The Distinguished Rogues Bundle

by Heather Boyd

  The closing door sounded loud in the empty space. Manning crowded her against the wood, ducked his head, and pressed their lips together. At first, Estella pushed against him. But when his tongue slid along the seam of her compressed lips, she gasped, and he claimed her mouth in a way she’d forgotten. Fierce and total possession.

  No one would believe a vicar could be a danger to a woman’s virtue. Yet her reaction to Lynton Manning’s actions proved otherwise. His kiss thrilled her. She touched his tongue with her own, and her body hummed. Lynton devoured her, eating at her mouth until she lifted her arms and threaded her fingers in his hair. He moaned as she clutched his skull, tangling her tongue with his until her body sang with pleasure.

  She needed so much more.

  Although any other man would have groped at her body, Lynton held himself apart, offering only the soul-numbing precision of his lips. She wanted hands and the press of a hard body against hers.

  Estella arched off the door, but instead of embracing her, Lynton drew away. “No lies, Essy. The duel was over you, and I lost you, and part of my hand, due to that conniving bastard arranging a distraction that almost killed me.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, then the door handle rattled as he prepared to leave. “By the time the pain had diminished enough to regain my senses and venture out again, you were wed and gone. I never took up with an actress, as Carrington claimed. I was strapped to my bed while my hand healed. I wish my brother had told you the truth, but gentlemen never speak of duels of honor. I’ve been waiting nearly twenty-five years for you, and I believe it’s past time I got my reward for patience. I’ll prove my worth this time. This time you’ll choose me.”

  Manning stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

  She was glad he was gone, because she didn’t know how to react to his version of events from the past. Estella wished she could remember the past more clearly. He’d left without word, and Charles Ryall had amused her and taken her mind from the disappointment. It had seemed the right thing to do to accept Carrington. He’d been a viscount, where Manning was only a second son. She shook her head. The past, and Carrington, was gone. She had greater problems to deal with.

  The enormity of Estella’s faithlessness to Thomas rose up to choke her. She stumbled into a chair. What had come over her? Estella dropped her head into her hand and pressed her temples hard. The pious and upright rector portrayed to London society was as much a devil as he’d been in his youth. How could he think to kiss a woman engaged in an affair with another man? Although she’d not confirmed his accusations, he’d have to suspect. Why would he want her after all this time? She had to be sure that kiss, and any others like it, could never happen again. She would not become a slave to lust. Not again.

  Chapter Six

  AS OSCAR’S CARRIAGE slowed before the steps of his future wife’s home, he vaulted from the conveyance without waiting for his footman and hurried up the stairs. Although he’d rushed his agreement to assess the orphanage, he’d still ended up ten minutes late to take Lady Penelope driving in the park. He hated to be disobliging, especially to his future wife.

  He refused the butler his hat and cane. He would only be staying a moment, after all. There was really no point in handing them off if he intended to hurry out again for the park. The butler led him to an empty drawing room to wait and pulled the doors shut behind him as he left, leaving Oscar alone with his rising trepidation.

  Not knowing how his intended might react to his tardy arrival, he tugged on his sleeves, and took a stance close to the fire. The drawing room about him was opulently furnished, elegantly arranged, and a showcase of the Thorpe family’s wealth. Penelope’s mother had died some years past, and he wondered if the room about him was a product of Lady Penelope’s taste or that of her married sister, Lady Prewitt, who still resided under her father’s roof. If his intended had been instrumental in the decoration then Oscar could at least be assured of a comfortable home.

  Lady Penelope swept into the room on her brother-in-law’s arm. Although her polite smile, the only type she graced him with, should have comforted him, it didn’t. Her dark brows neither rose in accusation nor in delight. Her face was a blank mask that concealed her emotions. As far as Oscar could tell, Penelope didn’t appear to care one way or another about his late arrival.

  Her brother-in-law, Lord Prewitt, however, scowled. “Thought you’d forgotten, Carrington.”

