The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  “I intend to do nothing. I get the impression you’re in it up to your neck on another front, that your debts of the past are coming due, with interest. Oh, don’t get me wrong – I’d still like to kill you with my bare hands, but you’re just not worth it.”

  Ian turned on his heel and strode from the room. He exited the house only to find the sky had become overcast, the air heavy with building moisture.

  Ivan stood in the shadows, watching Blackridge’s departure. He’d heard every word of the baron’s conversation with Blackridge, and knew his master would be pleased. The princess had apparently found herself an admirable protector.

  The sky mirrored Ian’s own gray thoughts, and as the coach pulled away from the curb into traffic, he wrestled with his newfound information concerning Angela. His spirits sunk with the realization that if what Eberly had said was true – that Angela really was a princess – then Ian may have lost his chance to keep her to himself, to marry her. She would be far above him in station, and worthy of a much better match than one with a reputed rogue.

  He had to tell her the truth, about her true identity, about the baron’s blackmail, about his own plan to ruin her. Everything. If only there was a way to avoid it.

  No.

  Angela’s life has already been built on too many lies. He didn’t want their life together to begin with more lies, if by some miracle she still agreed to marry him. But would she accept another proposal after hearing what he had to tell her?

  He needed to verify it all first, but how?

  The coach came to a sudden halt, almost jerking Ian from his seat. The door was thrown open and before he could react, rough hands dragged him outside. It had begun to rain, the low rumble of thunder adding a sinister quality to his predicament. He struggled to free himself as he was forced along the walk by at least three large men. The afternoon had advanced into evening making it difficult to see in the growing darkness combined with the heavy downpour.

  He had no idea where they were taking him, until moments later he was thrust into another coach – a very large coach. From his position on the floor, the first thing he noticed was the finely woven rug under his nose, and then a pair of well-clad feet.

  “Have a seat, lad,” said a deep voice from above Ian’s head.

  Ian picked himself up off the floor, taking the seat opposite the man who spoke. The curtains were drawn, the flickering lamps illuminating the interior with a warm glow. From the opulence of the décor and the rich elegance of the man’s clothing, Ian had no trouble figuring out who the man must be. Looking him directly in the eye, he asked, “To what do I owe this honor, your majesty?”

  “Hah! You are a bold one, eh? I am Matvei Vasilii Mikhail Fedorovich, King of Moldova and, yes, Angela Hopkins is my daughter.”

  The king’s thick accent was the same as Ivan’s.

  “How sure are you of that fact?” Ian asked.

  “Very sure, Lord Blackridge.” Smiling, the king stated with pride, “Her mother’s belly was already rounded with my child when duty forced me away from her.”

  “Duty? Was it your duty to leave a pregnant woman alone and unmarried? Angela was left to be raised by a bitter, cruel and hateful man.”

  “For that I feel great remorse, but at the time I had no choice. It was not as peaceful in my country, then, as it is now.”

  The king’s eyes were not the same mesmerizing blue as Angela’s, but brown. Even so, for an instant, the expression in them reminded Ian of her. The king’s hair was a deep chestnut, so she must have inherited her golden hair color from her mother. His age showed in the gray at his temples, along with the few streaks running through his closely cropped beard. He was well built, physically, showing no signs of the overindulgence one might expect of a man of his exalted station. “Then why did you leave her?”

  “You are aware, Lord Blackridge, that I owe you no explanations. But since you are in love with my daughter, I will indulge you.”

  Ian understood the warning. He was in the presence of royalty, after all, and as a peer of the realm, was expected to behave accordingly. But it was damned hard when his emotions swirled like a funnel cloud within his chest where Angela was concerned. He gave a clipped nod of his head in acknowledgement.

  The king grinned when Ian voiced no denial of being in love with Angela.

  “You are a fierce warrior in your love for her. That I understand, as I was fiercely in love with her mother. I was not king back then, but a prince. I was the next in line to the throne.

