Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She turned to glare at him, fully prepared to fight.

  “We’re not done, sweetheart,” he vowed. “Run, if you like, but I will catch up to you eventually, and we will finish our lesson. Or you won’t get your party this Saturday.”

  “Fine, we’ll have your lesson,” she countered, only too aware of the delicate game she played. “But later, in a safer place, at a time that I choose. And that’s if you can get outside without rousing suspicions.”

  Hurrying to the stairs, she scurried down until she was out of sight of both the upper and the lower floors. Then she paused in the stairwell to smooth her skirts, straighten her hair, and calm the wild pounding of her heart.

  It had been a narrow escape. She’d never seen him like that—ruthlessly intent on getting what he wanted.

  Nor had she guessed it would have the unsettling effect of making her want to throw caution aside and let him do as he would with her. Though the throbbing in her breasts and lower down had dimmed, the ache lay just beneath the surface, like an itch needing to be scratched.

  Once you taste true passion, you’ll crave it every day and night until Saturday, knowing you can only taste it again in my bed. And then I’ll have you exactly where I want you.

  She only prayed she could prove him wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  Dear Charlotte,

  I do hope you know what you’re doing. Men like Lord Norcourt aren’t as easy to manage as you think. If you’re so curious about the viscount, why not ask your friend Godwin about him? Godwin’s sister is rumored to have been Norcourt’s mistress before she married the second time. She would know his character better than anyone.

  Your concerned cousin,

  Michael

  It took every jot of his will to keep Anthony from running after Madeline. But she was right—this was neither the time nor place for seduction. She couldn’t help him if he landed her in trouble with her employer.

  And yet…

  When he spoke of her craving him, it was him doing the craving. He’d dreamed of her last night. He never slept well alone anyway, but last night was worse than usual, full of fitful, erotic dreams in which she promised to give him his every desire.

  He’d awakened at dawn already pleasuring himself, and even that hadn’t been enough. Eager to see her, he’d come directly here. He’d told himself it was so he could get answers out of her, so he could make sure her hidden scheme couldn’t ruin his chances of gaining Tessa.

  He’d lied.

  What he’d really wanted was to bed her. And he’d almost done it, too, risking both their aims.

  Good God, the woman had a frightening ability to bring out the beast in him. Look at him—standing here like a racing Thoroughbred stopped dead in its tracks, his heart pounding, his blood roaring in his ears, and his bad boy straining the seams of his riding breeches.

  He’d spent a lifetime fighting to cage the animal in him, to keep himself from being a slave to his appetites. It had taken years to learn how to rein in his lust until the right moment, how to bring a woman to the point where she couldn’t do without him before he took her.

  One kiss from Madeline, and all that control vanished. With her, there was no finesse, no façade of the gentleman, no ability to shut off his appetite when he was done, the way he could with other women.

  The second he’d kissed her, his control had begun to erode, until the very end, when his need had so consumed him that when she’d tried to leave, he’d nearly stopped her by force. She would be wary of him from now on, and who could blame her?

  The worst part was, he still hadn’t accomplished his original purpose. All he knew was that she wanted the party, and now she wanted it sooner. But why was still a mystery. She was still a mystery, damn her.

  Why do you want to seduce me?

  Her pointed question jangled in Anthony’s head. This was supposed to have been simple—tempt the chit into unveiling her secrets, so she couldn’t refuse to support Tessa’s enrollment if something should go wrong with the party. But every time he thought he’d unveiled one, the mystery deepened.

  He paced the classroom, fighting for mastery over his body, but he kept remembering the look on her face when he’d cupped her soft breast. He would swear she’d never had a man do that to her before. Yet if that were so, why let him go so far? Was she experienced or no?

  She could be just experienced enough to know that a seeming innocence would draw him in. And it was working, too, because with every unanswered question, he grew more entranced by her. It was insanity. He wouldn’t stand for it. One way or the other, he would find out what she was about, even if he had to go behind her back and start interrogating her students.

