The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  Ian could barely breathe. He certainly couldn’t move as renewed desire coursed hotly through his veins, caused by the fact that the proper Miss Hopkins had been looking him over like a starving orphan eyeing a roast goose. “If you keep looking at me like that, princess,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “we’re never going to make it out of this room. I’m attempting to temper the baser side of my nature and leave you alone – for now.” When she made no response, he explained, “I’m trying to consider your current tender condition.”

  “Tender condition?” she asked, her delicate brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “You were a virgin, princess, not more than a few hours ago. Your body needs to recover from its . . . invasion, however pleasurable it might have been.” His eyes turning dark and troubled, he added, “You’re also recovering from quite a severe beating.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you get back into bed while I finish dressing, and then I’ll send Rosemary to you, along with hot water for a bath,” he offered with an indulgent smile.

  When she complied, struggling to pick herself up off the floor, her preoccupation gave him the chance to wrestle his cock into his breeches. It wasn’t and easy task, as stiff as it was, but he managed, and then donned his shirt, stockings and shoes.

  Before leaving the room, his shoes crunching in the broken debris of the breakfast tray, he reminded her, “Remember, one hour, in my study. And make sure you don’t walk around in your bare feet until this mess is cleaned up.” He closed the door quietly behind him, grinning at the sight of her on the bed, still wrapped in the sheet like a mummy.

  The next person to walk through the door was Rosemary, bearing another tray laden with a variety of breakfast foods. “Here I am, back with a fresh tray,” she said loudly, cautiously scanning the room. Assured it was safe to enter, she carefully tip-toed around the scattered food and the remains of broken dishes on the floor, setting the tray on a nearby table. A young servant girl came in behind Rosemary and began cleaning up the mess.

  Rosemary waited in stoic silence until the girl left, closing the door behind her. “Well, I’ll be a one-legged sailor in an ass-kicking contest! Just what have you been up to, girlie? No, don’t tell me, I’m sure I already know.” Coming over to sit on the edge of the bed, Rosemary gave a wide grin. “I want to know everything.”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything, you scandalous woman,” Angela said, trying to keep a straight face. “Furthermore, I need my clothes, and since this is obviously not my room, I’m sure my gowns aren’t hanging in the closet.”

  “They are. And yes, you are going to tell me everything.”

  They were interrupted briefly while water for the bath was brought in. Shrugging out of the tangled sheet, Angela went to the tub, sinking into the steamy water. She ignored the sly smirk coming from her maid. “You mean my clothes really are in here? How – why?”

  “I don’t know the why of it, but I do know the how. His lordship had them brought here while you were unconscious.”

  Angela narrowed her eyes at that piece of information. “It’s because he thinks we’re getting married, that scheming dog.”

  “I know, he already told me,” Rosemary said smugly. “Isn’t it wonderful? And what a man – what a fine ass—”

  “No, it isn’t wonderful! You saw his naked behind?” Angela didn’t like that idea one bit.

  “Just a quick glimpse, nothing to be jealous over.”

  “I’m not jealous – okay, maybe a little. But still . . . he didn’t even wait to ask me to marry him. He just went ahead and assumed I would accept his proposal – if you could even call it that.” She was feeling very grumpy over the fact he really didn’t ask her at all. It had been delivered more as a statement, as she recalled. “Well, I don’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to ever get married, not if I’m to gain back control of my life.” Angela stopped to take a breath. “How did you know about it before me?”

  “Blackridge seemed very upset the night you came back beaten to a bloody pulp by that monster . . . especially after I told him—”

  “Told him what?” Suspicion crept up Angela’s spine.

  Rosemary looked at her beseechingly. “Please don’t be angry with me, it’s just that I thought he should know after what had happened and all. I felt I could trust him. I think you should trust him, too—”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “How you got those scars.”

  “He knows?”

  “He’s the one who carried you upstairs,” Rosemary said. “I’m certain he’s also the one who undressed you and cleaned your wounds before the physician came. Like I said, he was quite shaken by the whole thing.” Then she confessed weakly, “I-I told him how your father beat you, about the time he whipped you and locked you in the broom cupboard when you were just a child.”

  “Oh, no, tell me you didn’t.” He’d cleaned her wounds?

  “I did – I’m sorry. You were just laying here, hurt so badly, and he was questioning me about you—”

  “It’s all right, Rosemary,” Angela said. “I just now know the reason for his asking me – or, rather, telling me we should marry. He feels sympathy for me – pity. Well, I won’t have it.”

  Angrily rising out of the water, Angela grabbed a towel and began to dry herself. But then she immediately felt remorse over her outburst. She knew Rosemary would never do anything to hurt her. Angela asked her friend to assist with her dress. “It’s not your fault, Rosemary. I know you were just trying to help.”

  “It’s true, Miss Angela. My loyalties will always lie with you.”

  Turning around, she gave Rosemary an affectionate embrace. “I know that.”

  Angela pulled away with a deep sigh, and then straightened, sucking in a sharp breath. She suddenly remembered striking The Baron in the head with that heavy book. “My father – is he?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “He’s still alive and kicking, the bastard.”

