Best of Both Rogues

by Samantha Grace

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  Also by Samantha Grace

  The Beau Monde Bachelor Series

  Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel

  Lady Amelia’s Mess and a Half

  Miss Lavigne’s Little White Lie

  Lady Vivian Defies a Duke

  The Rival Rogues Series

  One Rogue Too Many

  In Bed with a Rogue

  Copyright © 2015 by Samantha Grace

  Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Judy York

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  In memory of Eddie, a true gentleman at heart

  Prologue

  April 1817

  Eve Thorne had no more tears to shed. Her body had become heavy, sinking into her bed as if it might swallow her. The coverlet beneath her cheek was damp and cool. Subdued afternoon light cast her normally cheerful bedchamber in shadow.

  Her maid’s sympathetic frown and the porcelain plate she held out to Eve made her eyes burn, dispelling the notion she had cried herself dry. The plate was filled with dishes meant for Eve’s wedding breakfast, food that would spoil in a day with no guests to enjoy the feast.

  “Lord Thorne will be cross if I cannot coax you to eat something, miss,” Alice said.

  “Has he returned?” Speaking required more effort than Eve thought possible; her voice was raspy and her throat tight.

  Alice shook her graying head. “May I speak freely, miss?”

  “Please,” Eve said on a sigh.

  “You don’t want your brother to find you this way. The baron is on a tear as it is.”

  Sebastian was scouring London for Eve’s runaway groom now, determined to defend her honor. Finding her in tears would only make matters worse, but how did one hide the shattered pieces of one’s heart?

  She blinked up at Alice. “I will try.”

  Her lady’s maid answered with an encouraging smile and placed the plate back on its tray. “Very good, miss. Allow me to help you sit up.”

  Eve leaned forward while Alice fluffed the pillows and watched in a numbing fog as her maid placed the tray across her lap.

  The sight of red grapes made Eve’s vision blur again. “Oh, bother,” she mumbled. Why did everything have to make her think of Ben?

  It was hard to believe it had only been last night when they had teased each other.

  Ben’s smoky blue eyes—the perfect blending of dark blue and gray—had twinkled with mischief as he’d wrapped her in his arms when Mama had allowed them a rare moment alone for Eve to bid him good night. It was to be their last good-bye, for tonight he should have taken her to his home. Her home.

  Once we have spoken our vows, I will expect many things from you, Miss Thorne.

  Is that so, Mr. Hillary? Let me hear these expectations, so I might decide if I wish to meet them.

  She had been teasing. In that moment of blind devotion, she would have done anything he asked. His amused chuckle had washed her in warm tingles.

  Do you want the entire list?

  She had nodded, expecting him to recite the usual duties involved with managing a household. Instead, he’d made her laugh and planted the most delicious vision in her mind to take with her to bed: Ben lounging on a fainting couch like some hedonistic god, wearing nothing but a loincloth and laurel wreath in his golden brown hair, while Eve fed him grapes.

  Eve had felt so cherished and happy when he’d stolen a kiss and whispered in her ear. I love you, Kitten.

  She swiped at the wetness leaking from the corners of her eyes. What could have happened between nightfall and this morning at the church to change his mind about her? Or had she been too smitten to recognize reservation in his actions?

  He had come to St. George’s Church, and by all accounts, seemed prepared to marry her. Surely the love she had felt in his touch last night was no lie. Yet her limited imagination didn’t allow for any other excuse for what he had done. Ben left her at the church, humiliated her in front of her family and friends.

  A soft knock sounded at her door and Alice swept across the room to answer. Eve’s mother paused in the threshold. Her dark gaze flickered over Eve as a small frown formed on her lips. “Eve, there is a gentleman here to see you. Mr. Cooper says Mr. Hillary sent him.”

  Eve’s heart leaped. She knew Ben hadn’t truly abandoned her. Something of the utmost importance must have occurred to make him leave so suddenly.

  More important than your wedding?

  She ignored the logic in favor of having Ben back.

  “Should I have Milo tell him you are not receiving?” Mama asked.

  “No!” Eve nearly knocked over the tray in her haste, but Alice grabbed it before it tipped. Eve mumbled an apology and scrambled from the bed. She stopped at the washstand to clear the evidence of her tears from her cheeks, although she wouldn’t be able to hide the redness of her eyes and nose. “Did Mr. Cooper indicate how he knows Ben?”

  Mama came up behind her to place her hands on Eve’s shoulders. “He only said he made his acquaintance at the docks this afternoon. Mr. Cooper was seeing his cousin off to India on one of Benjamin’s ships.”

