Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “None. Except that you know my character. You know I won’t hurt you. Until now, I’ve done my best to keep you and your niece out of my situation.”

  Some emotion flickered deep in his eyes before he masked it. “Ah yes, your ‘situation.’” He settled stiffly against the squabs. “It’s time you revealed exactly what that situation is. The truth. All of it.”

  She nodded. Leaving nothing out, she told him about the death of Mrs. Crosby. She even included Sir Randolph’s nasty assertions. At this point, the situation couldn’t get any worse than it already was.

  By the time she’d finished, he was watching her as a magistrate watches a thief at the bar. “I’ll admit my uncle is heartless, but he doesn’t act without reason. You expect me to believe that because of a falling-out with your father years ago, he would suddenly fabricate a tissue of lies to ruin a respectable physician? To possibly even bring about his death?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything. Why do you think I didn’t tell you? Despite knowing how Sir Randolph prides himself on his moral standards, I still find it rather fantastical myself. But it’s true.”

  The reference to Sir Randolph’s morality seemed to shake him. Then his gaze froze over once more. “And of course I have only your word for the truth of it. Because in the time I could travel to Telford to determine how much of it is true, you could easily speak before the court here on my uncle’s behalf.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anthony, why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know—to get him to stop persecuting your father?”

  “You know better,” she said softly. “You’ve seen me with my girls—you know I would never hurt your niece. How could you ever think it?”

  Muttering a low oath, he stabbed his fingers through his hair, but at least he wasn’t remote anymore. “I don’t know what version of your tale to believe,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know how to understand a woman who gives her innocence to a man out of calculation—”

  “I told you—it started that way, but it didn’t end that way. You know it didn’t. That’s why I left. Because what we shared was too beautiful to ruin.” When he buried his face in his hands, clearly wavering over how much to trust her, she added softly, “That’s why I tried to stop you from lying for me this morning. I didn’t want you to give up your niece’s future on my behalf. Not when you didn’t know everything.”

  She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he started, then cast her a tortured glance. “What do you want from me? Isn’t it enough that you nearly put an end to my chance to gain Tessa?”

  “I just want you to believe me,” she whispered. “Not to think these awful things about me and your uncle. I don’t want anything from you other than that.”

  “No?” With a snort, he threw himself back against the seat. “So you’ve given up on trying to meet Sir Humphry? Or was that all a ruse, too?”

  His continued suspicion tore at her, even knowing the cause of it. “If it was a ruse, then I planned it awfully well, since I wrote letters to him long before you came along. How clever of me to guess that you would show up at the school to bring my dastardly plan to fruition.”

  He regarded her closely. “You wrote him letters.”

  “I told you I did.” What did that have to do with his distrusting her?

  Taking her by surprise, he knocked on the ceiling. When the coachman opened the panel, he bit out an address.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He shot the panel to, his expression grim. “You wanted to meet Sir Humphry, so that’s where we’re going.”

  Something in his manner made her wary. “Why now?”

  “Because if you’re telling the truth, then he has a record of everything you’ve just been saying to me. But if you’re lying…”

  A shiver wracked her. This could go wrong in so many ways. “You’re assuming that he saw the letters. That his wife didn’t tear them up before he even got them. That he kept them. Or that he will remember them if he happened not to keep them.”

  “You’d better hope he remembers them.” Suspicion limned his features.

  “Or what?” she asked. “What will you do to me if it all comes to naught?”

  The question seemed to unnerve him, for he shifted his gaze to the window. “Think of it this way—you wanted to meet him, and now you’ll get to.”

  That was true. And since she had few other choices available to her, she’d better seize this one. “Very well.” She sat up straighter in the seat. “Let’s go meet Sir Humphry.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Dear Cousin,

  Methinks you protest too much, sir. I suspect that you dislike the viscount not out of any noble concern, but because you don’t like his drawing my attention from you, especially given his reputation for seducing widows. But you need not worry on that score—Lord Norcourt has made it perfectly plain that he has eyes for only one lady. Thus you remain my most important advisor among your sex. For now.

  Your fair relation,

  Charlotte

  By the time they reached Sir Humphry’s, Anthony realized he was already losing this duel of wills. He’d begun losing it from the moment Madeline had parried his first accusation with her sword of reason and logic.

  She was right—his assumptions about her made no sense. If she had chosen to betray him in some devil’s bargain with his uncle, then why involve Sir Humphry? And why the whole business with the nitrous oxide party? If she’d meant to use it to expose Anthony as an unreformed profligate, then she’d chosen her tactics badly—he’d made it clear from the beginning that he wouldn’t participate in the party itself.

  For that matter, why wait so long to share his bed when she could have seduced him in a way more certain to expose him? She could have arranged for them to be caught by Mrs. Harris—she wouldn’t have had to lose her innocence for that. In one fell swoop, she would have destroyed his chance to gain Tessa.

