All Night With A Rogue

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “Sinclair!” the marchioness yelled from below.

  Recognition flared in Duncombe’s gray eyes and one side of his mouth curled into a sneer. Without issuing a warning, he aimed and fired the dueling pistol.

  Bloody miserable bastard!

  The .65-caliber bullet grazed Alexius’s left shoulder. Christ, it stung! He lurched forward and collided into Duncombe. Both men fell to the floor. The empty pistol and copper flask skidded out of reach as the two men wrestled for dominance.

  He cursed when the marquess landed a hard blow into Alexius’s shoulder. Instead of pressing his advantage, Duncombe crawled away and stumbled to his feet. He ran for the stairs, hoping to reach the next landing.

  Coward.

  Panting heavily, Alexius trailed after his quarry. His shoulder burned, but the wound was not fatal. He grabbed the wood newel and propelled himself forward up the stairs. Duncombe had told them that Juliana was sleeping in one of the bedchambers. Was the man so pathetic that he planned to bargain his life for Juliana’s?

  “Duncombe!”

  Alexius caught the man by the waist and threw him up against the closest wall. “Where is she?”

  He seized the marquess by the back of his neck. On the landing below Alexius could hear Lady Duncombe and her daughters. He did not have much time before the older woman interfered.

  Duncombe grunted as the side of his face collided with a closed door. Alexius spun the man around and sent him careening into the bedchamber door across the hall.

  Alexius stalked over and pulled the man up by his hair. He noted impassively that Duncombe’s attire was informal. The man wore wrinkled trousers and a linen shirt. The shirt was smudged, several buttons had been undone, and his cravat had been removed.

  “How many bedchambers do you have in this house, Duncombe?” Alexius whispered in the man’s ear. “I feel like counting them.”

  “No!” Duncombe managed to croak before his face connected with another door.

  He crouched down, staring up at Alexius as if he were the devil himself. He probably looked like a murderous lunatic with his clothes disheveled, blood soaking into his coat sleeve, and his hazel eyes simmering with the need for retribution.

  “Juliana!”

  The silence was maddening.

  “Where is she?”

  He pulled Duncombe up by the front of his shirt. Two doors later, the man was babbling and crying incoherently. His nose and mouth were bleeding, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead. He was a pitiful sight.

  “Last chance, my friend,” Alexius said, literally holding the man up. “If I run out of doors, I just may toss you out the window.”

  The marquess spewed spittle and blood at Alexius. “Go to—”

  He did not give the man a chance to finish. His patience at an end, Alexius did not even bother aiming for a door. Duncombe flew face-first into one of his sour-faced ancestors’ portraits that lined the hallway. The marquess had already lost consciousness when the back of his head bounced against the hardwood flooring.

  “I am here.”

  Alexius’s head snapped up at Juliana’s faint plea. “Where are you?” With Duncombe already forgotten, Alexius continued down the hallway, pounding on each door. He halted when he heard her voice again.

  “Sin?”

  The suspicion in her tone made him grin. Alexius sagged against the door. “Who else are you expecting?” He placed his hand on the latch and quickly realized it was locked.

  “My cousin has the key.”

  The simple statement was very telling. Alexius glared at the unconscious Duncombe. Had he locked Juliana away to punish her or did he have something sinister in mind for his cousin? Alexius did not trust himself to touch the man again for fear that he would kill Duncombe.

  “Stand back,” Alexius ordered, pushing himself away from the door.

  Lady Duncombe could berate him later.

  It took three hard kicks to break the latch. He limped into the bedchamber and fell to his knees in shock. The marchioness had told him that Duncombe had planned to marry Juliana. Alexius had never dreamed that the man would be capable of torture.

  Duncombe had tied Juliana to one of the bedposts at the end of the bed. He had stripped her of her dress, and her undergarments were in tatters.

  “Juliana.”

  Alexius hastily crawled toward the bed and dug his fingers inside his boot to retrieve his knife. His hands were shaking as he gently sawed the blade through Duncombe’s cravat.

