A Rogue's Rescue

by Donna Lea Simpson

  Ingram, his head in his hands, muttered, “Let me get this straight: you, Dorsey, rescued this girl from her husband, who beat her.”

  “Not my husband, sir,” the girl said, sniffing. “We . . . we was never married legal-like. But he did beat me. Eddy is kind, and . . . and I love him.”

  “She is . . .” Dorsey took a deep breath, but even in the pale light of the gatehouse lantern, it was plain that he was pale and sickly-looking. “She is carrying my child,” he said. “I wanted to marry her, but I had no idea how I was going to support us, so—”

  “How noble. So you thought you would marry me and support her on the side from my money,” Ariadne said, her tone sharp, her hands on her hips. “Instead of marrying the girl and finding a job.”

  He shrugged, a sullen expression on his handsome face. “Don’t know how to do anything but gamble and talk.”

  The moon disappeared from view and the Embankment grew darker. Ariadne, done with all of the nonsense, the drama having turned out to be a farce, said, “Henrietta, Mr. Dorsey will return your letters to you via Lord Ingram. Will that be agreeable?”

  Dorsey nodded and so did Henrietta, now with a resigned look on her round face. Ingram moved to join Ariadne. He took her arm in his and squeezed it.

  “And Dorsey, you will marry the mother of your child,” Ingram said.

  In the shadowy darkness Ariadne thought that Dorsey did not look wholly enthusiastic, but Ingram’s powerful personality cowed him, and he mumbled, “If you think I should, my lord.”

  “You should,” Ingram said, grimly. “Give your child a name, at least, Dorsey. It is all my father did for me, but it turned out well in the end. I think I will make sure you live up to your promise. We are all a witness to his promise to marry this young woman?”

  “I am a witness, Lord Ingram,” Ariadne said. “And since the young man is about to breach his promise to me, he had better keep this one, or I will see him in court.”

  Dorsey was silent, but the girl burst into tears of joy; at least Ariadne hoped they were joyous tears. She was not so sure they were doing her a favor, but the stain of illegitimacy would not harm her baby, at least.

  “I think this play is at an end,” Ingram said, quietly. “Miss Lambert, may I walk you back to your home?”

  She would have liked that; she would have even invited him in, though that was shocking at this time of night. She could picture them in her elegant drawing room, with the moonlight glistening off the Thames through the front window, drinking sherry and talking over the evening. His dark eyes would glitter with amusement at the way this drama had played out, and she would watch his expression, loving the sight of his broken nose and combative chin. But there were others involved.

  “I think you should accompany Mrs. Godersham home, since Olivia has decamped on us,” she whispered, glancing at the pale and weeping woman, the deserted and desolate Henrietta.

  “You would think of that,” he said, grudgingly, following her gaze. “I would much rather be with you.”

  She felt a thrill race down her back. “Would you?”

  “I would.” He turned back and caught her expression. His lips parted to say something, but then he thought better of it evidently, and sighed. “May I call on you tomorrow?”

  “Certainly,” she replied. “Good night, Ingram.”

  “Good night, Ari. À demain.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ariadne sat out in the walled garden behind her house. The day had turned out fine, the warmest day of late spring so far. Olivia had been by in the morning and over tea they had canvassed all of Henrietta’s perfidy, how she had taken in her best friend, and for a weasel like Edward Dorsey.

  And now she was anticipating Lord Ingram’s arrival. What to expect? He had said he would rather be with her than Henrietta Godersham, though even Dorsey would probably have preferred her company over the wailing widow. It was small crumbs.

  But he had kissed her and called her intelligent; for someone unused to such heady praise that was strong wine indeed. As for herself, she had come to the conclusion, after a sleepless night, that she was in love with him. It was a momentous event, the first time she had ever been in love. Whatever it came to—likely naught—she still had that, the new sensations coursing through her spinsterly body.

  He was her perfect match, as little needing polite society as she, and with enough pain in his background that he would not expect every day to be sunny. She could not abide those who expected life to be one smooth road with no twists and turns. It indicated a vacant mind and a poverty of spirit.

  And yet she could be building air castles from moon dreams. Did he care for her at all? She counted the facts, as they stood.

  One: He had kissed her. But he had probably kissed a hundred women or more, while he had been her only experience.

  Two: He had called her intelligent. But intelligence was not a noted aphrodisiac, or the libraries would be busier and the mantua makers idle.

  Three: He said he liked her company. But that was in comparison to a whining, lying foolish woman who didn’t know herself to be lucky when she so clearly was, to have escaped the insignificant clutches of Edward Dorsey.

  She sighed and played with her glasses, turning them so they would catch the sunlight and concentrate it on the newspaper.

  “You will set yourself on fire,” Ingram said.

  Ariadne turned and gazed at him where he stood, lounging against the gated entrance to her garden. “You came,” she said.

  “Of course. Did I not say I would? I always keep my word. That is what Dorsey will learn at four o’clock today, to his distress. He tried to leave London without his mistress this morning. I have a fellow, though, who caught him and is holding him for me. He will not try it again.”