  Oscar accepted the rebuke. Clearly, he was in the wrong, but it was not to his future family that he would apologize. He wasn’t here to see them at all. “I do owe your sister-in-law my apologies. Forgive me, Lady Penelope. Lords Carter and Brooke wanted to discuss the business of the Grafton Street Orphanage. I had the devil of a time getting away from them. And then, of course, their daughters interrupted and had to be acknowledged. They are such a lively pair.”

  Although Oscar’s answer appeared to appease Prewitt, his betrothed’s reaction startled him. She peeked at him from under her lashes and her lips stretched into a warm, flirtatious smile. “You are too good to indulge those pair. They’ll never find a husband with their chatter.”

  Drawn by the warm smile, Oscar took a pace toward her. “They are harmless flirts. No harm in that.”

  “Perhaps we should sit, sister,” Lord Prewitt growled suddenly.

  Lady Penelope jumped and settled on the lounge. “Do sit down, my lord.” She gestured to a chair opposite while Prewitt chose to sit at her side.

  Oscar frowned but took his place, frustrated that the brief moment of warmth from Lady Penelope had been crushed by her brother-in-law. Perhaps there was a chance for them.

  Penelope fussed with her skirts, keeping her gaze lowered. “Did you spend any time with the orphans, my lord?”

  “No, not really. They performed on a little stage, a vastly entertaining concert for the patrons and such, and then returned to the orphanage. I’m surprised not to have seen you there. I was led to believe my mother sent you an invitation to join her and that you had initially accepted. She would love to further your acquaintance with family friends.”

  Penelope’s glance slid to her brother.

  Lord Prewitt cleared his throat. “A family matter prevented our attendance this morning. My wife would offer her apologies if she were well enough to join us.”

  Given that Lady Prewitt was often ill, Oscar was inclined to believe him. And yet, why would Penelope defer to him instead of answering herself. Was she not allowed to speak of her sister without permission?

  Oscar shifted forward in his chair. “Lady Prewitt is very lucky to have you, Lady Penelope. Do send my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

  Penelope nodded, but her fingers twisted in her lap. “I will.”

  They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, but neither made any attempt to fill the gap. The sensation of intruding surfaced, but he shook it aside. He was determined to get to know his intended a little better before they were actually wed. He tapped his hat against his knee. “I hope you’re still looking forward to our outing this afternoon. My greys and carriage stand ready to depart for our afternoon in the park.”

  Hyde Park was the place to be seen, especially for any newly engaged couple whose union had delighted the ton. He’d received more congratulations just that morning—discreetly suggesting he’d made a wise choice. But no one came right out to say he’d stalked an alliance with the earl’s daughter for the connection.

  Lady Penelope glanced at Prewitt again. When he nodded, she rose to her feet. “Yes, of course we should go. Please excuse me for a moment.”

  As Lady Penelope swept from the room, Oscar tried hard to find something in the sway of her gown to enjoy as she left. Unfortunately, he found nothing. His future bride didn’t stir his senses in the least, not the way Agatha Birkenstock did.

  Oscar pushed away the image of Agatha forming in his mind. Wallowing in the memory of the physical joy they shared in each other’s presence was hardly appropriate to the situation. He had to p
ut those kinds of desires firmly in the past or else he’d run mad and spend the rest of his life in misery.

  Resolve reaffirmed, his glance flickered to Lady Penelope’s brother by marriage. Prewitt had followed her departure too and now stood at the front windows, brooding on the view. His arm gestured to the world outside the window. “I see you’ve brought the closed carriage again.”

  Oscar joined him and peered up at the darkening sky through the glass. “It seemed a wise decision, given the threat in those hovering clouds. I did not wish for Lady Penelope to suffer unduly if the elements proved disagreeable.”

  “Yes, that could be one explanation.”

  Oscar heard his implication—that he’d planned on the closed carriage’s seclusion to take liberties with his future wife, as he was supposed to have done on the night they became engaged. But he had indeed only been thinking of her comfort. “Before her marriage, my sister always complained about gentlemen who didn’t think ahead to consider the weather. She once came home soaked to the skin and had to lie abed for almost two weeks. The moaning drove us all mad. Are you acquainted with my sister?”

