The Devil Rogue

by Lori Villarreal

  Even though the victim’s demise had been summarily dismissed as a robbery gone awry, Krenshaw had refused to give up. He also noticed something that apparently no one else had: the victim’s clothes were not of the quality one would expect a person of wealth to be wearing.

  He’d been convinced it was no ordinary robbery. His diligence had paid off when he was able to identify the owner of that ring. He’d told no one of his suspicions, quietly making inquiries and following leads on his own. Eventually, the trail of clues had led him to Blossom’s home and, subsequently, to John.

  John then turned his disapproving gaze on Ian. “And what, exactly, were you thinking when you pulled that stunt with Angela?”

  Ian knew what John was talking about, but still felt the guilt like a lead weight around his neck. He supposed it would take some time to forgive himself, even though Angela already had. “I was trying to avenge your death,” he said, his voice low. Now that he said it out loud, in front of the very person he was avenging, it sounded ludicrous.

  Angela rose from the sofa, and walked over to Ian, placing her arm through his. “It’s all right,” she said, looking up at him. “If it hadn’t been for that, we would never have met. I regret nothing. In fact, it was a most educating experience.”

  Ian snapped his gaze down to her, startled – and thrilled by her bold words. “I do love you,” he said quietly.

  “And you must know that I love you, too,” she replied.

  Neither one of them noticed that both John and Blossom rolled their eyes, but then they too, looked at each other with the same expression of love as Ian and Angela.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Epilogue

  “WELCOME HOME, LADY Blackridge,” Mrs. Brown said with a pleased grin.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brown,” Angela said breathlessly. “It’s good to be home. Has my husband returned yet?”

  As soon as they’d disembarked from the ship, Ian had announced that he’d had a business matter to attend to. He’d been quite mysterious as to the nature of the matter, saying only that she would find out soon enough. And then without a care to their audience, he’d kissed her soundly, directed her to continue home, and told her he’d join her shortly.

  Angela stood in the foyer, while behind her a flurry of activity ensued as servants carried in boxes and trunks from the carriage.

  “Take them to the master suite, and have a care!” Mrs. Brown ordered. “Oh, my dear, you’re looking well! The babe didn’t cause any mischief during the voyage?”

  Angela rested her hand on her slightly rounded belly. “Just a slight case of seasickness on the trip over, but coming back I was fit as a fiddle.” After the wedding, she and Ian had decided to take their honeymoon in Moldova. It gave her a chance to spend more time with her father, and also to see his homeland.

  Moldova was a beautiful country, with rolling hills, rich farmland, and lush forests. A crescent of distant, hazy mountains partially surrounded the land, creating a picturesque backdrop. Angela immediately fell in love with the quaint little towns, the tastes of the local fare, and the smell of newly turned earth, released into the air in preparation for the coming crops. She’d known she would miss all of it when they returned to England.

  The people seemed genuinely happy about her return. Everywhere she went there were smiles and well wishes. The townsfolk proudly presented her with gifts of fresh fruits, vegetables, and flowers. It was all so overwhelming, but their kindness filled her with appreciation that even though she hadn’t been raised in this country, they still considered her one of their own. She was ‘The Lost Princess,’ they’d proclaimed, part of a living fairytale everyone in the land was familiar with, right down to the smallest child.

  A special ceremony had been held at the royal palace, during which she’d formally abdicated her title as princess, becoming a mere viscountess, as Ian had teased. It didn’t really matter to her, although being a princess, even for a short time, had been rather fun.

  Angela’s father later presented her with the beautifully jeweled crown that would have been hers, if she’d remained a princess. He said if she were to have a daughter, it would be her birthright, as she would automatically become a princess and heir to the throne. If Angela were to have a boy, however, her father promised he would have one specially made for a prince.

  There were other heirs in line before Angela, or any children she might have, which made it highly unlikely that any of them would become the next king or queen of Moldova. Her father had explained to her that as much as he’d loved Anna, he’d not been celibate over the years, and had produced several other children, ensuring a direct bloodline to the throne. And since he already had his heirs, he had no wish to remarry.

  Ian’s mother, along with Rosemary, had accompanied them on their trip. Poor Rosemary spent the entire journey below, in her cabin, ‘heaving her guts.’ When they reached the royal docks, she was in such poor condition she had to be carried on a litter.

  She now remained in Moldova, newly married to a young and handsome count. Angela had teased her friend that she probably married the first man she laid eyes on just so she wouldn’t have to travel by ship again.

  “He may not have been the first man I laid eyes on,” Rosemary said, laughing, “but his attentiveness to my retched state upon arriving did sway me considerably. That, and his exceptional good looks.”

  “He’s very handsome, and seems a good man, as well,” Angela said.

  “He is, indeed, and I love him so.”

  “Just as he appears to love and adore you, also.”

  Angela would sorely miss her dear friend, but wished her well, content in the knowledge that she was happy with her new love. Ian had promised they would make another trip after the baby was born, taking the edge off her sadness over leaving.