  “I met Anna at a ball I attended while visiting your country. We fell in love and planned to marry. It all went wrong when I received a summons to return home. My father, the ruling king, had been assassinated during an uprising led by my cousin, Dimitri.”

  The king paused for a moment, lost in the telling of painful memories.

  “It would have been too dangerous to bring her with me, and we had no time to acquire the proper documents for her to marry a foreigner. She made a decision that I ultimately had no control over. When I returned to my country, I spent many months planning and strategizing, and then fighting against my cousin. I was young and stupid in those days, achieving nothing more than my own capture and imprisonment, along with costing the lives of loyal men.”

  Ian could sense the anguish the king felt, saw the pain of his past actions cloud his eyes. “How long were you imprisoned?” he asked quietly.

  “Five years, until I escaped with the help of good men who’d remained loyal to me. Eventually I was able to overthrow my cousin, but it took many years to restore my country to its former prosperity.”

  “You could have written, at least told Angela the truth.”

  “I did write to her. By the time I had ousted my cousin from power, Anna was already dead, but I did write to our daughter. It is only now that I have learned the baron kept the letters from her.”

  Ian suddenly remembered something the baron had said. “You don’t know what I’m up against now.” He almost felt sorry for the baron. Almost.

  “Yes, I know, this whole thing has been entirely too tragic,” the king said. “But I hope to make amends to the best of my ability.”

  Ian felt a strange kinship with this man, knowing what it was like to want desperately to make amends to Angela. It yet remained whether she would be able to find it in her heart to forgive either one of them. Her father had a relatively plausible excuse based on his account of events beyond his control.

  Ian strongly doubted a spiteful need for revenge was just cause for his own actions.

  “Now, I wish to know what your intentions are with my daughter,” the king boomed in his accented voice. “Even as an absent father, her welfare is of the utmost concern to me. It has come to my attention that she is at present your mistress.” His brows drew together in a disapproving frown. “This distresses me greatly.”

  “I’ve already asked for her hand in marriage, your majesty, but she refused me.”

  “Refused!” the king barked. “On what grounds?”

  “She was merely apprehensive to enter into a life of cruelty such as she’d known with her stepfather, I believe. She said she didn’t wish to be under any man’s thumb. To me, it equates to her dread of that same fate.”

  “She must marry you. She shall marry you, even if I have to force her into it!”

  “No, you must not, your majesty. That would be the worst thing you could do. As you have no doubt guessed, I’m in love with Angela. I’ve been trying to coax her into accepting my proposal. There are some details about my initial interest in her that she is unaware of. I fear she may reject me altogether when she learns the truth.”

  The king waved his hand in dismissal. “I already know what you have done, this scheme that has woven your lives together.”

  Ian’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “How—”

  “I have people everywhere, lad. Do you think I would have allowed my daughter to be in any kind of danger? Even though I did not approve of your metho
ds, you have proved yourself a good and loyal friend to this John Winston. You’re a man who is not afraid to seek out those who caused his death.”

  “If she will have me, I’m determined to marry her,” Ian said.

  “This I believe, my good man. It is time we get you home.” The king’s voice was kind, as he said, “What say you we form a united front and give her this news together?” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner, his mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. “I may be the ruler of a country, but I’m still a nervous father about to confront a long lost daughter.”

  Ian laughed, liking this man who may very likely become his father-in-law, if all went well. “Your wish is my command, your majesty.”

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 21

  ANGELA SAT QUIETLY reading in the library, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her skirts. Sprinkles lay curled in a furry little ball on her lap, the sound of his gentle purring lending a feeling of serenity to the moment. Her body absorbed the familiar hypnotic cadence, confirmation of a contented kitten. She’d never had a pet before. The Baron had been too vicious a man to risk having one in the house. Sprinkles had been a gift from Ian, and she loved the wee thing already.

