The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  “You are still the daughter of a baron. You have rank, you’re a gently-bred woman, not to mention you’re beautiful and charming.” He gave her that smile again, only this time he’d added a wicked twist to his lips.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Angela asked with suspicion. “When I first arrived here, it was as though you could hardly stand the sight of me. Now, you seem . . . well, different. Is it because we . . . we . . . you know?”

  “It’s just that I’ve come to realize there’s more to you than was at first readily apparent, but I won’t deny the desire I feel for you.” His voice had grown husky.

  Angela blushed at the reminder of his desires . . . and hers. Feeling a little over-warm from her errant thoughts, she decided it would be prudent to change the subject before they ended up on the floor right there in the hall. “I think you’ve kept your mother waiting long enough, so if you’ll unhand me, I’ll go . . . dust something.”

  Isabella Moreland, The Viscountess Blackridge, and mother to one scandalously notorious son, watched the scene before her with a great deal of interest. She concealed her presence quite successfully behind a particularly large and leafy potted plant, the name of which she had no idea, nor did she care. What she’d just witnessed was obviously a private moment, so her main concern was to stay out of sight. Never in her life had she ever seen her son look at a woman the way he was looking at Miss Hopkins, which Isabella found most distressing. It would not bode well for her son to fall in love with his mistress.

  Isabella knew the young woman was Miss Angela Hopkins, daughter to Baron Eberly, and current mistress of her rake of a son. She also knew the girl had in her possession a pristine reputation, that is, until her tragic downfall into the world of scandal and ruination. Isabella’s knowledge of the situation came by way of an intricate network of confidential informants, otherwise known, of course, as gossip.

  It had not taken long for word of her son’s escapades to reach her ears, and upon hearing the news, had decided to verify it in person. Isabella held no illusions that her son was not at the heart of the matter, was determined to find out just how far it has gone, and by the intimate way they embraced – it was very far indeed. Very carefully, she backed away from her hiding place behind the plant, and returned to the parlor to await her son.

  While he still had Angela in his arms, Ian took advantage and covered her mouth with his in a hot and deeply sensuous kiss. He did not want her to forget, even for a short time, the attraction and the passion they shared. Heart pounding and cock rigid, he reluctantly released her, wishing he could carry her up to his bedroom rather than face his mother. Angela swayed slightly, her eyes dazed with desire as he turned her in the direction of the stairs. Chuckling, he said, “Go on, my sweet little princess . . . dust to your heart’s content.”

  “I just might at that . . . beginning with the parlor,” she teased, walking away with a saucy swing to her hips that did nothing to dispel the ach in his groin.

  He lingered in the hall, waiting for his erection to subside. It wouldn’t be a good idea to greet his mother in his condition, raising all kinds of questions he, quite frankly, refused to discuss with his own mother.

  The urge to flee the house, thereby avoiding her entirely, nearly overwhelmed him, but Ian knew he would have to face her eventually. Instead, he walked into the parlor. “Hello, mother,” He embraced her, kissing her cheek lightly. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  “As if you didn’t know, my dear,” she responded amiably. “I’ve heard things, and well . . . what exactly is going on? You may be a disreputable rogue, but there’s more to this than appears on the surface. I feel it in my bones.”

  Ian wanted his mother on his side, and knew the only way to accomplish that, he would have to tell her the truth, and the only way to do that was to begin at the beginning. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable, mother, while I’ll ring for tea. I have a story to tell that just might take awhile.”

  Once the teacart arrived and his mother was suitably settled, Ian spoke, preferring to remain standing. “It all started when my good friend, John Winston – do you remember him?”

  “Yes, I remember him. He was quite a pleasant fellow. Wasn’t he killed in some kind of tragic accident? I do recall reading something about it in the paper.”

  “Yes, well . . . his death was certainly tragic, but I believe it was no accident that killed him. I am quite sure he was murdered.”

  “Murdered! But why would you think so?”

  He began to pace. “I became suspicious when I discovered certain facts of a particularly unscrupulous nature – dealings involving blackmail, perpetrated against my friend. There were two other gentlemen who had also been blackmailed. I traced the crime back to one family.”

  “Who?”

  He stopped in front of his mother, facing her. “Eberly and his daughter.”

  “The baron and his – you mean—”

  “Yes, Miss Hopkins. But I was wrong, at least about her. I still believe her father was involved somehow in John’s murder.”

  “And what has changed your opinion of Miss Hopkins, barring your current relationship with her? I’m not ignorant of your renowned escapades with women, so I doubt you’re being ruled by your—”

  “He almost killed her.” Ian had no wish to discuss his amorous experiences with his mother. “We attended a ball together recently. She’d been upset over the cruel treatment she’d received, and also discovered for the first time that her father had refused several offers of marriage. When she went to take some air, I followed and saw her leave with an unknown gentleman.”

  He resumed his restless pacing. It was difficult to relive that night, his guilt over allowing her to leave with her father still fresh. “I was angry. I waited here for her to return, and when she did, I told her to pack her things, that she was to leave first thing in the morning. It was too dark to see her clearly, so I didn’t realize – didn’t know that she’d been beaten severely, until she collapsed. It was her father – he was the gentleman I saw her leave the ball with that night.”