  Juliana cried out as Alexius lowered her arms to her lap. The long hours tied to the bedpost had strained her muscles. How many hours had she been alone with her cousin? What had he done to her?

  Alexius brushed the blond strands of hair from her face. His jaw clenched when he noticed her swollen lip and the signs of bruising on her cheek.

  “Forgive me, Juliana. I wish I had found you sooner.”

  “Sin.” She said his name softly, her eyes swimming with relief and gratitude. “My cousin—”

  “Can no longer hurt you.” Alexius removed the rag that held her wrists together.

  She winced and rubbed them.

  He swallowed, his throat aching with the effort. “How—how badly are you hurt?” Alexius felt helpless. He needed to know what had happened, but he did not want to upset her. “Do we—Should I summon a surgeon?”

  Juliana slowly moved to the edge of the mattress. She gingerly touched the corner of her mouth and grimaced. “No. No surgeon. I am unhurt.”

  “Hardly that!”

  She started at his harsh retort. “He frightened me. I have some bruises from the—” Her green eyes suddenly widened as she realized what Alexius was asking of her. “No, he did not touch me that way, though he wanted to. My cousin had—He had plans.”

  Juliana did not need to elaborate. Alexius longed to pull her into his arms and hold her, but she seemed so fragile and close to collapsing. She had been so brave, had gone through so much. He did not want to shatter her hard-won composure. Instead he threaded his fingers through hers and held her hand tightly.

  She stiffened but did not pull away.

  Her gaze lifted from their joined hands to his bloodied shoulder.

  “Sin, you are bleeding.”

  Alexius glanced down and frowned. He had been so distracted by Juliana, he had forgotten about the wound. “It is nothing. A slight mishap.”

  “Sinclair? Juliana?” The marchioness paused. “Oliver?”

  Both of them stared at the open door. In the ensuing silence, Lady Duncombe and her daughters had ventured upstairs.

  “Oh, my heavens!”

  She had stumbled across the unconscious Lord Duncombe.

  Alexius held his breath and silently counted the seconds until the lady discovered the damaged door.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  SIN HAD WANTED to summon the constable.

  Juliana had refused.

  She had seen her cousin’s battered face as they had walked past him in the hallway. Although she was angry and hurt by what the marquess had done to her, Juliana knew that the magistrate’s sentence would not be as severe as Sin’s punishment.

  Besides, the family could not bear the scrutiny of another scandal.

  If Lord Duncombe was as intelligent as he had always claimed, he would leave London and distance himself from the vengeful Lord Sinclair.

  It might take years for Sin to recover.

  Juliana had seen the horror on the gentleman’s face when he entered the bedchamber, the fury at what her cousin had done to her.

  No, Sin was not the forgiving sort.

  “You cannot challenge him.”

  Sitting across from her in the cramped compartment of the coach with her sister Lucilla sitting beside him, Sin crossed his arms at Juliana’s outburst and raised his right eyebrow questioningly.

  “Whom do you refer to? Gomfrey or Duncombe?”

  “Cease teasing her, Sinclair,” her mother said, stirring to Juliana’s defense. “Sh
e believes you are serious.”

  Neither the marchioness nor Cordelia had strayed from Juliana’s side since they had walked into Lord Duncombe’s bedchamber.

  “Who says that I am not?” Sin countered dryly.

  Juliana tightly clasped the edges of the blanket that had been removed from Duncombe’s bed. She had left her evening dress behind.

  “And if I say both?”

  The white of his teeth gleamed under the warm light of the coach’s lanterns. “Then you might not like my answer.”

  “But—”

  “Gomfrey and Duncombe are my business, Juliana,” Sin said ominously. “You got your way about the magistrate. Let me have mine.”

  He spoke so calmly about committing violence that she half-expected her mother to scold him. Maman—to Juliana’s surprise—was content to leave the entire matter in Sin’s hands.

  “You are not a cold-blooded murderer, Sin.”

  He looked at Juliana in stark disbelief. “You should know better than most that I am capable of anything when provoked.”

