The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  “She suspected her father cut them up just to spite her. She said it was his way of having the last word. There has always been something peculiar about his treatment of her. How can a parent hate their own child?”

  “I suspect she isn’t his daughter,” Ian said flatly. “It could explain many things about her life, and I intend to get to the truth of it all. There are matters which need to be rectified. The first is that I shall be marrying Miss Hopkins as soon as she sufficiently recovers.”

  “Marry her, my lord?” Rosemary asked incredulously. “But, why would you do that?”

  “Honor, Rosemary. I may be known as The Devil Rogue, but I still have a sense of honor. I have never destroyed a woman’s reputation – until now.”

  The doctor discreetly cleared his throat from the doorway, interrupting their conversation. Ian stood, motioning for him to enter. “Come in, Dr. Winters.”

  “May I check in on her, then, my lord?” Rosemary asked, her anxiety returning.

  Ian turned to the doctor, “Well?”

  With the doctor’s nod, Rosemary gave a quick curtsy and then rushed from the room toward the stairs. “Thank you!” she cried over her shoulder.

  Ian went to the sideboard. “May I offer you a drink?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “How is she?” Ian asked, handing Winters one of the filled glasses.

  “She’s been badly beaten, that much you know already. What I’m not sure about, is whether I want to know the details.” Winters paused to take a drink from his glass. “She’s fortunate in that her ribs aren’t broken, but they’re severely bruised. It will cause her an extreme amount of pain. I wrapped them and cleaned her other wounds. She has a few minor scratches that won’t leave any scars.”

  Ian blew out a relieved breath. “I’m pleased to hear it – not about her injuries, but, rather, that she won’t sustain any scars from this.”

  “About that—”

  “Please – I know about the other scars.” Ian plowed the fingers of his free hand through his hair, the other hand gripping his glass so tightly it was in danger of shattering. “In fact, I only discovered them tonight, after she—”

  “It’s all right, Blackridge,” Winters said quietly. “You can count on my discretion. What I’d like to know is – what do you intend to do about her?”

  Winters was a tall, pleasant-featured man in his early fifties, with silver hair and dark eyes. As the third son of an earl, he’d pursued a medical career and quite excelled at it. He’d been the Blackridge family physician from the moment Ian had been born, and held a certain license to speak his mind, a privilege which he exercised on occasions such as this. And Ian trusted him to be discreet.

  “I intend to marry her,” Ian stated bluntly. “As quickly as possible.”

  “Does she need rescuing, then?”

  Ian fought the urge to fidget under the doctor’s direct and knowing gaze. Even though he outranked the doctor, as a long-time friend of the family, Winters still had the ability to make Ian feel like a small boy in short-pants.

  “I fear I’ve done her a terrible disservice.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “I mean to make amends,” Ian said, feeling guiltier by the moment. “I was misinformed about her involvement in something of a most serious nature.”

  Winters held up a hand. “As I said, I don’t wish to know the details. But I do know you well enough, Blackridge. You may have a notorious reputation as a first rate scoundrel, but I also know that beneath the façade of dissipation and indifference you show to the world is a man of integrity.”

  Ian’s lips slanted in a rakish smile. “Then perhaps I haven’t done a thorough enough job as The Devil Rogue. I do have that reputation to uphold, you know.”

  “Some day, my boy, you’ll have to tell me the story of how you came by that name,” Winters said with a wry smile. He finished off his drink, set the glass down, and reached for Ian’s hand. “Well, then, I’ll be off now. I’ve given Miss Hopkins a powder for the pain and to help her sleep. Someone should watch over her during the night. If there’s a change for the worse, I want you to send for me straight away. I left more of the powder to be given as needed for pain.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t recommend moving her?”

  “No, I do not.” Winters gave a boyish grin that made him look years younger. “You’ll just have to find other sleeping arrangements, my boy.” Then his expression turned serious, transforming him back into the distinguished physician. “She must have complete bed rest for a day or two.

  Like hell he’d find other sleeping arrangements, Ian thought. Miss Hopkins was right where she belonged – in his bed, and he intended to be in it with her. That way, he could watch over her, or at least that’s how he was going to justify it.

  She was sleeping peacefully when he returned to his room. Ian stood near the bed, studying her, his gaze roaming over her pale complexion, the smooth bridge of her nose, her pink lips. He should have recognized the innocence there, the lack of malice. He should have been able to see her pain, the penance she’d paid at the hands of her father.

  Why hadn’t he?

  It had all been right in front of him – her injuries – the way she’d flinched when he’d raised his hand toward her that day in his study. There was her protectiveness toward the servants.

  That scene in the attic now played itself out much differently.

  Her father had pursued her.

  They’d fought.

  Eberly slashed at her with the knife. The man had debts that needed to be paid, and he was willing to sell his own daughter to get what he wanted. He’d been on his knees, begging her.

  Ian had just assumed she was acting the spoiled, petulant brat.

  Instead, Angela – for that’s how he thought of her now, rather than Miss Hopkins – had been trying to defend herself, and in a moment of desperation, seeing her chance to escape, she’d taken the only option she’d felt was available.