  Or Mrs. Harris.

  He considered that a moment. The widow was every bit as clever as Madeline. If she thought he was interested in her teacher for whatever reason, she would put a quick end to this bargain. Did he dare risk it?

  In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands. By the time he’d regained control of himself enough to join the others outside, no seats were left in the carriages except in the open landau of Mrs. Harris herself. Since she’d made the assignments, she clearly had wanted him there.

  Given that Mrs. Harris liked him about as much as he liked her, he could only guess that he was riding in her carriage along with two of her pupils because she wanted to observe his behavior firsthand.

  Fine, let her observe whatever she pleased. Perhaps she’d be so caught up in “observing” that he’d finally get a chance to find out more about Madeline.

  Pasting an ingratiating smile on his face, he climbed into the landau and vowed to watch every word. His machinations on Tessa’s behalf would come to naught if Mrs. Harris decided he wasn’t to be trusted.

  Unfortunately, Miss Seton sat beside him, and she seemed determined to flirt. He was sure the headmistress chalked up a mark against him for every one of the girl’s coy remarks. At least Mrs. Harris couldn’t see how Miss Bancroft, who sat beside her, blushed furiously every time he even glanced at the poor girl.

  God save him, he hoped Tessa was more sensible than these two, or he’d be beating the scoundrels off her at every ball.

  “It was very good of you to come with us today, Lord Norcourt,” Miss Bancroft said, apparently deciding that Miss Seton shouldn’t have all the fun. “You must have many more important things to do.”

  He ignored Mrs. Harris’s snort. “I had intended to spend today at my estate, but it will keep until tomorrow. This is more important. When my niece Tessa starts here after Easter, I’ll want her to learn the same things I’m teaching you. It won’t do for her to go into society, only to be plucked up by some rogue.” He shot the headmistress a direct glance. “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Harris?”

  “If I do my job properly, your niece won’t be susceptible to rogues at all, sir, with or without your lessons.”

  Her skepticism inexplicably irritated him. “Forgive me, madam, but your girls don’t even know how to recognize a rogue unless he’s leering at them or asking pointed questions about their dowries.”

  “That’s not true!” Miss Seton protested.

  Forcing a smile, he softened the insult. “Not that it isn’t a credit to their good breeding and gentle natures, mind you. Under normal circumstances, I would think ill of any lady who assumed the worst about every man she met. But these are not normal circumstances. An heiress can’t be too careful.”

  Mrs. Harris eyed him narrowly. “On that subject, we certainly agree.”

  “Let me give our companions a simple test.” He nodded to Miss Bancroft. “Who is more likely to be a fortune hunter—an army captain or an enlisted man?”

  Miss Bancroft frowned in thought. “Since an enlisted man has less money, it would be him, I should think.”

  Before he could refute that, Mrs. Harris sighed. “Not necessarily. Enlisted men don’t aspire to high society—it isn’t a world where they feel comfortable. Army captains, on the other hand, are
generally second sons with a taste for champagne and an income for ale. They need to secure an heiress, if only as a means for escaping the army.”

  “I could have told you that,” Miss Seton said with a superior smile. “Officers are always looking for a rich wife. The army doesn’t pay well at all.”

  “Very good, Miss Seton,” Anthony said. “I’m sure you’ll know this answer, too. Who’s more likely to overindulge in liquor while in your presence at a family dinner—a fortune hunter or a wealthy squire enamored of you?”

  “The fortune hunter, of course. The squire will want to impress me.”

  “Actually, if the squire is truly in love with you, he’ll be so nervous that he’ll drink to bolster his courage. But the fortune hunter must keep his wits about him when discussing your future with your father. Unless he’s an utter fool, he won’t drink at all.”

  Frowning, Miss Seton sat back against the squabs. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Mrs. Harris gave a rueful smile. “I’m not certain whether to be impressed or appalled, Lord Norcourt. You have an uncanny insight into how a fortune hunter’s mind works. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you sought to marry an heiress.”