  She bowed her head.

  There was nothing she could say to refute his claim.

  Sin had proved that he could be quite cold and ruthless.

  “Sinclair, my boy,” her mother said, her voice tinged with unexpected warmth. “How is your shoulder? Should we call for a surgeon?”

  Juliana watched as Sin poked at the bloodstain on his coat. When she had asked him about the blood, he had brushed aside the question.

  “There is no need to worry. The bullet just grazed me.” He peered at his fingers and held them closer to the lantern. “The bleeding has stopped. I will tend to the wound later.”

  “You were so courageous running after our cousin after the first bullet shattered the urn,” Cordelia confessed. “He could have killed you.”

  Sin looked amused. “He was trying to kill me.”

  Lucilla clapped her hands over her ears. “Oh, I cannot hear another word about this.”

  “That urn was a Dresden, you know,” her mother sighed.

  Juliana gaped at the man sitting across from her. “You were shot? Lord Duncombe tried to kill you?”

  “Twice,” Lucilla added with a ladylike shudder.

  Why had no one told her?

  Her and Sin’s gazes locked. His expression was enigmatic in the shadows. “It takes nerve and skill to aim a pistol at a man. Fortunately, your cousin lacked both. There is no reason to fret, Juliana. All Duncombe did was ruin one of my favorite coats.”

  It was an attempt at humor. A very poor one, indeed.

  Juliana felt her mother’s hand on her cheek. “Regardless, you have this family’s gratitude. Oliver almost succeeded in marrying my girl. It would have been a dreadful match.”

  She silently agreed. “He had a spy. Someone he hired to watch us.”

  The news stunned everyone.

  Cordelia was the first to recover. “Did he tell you the name of his spy?”

  “No, but it was someone who was aware of Maman’s plans to bring us to London. Someone who visited us in the country, and here in London.”

  No one had a suitable response. Juliana laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and took comfort in the familiar rumbling and squeaks as the coach brought them closer to home.

  “What if the spy was Mr. Stepkins?”

  Her eyes snapped opened at Lucilla’s question. Juliana could see that the mere suggestion that Lucilla’s adoring Mr. Stepkins could be their cousin’s spy was distressing to her.

  “I met him in the village.” She glanced unhappily at her sister. “Cordelia, you were there. He was so attentive, so witty.”

  “Did he question you about Juliana?” Sin asked, drawing Lucilla’s gaze away from her sister’s face.

  Lucilla made a wordless sound of frustration. “We talked about everything. Naturally he was curious about my family. He was so thrilled when I told him that we would be traveling to London.”

  Cordelia reached over and touched Lucilla on the hand. “And then, he suddenly stopped calling on you.”

  “As did Lord Fisken,” Lucilla replied icily. “We both agreed that their absence had to do with—”

  Lucilla noticed Sin’s keen regard and hastily looked away.

  Both of Juliana’s sisters believed she was responsible for chasing away their suitors.

  She coughed into her hand and delicately cleared her throat. “I doubt your Mr. Stepkins was the spy, Lucilla. It could have been anyone.”

  Without speaking, Sin chastised Juliana with a flinty glance.

  She inched closer to her mother’s side. The argument sounded weak even to Juliana’s ears.

  The coachman called out, and the wheels of the coach slowed until they had reached a complete stop. The compartment wobbled as a groom hopped down. The door opened. They had arrived at the town house.

  “Will you join us, Sinclair?” her mother asked.

  Juliana sensed his gaze still rested on her. They had much to settle between them. However, it would not happen this evening. She refused to give him any encouragement.

  Sin must have sensed this, too. As he descended from the coach, he held out his hand to the marchioness. “No, madam, I believe I should continue home.”

  One by one, Juliana’s mother and sisters accepted Sinclair’s assistance as they disembarked from the coach. Juliana was the last. As she stepped out, a gust of wind caught her hair, causing the ends to dance on the air.