  “My God!” Isabella gasped. “Her own father beat her?”

  “I assume she confronted him about the marriage offers, they argued, and it turned violent. Later, I learned from her maid he has treated her thusly most of her life. She still bears the scars from one particularly nasty beating which took place when she was a child.”

  “How horrible! Is this why you now believe she wasn’t involved in your friend’s murder?”

  He nodded. “I originally thought she was working with her father to snare young, rich men from social-climbing families in order to blackmail them. Her shock at hearing about those marriage proposals was too realistic to be feigned.”

  “You sought revenge . . . you sought to ruin her,” Isabella said, disapproval coloring her voice. “Which you have, haven’t you?”

  Ian stopped his pacing and slumped into a nearby chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he ran his fingers through his hair. Looking up, he met his mother’s steady gaze, his heart filled with pain and remorse at what he’d done. “Yes, I’ve ruined her, but I intend to reverse the damage.”

  “I doubt that’s possible. The damage is done, it cannot be erased.”

  “I can at least take action to remedy her situation.”

  “Tell me, how did this situation come about in the first place? How did you convince a respectable, unmarried woman to become your mistress?”

  “I agreed to pay her twenty thousand pounds for three months with me, as well as pay off her father’s debts.” His mother raised an elegant eyebrow, but made no comment. “It was a desperate act on her part, I suspect, to free herself from her father’s household.”

  “And your remedy for her situation?”

  “I’m going to marry her.” How many more times must he repeat that line before he was able to make it a reality?

  “That is entirely impossible, my dear. As much as you’re r
esponsible for her predicament, it would be completely unacceptable to marry her.”

  “Regardless of how unacceptable you find it, mother, it is my ultimate goal. I had thought to enlist your help in order to achieve it.”

  “Your goal? You haven’t asked her, then?”

  “I asked and she refused.”

  “Intelligent girl. At least she is aware this is not just a matter of being compromised. She’s your mistress, and gentlemen do not marry their mistresses, dear. She obviously knows this, just as you should know, if you were to marry her, it would cause a scandal. Even though you and scandal are great acquaintances, this one would be the coup de grace, and I absolutely forbid it.”

  So much for gaining his mother’s assistance. “It wouldn’t be that big of a scandal. Besides, everyone expects me to embroil myself in the occasional over-the-top endeavor. My escapades are a much anticipated amusement. Society would be quite dull without them.”

  Isabella made a noise suspiciously resembling a snort. “What reason did she give for refusing your offer?” she asked with a touch of motherly offense. “You’re rich as croeseus, ridiculously handsome and, well, charming when you want to be, and you’re a viscount. I would think any woman would jump through fire to have you at the altar.”

  “She said she didn’t want to be under a man’s control again. I believe she’s afraid I will mistreat her like her father did.”

  “Why that’s ludicrous! The very idea you would behave so abominably is beyond comprehension!”

  Ian smiled at his mother’s display of righteous anger, encouraged by her defense of him. She might have been initially against his plan to marry Angela, and it would still take some work to win her complete support, but her indignation that someone would actually refuse his offer of marriage worked in his favor, bringing him closer to his objective. “I need only convince her it would not be the case with me.”

  Isabella considered her son for a moment. If he wasn’t in love with the girl at present, he was damn close. With grim decisiveness, she said, “I must speak with her, determine her character.” She wasn’t sure if she should encourage her son’s reckless foray into a scandalous marriage, but he appeared frightfully serious about the matter. “It doesn’t mean I approve, mind you.”

  “I know that, mother,” Ian said, smiling as he bent to kiss her cheek. His mother held powerful connections in society. If he had her backing him, Angela’s short career as a mistress would be forgiven that much easier. He only prayed she would forgive him for being the one responsible for dragging her into this.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 16

  ANGELA WAS IN the larger bedroom Ian had earlier insisted she stay, gathering her few belongings to move back into her small room on the third floor, when Rosemary came through the open doorway. She closed the door briskly, turning to speak. “My dear, have you heard the news? Do you know who’s here?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Angela said calmly. “That’s why I’m moving back to the little room upstairs.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Rosemary snatched the dress out of Angela’s hands, and with determined strides, placed it back in the wardrobe.

  Angela fisted her hands on her hips. “But I must. It wouldn’t be proper to be bumping into the viscountess in the halls.” She mimicked the imaginary event, linking her arm with Rosemary’s. “Good evening, your ladyship. Oh, you’re on your way to dinner? Why, so was I. Let’s go down together, shall we?”

  Still connected, Rosemary led Angela over to the bed, forcing her to sit. “Listen, love, you’ve made a place for yourself here whether you choose to believe it or not. Everyone loves you, and I suspect Blackridge is close behind.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Has he told you to move your things?”

  “No.”

  “There, you see? He doesn’t wish it, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, in a little over two months, you’ll be gone from here, so what does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know if I can face her, and not feel somehow soiled. It would be humiliating.” Angela shoulders slumped.