  Why would Ben be at the docks on their wedding day? Eve swallowed against the panic welling up at the back of her throat. There must be a reasonable explanation, and it appeared Mr. Cooper was here to deli
ver it. She couldn’t get ahead of herself.

  Draping the cloth over the side of the basin, she took a deep breath. “I suppose I should see what the gentleman has to say before drawing conclusions.”

  Mama’s smile reflected in the looking glass appeared more like a grimace. “That seems wise, dearest.”

  With her mother at her side, Eve made her way to the drawing room where Mr. Cooper was waiting. He stood as they entered, a friendly grin on his round face. A quick glance at his sturdy brown trousers, plain jacket, and simply tied cravat revealed he was a gentleman of little means, but a gentleman all the same.

  Mama came forward to perform an introduction. “Mr. Cooper, this is my daughter, Eve. Mr. Cooper is a parish chaplain at St. Saviour’s Church.”

  A chaplain? Eve refrained from rubbing away the tightness at her temples. A man of the cloth was often employed to deliver distressing news, but that certainly wasn’t the case today. Still, she couldn’t stop from asking, “Has something happened to Mr. Hillary? Has he been hurt or become ill?”

  His kind smile didn’t fade. “No, miss. He was all in one piece when last I spoke with him, although he was a bit pale and shaky, now that I consider it. I am certain there is no cause for alarm, however.” He reached into his jacket and pulled a long box from an inside pocket. “Mr. Hillary charged me with a task, and I promised to deliver this to you straightaway. He said this belongs to you.”

  Eve accepted the gaily wrapped box and allowed her mother to guide her to the settee. Her fingers shook as she tore open the gift. The rip of paper seemed to echo in the silence.

  Mama sat down beside her. “Will Mr. Hillary be calling at Thorne Place soon?”

  A slight shifting of the man’s jaw made Eve’s heart race. “I do not believe that to be the case, my lady.” When Mama raised her eyebrows in a gesture of irritation, Mr. Cooper cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is Mr. Hillary departed on his ship, ma’am. He is traveling to Delhi, as is my cousin.”

  Eve fumbled the box and it fell to the Turkish carpet. A gold necklace with yellow gems spilled out, winking up at her in the fading sunlight. Her breathing had ceased the moment Mr. Cooper said Ben was gone, but it returned on a ragged inhale.

  “Allow me, Miss Thorne.” The gentleman bent to retrieve the necklace before holding it out to her. She stared at the unusual piece lying in the worn palm of his glove. A small circular gem—perhaps a yellow diamond—sat atop two larger, identical ones, creating a pyramid. The necklace itself was composed of two strands of tiny black pearls, perfect and elegant.

  Her hand shook as she accepted the offering. “D-did Mr. Hillary say anything? Was there a message for me?”

  “I am sorry, miss. I was charged with delivering the package, but Mr. Hillary sent no word other than this belongs to you.”

  “But I’ve never seen it before, or anything like it.” How could it belong to her?

  Mr. Cooper shifted his weight to get a closer look at the jewelry. “It is an exotic piece. I saw similar ones when I toured India. I believe it holds special meaning.”

  Eve’s fingers closed around the necklace, and she gazed up at the man in interest.

  He seemed to recognize her curiosity, because he went on to explain. “I attended a wedding during my stay in Calcutta, and the groom presented a similar necklace to his bride before securing it around her neck. A fellow wedding guest explained that the necklace is believed to protect the marriage and serves as a symbol of love, trust, and marital happiness.”

  A low growl came from her mother, the unladylike sound shocking. “Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Do you realize the cruelty of your words? My daughter was abandoned at the altar today.”

  The poor man’s jaw dropped, his complexion suddenly bloodless.

  “How dare you speak to her of marital happiness at a time like this?” Eve’s mother was on her feet and moving toward the bellpull. “Have you no sensitivity?”

  “Mama, Mr. Cooper meant no harm. He could not have known.”

  Her mother would accept no defense of the man, however. “What type of gentleman agrees to perform the devil’s errand without question?”

  “The devil?” Mr. Cooper’s pale skin began to glisten in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Mama.” Eve’s soft reprimand went unnoticed.

  Her mother scowled in Mr. Cooper’s direction as she yanked the bellpull cord. She had never seen her mother in such a state. Eve had always assumed her brother had inherited his temper from their father, but Mama seemed as unstoppable as Sebastian had been earlier that day.

  When Milo entered the drawing room, Eve’s mother instructed him to see Mr. Cooper to the door.

  “Forgive me, Miss Thorne.” The clergyman ducked his head and made a hasty retreat from the drawing room before Milo needed to lay a hand on him.

  “Thank you, sir,” Eve called after Mr. Cooper.