  “No. I do not believe I’ve met her. Excuse me—I’ll see what’s keeping Penelope.” Prewitt spun on his heel and left the room.

  Prickly chap. No matter how hard Oscar tried, his future brother-in-law was not inclined to drop his reserve. Perhaps the move away from Town would be for the good. He wouldn’t have to deal with disapproving scowls too often if they could reside more than a day’s ride from London.

  Cheered by that thought, Oscar would find out if Lady Penelope preferred the country or the coast. And really, he should begin to think of her as simply Penelope to help both of them grow more comfortable with each other.

  When she swept down the main staircase resplendent in a high-collared, skirted pelisse, matching hat, and leather gloves, Oscar waited for his heart to leap in anticipation. The dark blue really suited her complexion and the high flush to her cheeks indicated she’d hurried for him. But his heart stayed stubbornly dormant. He offered what he hoped was a smitten expression as she joined him.

  Penelope stared at him. “Lord Prewitt stepped in to speak with his wife before he took his leave.”

  Bully for him. Oscar could care less about Prewitt’s whereabouts. Pleased that he had Penelope alone for a moment, Oscar drew closer. “Are you fond of the country, Penelope?”

  Penelope’s bland expression faltered, her lips turned down. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “Ah, so you’re fond of the coast.” Oscar smiled. “So much activity in the ports to take in, don’t you think? I’m partial to Portsmouth and Bristol myself.” A little estate by the seaside was within his means, even without Penelope’s dowry. They could be quite comfortable there, and still partake of short visits to London during the season.

  “You misunderstand me, my lord. I care only for London.”

  The happy fantasy Oscar had conjured of life by the wild sea coast frayed before his eyes. Living only in London would be impossible.

  Penelope glanced behind her.

  Lord Prewitt hurried down the stairs, pulling his gloves swiftly into place. Oscar saw no sign of a maid for chaperone. “Ready when you are, Carrington.”

  Well, so much for quiet conversation with just a servant hovering. The brother-in-law followed Penelope everywhere, and that habit was getting on Oscar’s nerves. That would stop once he and Penelope married. Prewitt could keep to his own wife’s bedside.

  Annoyed, Oscar decided to please himself about his future residence. He preferred the country. He preferred living closer to friends, so he would find a property either in Warwickshire or Northhamptonshire.

  Penelope drew closer to her brother by marriage and took his outstretched arm. Oscar allowed them to precede him from the house and out to the street. His coachman sprang into action, dropped the steps, and held the door open as swiftly as he could.

  It was Prewitt who handed Penelope into the carriage. Prewitt sat beside her, too. To Oscar’s recollection, he’d only touched his betrothed a few fleeting times. Yet Prewitt always seemed to be touching her.

  As they made their way to the park, he tried to engage Penelope in conversation. Although her responses were polite, there was little in her answers to encourage further discourse. Oscar tipped his hat to the occupants of a passing carriage as he ground his teeth. Her reserve rankled.

  He was not by nature a man given to jealousy or anger, but couldn’t help but speculate again on which previous suitor had mussed up her skirts, trapping him into this miserable misalliance. The thought of his stupidity turned his stomach. Just how far had she been swept away by her suitor? Like Agatha, she appeared to be free of some man’s bastard. Although some women hid their condition extremely well. He would keep a better eye on her and the gentlemen paying her attention. He’d certainly not like to find himself raising another man’s child as his own.

  Another carriage drew up beside his, and when he focused on the occupants, his heart skipped a beat. Then pounded. Mr. Birkenstock was taking the air of the park with his granddaughter at his side. Agatha looked breathtaking in pale lemon muslin that flattered the smooth creaminess of her skin to perfection. His mouth watered, and his hands itched to leap carriages and take her into his arms for all to see. Agatha’s lips stretched into a strained smile, and then they pulled ahead and out of sight. Disappointed that she was taken from him so soon, Oscar glumly returned his attention to his companions. Lord Prewitt watched him, one brow raised in amusement.