  A surge of pride washed through him at the courage she’d displayed, the way she’d turned the situation to her advantage. She’d been magnificent as she’d boldly faced her father with bravery and dignity.

  Turning down all the lamps, except one, Ian undressed and climbed into bed. He was careful not to disturb her as he inched closer, until he could feel the naked warmth of her body pressing along his. His cock instantly filled, pulsing with a life of its own against her smooth thigh. It was a natural reaction, and even though his intentions weren’t of a sexual nature, it was hardly preventable.

  He raised his head onto one hand and stared down at her. The movement caused the sheet to slide away, exposing her breasts. She was beautiful – an angel – his angel. The knowledge of her innocence, her innate kindness, her strength in spite of her suffering, shamed Ian for his treatment of her, of his blind need for revenge that had ultimately brought her down.

  Having always lived his life as though everything in the world was his for the taking, Ian had never considered how his actions – his arrogance – might have affected others. It made him appreciate what he saw before him now – his chance for redemption – an opportunity to make things right.

  As soon as possible, he would apply for a special license. With his wealth and connections, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Once they were married, no one would dare question her standing in society, or they would answer to him.

  Ian drifted to sleep listening to the soft sighs of her even breathing, feeling oddly comforted, as though he was exactly where he should be. As he hovered in the realm between consciousness and the dream world, he imagined his angel in all her naked glory, her long, silky limbs entwined with his as they joined and became one. The dreams that followed were lush and erotic, filled with sensuous images that seemed to weave a magical spell over them both. And in those dreams, he had no wish to free himself from whatever mysterious force held him there.

  When he awoke to the meager light of e
arly morning, it was with a sense of having lost something – of a prize just beyond his reach. It was fanciful nonsense, of course. Ian prided himself as one who never subscribed to the silly notion of fate or, God forbid, true love. He was satisfied to leave that romantic affliction to females and poets. It was just a dream, after all, and as soon as he married Angela, he fully intended to reenact everything that had transpired in that dream . . . down to the very last sigh.

  Turning over, he saw that she was still sleeping peacefully, her features serene as golden rays of strengthening sunlight bathed her in an ethereal glow. What was it that had him so enthralled? She was beautiful, yes, but he’d had beautiful women before. Was his fascination with her the result of his desire to rescue her? He’d always known he would have to marry someday, just not for a few years yet. He supposed now was as good a time as any, and then realized the idea of marrying Angela didn’t bother him as much as he might have expected.

  Today he would petition for a special license, and in a few days, after she’d had some time to recover, he would apprise her of the change in plans. She would become Lady Blackridge – his wife – in every sense of the word. Ignoring the rush of need filling his cock to a painful state, Ian slid quietly from the bed. He would have her, soon enough, on their wedding night.

  EBERLY WAS DESPERATE. That damn stubborn girl! She’d just laughed in his face when he’d asked about the money. Blackridge had yet to settle his debts as agreed, and Eberly’s creditors were getting downright nasty. They were threatening to send him to debtor’s prison, of all things!

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, his head ached where Angela had thumped him with that over-sized book last night. She could have killed him for Christ sake. He’d been unconscious, waking early this morning with a throbbing headache. Well, he’d been giving her a right good beating before she’d gotten her hands on that book, he thought smugly, huffing out loud.

  Going to the liquor cabinet, he poured a liberal amount of brandy into a cut-crystal glass, some of the precious liquid spilling due to his shaking hands. He cursed, mourning the loss of the expensive liquor. What was left in the decanter was the last of his stock, and since he was no longer welcome to make purchases on credit, it could not be replenished any time soon.

  He would have to find a way to get that money from Angela. Now that she was Blackridge’s mistress, her reputation was destroyed, so there was no way he could continue with his blackmailing scheme. It had worked well enough while she was here, under his control. She wasn’t a very clever girl, to have never figured out what he’d been up to. It was only by a stroke of luck that none of the gentlemen involved had attempted to speak with her. They’d been too angry over his threats to risk any further contact.

  The money had been nice, enough to finance his lifestyle of drinking and gambling. It had also helped to maintain the illusion of wealth, easily snaring the wealthy young men into his trap. It was unfortunate what had happened to that Winston fellow. The man would have been a good payoff. Too bad he’d refused to pay the price and wound up dead instead.

  Then there was that devil, Blackridge. Eberly had sensed Blackridge’s interest in Angela. She was very beautiful, like her mother, with a spotless reputation. It didn’t surprise Eberly that the notorious rake would see it as a conquest, a challenge, to acquire the lovely Angela Hopkins as his mistress.

  Eberly didn’t care about that as long as he was paid for the loss of his pawn. But Blackridge was holding out, and Angela could no longer be used as a bargaining chip. Therefore, she was no longer of any value. Eberly’s fingers tighened around the glass with impotent rage. He would have to think of another way to get to Blackridge.

  A tentative knock sounding on the door to his study broke Eberly away from his thoughts. “What is it!” he barked, annoyed by the disruption.

  Connors, the butler, poked his head into the room. “My lord, there’s a gentleman waiting to see you.”

