The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  “Do you know that when my parents were newly married and disagreed over trifling matters, they played a game of Billy Goat’s Gruff to make up? The wicked troll, my father, demanded a kiss for every step taken across the bridge.”

  Lilly stopped at the foot of the bridge and her frown grew. “I hadn’t heard that but, then again, I don’t remember your mother well.”

  That was a shame. His mother had liked Lilly. “I understand that in the first year of their marriage my mother barely made it to the other side before he flung her over his shoulder and carried her back to the house. It sounds romantic, doesn’t it? For some reason, that story embarrasses my sister, Katarina. I cannot understand why.”

  Giles looked down at Lilly, hoping his light-hearted confidence had distracted her enough. He much preferred that earlier look of hers. A frightened Lilly pained his heart. Lilly’s frown faded and her lips quirked, but she didn’t speak.

  “I always think that story shows how much intelligence exists in the Wexham line, don’t you?”

  Lilly rolled her eyes. “Oh, obviously, and how fond they are of a healthy dose of self-flattery too.”

  “Better to conduct any battles in bed than out of it.” Chuckling, Giles took her hand. She still didn’t look completely at ease. Rules were meant to be broken. “Do you want to play the game?”

  “Giles,” Lilly groaned, but he tugged her toward the bridge anyway.

  “This is where you have to make the decision to cross and ask to pay the toll. Go on, ask away.”

  A look of consternation graced Lilly’s face, as if she thought he was barking mad.

  “Troll, Troll, how much to pass.” Giles had lightened his voice to mimic hers, but then deepened it to continue. “Just one little kiss, sweet lass. Then you say, ‘Oh, very well’ and I say ‘I won’t kiss and tell.’”

  On his last word, Giles dropped his head and brushed his lips across Lilly’s before he changed his mind. Lucky for him, Lilly wasn’t carrying a fan to smack him with for taking liberties. Given how her cheeks had turned fiery pink on such a cool day, he would go find one tonight.

  He tugged her forward another step and growled, “Who goes there?”

  Lilly choked out a laugh at his silliness.

  And it was silly. Giles struggled to remember the last time he had played a game and thought it possibly might have been with his mother when he was very young. Lilly, it seemed, had the unique ability to bring out the strangest behavior in him.

  “Troll, Troll how much to pass?” she asked. A giggle escaped her.

  To which he made the correct reply, making his voice even deeper than before. Lilly shook with laughter that simply had to stop. Giles kissed her without waiting for permission.

  At first awkward, then growing with a surety that shook him to his boots, Giles cradled Lilly’s delicate skull in his hands, holding her lips to his. Kisses had never been part of his repertoire, but he found he couldn’t stop. Lilly’s hands fluttered between them then settled against his chest. When they slid upwards, he dragged her close and started walking.

  Giles kissed her every step of the way, walking backwards over the bridge until they reached the highest point. Knowing Lilly as he did, he guessed she would have no idea that they had moved. He had never met a woman who focused on him with such single-mindedness.

  When her back hit the wall of the bridge, Giles let her lips go and moved to kiss her cheek, her neck, tasting until he just had to return to her lips. Lilly’s lips parted and his world changed.

  Why the devil had he ever deprived himself of kisses? Kissing lips was a new pleasure to him, like a fine glass of wine but far more intoxicating. Or, perhaps, it was just kissing Lilly.

  Her body arched off the wall and into his chest. He stroked his tongue over her plump bottom lip, tickled along the inside of her mouth and touched her teeth just behind.

  Angling his head, he stroked his tongue across hers, once, twice, lost in the taste of her mouth. She tasted like honey, and that was one of life’s greatest pleasures, too. He knew quite a few things he could do with honey that involved sex and eating, all at once. One day he would show Lilly.

  That one thought made him stop kissing her. He had gotten carried away again. Pressing his lips into the side of her face, Giles stared off into the distance, breathing hard. Good God, he was planning more than a quick romp between the sheets.

  That thought frightened him soft. Did he want to be the one to continue Lilly’s bedroom adventures? Forever? His body screamed a resounding yes.