  Ariadne shivered in the sunlight. How much did she really know of this man? Enough? Not enough? “You did not hurt him, did you?”

  “No. Do you think me a brute, Ari?”

  She hesitated, but then shook her head. No, he was not a brute, but there was a layer of him that was far from civilized.

  “I only ever beat those who thoroughly deserve it.” He quirked a half smile. “And who can defend themselves. He falls in the first category, but not the second.” His expression grew serious as he gazed at her steadily. “We know so little of each other.” He moved away from the gate and came toward her, an intent look on his dark face.

  “Yes, so very little.”

  “Is it enough, I wonder?” He pulled a chair close to hers and set her glasses aside just as the paper started to smolder. He took her bare hand in his own and caressed it, thumbing her pulse point.

  Enough for what, she wanted to ask.

  “Enough for what?” She was not one to let her thoughts go unvoiced. She had learned that one often had only one chance in life.

  He smiled. “I love that you do that: confront, challenge, advance. What an unusual woman you are.”

  Ariadne wasn’t sure, but it did not exactly sound like a compliment. But speaking of confronting . . . “Ingram, Olivia Beckwith overheard something, something you said to someone else. I believe there is likely a rational explanation for it, but I would hear it.”

  One eyebrow raised, he said, “Ask away.”

  She told him what Olivia had heard between him and Lord Duncannon, about money. That Ingram had better get the money to him soon, before it was “too late.”

  He thought for a moment, then laughed out loud. “Duncannon! That fretful old haggis. It is a little embarrassing, actually, but if you want to hear about it . . .” She nodded, and he went on. “As trite as it sounds, one of his manservants impregnated one of my maids. Don’t ask me how when they have so little free time, but it was managed. The impudent fellow said he would marry her, but that there needed to be some money changing hands.”

  “And so you are going to pay him off?” She was a little shocked that such bad behavior was to be rewarded, and by a man like Ingram.

  “Be
tter than to leave the girl with a bastard child and her reputation in tatters, my dear. This will allow them to start life over.”

  “I knew it would be something like that,” she said, staring into his eyes, loving the dark gleaming depths. “I knew it would turn out to be something that showed how good you are.” And not something showing he would court her for her money.

  He shook his head. “I am not so good; it will bring peace to my household, and I do like a well-run house. But that you think I am good means a great deal to me. It may even make me a better man, eventually. I had thought never to find anyone like you,” he mused, gazing down at their twined hands.

  She wished hers were not so bony. She wished she was prettier, plumper. “Like me? In what way?”

  “My match. My equal. My superior. I do not mean superior in any moral sense. Most women are better than I.” With his free hand he touched her cheek and gazed steadily into her eyes. “Do you like adventure, Ari?”

  Off-kilter as usual in his presence, she said, immediately, “Yes, most definitely, although I have never had one. Other than last night.”

  He grinned and then laughed, his dark eyes dancing with reflected sunlight. When he sobered, he gazed at her and said, “Ari, marry me. Marry me and your life will be an adventure, I promise you, for I am not an easy man to live with. I have vast faults, one of them being an uncertain temper, but I am never cruel to those who don’t deserve it. I know how to value beauty and intelligence and you have both of those, and—”

  “Stop!” Ariadne put up one hand. “Ingram, if we are to marry I mean to make you remain honest. I am certainly not beautiful.”

  “I didn’t think so either, at first, but I do now and so I am being honest.”

  Ari thought for a moment. It was a lovely compliment, really, she decided. “You have not told me you love me. I should like that.”

  “But only if it is the truth, yes?”

  She took in a shaky breath. “Yes,” she said wistfully, staring into eyes dark as obsidian, the eyes she had learned to adore. “Only if it is the truth.”

  He slipped off his chair and knelt before her, taking both her hands in his. “Ari, I love you. I truly do. To the depths of my soul. You make me laugh, and that is not an easy thing to do. I am reckoned rather grim. I want to show you what love can be.” His voice became husky with emotion. “I have not experienced it myself but I have a strong feeling that things I have done before will be entirely new experiences with you.”

  She shivered, remembering kisses in the dark. “And I love you too, Ingram.”

  “Thank God.” He swallowed hard and swayed on his knees.

  Alarmed, she freed one hand and put it on his bulky shoulder. “Whatever is wrong, Ingram?”

  “I was afraid you would not be able to say it, afraid you couldn’t love me. You are too good for me, you know.”

  “You do not know me well enough to say that,” Ari said, touched by his trepidation.

  “But I will soon. And then I may sicken you by telling you every day that you are far too good for me. So . . . will you marry me?”

  “If you sicken me about my unending goodness I will make you leave off, or be so wicked it will crush the pedestal you have put me on.”

  “I asked, will you marry me?” His dark eyes flashed with impatience.

  “Of course I will. Do you think me stupid enough to say no to a man like you?”

  He rose and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. The sunlight poured through the willow and touched their faces. As one, they turned their cheek up to the sun. Ari smiled, and Ingram kissed first her cheek and then her lips, tenderly, then deeper and with growing passion.