  “I thought for sure I’d killed him, not that I’d mourn his death. I’m just glad I’m no murderess.” Wishing to put those dark thoughts away, Angela said brightly, “Now, what’s to eat? I’m starving and I don’t have much time left, since I have to meet him downstairs shortly.”

  Rosemary smiled. “Yes, and you still have a story to tell.” She took a seat across from the small table where Angela was already devouring her meal.

  Angela paused, set her fork down and looked up at Rosemary. With a smile reminiscent of Mona Lisa’s, she said softly, “It was wonderful,” then returned to her meal.

  “That’s it? Just, it was wonderful? What else happened?”

  “There’s nothing else to tell.” Oh, there was a lot more to tell, like how his mere presence made her heart beat faster, how his kisses made her believe in fairy tales, and how his loving had convinced her there was such a thing as magic. To be sure, when did her head elevate to the level of the clouds? She had better get her feet firmly planted back on the ground and return to reality, for heaven sake!

  Rosemary snorted in disbelief. She was clearly disappointed with the lack of details. “Nothing else to tell, hmmm? That in itself says quite a lot, my dear. I daresay you are already in it up to your eyebrows.”

  “Nonsense. The bargain will stand as originally agreed. There will be no marriage. I refuse to accept a proposal, no matter how well intended it is, merely to ease a guilty conscience.” Angela had always hoped she would be in love with the man she married, and he in love with her. She would only be deceiving herself if she believed Ian was marrying her out of anything but pity.

  “You’d be set for life. He’s offering you the position as his wife, and he’s disgustingly wealthy. Don’t forget that.”

  “But I don’t know him,” Angela said, and when Rosemary raised her eyebrows, she amended, “I mean I don’t really know him – what he’s capable of. What if he’s like my father?” It was fear that prevented her from a
ccepting Ian’s proposal, she knew. But could she take the risk – make a decision that would bind her to another man for life?

  “Blackridge is nothing like your father, and you know it, love” Rosemary said heatedly. “If he was the scoundrel the gossips say he is, he would never have asked you to marry him. He feels something for you; he just doesn’t understand it yet.”

  “Yes, he feels something, all right – guilt – and lust. Am I to base a marriage on that?”

  “Many have based their marriages on less.”

  “No, I cannot do it – will not do it. Unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless he can convince me it’s more than just about guilt, or lust, like some stronger emotion relating to . . . love, perhaps.” Her fear wasn’t just that Ian might turn out to be like her father. She was already falling in love with him. What if he didn’t feel the same way about her in return? What if he never did? She’d spent most of her life trying in vain to win her father’s love. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life in love with a man who didn’t love her. She would rather waste away in the country than suffer that kind of misery.

  IAN AWAITED ANGELA’S appearance with what he thought was an inordinate amount of patience, considering how extremely impatient he was feeling at the moment. Never in his life had a woman disrupted his equilibrium so effectively and completely. And never before had he felt as though his entire future happiness depended upon one simple word: yes.

  Snorting with disgust, he plopped down into the very same wing chair Angela had been attempting to move that day he’d kissed her for the first time. What a kiss that had been. It had been more than he’d expected, had thrown him so off balance that ever since that day he’d barely recognized himself. What had happened to The Devil Rogue? His philosophy had always been to take what was freely given, but never to involve himself emotionally.

  Why had she seemed so appalled by his proposal? He hadn’t thought she might question it – hadn’t thought he might have to reveal his plan to exact revenge on her and her father. As far as she knew, he had only wanted her for his mistress. To her, he was an unscrupulous rake – The Devil Rogue by reputation. So what reason could he give her for the change of circumstances? He sure as hell wasn’t ready to confess just yet his suspicions against her father, and his original assumption that she was an accomplice to murder. And her little speech about not being under a man’s thumb didn’t deter him in the least. He sympathized with her past, but she was going to be under more than just his thumb – as his wife.

  Ever since he’d first tasted her, experienced her passion, and then last night, when he’d finally buried himself deep inside her, that’s all he could think about.

  He wanted more. He wanted her forever.

  Ian was well aware he had an obligation to her after what he’d done to her reputation. Was it guilt that spurred this obsession? My God, is that was this was – an obsession? He admitted to the guilt part, but there was something else, a sense of urgency he couldn’t explain. He would just have to convince her that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances.

  Maybe he should buy her a gift, something personal that would chip away her resolve. He glanced at the clock. There was no time to send out for anything. But then, what was he thinking? He needed to do some research first, find out what she liked, make it special.

  Her hour was up. In fact, she was already five minutes late. Ian was about to go get her himself when the door opened and she walked in. Suddenly it was much brighter in the room, the air filling with her sweet fragrance.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 14

  SHE’D REFUSED HIM – again. Angela had insisted on keeping to their original bargain, which was to remain his mistress, and at the end of the three month period, disappear into the country. She’d also refused to take up quarters in his room, preferring to keep that tiny closet as her temporary lodgings. After a heated debate that had him wanting to strangle her as much as make love to her right here on the finely woven rug picked out by his mother nearly twenty years ago, she’d finally agreed to take a larger room on the second floor.