  Giles did not like possessiveness, and he was appalled to think that he could be the one to cling. Lilly’s hands untangled from his hair and she relaxed in his arms, but Giles made no move to release her. He couldn’t. He was too overwhelmed by the image of making love to one woman for the rest of his life.

  “That was cheating,” Lilly scolded.

  Giles smiled. He liked the way she talked to him, clear and un-jaded. She did not rely on coy remarks at the expense of expressing a real opinion. He liked that very much. Very few women did that around him.

  “It is too late to be angry with me now anyway. You are already here.”

  Reluctantly, Giles released her and moved to stand at her side, no longer blocking her view. Lilly took in a sharp breath. Sliding behind her, he pulled her against him and she leaned back into his embrace. In fact, she appeared to be attempting to push him back away from the edge.

  He squeezed her close and his pulse jumped erratically at the contact. Anyone would think he was an untried boy at his body’s antics. “It’s all right. I won’t ask you to show off and climb the wall again.”

  “Of course I won’t climb the wall. I am afraid of heights, silly. Can we go down now?” she asked urgently, turning in his arms, her face pinched with anxiety.

  Her innocent movement rubbed against his groin and he shuddered. Yes, he had regressed to a green boy. If he ever got inside her, he would probably come on the first thrust.

  “It is understandable. You had a nasty fall, after all. These things can get better if you are prepared to face them, I understand.” Although that opinion might have related to remounting a horse that had thrown you, he decided it could have some merit in this situation too.

  “I have always been afraid of heights, Giles. I remember I once became stuck up a tree. I can’t quite recall why I was up in the branches now, but Pinkerton had to carry me down. Poor man was as hysterical as I.”

  “Who is Pinkerton?”

  “He’s Papa’s valet. At least, I think he is still his valet. I have not seen him for some time. I remember now, my kitten was stuck in a high branch. Ooh.”

  Lilly slithered through his lax grip and hurried off the bridge. As he trailed after, he had time to consider her words. Boys would go to ridiculous lengths to overcome a fear, even risk injury to prove that they were not afraid of something. If a girl was afraid of heights, would she be willing to do the same?

  For some reason, he doubted Lilly had been that type of young girl. Lord Winter had said, after all, that his daughter was an angel. If Lilly had not climbed the bridge, then how did she come to fall in the water that day?

  A prickle of unease stirred as Giles remembered something Lord Winter had mentioned on the first night of his stay. Drunk at the time, the man had worried that too many accidents occurred around Lilly. Without a male child to inherit, the estate—minus Lilly’s dowry—would pass out of the family, and to the next male relation. Giles wondered who Lord Winter’s heir was and what he thought of Lilly’s existence.

  Lord Winter’s family was too staid to allow a woman more than a modest dowry. But unease nagged at Giles, and he wondered if their long-forgotten betrothal agreement was here or at his London residence. There might be details of the Winters’ finances in the document.

  Giles was supposed to use discretion and keep Lilly’s presence a secret. The nurses kept leaving, and Lilly often over-indulged in an opium-based medicine. Then there were the injuries
she sustained in the fall from the bridge, a feat that may very well have not been accomplished by a young girl, an angel, who was afraid of heights. Had someone tried to make the angel fly?

  He needed to see that document again.

  Lilly called to him and stopped his speculation. The light in her eyes reminded him that kissing her might not have been such a good idea. Yes, he had gotten her along the bridge, but he had created another problem. One he might have trouble denying.

  He wanted to kiss her again. She had lips meant for it and her mouth tasted like honey. He shuddered to think what she would taste like elsewhere.

  That thought undid him. Giles fought the urge to grab her and sink to the green grass. He wanted to slide her skirts up between them and brush his cock over her blonde curls. He longed to sink his length into her soft depths and pleasure them both blind.

  Giles decided he really should stop trying to talk himself out of seducing her. It made him realize that there were far too many opportunities to play, and far too many experiences he wanted to share. If he continued as he was, he would be begging Lilly to put him out of his misery. Lilly could make him her slave, and he probably wouldn’t even protest. Hot, willing and throbbing: that was how she would conquer him.

