The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

“No.”

  “All right, then. I’ll punish you. Tell me, princess, what would you consider an appropriate punishment?”

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “You heard me.”

  “Y-you . . . you . . . you’re not going to—” She couldn’t bear to speak the words. He wasn’t going to beat her?

  “I’m not going to what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No ideas, then?”

  “No, my lord.” Angela’s knees were quaking. Her father had never hesitated in delivering her punishment. This was much worse – the suspense of waiting for him to make his decision.

  “Well, since you can’t come up with anything, this is what you’ll do. You will bathe me every evening like a slave, let us say, for a week, during your recovery period.”

  “What?”

  “Every evening you will bathe me . . . wash my body.”

  Angela was so relieved that he didn’t intend to beat her, she quickly agreed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

  He seemed rather startled by her response. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is there anything else you require, princess?”

  “There is one other thing,” Angela asked tentatively. “My clothes . . . I have nothing else to wear while I’m here – Rosemary as well. I’d like to send for our things, if you would permit it.”

  “Your personal belongings and your maid’s will be arriving shortly. I took the liberty to send for them myself.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  “You may be excused from your duties in order to unpack. I expect to see you in your full regalia at dinner this evening.”

  “Dinner?”

  “You may break your fast and lunch as you wish, but I must insist that you dine with me every evening.”

  “So I’m to be a servant during the day and your mistress at night?” she asked boldly. “I only inquire so as to set myself a schedule.”

  “You have no schedule, princess. You are my mistress around the clock and a servant when I say you’re a servant. My whims from one day to the next will dictate your schedule. I may wish to take you right here, in the study, in the middle of the day, for example.”

  “Take me where, my lord?”

  Her confusion made him chuckle for some reason. “Never mind, we’ll leave that lesson for another day. Now, off with you to your room and your beautiful gowns. Make sure you choose something elegant for dinner this evening.”

  ANGELA LEFT THE study in a haze of confused emotions. Had she really agreed to bathe him every night? Of course, he hadn’t actually asked her. It was to be her punishment. Punishment, indeed! What sort of example had he been attempting to achieve with that dictate? She supposed it could be looked upon as a lesson in humility, a sort of humbling experience, if one were to look at it that way.

  But she didn’t see it that way – no, not at all. Obviously, there’d been some impish little devil lurking inside her all along, just waiting to be released. The idea of inspecting every inch of Blackridge’s bare skin was an extremely fascinating prospect. Never in her life would she have suspected her curiosity about a man could reach such monumental proportions.

  She’d had her share of attention from handsome men, but none of them had been a golden-eyed, devilish rogue with a wicked reputation. Blackridge was a man who knew what he wanted and took it without bothering to ask. Angela wasn’t sure if she should be frightened or thrilled.

  A commotion coming from the front of the house drew her attention.

  “I demand to see Miss Hopkins at once!”

  Angela immediately recognized her father’s loud voice, its familiar tone of superiority making her cringe. She would not allow him to intimidate her. She was no longer under his guardianship. He held no power over her. Standing tall, or as tall as her diminutive stature would allow, she inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. Calmly, she walked toward the front entrance.

  “It’s all right, Phillips,” she said. “He’s my father.”

  She waited until Phillips had retreated. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, father?” Her voice was cool, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.

  “Can’t a father visit his own daughter, see how she’s doing? I’ve come to deliver your belongings personally, as well as your maid’s.”

  When Angela made no response, he said, “You could at least invite me in for refreshments.”

  He’s here to pester me about the money, she thought. There would be no other reason why he’d show the remotest interest in her welfare. “Your fatherly concern warms my heart, especially since you were so eager to sell me to the highest bidder.”

  “Oh, get off your high horse.” He dismissed her comment with a quick wave of his hand. “You’re no worse for wear as far as I can tell. Besides, you have one of the best studs in London to keep you warm at night.”

  Angela’s face heated at her father’s coarse statement, but she maintained her air of indifference. He’s been drinking, she thought bitterly, or he wouldn’t have said that out loud. “Come with me, then,” she said with a resigned sigh.

  She preceded him into a small parlor that looked out the front of the house. It had two floor-to-ceiling, paned windows covered with delicate, lacy curtains. It afforded a fuzzy view of an occasional pedestrian passing by on the brick-paved walkway. The room was decorated in pale blue, complimented by soft cream accents. The silk-upholstered furniture was also done in blue, with delicate, cream flowers, and seemed more suited for looks, rather than comfort. Still, Angela liked this room. It was light and cheery and reminded her of her mother.

  “What is it you want, father? I’m not the lady of the house, here, so I don’t believe I’m at liberty to entertain guests. In fact, I distinctly recall Blackridge specifically stating that I’m not to receive visitors.”

  “Well, I’m not a visitor, I’m your father. It’s not the same.”

  Angela felt her patience slipping. “Just tell me why you’re here.” She watched him warily, noticing the way he scanned the room’s many objects with a covetous eye. A majority of those items were most likely valuable. He had better not even think about filching anything from this room.