  Wrapping her arms around Angela, Rosemary crooned, “Oh, love! You are the strongest woman I know. You’ve stood up to your father your entire life, and fought for what was good and right. Don’t tell me you haven’t the courage to weather one aging viscountess!”

  Sitting up straighter, Angela sniffled. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right! I’m staying in this room, and if I should happen to encounter the viscountess, I shall do so with dignity and courage.”

  “That’s the spirit, dear!”

  “Of course I won’t be seeking her company on purpose, mind.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to go out of your way to run into her, but if you should happen to, I have faith you would handle it with grace and decorum.” Rosemary gave her a proud smile.

  A knock at the door interrupted them. It was the maid who had cleaned up the mess that morning. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” she said, curtsying to Rosemary, who stood in the open doorway.

  Rosemary gave an exasperated sigh. “Tess, there’s no need to call me ma’am. I’ve told you that before, and I’m definitely not one to give a curtsy.”

  “I’m sorry, ma–Miss Rosemary.” Tess shyly twisted her fingers in front of her.

  Angela smiled at the way Tess looked at Rosemary with awe and admiration. Apparently her friend had acquired a fan of sorts.

  Rosemary looked at Tess expectantly, until finally she said, “Well, what is it?”

  “Lady Blackridge would see Miss Hopkins downstairs in the parlor immediately.”

  “Lady Blackridge?” Angela asked, startled.

  “Yes, miss.” Tess aborted her half executed curtsy and turned, walking quickly back down the hall.

  “Lady Blackridge wishes to see me? What shall I do?” Angela wondered what could possibly have compelled the viscountess to want to speak with her.

  “You will go to her as commanded, love. Don’t fret so, you’ll be fine.”

  “What has gotten into Tess? Why was she curtsying to you?”

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Brown has been regaling everyone with your exploits.”

  “Only Mrs. Brown?” Angela inquired with a lift of her eyebrow.

  “Well, I’ve put in a bit here and there. Like how you’ve always taken your father’s wrath on behalf of the household servants.” Rosemary snickered. “Also how you introduced your dastardly father to the merits of world geography. In case I neglected to mention it, that was extremely well done of you.”

  Angela groaned aloud. “That is exactly what I wanted to avoid. The best gossip comes from the servants, as you would know.”

  “No one here will say anything. I told you, they adore you. You’re something of a hero to everyone, you know.”

  “So are you, it seems, at least by association. Well, I’d better get down to the parlor. The quicker this is over with, the better.”

  Angela entered the parlor, shoulders back, spine straight, approaching the viscountess with the determination to withstand anything the woman would have to say. It was immediately obvious who Ian had inherited his coloring from. The viscountess’s hair was black as a raven’s wing, except for the few silver strands showing at her temples like moonlit snow against the darkest winter night. It gave her an air of regal beauty, her slender figure complimented by the softly draping, rose-hued gown she wore. In her peripheral vision, Angela spotted Ian standing off to the side, near the window, his hand resting on the back of a chair.

  “Mother,” he said upon Angela’s arrival, “may I introduce the Honorable Miss Angela Hopkins. Miss Hopkins, my mother, the Viscountess Blackridge.”

  Angela curtsied. “It is an honor, Lady Blackridge.” Looking up as she rose from the curtsy, eyes so much like Ian’s watched her with intense scrutiny. Although his mother’s eye color was slightly darker and softer than her son’s, it s
urprised Angela to realize that the viscountess’s assessing appraisal was not intended to insult. It was clearly one of puzzled curiosity.

  “Miss Hopkins, please have a seat so that we may converse, and you are not standing through the entire interview.” After Angela was settled, the viscountess asked, “Would you like tea?”

  “Yes, thank you, my lady,” Angela responded politely, her hands resting in her lap. She could feel Ian’s presence behind her, causing her skin to prickle on the back of her neck. His silence was a little disconcerting, giving the situation the air of an informal trial.

  When tea was served, Lady Blackridge turned her head in her son’s direction. “I would like to be alone with Miss Hopkins.”

  Ian hesitated for a drawn out moment, and then said, “Of course, mother.” He left the room, but not before Angela caught the sharp look he directed at his mother.

  Angela sat quietly, trying to calm her racing heart.

  “You’re an only child, Miss Hopkins?”

  “Yes, mum.”

  “Of course, I already knew that. I know everyone in society, or know of them, at the very least. What of your mother?”

  “She died when I was nine,” Angela answered. “But, you most likely knew that too.”

  The viscountess smiled. “Yes, I did indeed. I knew your mother, you know.”

  That bit of news startled Angela. “Y-you knew her?”

  “We came out into society at the same time, and we got to be friends. After she married your father, I lost track of her. Do you love your father?”

  What a strange question. Angela decided to answer honestly. “No, mum, I do not love him.”

  “What do you know of him?”

  “Only that he is a bitter and cruel man.”

  “My son has explained your – predicament – about your father, and about your agreement with Blackridge. I can’t say that I approve of your decision to become my son’s mistress, but I do understand.”

  Her frankness caused Angela’s face to pinken, but she refused to let her words intimidate. “You have my apologies for any embarrassment this has caused you, my lady, but Lord Blackridge and I are adults, and our agreement is between the two of us.”