  He grimaced. Their joining Saturday night was the real reason he’d clung to his position as long as he had. He was still smarting over her abandonment of him afterward. No woman had ever left his bed. He’d always been the one to leave.

  And he didn’t know how to handle it. God save him, she was introducing him to all manner of things he didn’t know how to handle.

  Anthony studied her unobtrusively while they waited in the foyer for the butler to take in Anthony’s card. Like a magpie, she flitted from one glittering object to another—an intriguing display of crystals, a print of the Strand framed with its engraved copper plate, a vase carved from agate. To anyone else she would seem a casual observer, but he knew her too well for that. Strange how a week of dealing with her in a classroom had taught him how to tell when she was nervous.

  Like now, when her trembling hands betrayed her. She wasn’t as confident of what might happen as she pretended. And yet…

  On some gut-deep level, he knew she’d told the truth in the carriage. Every nuance of her voice had trumpeted her loathing for his uncle. Clearly, the idea of selling her soul to regain her father’s position in Telford disgusted her.

  “Lord Norcourt, how kind of you to call on my husband.”

  The lilting voice of Lady Davy made Anthony groan. He looked up to see her gliding down the stairs, disapproval stamped upon her sharp features.

  “Good day to you, madam.” He offered her his most charming smile. “I hope my friend is available to visitors.”

  Her gaze flicked to Madeline, and Anthony knew what the jealous wife of the chemist saw—a very pretty, very young rival for her husband’s affections.

  “This is Miss Prescott,” he said as Madeline hurried to stand beside him. When the name seemed to register with Lady Davy, he took Madeline’s hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and added, “She’s my fiancée.”

  Madeline dug her fingers into his arm, but Lady Davy softened. “Fiancée?”

  “I wanted to introduce her to Sir Humphry. Is he here?”


  The woman offered a faint nod. “He’s in his laboratory in back. But I don’t think he’d want me to fetch him—”

  “We wouldn’t want you to interrupt his work. I know the way. If you don’t mind, we’ll just go on back ourselves.”

  Lady Davy frowned. “He’s been quite ill of late. I’m not sure a visit—”

  “I promise not to keep him long. We have other calls to pay.” He gazed down at Madeline with as tender a glance as he could muster under the tense circumstances. “I’ve been showing off my dear Madeline all over town.”

  Madeline’s startled expression swiftly gentled into a yearning one that made his feigned tenderness suddenly feel very real.

  Apparently it was enough to convince Lady Davy to take pity on a courting couple, for she said, “I suppose it would be all right then. If you don’t stay long.”

  Casting the woman another ingratiating smile, he led Madeline into the hall, relieved that Lady Davy had chosen not to accompany them. This conversation would be better conducted in private.

  Still, he held his breath until they’d passed far enough down the hall to be out of hearing. Only then could he relax.

  “Why did you tell her we are engaged?” Madeline whispered.

  “It was the only way to get past her. She seemed to remember your name. Besides, the arrival of a rakehell with an unmarried lady in tow was bound to rouse her suspicions. She doesn’t even allow female servants in the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she fears he’ll dally with them.”

  Madeline snorted. “Then she shouldn’t have married him. What point is there in marrying a man you can’t trust?”

  A sharp pain struck his chest. “I agree.” Could Madeline ever trust him to take care of her? She certainly didn’t trust him at the moment, or she would have revealed more of her real situation sooner.

  They found Sir Humphry sitting bent over a table covered with a sheet of copper and several flasks. Although nearly forty-five, he still possessed the slender figure, peerless brow, and full head of brown curls that had earned him the scornful name of dandy in his youth. But now he looked worn with care, and his pallor was none too good.

  Not that it kept the man from working. Oblivious to their entrance, Sir Humphry poured a chemical onto the copper, then shook his head when a plume of smoke arose. When he began making notations on a sheet of paper, Anthony cleared his throat, having learned long ago never to startle a chemist at work.

  Sir Humphry looked up. “Norcourt!” he cried, setting down the flask. He started to rise, then fell back into his chair when an attack of coughing hit him.

  Ever the physician’s daughter, Madeline hurried to his side. “Are you all right, sir? Can I fetch you some water?” She started to push the smoking sheet of copper aside, but he stayed her hand.

  “No, no, my dear,” he choked out, “it’s…not the chemical.” He hacked another moment. “Devilish cough. Plagues me at the worst times.” He regarded Madeline with interest. “And who might you be? Norcourt’s latest lady friend?”

  “This is Miss Madeline Prescott,” Anthony said, watching to see how the man reacted. It wasn’t so much to gauge her truthfulness as to gauge Sir Humphry’s knowledge of her situation. There was still a chance his wife had kept him unaware of the letters.

  Sir Humphry’s brow wrinkled. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Because I wrote to you, sir,” Madeline said hastily. “About my father, a physician in Telford.”