  Ian had called her to his study that afternoon, presenting her with a round wicker basket. It was covered by a downy, blue blanket with a big, blue bow tied to the handle. The small lump beneath the blanket had moved slightly, followed by a rusty meow. When she’d pulled back the covering, there was a kitten inside. He was black with white paws, and a sprinkling of white spots around his face.

  “Oh, how utterly marvelous!” she’d exclaimed, picking up the kitten, cradling him in her arms.

  Ian cleared his throat. “Since you’d gone to so much trouble in your attempt to rescue that ‘other’ kitten, I thought maybe you’d like one of your own.”

  “I’ve never received such a thoughtful gift,” Angela said, her eyes prickling with tears. “Thank you, Ian.” She snuggled the kitten close to her chin, savoring its warmth and the softness of its fur. She smiled wryly. “You must have realized by now there really was no kitten. It was just an excuse to hide what really happened—”

  “Yes, I know, princess,” Ian said in a gentle voice. “But if there ever were a kitten in danger, I have no doubts you would gladly rescue it.” He smiled down at her.

  She held the kitten up, his back paws dangling. “I think I shall call you Sprinkles, little one, because of all the white spots on your face. It looks as though you just stuck your nose in a bowl of powdered sugar.”

  “It’s an apt description, indeed,” Ian said, chuckling. “Sprinkles, it is.”

  Angela tucked Sprinkles into the crook of her arm, and approached Ian. When she was close enough, she rose onto her tip-toes and kissed his lips lightly, tenderly. “Thank you so very much, Ian,” she whispered against his rough cheek.

  His arm snaked around her waist, holding her against the unyielding wall of his chest. Looking down into her glittering eyes, he said in that deep, throaty voice of his, “It was my pleasure to charm you with such a simple thing.”

  He kissed her gently, his lips warm and firm. Then he deepened the kiss, his tongue insinuating itself oh, so wickedly into her mouth, tangling deliciously with hers.

  She sighed against his lips, a shiver running through her body as it quickened to a familiar state of arousal. Sprinkles gave a rusty meow of protest from between their embracing bodies, changing the moment. They broke apart, laughing over their neglect of poor Sprinkles in the midst of their passion.

  “I shall take him to the kitchen and see what I can find to feed him,” Angela said.

  “I believe a saucer of milk would mollify him, after such carelessness to his sensibilities,” Ian suggested. “I have a bit of business to tend to, so I shall see you later. It should take no more than an hour or two.”

  That was the last Angela had seen of him, having counted the third hour passed since he’d left. She’d gone to the kitchen, procuring a saucer of milk for Sprinkles. Mrs. Olsen, Mrs. Brown, Rosemary, and the rest of the household staff clucked and cooed over what a ‘tiny sweet thing’ he was.

  Mrs. Haversham and Conners were there too, fussing over Sprinkles. They’d been settled comfortably in nice rooms on the third floor, except for Viola, who’d been given a room on the second floor, so she wouldn’t have an extra flight of stairs to traverse.

  Ian was obviously not the cold-hearted tyrant his reputation implied.

  The three aging servants had integrated well into the household, with Mrs. Haversham happy to assist Mrs. Olsen in the kitchen. Mrs. Olsen, in turn, accepted the other woman’s presence in her territory with a warm welcome, claiming an extra pair of hands gave her a much needed reprieve. Connors was assigned to work with Phillips, as a sort of mentor to the young man, teaching him the finer aspects in his role as doorman and butler. The two seemed to get along quite well, with Phillips looking toward the older, more seasoned veteran with awe and respect.

  Bringing Sprinkles along for company, Angela had retired to the library to await Ian’s return. When she’d received his earlier summons to meet with him in the study, she’d hoped, with no small amount of anticipation, that he might propose marriage again. Instead he’d presented her with this precious gift, distracting her mind from the subject.

  The words on the page blurred as she wondered for the thousandth time what could be keeping Ian. The soft rustle of skirts coming from the doorway drew her attention from the page she’d been trying without success to read.