  “Tell him I’m not at home to receive visitors.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Walking over to the desk, Eberly settled back into his chair with a sigh. Glass still in hand, he took a long swallow, savoring the way the brandy burned down his throat. The effect of the liquor slowly seeped into his system from the inside, as soothing as a lover’s caress.

  His gaze darted to the door as it opened. “Go away, Connors,” he growled. “I already told you I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Your wishes are not my concern.”

  Eberly snapped upright in his chair. “I say, what is the meaning of this?”

  The man who belonged to that deep voice stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Eberly instinctively cringed backward against the soft leather. A shudder of dread accompanied his feeling that death had just crossed the threshold. “What do you want?”

  “You, baron – I’ve come for you.”

  ANGELA SLIPPED IN and out of consciousness, waking every so often, bleary-eyed and disoriented. Her body ached, when she was aware of it enough to notice, and she could never quite determine where she was. Sometimes it seemed as though she were in her old bed at The Baron’s house. At other times she imagined she was in the narrow bed in the tiny little room in Blackridge’s house. She remembered Rosemary’s voice, coaxing her to accept the broth fed to her by a spoon.

  And then there were the dreams. They were disjointed and troubling as they jumped from one scene of her life to another. There was that awful fight with her father, then she was bathing Blackridge, but in the dream she was in the tub with him, fully clothed. She was sick and in pain after the whipping her father had given her when she was a child, then she was standing in Backridge’s study, kissing him. The dreams went on and on in a never ending cycle of confusing images and even more confusing emotions. As she finally settled into an un-drugged, normal sleep, one dream was especially nice . . .

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 12

  SHE WAS NAKED and so was he, their skin glistening with heated with passion. Their bodies twisted, limbs entwining in a carnal dance of seduction and sweet surrender. His lips forged a burning path down the column of her throat while his tongue licked and tasted, his hands touching her everywhere. Her body tingled and throbbed, playing a tune only he knew the notes to.

  Then his body covered hers. She welcomed his heavier weight, her own hands exploring the muscled expanse of his back, caressing down along his spine to the gently rising curve of his buttocks. The rigid shaft of his manhood probed insistently against the moist flesh of her woman’s opening, sending shudders of pleasure to her core. Her hips lifted with desperate urgency against that part of him that was so foreign, yet so familiar, as though they were two pieces of a puzzle destined to fit together. His hot mouth fastened on one of her breasts, suckling, licking, his skilled tongue teasing the nipple until it puckered and she pleaded for more . . .

  When she opened her eyes, Angela realized she’d been dreaming, yet her body still hummed with pleasurable sensations. The sheets had been pulled back and she was naked, her thighs open. She was completely exposed to the wicked fingers that now caressed and circled her slick woman’s flesh.

  Blackridge!

  He was here with her . . . in bed . . . fondling her as she slept!

  Angela didn’t know whether to be appalled or thrilled.

  She’d be appalled later. This was something she didn’t want to miss, not after that dream she’d been having.

  He slipped a finger into her opening, kissing her breast, sucking her nipple until it was hard and aching. He inserted another finger, dipping slowly in and out, stretching her. Her breath hitched and she moaned, lifting her hips against his hand. He covered her mouth, his tongue plunging deep, while his thumb found the sensitive bud hidden in her maiden hair. He swirled and teased until her body quivered with pleasure.

  She could barely distinguish between the sweet torment of her dream and conscious reality. And then suddenly she was
drifting on a current of sparkling stars, the sun her destination, its brilliant intensity expanding around her, through her, compacting into a fiery ball in the center of her soul. It tightened and tightened until it was white-hot, and then finally it exploded outward to her extremities in a wild array of colors and sensations and energy.

  His deep kiss captured her scream.

  Angela barely had time to decipher the marvelous thing that had just occurred, when she felt his weight come over her, sinking her into the mattress. Her legs spread wider to accommodate his large body. He placed his thick shaft right at her slick entrance.

  “My name is Ian,” he said hoarsely. “Say it, angel.”

  “Ian,” she whispered, still shuddering from her climax.

  “Are you ready for this? You’re not too sore from your injuries?”

  Angela could hear the concern in his voice, knew she could trust him to stop if she but said the word. She was a bit stiff and sore, her ribs still giving her a bit of a twinge, but she was not about to let him stop now. “I’m ready, Ian,” she said, eager to continue.

  With a deep groan he slipped into her slowly, one hot inch at a time, filling her, stretching her, until he met the guardian of her virginity. It was such a close, intimate and personal act – their two bodies connecting by way of their flesh. It shocked her how her own body responded with a renewed sizzle of excitement, of anticipation.

  He placed his hands on either side of her head, lifting himself up, the muscles in his arms trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you, princess,” he rasped.

  Angela looked up into the intensity of his golden eyes. His jaw was clenched, his body shaking with restrained passion. Her heart expanded with tenderness for this strong, vital, virile man. He was waiting for her – her permission – her acceptance – her surrender. He would mark her as no other man ever had – or ever will, she realized. The raw sexual need reflected in his gaze filled her veins with molten heat that moved her to rise against him, effectively forcing him through the barrier.