  His gaze moved back to her. “Has Blackridge mentioned anything about my debts? He’s promised to pay them off, you know, now that he’s got you.”

  “Why would Blackridge speak to me of finances – most specifically, yours? I’ve been here for less than twenty four hours. There haven’t been many opportunities for business discussions.” Angela hoped the heat she felt in her face didn’t show, as she remembered her encounter with Blackridge a short time ago.

  “I’ll just bet there hasn’t,” her father said with a smirk.

  “If you’re going to continue with your insults, you can leave.”

  “Apologies, my dear, I’m just feeling the pinch of my creditors. If you could find it your heart to give me any encouraging news, anything at all—”

  “I’ve already told you, I know nothing.” Oh, how she hated this man. She could barely stomach being in the same room with him.

  Why had her mother married him? What had she seen in him, to bind herself body and soul to such a man? Perhaps he hadn’t always been this way. But then, perhaps it had always been there, lurking just under the surface, and when Anna Hopkins died, something hideous had been freed.

  “I’ve always thought you were an ungrateful chit. I tried my best to bring you up without the benefit of a mother.”

  “You think me ungrateful?” Angela’s voice rose in disbelief. “You’ve given me nothing but grief. What would I have to be grateful to you for? And now that I’m no longer under your care, I have no reason to stand here and take your abuse.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath and to regain her composure.

  “Well, if that’s the way you feel,” he said sulkily.

  “I suggest that you leave – now.” She pointed toward the open door, only to find Blackridge standing there, looming large and handsome and angry.


  “Did I interrupt something?” he asked, his voice cool. He turned his attention to Angela. “I believe you’ve forgotten a very important rule, my dear.”

  “He was just leaving,” Angela said. “My father arrived with the trunks, and only thought to have a brief word with me.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then,” the baron said, subdued by Blackridge’s cold stare. “Goodbye, daughter. I’m sure the contents of your trunk will bring you enjoyment.” He snickered softly as he left the room.

  Angela stared after her father, puzzled by that last statement. He never did anything unless he received some kind of satisfaction from the exchange, be it either financially, or to feed his cruel tendencies. It saddened her that he never regarded her with even the smallest bit of affection.

  She scanned the room quickly to make sure her conniving parent hadn’t made off with anything of value. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

  Ian had been about to berate Miss Hopkins for having unauthorized visitors, but the look in her eyes had halted him from speaking the words.

  He’d been walking down the hall when the sound of voices caught his attention. Curious, he’d halted just outside the open door. What had those two been talking about? The baron, once again, appeared to be pleading with his daughter over something, and she, as she had the night before, seemed completely immune to it.

  She looked upset, her blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Then suddenly, the look was gone, wiped from her face as though it were never there. She straightened her spine, and turned toward him, her expression as sober as a prisoner facing the gallows.

  Ian almost smiled.

  She was such a strange mixture of softness and defiance, virtuousness and wantonness. With a touch of naiveté thrown in for good measure. She was beautiful, alluring, sensual, and yet she could also be partly responsible for a terrible crime. Was she really a murderess or at least an accomplice? She was either very good at portraying her innocence in a well-practiced act, or it was part of her nature.

  Despite his suspicions, Ian found himself drawn to her. She was such a contradiction – soft and pliable in his arms one minute, courageous and stubborn the next. He could hardly wait until he had her in his bed.

  When he’d confronted her about her condition, he’d seen her fear. She’d been genuinely concerned for the servants’ welfare. Her determination to protect them was a little disconcerting, and not at all what he’d expected of her. And he’d experienced an unwelcome feeling of satisfaction for being the one to give her such a small pleasure as sending for her things. The way she’d reacted, Ian would have thought she’d just been given an expensive piece of jewelry.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 6

  THEY WERE RUINED. Every single one of her gowns had been slashed until they were in tatters, not even worthy of the rag bin. Angela sank to the floor in front of her trunk, holding one of the shredded dresses in her clenched fists. The night she’d left with Blackridge, she’d believed these gowns meant nothing to her.

  Oh, but they did!

  Each one of them held memories of the long hours she and Rosemary had spent ripping seams, adding pieces of lace, rearranging necklines, sleeves, and waistlines. But that wasn’t really the most significant value of the gowns – they reminded her of her mother. They were symbols of a happier time in Angela’s life.

  Tears of anger and bitterness gathered in her eyes, as she cursed her father. She knew it was him – knew her father was the one responsible. She remembered his low chuckle before he’d left, and realized it was because of what he’d done. Why did he bear such a malicious hatred toward her? All she’d ever wanted was for him to love her. Instead, he seemed to take great pleasure in his cruel treatment of her, often humiliating her and, on occasion, beating her.

  Had he ever loved her? Angela suddenly recalled a long-ago conversation she’d overheard between her parents when she was a child. She’d been playing in her mother’s bedroom. Hearing the angry voices of her mother and father coming from outside the door, she’d become frightened, hiding in the armoire.

  “Couldn’t you at least be civil to her?” came her mother’s voice as they entered the room.