  Once the door closed, Mama swung toward her. “Why should you offer your thanks? Of all the nerve, marching in here without an invitation and…”

  Eve blocked out the rest of her mother’s rant as she contemplated the necklace. Why would Ben tell Mr. Cooper the jewelry belonged to her when she’d never before laid eyes on the piece? A necklace that symbolized love, trust, and happiness?

  Unless…

  Hope flared in her heart. He was coming back for her. She couldn’t fathom any explanation for his desertion today, but he must have a good reason, one she would understand as soon as he returned from dealing with whatever had called him away to India. She hugged the necklace to her chest, close to her heart, and prayed for his swift and safe return.

  One

  July 1819

  Benjamin Hillary—Ben to his family and friends; “that damned heartless rogue” to most of Society—tried the back gate leading to the Eldridges’ garden.

  “Locked,” he muttered. Of course it was. He’d had nothing but bad luck since his return from Delhi almost a month earlier.

  “Balderdash.” Crispin Locke, Viscount Margrave, shouldered him aside and grabbed the weathered iron handle. Gas lamps flanking the gate bathed the stone wall in a golden glow. “You have to put some brawn into it. These old gates stick.” Ben’s old schoolmate shot him a superior look before yanking with a loud grunt.

  The eight-foot-high gate didn’t budge.

  “Peculiar.” Margrave’s strong brows dropped low as he smacked his hands together to clear the orange residue from his riding glove and proceeded to soil both gloves. “Why do you suppose Lord Eldridge had the gate secured?”

  “To keep out unwanted guests?”

  Perhaps the Earl of Wellham had warned Lord Eldridge that Ben might show up tonight. That would explain the small army of footmen at the front door. If Wellham would stop turning Ben away when he called on him at home or hiding in his club where Ben was not a member, he wouldn’t be reduced to sneaking into the assemblies.

  An invitation might be nice too, but he understood the reason his name was omitted from most guest lists. He had unintentionally destroyed the reputation of an innocent young lady—a lady he still pined for two years after walking away from her. Fortunately, he’d been able to set things back to rights for Miss Eve Thorne upon his return to Town. She was back in Society now, and Ben was determined to win her back into his arms.

  Eventually.

  She claimed she wanted nothing to do with him, but Ben possessed the letter Mr. Cooper had sent to him in India stating otherwise. Eve and the clergyman had developed a friendship when she began calling on him at St. Saviour’s Church soon after he had delivered Ben’s wedding gift. Mr. Cooper’s letter implored Ben to return to England immediately, as it seemed only Ben’s presence could end her misery. Until that time, Ben had believed he was the only one still suffering.

  “You won’t be getting in through the gate.” Margrave swiped a lock of blond hair from his f
orehead and left a smudge.

  Ben really should tell his friend, but the idea of Margrave bowing over Lady Eldridge’s hand, all pristine and proper except for an orange smear on his face, made Ben grin.

  “Why do you look so pleased?” Margrave grumbled. “I thought you wanted to get inside.”

  “I do, and I will.”

  Ben’s sister had warned him away from the Eldridge Ball, because Eve would be here. And even though Ben had come for Wellham, she was the reason he wouldn’t allow a locked gate to defeat him. He walked alongside the wall, searching for a way over.

  A tree branch hung over the stone wall just low enough that he could reach it with Margrave’s help.

  “Give me a leg up?” Ben said.

  His friend made a stirrup with his hands for Ben’s foot and hoisted him into the air. Ben grabbed the branch, and when Margrave stepped out of harm’s way, he swung his legs to build momentum, hooked one over the branch, and hauled himself up to straddle it.

  “Well done. Wellham is in for a surprise, I think.” Margrave saluted him, as if assisting a friend to scale a wall was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “This seems like old hat to you, Margrave. What were you up to while I was away?”

  He flashed a jaunty smile up at Ben. “Oh, you know. Things and such.”

  That barely qualified as an answer, but Margrave had never been the chatty type. As his friend moved on silent feet and faded into the darkness, Ben worked his way toward the tree trunk. Once he’d cleared the wall, he dropped to the ground with a teeth-rattling thump. He rolled his neck and shoulders, then brushed off his breeches and coat.

  “I am too old for this nonsense.”

  At three-and-thirty, he was hardly in his dotage, but he wasn’t a young buck to be kicking up a lark anymore either. He located and followed a path that wound through the garden and ended at the terrace stairs.

  Several guests had retreated outdoors, taking advantage of the light breeze off the Thames. A lively melody floated through the opened French doors and flashes of color appeared through the bank of windows. Ladies dressed in crimson, plum, and emerald skipped around the ballroom floor on the arms of their gentlemen partners. Ben hadn’t danced a quadrille since he’d left London, but the steps came back to him in an instant.