d liked for the nursery, if this doesn’t suit,” he said, misunderstanding her knitted brow.

  It used to unnerve her to think of his uncanny ability to read her. She even imagined that he understood her as no one had ever done before. But now she wondered if he’d ever truly seen her at all.

  She pasted a smile in place. “It is a pretty room, and it would make a nice nursery.”

  “Then if you are too tired to see the rest of the house, we can finish our tour later.”

  “No, I am not tired, just lost in thought. This was quite the surprise, after all.”

  “A good one, I hope.” He looked at her eagerly and she responded with an automatic nod, wanting to please him. “Then I should like to show you my favorite room next.”

  Ainsley tried to set her mind at ease as they walked down the stairs and through a series of corridors. She knew she shouldn’t be troubled by her thoughts. After all, their union was not of a romantic nature. And yet . . .

  She wanted assurance that she was special to him in some way. That he wouldn’t have done all this for just anyone. But the truth was he’d never confessed any deep feelings, not even during their most intimate moments.

  She supposed that was her unhappy answer.

  “Here it is,” Reed said with a sweeping gesture, “the music room. We’ll have many a party in here, gathered around the piano with lots of singing, and I can open the rooms for dancing as well. We could invite our friends, or have your sisters and their families over. As our own family grows, our sons and daughters will be married here and you shall arrange the perfect wedding ball.”

  At once, she felt wholly inadequate. The flaws in her nature had never felt so insurmountable before.

  She couldn’t hold in her confusion a moment longer. “Parties? Balls? I’ve confessed to you that I don’t sing or play. I don’t dance well or draw. And the pointless, polite conversation required at parties is not my forte either. Is that what you want in a wife? Some perfect creature with nothing better to do than embroider pillow slips and pluck at harp strings?”

  And would he have wanted any woman in his bed as well?

  “Then practice whistling, it matters not,” he said, his voice edged with tension. “Ainsley, all I’m offering is the life you might have had if you hadn’t moved to London. I’m giving you the freedom to have whatever life you wish.”

  “And if I wish to live in London?”

  He issued a rueful laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Then I’ll fill this manor with rabid wolves and buy a townhouse in London. Would that make you happy?”

  “You’re not taking this seriously. After all, I have a business to run.”

  “If you say so.”

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “Only what I’ve said before—that somehow men managed to find brides before the Bourne Matrimonial Agency existed.”

  A rush of panic flooded her veins. Surely, he didn’t expect—wouldn’t demand—her to give up the agency. It was more than a mere business. It was her family. Not just her uncle and sisters, but the memory of her mother lived there, too. Her presen
ce was in everything they did.

  “What we do for our clients is important,” she said, her voice thread thin.

  “So important that you spend your time sabotaging Sterling’s?”

  “I apologized.”

  “And I accepted,” he said through his teeth. “Unfortunately, your apology won’t bring back the patrons whose opinions about Sterling’s exclusivity have been forever altered. So now, I will have to fight again to bring them back.”

  She looked down at Reed’s hands with dismay, remembering how he’d told her the reason he’d stopped fighting—because he had slow hands. Pugilism was a dangerous sport. From what she’d learned by reading the papers, the practice of using mufflers on the hands had lent itself to men hitting each other in the head. And some had even died from taking too many blows.

  “Stop looking at me like I’m a monster, Ainsley. I’ve already told you that boxing matches are about endurance not violence. Don’t you trust me, yet?”

  “Does a broodmare need to trust the man who purchased her at auction? That’s all I am to you, after all,” she spat, daring him to deny it.

  He didn’t. In fact, she wouldn’t even know he’d heard her if she hadn’t seen him flinch ever so slightly before he faced the window.

  “Well, I certainly hope you haven’t made up your mind,” she said.

  He offered a curt nod. “I have. The match will be between myself and Lord Savage.”

  “You’re not even going to discuss it with me?”

  “The matter is of necessity.”

  A swell of guilt churned inside her, mixing with the panic, hurt, and frustration. This was her fault.

  She looked around at the house and all its grandeur. He likely spent a fortune on its upkeep from month to month. “The agency is doing better. If all goes well, then my position will provide enough income for you to keep Sterling’s. I know how much it means to you.”

  He slid her a dark look. “I’m man enough to take care of my own wife.”

  “You needn’t see it as an insult. Think of the money as a dowry of sorts, as any gentleman would expect when marrying.”