  “Why should I?”

  “She’s just a little girl, she doesn’t understand.”

  “I want nothing to do with her.”

  “Please, darling, do it for me.”

  “My love for you only goes so far. You can’t expect to force feelings from me that I’m not capable of.”

  “You know I had no choice, no control over what happened before we married. Must you take it out on an innocent child?”

  From her hiding place, Angela could hear her mother crying.

  “I know, my dear.” Her father’s voice had gentled. “And I don’t fault you for it. It’s just that . . . I cannot bring myself to . . . couldn’t we just send her away?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t bear it! Please don’t ask such a thing of me. I-I’ll keep her out of your way.”

  “All right. I’ll allow her to stay – for you. But don’t expect me to ever be a father to her.”

  Angela had heard her father’s heavy footsteps as he’d left the room. All was quiet except for the sound of her mother’s sniffling. Too afraid to reveal herself, five-year old Angela had remained hidden, until the sound of her mother’s voice broke the silence. “You can come out now, sweeting.”

  Angela had burst from the armoire and into her mother’s welcoming arms. “No matter what happens, my sweet angel,” she’d said, “remember that you are loved.” Angela had sat in her mother’s lap in a protected cocoon for a long time while her mother sang softly, rocking her to sleep.

  My God! Could it be possible that the baron was not her real father? Angela had been too young at the time to understand her father’s words. All she knew was that he was angry, and it seemed to be directed at her. Angela had been trying so hard all her life to win his love and approval. The idea he may not even be her father had never occurred to her.

  You know I had no control over what happened before we married, her mother had said. It could definitely explain a lot. Had her mother been with another man before her marriage?

  Angela may be innocent, but she knew it took a man and a woman to create a child. Had her mother been forced? Her statement alluded to that very possibility. If so, then who was her real father?

  “There you are, miss,” Rosemary said from the doorway, tearing Angela from her thoughts. “What in bloody blazes happened to all your pretty gowns? Why, they’re all cut to ribbons, they are!”

  “Compliments of my father, I suspect.” Angela couldn’t help the bitter emphasis on the word ‘father,’ although, she actually felt a sense of relief that she may not be tied to him by blood. The heavy burden of guilt for hating him also lifted, giving her a renewed purpose, a hardened resolve to obtain her freedom.

  “That slimy bastard! Here you are, out of the house, and he still finds a way to torment you.”

  “It’s his way of having the last word.”

  “But what are you to wear? That dress you have on isn’t going to last for long if you wear it every day.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “We could alter one or two of my dresses, love. They’re not as fancy as these were, but they’d cover your bare arse, at least.”

  “Rosemary!”

  Her friend grinned unrepentantly. “You know I’m right.”

  “I don’t want to take from you what little you already have. I couldn’t ask it of you.”

  “Pish! You’ll take them if I say you will and that’s the end of it.”

  Angela couldn’t help her burst of laughter. “All right! I’ll take one dress.”

  “Two.”

  “Okay, two, but when I get my money, I’m paying you back.”

  “You’ve paid me back a hundred fold with your friendship, Miss Angela,” Rosemary said gently. “There’s no n
eed.”

  “We’ll see about it when the time comes. Now let’s go pick out those dresses. I need to get them altered before dinner. I’m to dine with ‘his majesty’ this evening, and each night, thereafter.”

  A spark of interest lit Rosemary’s dark eyes. “To be sure, and what else will you be doing with your evenings, love?”

  “Just you never mind!”

  Then Angela recalled the things Rosemary had told the other servants. “What have you been telling the people here? I’m afraid they’re going to next petition me a medal for single-handedly capturing a gang of pirates.”

  “I just thought I’d smooth the way for you, love, seeing as how you’ve had such a rough time of it lately.”

  Angela gave Rosemary an affectionate hug. “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness. Is there anything else I should know? Are there any other defenseless creatures I’ve saved?”

  Rosemary giggled. “It was all I could come up with on short notice. It did work out work rather nicely.”

  “Yes, and I’m impressed by your quick-thinking.”

  “There’s nothing else, just the kitten-saving story. Now let’s get those dresses, or you’ll be dining with his lordship in your undergarments.” Rosemary grinned wickedly. “Then again, it might not be such a bad idea. There’s nothing like a beautiful, naked woman to soften a man’s temper.”

  Angela gasped, though she smiled at the imagery Rosemary’s words invoked.

  ANGELA ENTERED THE dining room with apprehension. She wondered what story she could conjure up as a reason why her dress was so plain. In deference to the summer heat, she’d picked out two of Rosemary’s lightweight gowns. The one she wore now was a dark silver shade that complimented her deep, blue eyes. It had a modest neckline, fitting snugly under the bust, flowing gently down to the tops of her feet for a flattering look.

  Her father had destroyed everything in the trunk, including her shoes and undergarments. At the moment, she owned only one chemise and one pair of shoes, the same ones she’d arrived in. They didn’t quite match the color of the dress, but nothing could be done about it. She highly doubted Blackridge would even notice.