  An odd feeling closely related to panic tightened Ian’s chest, creating a dull ache in the vicinity of his heart. This had started out as a solution to her state of ruination, a comeuppance on his part for being the one to ruin her. As a gentleman, he was required – expected – to do the right thing. It was an act of honor.

  Ian tried to imagine it through her eyes, from her perspective, as a young woman might see it – a young woman who believed there should be love between a husband and wife. “I will not enter into a loveless marriage, and this is clearly an act of mercy.”

  Her words exactly.

  An act of mercy . . . is that what it was? Was it an act of mercy if he felt like his life would never be the same without her? Could it be called mercy if her very presence uplifted his soul, adding richness and passion to an otherwise hollow existence, which up until now he hadn’t even realized was so meaningless? It would only be by her mercy – her willingness to share her life with him – to give him children – that could make him whole. With that revelation came a sense of peace, a kind of resolve, of calm acceptance that this was no act of mercy . . . but an act of love.

  Was he in love with her? Since Ian had never been in love before, he wasn’t sure if that’s what this was. He only knew that he wanted her with him, near him, within arm’s reach at all times. He wanted to protect her, share even the smallest details of everyday life with her, make love to her every night, and wake to her beautiful face every morning.

  There were things he wished to teach her – wicked, sensual things, and she could teach him about kindness and compassion and forgiveness. But would she be able to forgive him for what he’d planned on doing to her – what he’d already done to her? Maybe if she were to fall in love with him, she might.

  It was not an easy thing to endure, this vulnerable feeling. His emotions had never been engaged in relation to a woman before now. Of the many sexual encounters he’d had, which were quite numerous, none of them had held any emotional risk to him. It hadn’t been so for a few of his previous lovers, however. Looking back, Ian experienced a sudden pang of sympathy, felt a certain kindred bond with those women who had claimed to love him. He had walked away from them without a second thought, his mind already on his next conquest.

  He would not allow Miss Hopkins . . . Angela, to just walk away, out of his life forever. The connection they shared, the passion that was released when they were together was not typical, was extremely rare in his experience, and he was not going to give it up without a fight.

  A commotion in the front hall pulled him from his thoughts. He listened to the sound of muffled voices, followed by footsteps leading to the closed study door. At the knock, Ian bade whoever it was to enter.

  Phillips stepped into the room. “My lord, there is a Mr. Wardley insisting that he speak with you. He says it is most urgent.”

  Wardley was the young man from the ball – and Angela’s former suitor. Now why would he come calling here of all places? His first impulse was to send the man back the way he came, but a morbid sense of curiosity got the better of him. “Very well, Phillips, you may send him in.”

  A moment later, Wardley strode into the room, a determined quality in his bearing, and on his handsome young face. Ian didn’t like that look, as though the man had come to some kind of decision, and was prepared to face a pack of hungry wolves in order to see it through. Ian squashed the immediate flare of jealousy.

  Wardley gave a barely perceptible bow, a blatant show of defiance, before greeting Ian. “Blackridge.”

  “Wardley. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Ian asked amiably.

  Wardley took note of the flash of warning in Ian’s eyes and foolishly ignored it. “I’m here to rescue Miss Hopkins,” he stated boldly.

  “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,”
Ian said in a cool tone. “Miss Hopkins is in no need of rescue.”

  “I beg to differ, Blackridge. It is my belief she is here under duress. I am here to offer my hand in marriage.”

  “I fear I must decline your offer – you’re not my type.”

  “You know who I meant!” Wardley snapped. “I wish to marry Miss Hopkins, and if she will have me, you will not stand in our way. She is welcome to stay at my family’s London townhouse, with my mother as a proper chaperone, until the ceremony.”

  “You seem to have finally acquired a decent amount of courage for this visit, Wardley,” Ian said, his voice dark and threatening. “Where were you when Miss Hopkins really needed rescuing? Indeed, you made yourself scarce at the first test of your intentions, and your character.”

  “My character – see here! What do you mean, when Miss Hopkins really needed rescuing? It appears to me she’s in need of rescue this very moment – from your lecherous influence.”

  “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Wardley,” Ian warned menacingly. “I’d control that wayward tongue if I was you, unless you have a particular wish to find yourself attached to the end of a blade – most notably the pointed end.”

  Wardley visibly blanched, two red spots appearing on his cheeks, contrasting sharply with the paleness of his face. “Is that a threat? Are you calling me out?” He didn’t seem especially enamored of the idea.

  “What is going on?” Angela stood in the doorway. “Mr. Wardley! What on earth are you doing here?”

  Wardley turned at the sound of her voice. Ian stood in front of his desk, still as a statue, waiting to find out what her response to Wardley’s proposal would be. If the man only knew she’d already been proposed to this very morning, and that she’d turned down said proposal, would he still ask her? Ian’s answer came soon enough when Wardley approached her, lowering down on one knee, taking her hands into his own.