  Before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, “Would you answer a question, my lord?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Why did she do it? Why did your half sister send you to me?” she asked, loathing the slight quiver in her voice.

  Sin braced the palm of his hand against the side of the coach. Although she could not see his face distinctly, she could sense his reluctance. “Lord Kyd. My sister loves him. For months, he had become rather secretive. She feared that she was losing him to another woman. When she saw him paying attention to you, she believed that you had stolen him from her.”

  “Oh.” Juliana nodded as if she understood, but she truly did not. She and Lord Kyd had shared an interest in music. He had never shared his private life with her. “You seduced me because of my association with Lord Kyd?”

  She felt light-headed and was half-tempted to climb back into the coach so she could sit down.

  “I approached you because my sister asked it of me. My sister is all the family that I have left, and she was convinced that you were the reason for the baron’s reluctance to press for her hand. She was upset and I was protective.” He paused as if measuring his next words. “However, let me be clear. No one rules me, Juliana. Not even my sister. I pursued you because I wanted you. I was not thinking about revenge when I took your innocence.”

  She did not want to talk about their lovemaking. “You know, Lady Gredell had nothing to fear,” Juliana said sadly.

  Regret lined his handsome face. “No.”

  How silly of her. Of course Sin knew. He had breached more than her body. She had let him into her heart. Even if he had not pursued her with calculated malice, he had not considered that by giving in to his selfish desires he had still managed to carry out his sister’s petty revenge against the lady she viewed as her chief rival for Lord Kyd’s affections.

  “Thank you for your belated honesty.”

  Her thoughts in turmoil, she whirled away from him. Her fingers absently stroked the string of pearls Sin had given her as she stepped away determined to distance herself from the man who had hurt her in a manner far worse than Lord Gomfrey and her cousin.

  And then she recalled Lord Duncombe’s harsh words.

  “I was told that Sinclair gifts all his mistresses with a string of pearls. He has a rather unique manner in which he bestows his expensive gift—”

  Juliana turned around and returned to the coach. Sin was waiting for her, watching her expectantly.

  “One
more thing . . .”

  She tugged viciously on the necklace, snapping the string. Loose pearls bounced and rolled off her as she held out the coiled string of pearls to Sin.

  “Although I appreciate what you have done for me and my family, I hope you will understand that I never want to see you again.” Juliana prayed the darkness hid her tears. “Nor do I wish to keep your beautiful gift. It reminds me that I was no different than any other lady that has caught your eye. So you will have to find another foolish lady with whom to play your wicked games, Lord Sinclair. It is fortunate that London provides you with so many.”

  He flinched as if she had struck him. When he did not take the necklace from her hand, she moved up to him, took his hand, and gently pressed the necklace into his palm.

  With the dignified bearing that Lord Duncombe had once found charming in the thirteen-year-old Juliana, she turned her back on Sin and walked away.

  “So you have been trying to live up to the name your mother gave you.”

  Alexius had not been surprised to find Frost waiting for him. When he had arrived home, Hembry had revealed that he had invited the earl to wait for his friend in the library. Never one to be idle, Frost had poured a glass of Alexius’s best brandy and had taken it upon himself to clean his dueling pistols.

  “I am too exhausted for cryptic statements, Frost.” Alexius removed his coat and dropped it onto a nearby chair. His linen shirt was a gory sight. The blood covering the front of his shirt had fused the cloth to his chest. Thank goodness he had refused Lady Duncombe’s offer to see to his wounded shoulder. Ladies tended to be a trifle upset and prone to fuss.

  He stripped off his shirt, taking care not to reopen his injury.

  Frost glanced up from his work. “Did you not once tell me that your mother chose the name Alexius because she believed the word to mean ‘defender’ or ‘protector’?”

  “That was what Belle told me when I was a boy.” He grimaced and scraped some of the blood away from around the raw-looking furrow. “My father, on the other hand, told me a different tale. This one involved a Byzantine emperor who usurped the throne from his brother, gouged out his eyes, and locked him away in the dungeon. If he lived today, you would probably nominate him for our little club.”