  “Do you know what I think, Giles?” Lilly’s low voice teased him, her fingers brushed his sleeve.

  “What is that, oh frightening ghost?”

  She laughed and danced away a few steps. “I believe you want to kiss me again. Your face is quite stern.”

  “That could be an accurate assumption, Miss Winter.” At her giggle, he added, “It is altogether possible for me to assume, in turn, that you wish to kiss me as well.” He raised an eyebrow and then lunged for her, pulling her to him, pressing his lips to hers, and sweeping his tongue into her mouth.

  ~ * ~

  Across the bustling village street, a tall, well-dressed gentleman laughed like he hadn’t a care in the world. Bartholomew hated him and everyone like him. This man, this viscount, was a favored son of the ton. Oscar Ryall, Viscount Carrington, held the opinion of society in the palm of his pampered hand. He could do wrong and get away with it because of his charming smile.

  Foolish bloody society. He’d bet there were a nasty skeleton or two in the viscount’s closet. He’d learned every family had something to hide. As the fair-headed man stepped into the tavern, Bartholomew toyed with the idea of exposing his secrets. For a price, anyone would talk. And then society would speak of nothing but the prattling fool’s less than perfect behavior.

  Still, Carrington bore watching and imitating. Society expected a certain kind of gentleman and Bartholomew had to keep up appearances until he had the title and the necessary wife. But once he’d accomplished his goal, society—at least parts of it—would learn his true colors.

  “My lord, I might have some intelligence.”

  Bartholomew seriously doubted that statement, but he turned toward his servant. Given Brown’s confident bearing, the man was obviously pleased with himself, with a rare straightening of his shoulders that Bartholomew would happily crush soon. “What news?”

  “A black carriage was noticed at the crossroads recently.”

  “And?” God, finding one old man and worthless chit was like sucking blood from a stone.

  “A boy noticed a slow-moving, plain, black carriage on Thursday last, then again on Saturday. Except on Saturday, the carriage traveled at a much faster clip. Springing from the nearby crossroads as if chased by demons, the lad said.”

  Bartholomew rubbed his jaw. The old man only traveled fast when the bitch was elsewhere. He wouldn’t risk hurting his precious angel. He looked toward the crossroad, struggling to remember the baron’s associates in the area. He must have dumped her and departed. Bartholomew nearly jumped for the joy of it.

  Lillian was alone.

  Now he just had to work out where she was.

  Ignoring Brown, he turned for the tavern, slipped into a far table and called for a tankard of ale. Across the room, Lord Carrington held court with the innkeeper. While the viscount waved his hands expansively and earned a laugh for his performance, Bartholomew restrained a grimace.

  Pampered, sheltered, good for nothing but a bullet between his eyes. Bartholomew imagined it – vividly. Then had the devil of a time restoring his expression to show nothing but polite boredom.

  He managed it as a clutch of coins changed hands and the innkeeper, all smiles and easy familiarity, led Carrington down a hall toward a private dining room.

  The fraudulent smile slipped from Bartholomew’s lips. Carrington was a favorite with many and invited everywhere. He had friends in high places: duke, marquess and earl. They all courted his company.

  Like the bitch’s former betrothed, the Earl of Daventry.

  A grin split his face – startling enough in its intensity to send a tavern wench far from his table. He fought for control of his features, but elation set his being thrumming with coarse blood-lust.

  Damnation, could the old fool have returned her to Northhamptonshire?

  Chapter Fifteen

  FEAR, AN OVERWHELMINGLY new emotion, choked Giles of a full breath. He strode through the long grass, anxious to reach the bridge. Lilly stood at the highest point, and something about her posture frightened him. He had to reach her.

  His feet hit the gravel path and the sound turned her head. Lilly slid her hands over the worn stones and smiled at him, but he was positive something was wrong.

  That was not Lilly’s usual smile. There was something on her mind, and he would bet his left bollock that it was not a pleasant thought. Her gaze turned away before Giles reached her, and she fell to the bubbling water. Her hands, twisting together, signaled her distress.