  “May I join you?” Lady Blackridge asked politely.

  “Yes, of course,” Angela said, closing the book. “I’ve just been reading the same few paragraphs over and over, anyway.”

  “What a sweet little kitten,” Lady Blackridge said, noticing Sprinkles on Angela’s lap. “Where ever did you find him? It is a he, isn’t it?”

  Angela smiled at the viscountess. “Yes, it’s a he. His name is Sprinkles. He was a gift from Ian.”

  “What a terribly sweet gesture, and not at all like my son,” Lady Blackridge said with a soft chuckle. “He has certainly changed since you arrived.”

  “Changed?” Angela could hardly believe she was having any civilized conversation with the viscountess at all, let alone one that included her son as the main topic.

  “You’ve had quite a positive influence on him, my dear. You’re the first woman he has ever made any kind of effort for, and the only woman he has invited into his home.”

  “It wasn’t so much an invitation, my lady, as a business agreement,” Angela replied, trying to keep things in perspective. Her heart was beating a little faster, caused by the viscountess’s words. Angela was afraid to hope that she meant much more to Ian than just a temporary fling.

  “No doubt it started out that way, but it is obvious there is more going on in his head and his heart where you are concerned.”

  “And what are your feelings on the matter, my lady?” Angela inquired cautiously.

  “I cherished your mother’s friendship, Miss Hopkins. I see much of her in you. Perhaps when certain mysteries are solved, you’ll have a better concept of who you are. I like you very much, as you remind me of Anna, but my wish is for my son’s happiness.” She smiled broadly. “But, if the two of you are destined to be together, who am I to say nay?”

  Angela realized that the viscountess had done no less than give her approval and her blessing if a match should result between Ian and herself. It lifted her spirits, and her hopes, and she dared to dream of a future with Ian.

  A sound in the hall caught their attention before the door to the library crashed open, slamming against the wall behind it, tearing the smile from the viscountess’s face, and scaring the wits out of Angela. Carefully, she placed Sprinkles on the cushion beside her and stood as The Baron stalked into the room carrying a pistol. It was aimed directly at her.

  Lady Blackridge also stood. “What is the meaning of
this?” Her voice was strong and steady, unlike the way Angela was feeling at the moment.

  “Why, your ladyship, I’m here to collect my insurance policy,” The Baron stated with cold determination. He gave the viscountess barely a glance as he continued to glare at Angela.

  The gleaming intensity in his pale eyes was terrifying, sending panic shooting through Angela, paralyzing her limbs. He was a desperate man, capable of anything, his gaze fevered with the flames of insanity.

  “What do you want?” Anglela asked carefully, trying to remain calm. She knew instinctively that in his state of mind, anything could set him off.

  “I want you, dear step-daughter, to walk out of here with me.” The gun in his hand remained leveled at her chest.

  Angela silently acknowledged his use of the term step-daughter. “I will go with you, as long as you don’t harm anyone,” she said in a soft tone of voice.

  “You’re the only one I want. If nobody tries to stop me, there’ll be no bloodshed.”

  Lady Blackridge remained quiet during the exchange.

  Angela held out her hands in a pleading gesture. “Tell my why you need me.” She wasn’t about to go anywhere with this madman.

  He appeared to think for a moment, and then snorted, shrugging his shoulders. “What the hell. I don’t see why not.” He was in a strange humor. “I’ll begin by telling you that Blackridge isn’t the honorable savior you believe him to be. Didn’t you ever wonder why he wanted you so badly? Oh, you’re a beautiful woman, just like your mother was, but no real gentleman would have dishonored you by making an offer of purchase.”

  Angela heard Lady Blackridge’s gasp. “What are you talking about?”

  “Lord Blackridge planned to ruin us both from the beginning. You see, a friend of Blackridge’s met his demise in a most unfortunate manner, which he traced back to us, or rather, me. He just assumed you were involved, as well.”

  “Who was this friend?”

  “One of your beaus, John Winston.”