  She entered the suite of rooms she would be sharing with her husband. How things had changed since she’d first arrived in this house. For her, it had started out as a means of escape from Eberly’s abuse, a chance to begin a new life. For Ian, it had been the only way he knew how to gain some recompense for the loss of his closest friend.

  And since it had been a case of mistaken identity, and John Winston was alive, there was no longer a loss for Ian to mourn. Angela considered it ironic, that through Ian’s anger and thirst for vengeance, they’d found in each other a deep and lasting love.

  Before they’d sailed for Moldova, Angela had received word that Eberly had disappeared. Her father’s man, Mr. Hawk, and the inspector, Mr. Krenshaw, had followed his trail as far as they were able. It was suspected Eberly had fled England for the continent, escaping criminal charges. His title had been stripped and his estate sold at auction, so there was nothing for him to come back to even if he were foolish enough to try. It was no loss to Angela to see him gone from her life for good.

  Ian had insisted he give her the explanation she deserved. He described the pain, the helplessness and the acute frustration for not being able to prevent the tragedy of what he’d believed at the time was his friend’s death. He told her it was her innocence, her kindness, and her generosity to those less fortunate that had made him fall in love with her. He said it had given him hope that his soul was not yet lost.

  She was now his wife, carrying his baby. These days, her thoughts were completely taken up with the life growing inside her, and the changes taking place in her body. It would not be long before her belly began to increase, and she would feel the first movements. She gloried in the wonder of becoming a mother.

  “Lady Angela?”

  Angela looked up to see Viola standing in the doorway. She rushed over to assist the aging woman to a comfortable chair. “Viola! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I wanted to talk to you – about your mother,” Viola said, settling into the chair.

  “My mother?”

  “She was very beautiful. It’s quite remarkable how much you resemble her.”

/>   “I remember her beauty,” Angela said. “I remember how kind and loving she was, and the scent of her perfume. She was always humming or singing. She had a lovely singing voice. But she also seemed sad.”

  “She loved you, my dear. Very much. And your father . . . she never stopped loving him.” Viola gazed into an unseen distance, lost in her memories. “She sacrificed herself for him.”

  “What do you mean – sacrificed?”

  “She married Eberly before your father left for his country. Anna knew Matvei would not go without her, but she also knew he was needed there. His people needed him.”

  “So she married Baron Eberly in order to free my father,” Angela said, understanding her mother’s motives. Anna had realized and accepted that the needs of an entire country outweighed her own needs. Angela was in awe of her mother’s ultimate selflessness.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you mean when you said, the circle is complete? You also said once that maybe fate will right itself.”

  “I only meant, dear, that your mother was a victim of fate’s indiscriminating hand, but you had the opportunity to turn fate in your favor, with Blackridge.”

  “By agreeing to marry him?”

  “By embracing your love for him, regardless of what his intentions were in the beginning.”

  “But I didn’t know that then. How did you?”

  “I’m an old woman, I know many things,” Viola said cryptically.

  To Angela, that was not an answer, but what could Viola say – that she had magical powers? Impossible. She was definitely ancient. She had always looked as old as she did now, as far back as Angela could remember.

  Suddenly Viola sucked in a shaky breath, placing her hand over her heart. Alarmed, Angela leaned over her, placing her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder. She could feel the protruding bones, as fine and delicate as blown glass. With a great deal of concern, Angela asked, “Viola, are you all right?”

  “I have to go, my dear.”

  “Don’t you move. Just sit here quietly. I’ll be right back.” Angela rushed from the room, in search of a servant to send for Dr. Winters. She ran down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time, almost plowing into Mrs. Brown. “Quick, send for the physician,” she gasped.

  Mrs. Brown placed steadying hands on Angela’s shoulders. “What is it?” she asked in alarm.

  “It’s . . . Viola,” Angela panted, “I think she’s . . . she appears to be quite ill.” She didn’t want to say the words out loud, but Viola was very old, and surely didn’t have much time left in this world.

  “Let’s just go have a look-see,” Mrs. Brown said calmly. “Old folks do tend to have their episodes, not necessarily warranting a physician’s visit each time.”

  They both went quickly up the stairs, back to the suite of rooms where Angela had left Viola.

  No one was there.

  “But I – I just left her only moments ago,” a perplexed Angela stuttered.

  “Like I said, some have a little episode, snap right out of it, and then just keep on going,” Mrs. Brown assured her.

  “Even so, I’d like to search the house, make sure she didn’t collapse someplace else.”

  All of the servants were gathered together, and then split into pairs. They searched the entire house and the back gardens. Viola was nowhere to be found. Angela was completely mystified. The woman couldn’t have just vanished into thin air, could she?

  Exhausted from the search for Viola, Angela laid down on the bed, sinking into the soft coverlet. She fell into a sound sleep, Sprinkles curled up behind her knees, purring. The kitten always offered a special comfort, reminding Angela of Ian’s gift. Hours later she awoke to the warmth of Ian’s body at her back. One arm draped over her waist, his hand cradling her belly, while his other arm supported her head.

  “How are my wife and child?” he asked, his voice low.