  “Me?” He gave an unsteady laugh. “Not on your life. Why marry a green girl, with so many lovely and experienced widows around to…er…dine with? I can send a widow home afterward and enjoy the rest of my night in peace. Can’t do that with a wife, no matter how rich she is.”

  And with the widows he chose, there was never any fear that he’d want them too much, pursue them too much…give them too much of himself. Nor any risk that they’d unleash the beast, and he’d frighten them out of their wits.

  The way he’d probably frightened Madeline.

  He shook off the unsettling thought. If she was the schemer he believed, she wouldn’t frighten that easily.

  “But what about children?” Miss Seton cried. “Don’t you want children?”

  “I have a niece. That’s enough.”

  Liar. He did indeed want children, but not at the expense of his sanity. What kind of father could he possibly be? He’d scarcely known his own father, and he certainly couldn’t look to the Bickhams for an example since they’d wielded discipline with all the care and subtlety of a sledgehammer. What if he were too lax? Not lax enough?

  Better not to attempt it than to rue his mistakes the rest of his days—as Father had, with a simpleton for an heir and a rogue for a spare.

  “What about when you’re old?” Miss Bancroft asked. “Surely you’ll want companionship then. You don’t want to be a crotchety old bachelor.”

  He shoved that unsettling image from his mind. “I needn’t worry about that anytime soon. If I get lonely, I can always find a crotchety old widow to marry me.” He shot Mrs. Harris a smooth smile. “Do you know any, madam?”

  She eyed him askance. “I do hope you’re not speaking of me, Lord Norcourt. While I freely admit to being crotchety at times, I am in no respect ‘old.’”

  “I didn’t think you were. You can’t be more than thirty-five.”

  “I just turned thirty-six, as a matter of fact.” A perplexed expression crossed her face. “How did you guess? Most people assume I’m older.”

  “I have a talent for assessing women’s ages accurately,” he said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.

  “How old do you think I am?” Miss Bancroft asked.

  “Eighteen. And Miss Seton is nearly nineteen.”

  “That isn’t hard to guess,” the colonel’s daughter protested. “We’re in school and will be coming out soon.”

  Mischief lit Miss Bancroft’s face. “Guess how old Miss Prescott is.”

  Old enough to make his mouth water whenever he looked at her. “Twenty-nine. Perhaps thirty.”

  “Actually, she’s twenty-five,” Mrs. Harris said. “Though I’m not surprised you misjudged her age. Miss Prescott always thwarts people’s expectations.”

  Twenty-five! He sat back, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Good God, she was younger than any of his mistresses. No wonder she looked ripe and fresh enough to eat.

  And no wonder his caresses had taken her off guard. Perhaps she really wasn’t experienced in the bedchamber, after all.

  He scowled. No, he couldn’t believe that. The first time he’d mentioned additional enticements, she hadn’t blushed or pulled away. She’d started talking about bargains, of all things. What virgin did that?

  “Miss Prescott is very attractive,” Miss Bancroft said, her young face alight with matchmaking fervor. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Norcourt?”

  Aware of Mrs. Harris’s interest in his answer, he chose his words carefully. “Every woman has some attractive features, Miss Prescott included.”

  “Oh, she’s uncommonly pretty,” Miss Seton chimed in, “don’t you think?”

  He smiled. “I think you girls are bent upon finding me a wife. But you do your teacher a disservice to assume she can do no better than a scoundrel like me. I’m sure Miss Prescott has far more deserving suitors.”

  “She has no suitors at all,” Miss Seton protested.

  “None?” he couldn’t resist saying. “But surely she’s had some in the past.”

  “Not since she’s been at the school.”

  “And how long is that?” he asked.

  “Six months,” Miss Bancroft said. “She’ll never have a suitor if she keeps spending all her time at home with her papa. She won’t even go to our assemblies.”

  “That’s enough.” Mrs. Harris frowned at her charges. “I doubt Miss Prescott would appreciate our speculating about her marital prospects behind her back.”