  Giles walked straight to her side, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips to her brow. Scant comfort, but the only kind he could offer. Running his hands over her body as firmly as he dared, he had the unsettling feeling she could fly away and that if she left, he would not know how to survive the parting.

  Lilly raised her hands to his embracing arms and gripped him tightly, but the tension was still there. His presence had done nothing to soothe her. Giles rocked them gently, as he had done the day they danced, but after a time Lilly pulled out of his embrace. Panicked, Giles fumbled for what to do.

  Since his most frequent experiences with women were diving under their skirts, Giles struggled for something to say. He longed to pull Lilly back to him, but he could not. He did not think she would let him. She had to choose to let him into her thoughts, and Giles had never dreamed he would want to know what a woman thought before.

  He remained close, resting his hip against the stone wall while he waited for her to confide in him. Lilly chewed her lower lip as though mulling over a puzzle. Giles reached for her clenched hands and squeezed. She smiled hesitantly again, a little quirk of her lips that did nothing to ease his anxiety, and blew out a long breath before looking down. Her hands, trapped beneath his, did not move.

  “I missed you at luncheon today,” Giles whispered.

  “I wasn’t hungry. Don’t start on about eating again.”

  Polite but curiously distant. Giles wondered what he had done. “I was not aware that I had become odious about it. My apologies.”

  He slid his hands back and Lilly did not stop him, but continued to look at her own. Her skin showed the impression of fingers where his grip had been too tight. The moment stretched as they watched them fade and Lilly’s fingertip traced over the memory of them.

  When she did not respond, Giles dragged in a deep breath. “I did not expect to find you here again. Last time you ran off the bridge very fast. What are you thinking about?’

  “Lots of things,” Lilly murmured.

  “Such as?” Giles waited, hoping that her deep thoughts would not involve him.

  “Why do you like sex so much?”

  Her question both surprised him and rendered him speechless. She kept her gaze on her hands,
but he could see her teeth worrying at her bottom lip again.

  “Because I find it is a pleasurable activity that I do not like to deny myself,” Giles answered honestly, blowing out the breath he had held.

  He loved intimate relations with women, but he wondered where her questions were leading. He was sure that was not the whole of her questioning.

  “Why do you have so many different partners?”

  She must be thinking of the night she found him with Sabine and Millie. A night where he’d had the rare privilege of two women in his bed. He had forgotten much of that adventure, but what he clearly recalled was his ghost, Lilly, watching.

  How she had watched and especially how, at the end, Giles had held her gaze and imagined he was with her instead. That memory curled around Giles’ overactive brain and tormented him. He still wished it had been Lilly beneath him, even now. But he hadn’t known her then as he did now, and he couldn’t erase the past. “As I think I may have told you before, I enjoy a life of pleasure in London. Sex can be a lot of fun. Sometimes pleasure comes from a variety of sources.”

  In truth, sex had become a hollow release, the only meaning found when under Lilly’s ghostly gaze.

  “How many?”

  “I beg your pardon, how many what?”

  “How many bed partners have there been in your life, Giles?”

  “Hundreds,” he answered without hesitation, “but I do not keep a list and I am always discreet.” Glancing at her compressed lips, he amended, “Until you.”

  “Hundreds,” Lilly’s voice sounded flat.

  “It’s not quite as bad as it sounds, Lilly,” Giles murmured, desperately hoping she would believe him.

  “Any woman?” Lilly murmured, but it was not a question. She thought he fucked anyone.

  “I tend to stick to widows and courtesans. I find less trouble in that direction.”

  “You don’t like complications?”

  “I prefer honesty, Lilly. A courtesan must earn her way in the world, but I have never kept one as a long-term mistress. Since I despise infidelity in marriage, I am select in choosing my partners. Bedding widows and courtesans hurts no one. There are no husbands to cuckold, and I do not allow myself to forget the consequences of my actions. There are no illegitimate children, bearing my likeness, ruining their mother’s position in society. I prefer to keep matters of whom and where I bed someone private, and as I said before, I am discreet.”