  “Shall we make it a huge wedding, very society, very formal, with every lord and lady in attendance?” He put his forehead against hers as they stood, entwined, under the willow. “I can afford it, you know. I am very, very rich.”

  “Certainly. I shall ask the Duke of Wellington to give me away, and we shall see if the Princess of Wales will attend me.”

  His gusty laugh echoed off the walls of the garden.

  “Or you can get a special licence and we can marry in two days in Olivia’s home in Mayfair,” she said, her voice trembling and husky. “She will put up a fuss, for she does not like you, but we will bully her into it.”

  “Then we could begin our honeymoon immediately. I suggest a barge trip down the Thames, and a different hotel room every night. We may wear out our welcome in each one if my instincts are right about you, Miss Lambert. Am I shocking you?”

  “Yes, terribly,” she said, as he kissed her throat. “But do go on. I have a strong heart.”

  “May I live here with you while I build us a home here in Chelsea?”

  “Why do we not stay in this one forever?”

  “Good idea. I shall sell my property. May we have cats? I find I long to have three, named Prinny, Maria and Caroline.”

  “As long as I can keep chickens.”

  Nonsense thoroughly canvassed, they stared into one another’s eyes for a moment. He said, “I never thought I would marry.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “Absolutely!” It came out rather shaky, and so she said it again, voice stronger. “Absolutely. I intend to make love with you very soon and I can only do that if we are married, as I have been properly raised.”

  Ingram’s laughter rang out so loudly that Ari’s neighbors poked their heads out of windows that overlooked her garden. “I love you, Miss Ariadne Lambert, soon to be my lady Viscountess Ingram!”

  “Heavens . . . Viscountess Ingram! I never thought of that. Shall I have to start making social calls?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Good. I should be dreadful at it.”

  “I doubt it. You would succeed brilliantly, I have no doubt. But I would be jealous of the time it would take.” He bent his head to kiss her again, shocking the onlooking neighbors. “Do you know what you are getting yourself into?” he asked, finally, his tone more sober.

  “I hope so. You will remain irascible and secretive, and I will be managing and independent. We will likely find out that we have much to argue about. I have discovered that I am a dreadful writer, so I think I shall give it up and spend all my time hectoring you.”

  “Good, and I shall spend all of my time shocking you with stories of my misspent youth.”

  “Except at night, when you will be quite quite busy.”

  “Who said that would only be at night?” He glanced up, noting the onlookers. “We have already shocked the neighbors. Shall we stop?”

  “No. Let them stop staring if it bothers them so. Kiss me again.”

  “Gladly.” He was as good as his word, kissing her deeply and fiercely. “And then I must go and bully Dorsey into marrying that poor girl.”

  “Oh, dear, I had completely forgotten about him,” Ariadne said. “Oh, bother! Should we do something for them? After all, you did for the wayward manservant and naïve maid. Should we find him a job? Give them money?”

  “Good Lord, no! I did not know you were so soft.” He caressed her and gazed down into her eyes. “However, I am in an exceptionally good mood. Maybe I will put in a good word for him at a company I have an interest in. But if he goes back to his old ways—I am not convinced he will even stay with this girl, you know, child or not—then I reserve the right to toss him out.”

  Ari bit her lip. “Do you think we are doing the right thing, making them marry? Should we perhaps—”

  “Shut up!” He snickered when he saw her tight-lipped shock. “Good. That did the job. Ari, if there is one thing I have learned, it is that people must be left to stand on their own. Give them too much support and you only make them weak. That girl loves him and wishes to marry him, and her baby needs a name. It is the best we can do. Other than that, it is their own lives.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Ingram.” She lifted her
chin. “But if you ever tell me to shut up again, I shall box your ears until they ring.”

  “That’s my girl! I love you, Ariadne Lambert.”

  “And I love you, my lord.”

  “That is the very first time I have ever liked being called that. I think I shall insist on it, even in the bedroom. Especially in the bedroom.” He put his arm around her waist and walked her toward the house. “And now, since I am going to do something shocking to you, I think we had better go inside.”

  Her stomach trembling, Ari understood in that moment that the world was going to be a very different place for her from this moment on. And she couldn’t wait. “Do you think you could manage to shock the servants enough to make Dolly quit? She is truly an abysmal maid.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, with a low wicked chuckle. “I think I can probably manage it.”

  They entered the house and closed the door firmly behind them, shutting out the world.

  Excerpt from A Scandalous Plan

  Keep reading to see the first chapter

  of the next Classic Regency Romance novella

  from Donna Lea Simpson,

  A Scandalous Plan.

  Chapter One

  “I think it is hideous that Mr. Martindale is trying to foist that child off on polite society instead of decently placing him with some family that can be paid to decently take care of it in their own home.” Mrs. Greavely, the acknowledged village gossip, spoke emphatically, her jowls waggling as a string of spittle flew and hit the candelabra.

  Lady Theresa counted the times the woman used “decently” in her speech and added it to the five hundred and thirty-four times she had used it previously through the long years of their acquaintance. The total was now five hundred and thirty-six. She also made a note to herself to have the servants pay special attention to the spit-daubed candelabra.