  Penelope suddenly leaned against her brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I see Mrs. Leyton, Prewie. May we stop?”

  Prewitt smiled at Penelope, his gaze filled with so much warm affection that Oscar grew discomforted. “Of course. Carrington, stop the carriage. My sister sees a very good friend of ours.”

  Not on his life.

  Oscar folded his arms across his chest. “Mrs. Leyton has a somewhat questionable reputation in society. I’m uncertain Penelope’s father would wish me to further his daughter’s acquaintance with such a woman without knowing his feelings on the matter. I wish to spend the afternoon with my betrothed, not create a scandal. You may see Mrs. Leyton on your own time.”

  Prewitt leaned forward toward Oscar, but Penelope caught his arm and rubbed it in what appeared to be a soothing manner. Oscar stared at the intimate gesture. Prewitt shook off Penelope’s grip. “Mrs. Leyton is a close friend. You would do well not to interfere.”

  Surprised by Lord Prewitt’s presumption to control their afternoon, Oscar tapped on his groom’s shoulder with his cane. “The outing is over. Return to Brook Street,” he called.

  Damned if he’d have Prewitt manage his social acquaintances. He’d hold his ground on his view of Mrs. Leyton. A woman like that could do irreparable harm to Penelope’s reputation, and Oscar would rather avoid any further blemishes on their marriage.

  Yes, a house in the country would be essential. He’d send out inquiries today.

  Chapter Seven

  THE MAN ACROSS the room snorted, napping with his feet perched on the table edge, head lolling to the side. The sound covered the ominous creak of the floorboards beneath Oscar’s feet as he moved further into the room. The shabby, untidy sprawl of the office conflicted with the neatness of the slumbering factor. There were papers strewn everywhere, books lying in untidy piles on the floor. Such disarray was simply unacceptable, and tidying this room would be the first task Oscar insisted upon.

  Mr. Dickson of the Grafton Street Orphanage was supposed to be waiting for him. But Oscar was not so tardy that the factor should have wearied of the wait and fallen asleep. Perhaps it was foolish that he’d let the other trustees run the place up till now. He’d thought they knew what they were doing. He doubted they knew of Mr. Dickson’s habit of sleeping his day away though.

  Oscar cleared his throat, and the man before him bounced to his feet.

  “Lord Carrington, I presume.”

  Oscar bobbed hi
s head sharply rather than voice his displeasure.

  “Please, won’t you take a seat?”

  He settled into a chair, wincing when it creaked as ominously as the floor. “I understood that you would have everything ready for me. Do you require more time?”

  The factor blinked rapidly. “Everything about the running of the orphanage is within this room. What else do you require?”

  How about a system of neatness? Of order for the accounts? Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’ve been asked to review the accounts. I was assured everything was in order for my examination. This—” he swept his hand in an arc over the untidy heaps— “is not what I expected to see. I shall be here for weeks.”

  Dickson straightened a letter on his desk. “The board never quibbled about how I ran the place before.”

  “Well perhaps it’s time they did.”

  Dickson rocked back in his chair as if Oscar had struck him, but Oscar had no time to settle the man’s feathers. The quicker he could get this done and return home, the better. He did not want to bump into Agatha here. He’d promised her that he would keep a distance between them, both publicly and privately. The chances of running into her were very great indeed, given his mother’s hints on how much time she spent at the orphanage these days.

  “I’d like the ledger for this month’s accounts, if you please. And if you could arrange a cup of tea, I would be most appreciative. I fear I shall be here for some time.”

  The factor blinked, then shoved his hand into the upper draw, retrieved a battered ledger, and then thrust it in his direction. “I’ll go organize the tea, my lord.”

  The man hurried out.

  When Oscar opened the ledger, he was pleasantly surprised to see the disorder only extended so far. The ledger was neat. Meticulous, in fact. A welcome relief, indeed, after the shock of his initial impression.