  So Madeline had managed to make herself invaluable to her employer in only six months. Astonishing. She really was a very clever woman. And she’d lied about being required to attend the assemblies too. He’d been right—her reasons for wanting the party soon had nothing to do with scheduling her life.

  A grim smile touched his lips. He was tired of her evasions. He wanted the truth out of her. And he meant to get it…one way or another.

  The carriage turned down a familiar lane, and he frowned. They were supposed to be visiting the menagerie of a friend of Mrs. Harris’s. But the only person of quality he knew who lived near here and owned a menagerie was Charles Godwin.

  He groaned. Surely not. It couldn’t happen. Not today. Not to him.

  But even as they reached Godwin’s drive, he knew he was in trouble when he saw Godwin and a woman standing on the steps.

  His fingers curled into fists. No wonder Mrs. Harris had suggested he come along. Glancing over, he saw the headmistress watching him with a smug expression. Was this another of her tests? Probably.

  Which meant he was in for a day of pure misery. Because the woman on the steps was not only Godwin’s sister; she’d also shared Anthony’s bed for a few annoying nights.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Chapter Ten

  Dear Cousin,

  What a capital idea, suggesting that I speak to Mr. Godwin’s sister. How odd that I never knew of her connection to Lord Norcourt, despite my years of friendship with Mr. Godwin. You really do have quite extensive sources of information. I wonder why that is.

  Your curious friend,

  Charlotte

  As they reached Mr. Godwin’s estate, Madeline congratulated herself for having kept her emotions successfully in check throughout the ride. The girls’ questions about what they were to see had helped distract her.

  But not enough. Anthony seemed determined to find out the truth about her party, and he mustn’t until it was over. She had to watch her step. Allowing him to play with her was one thing. Allowing that to lower her guard was quite another.

  With any luck, Mrs. Harris had used the ride to bedevil him about his past. The man deserved to be taken down a peg, and the sharp-tongued widow was the woman to do it. Madeline almost wished she could have seen it.

  But that would have been disastrous,
since every glance he gave Madeline turned her knees to putty. Mrs. Harris would have noticed the wobbly-knee thing; she was quite observant of her teachers and girls. And since Madeline had never had such a ridiculous reaction to any other man, the widow was sure to make something of it.

  Thank heaven Mr. Godwin was enamored of the widow. If Madeline was lucky, her employer would have her own romantic entanglement to distract her.

  Madeline’s carriage hadn’t even lurched to a stop before Mr. Godwin was striding down the stairs of his manor to greet Mrs. Harris. And right on his heels was his sister, Lady Tarley.

  Madeline had met the woman once, long enough to discover that Lady Tarley’s bosoms vastly outweighed her brain. Unlike her brother, the publisher of a radical newspaper, Lady Tarley moved in lofty circles. Her first husband, a barrister, had died of an apoplexy, probably brought on by her twittering nonsense. Her second husband was an earl of some consequence.

  But Lord Tarley wasn’t around, and as Madeline’s group descended from the carriage, she realized why. Apparently the Tarleys had a “fashionable” marriage, judging from her ladyship’s manner toward Lord Norcourt as he disembarked.

  “Why, Tony,” she gushed, “what a wonderful surprise! When Charles asked me to serve as his hostess today, I had no idea you would be here, too.”

  Tony? She called him Tony?

  “Good morning, madam,” Anthony said in a decidedly cool voice. “How nice to see you again.” Then he turned rather pointedly to help the girls down.

  Lady Tarley slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Now, Tony, surely you won’t be so formal with an old friend.”

  The vicious stab of jealousy that shot through Madeline caught her off guard. What did she care if Lady Tarley knew Anthony? Even if it had been an intimate connection, it was of no matter as long as it didn’t interfere with her plans.

  In fact, it might work in her favor to have Lady Tarley drawing his attention. Then Madeline wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to get her alone, trying to find out the truth about the party.