  “We’re fine.” She turned in his arms so she could see his face. “I’m just a little tired, but better, now that you’re home.”

  “I heard about Viola, that she couldn’t be found.”

  “It’s the strangest thing. She’s utterly disappeared. One minute she was right here, sitting in a chair, having some sort of difficulty, and the next, she was gone.”

  “Maybe she wandered out of the house and got lost. I’ve already sent some men to search for her.”

  “Oh, Ian, thank you. But I have to wonder, and I get goose pimples just thinking about it, but it’s almost as if she were a . . . a ghost . . . that she was never really here.”

  “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know. She did say some odd things to me, as if she knew what was going to happen. She told me about my mother.”

  “What did she say?”

  Angela told Ian everything Viola had said about her mother, the reason why she’d married Eberly. She also told him how Viola had known of her love for him, and that she’d known everything would turn out all right.

  “That is amazing . . . and odd,” Ian said when Angela had finished.

  “And I’m happy to say she was right,” she said, smiling.

  Ian played with a strand of her hair. “Speaking of happy, your father seems to have taken quite an interest in my mother.”

  “I’m not surprised she decided to stay in Moldova for an extended visit.”

  “You do realize if they were to marry, we’d become brother and sister?” Ian teased.

  Angela laughed. “That would be a bit awkward.”

  “Somehow, I have the feeling that neither one of them is looking for marriage, but aren’t averse to a union of a different nature,” he said with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

  “Please stop! I don’t want to think of my father and your mother—”

  “Okay! Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

  Angela sat up in her excitement. “A surprise! How lovely! What is it?”

  Ian reached behind him, producing a packet of papers. “It’s why I left you at the docks. I wanted to get started on it as soon as possible.”

  “Well, what is it?” Angela prodded.

  “I’ve bought you a ship,” he stated proudly.

  Months ago, he’d wanted to find the perfect gift for her.

  “A ship?”

  “Your very own ship to take us to Moldova any time we wish. It’s to be refitted in grand fashion as befits a viscountess – or a princess. I’ve been assured it will be ready to sail by the time our child is born.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Angela said with tears in her eyes. “It’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “It’s only the beginning, sweetheart. I plan to spoil you rotten.”

  “I love you so much, my Devil Rogue,” she said huskily, leaning in for a kiss.

  Dipping his head toward her luscious mouth, Ian replied, “And I love you, my princess.”

  * * * * *

  Read on for an excerpt of this paranormal romance:

  Twelfth Moon, Legend of the Pantera

  One

  Devil’s Spur, Texas, 1868

  THEY WERE GOING TO hang her.

  An angry mob surrounded Cadence. She sat on a nervously sidestepping horse, its hooves kicking up swirling clouds of brown dust. They were gathered on the outskirts of town. Heat, wind, sand, and encroaching vegetation all battled for dominion over the unforgiving landscape.

  Two muddy trails marked her dirty, tear-stained cheeks. Her hair and clothes were tinged with the same color as the desert. She’d been dragged from Mamma Reba’s house, followed by a mad ride into town.

  Cadence struggled to control the wild panic working its way from her roiling gut, up her spine, to the back of her skull. The townspeople had turned on her; gone mad, snapping at her heels like a pack of feral dogs.

  “Yer gonna pay fer yer sins, boy!” someone shouted.

  But then, they didn’t know she was really a female.

  That had suited Cade
nce just fine.

  Nobody had seemed to notice she was anything other than what she appeared to be – a young boy of an age around fourteen or fifteen years old. Except Mamma Reba.

  They also didn’t know Cadence Antoinette LaPorte was something else…something not quite human.

  She felt the primitive animal stirring beneath her skin. It wanted to lash out at them – to draw blood. Unfortunately, that would be impossible with her hands tied behind her back.

  She’d lived among these very people for the last several weeks, gotten to know them…even liked most of them.

  Now, here she was, about to be hanged, which was really rather funny – or tragic – since she was innocent. At least this time she was.

  Cadence knew who the real killer was. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, standing next to Mr. Pribbernow, who owned the feed store.

  Did anyone bother to ask her what had happened? No.

  That miserable coward, Ned Furley, must have ridden into town to proclaim he’d witnessed the kid murder Mamma Reba. Cadence’s tears were for the dear old blind woman who’d taken her in, fed her, and let her do chores in exchange for a place to stay.

  Furley had lived here his whole life, so of course everyone believed him. Cadence was a newcomer, an outsider.

  They’d brought her directly to the hanging tree.

  It was an ancient, twisted monstrosity with black, gnarled branches reaching toward the sky like bony fingers angrily clawing their way to heaven. It sat in rooted silence, a specter with secrets of death and violence, and when they led her horse beneath it, Cadence could feel its malignance.

  She’d been settled upright in the saddle, someone yanking her hands behind her back, securing her wrists with a piece of rope. Then came the noose, suspended from a thick, sturdy appendage of the sinister tree. It had been placed over her head to rest on her slim shoulders like a coiled python, poised to choke the life out of her.