  It took Sir Humphry no more than a second to shoot Anthony an accusing glance. “And what have you to do with this?”

  “I take it you know what she means?” Anthony countered.

  “Answer my question, Norcourt.”

  He stiffened. “I’m here because I’m her friend.”

  A cynical expression hardened Sir Humphry’s features as his gaze swept insolently down her body. “A recent friendship, I’ll wager.”

  When Madeline went rigid, something in Anthony snapped. He was tired of his friends making assumptions about her character. Never mind that he’d made the same ones only an hour ago—that had been a temporary madness.

  His friends only made them because she was with him. She’d certainly chosen her champion badly, hadn’t she? A man she couldn’t trust, a man who until now had been nothing but a fribble and a disgrace to his family name, who couldn’t even get her an audience with his own friend without risking the niece he held dear. And that very niece wouldn’t even be with his damned aunt and uncle if he hadn’t spent his entire life thumbing his nose at the world.

  No more. “Actually,” he said with a viscount’s dignity, “we lived in the same town for some years, so I’d say the friendship is long-standing.” When Sir Humphry’s expression grew more thoughtful, Anthony pressed his point. “I would greatly appreciate whatever you could do to help her and her father.”

  The chemist frowned at Madeline. “Why didn’t you say Lord Norcourt was your friend in the first place, madam?”

  “I didn’t think I should presume.” She thrust out her chin. “To be honest, sir, I thought you would want to defend your findings about nitrous oxide to the world.”

  “Defend them!” Sir Humphry cried. “Are you mad? Now that nitrous has become the favorite entertainment for parties of a certain sort, any discussion of its medicinal properties is laughed at.”

  “The people of Telford wouldn’t know that. They aren’t familiar with society’s ways. They’re still clinging to the superstitions of their neighboring Welshmen. So if the great Sir Humphry Davy were to come and explain how my father was acting upon sound medical assumptions regarding the effects of the gas, they would probably listen.”

  He hunched down in the chair. “Or they would claim that it was my foolish statement about its pain-relieving effects that had caused this woman’s death—the one you wrote to me about. Then I would be vilified in the press.”

  “I don’t think that would happen, sir—”

  But he was already shaking his head. “I’m not taking that chance. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I can’t be haring off to some provincial town on the word of some friend’s friend.” He nodded to Norcourt. “No offense, sir.”

  “I would pay for your expenses,” Anthony persisted, “and arrange for you to stay in a comfortable inn. It would take a few days at most.”

  “That’s not the point!” Sir Humphry shouted, then lapsed into a fit of coughing that shook his spindly frame. When he could speak again, he glared at them both. “Don’t you understand? I can barely drag myself from the bed each morning, and rarely go more than an hour without a fit of coughing. Such a journey, into the wilds of Shropshire, is likely to kill me.”

  Madeline stepped forward. “But, sir, the newspaper said you’re planning a trip to Penzance this week.”

  “The paper lied. My wife planted that tale to keep people from importuning me. My mother is ailing, but I have yet to see her. These attacks keep me from it.”

  “Humphry, this is a dire situation,” Anthony said.

  “And so is mine,” the chemist shot back. “Forgive me, but I cannot do it.”

  “Then perhaps if you were to write a letter—” Anthony began.

  “Without first speaking to the individuals involved?” Sir Humphry regarded the two of them with a skeptical eye. “How do I know you haven’t been gulled by this woman into participating in a matter better left to the authorities of her town?”

  Anthony bit back an oath. “Does a man offer marriage to a woman who gulls him?”

  Sir Humphry blinked.

  “She is to be my wife,” Anthony went on. “Surely you would help the wife of a friend.”

  “If you’re marrying her, then you can bloody well use your own influence to save her father,” the chemist ground out. “For myself, I want none of it.”

  “Damn it, Humphry—”

  “Anthony,” Madeline coaxed in a low voice, placing her hand on his arm. “We’ve tried
our best. It is time we leave Sir Humphry to his conscience.”

  That made the chemist’s face darken into a scowl. “My conscience is clear, madam. So I suggest you take my friend away before I lose my temper entirely.”

  Anthony’s own temper was perilously close to exploding, but he still had enough presence of mind to allow Madeline to draw him from the room. They passed through the house and out to the carriage in silence, but once they reached it, he turned to her, her expression of defeat rocking him back on his heels.

  “Where to now, sweetheart?” he asked hoarsely. “Have you some other alternative you’d planned to pursue if Sir Humphry could not help you?”

  She shook her head, her eyes sadly distant. “I don’t know…I hadn’t thought beyond…”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He barked a direction to the coachman, then helped her into the carriage, alarmed by her dazed expression. The only time he’d seen her like this was when Stoneville had been forcing nitrous oxide on her.

  They traveled a short way in silence. Then she seemed to muster herself, for she cast him a glance so pitiful it clawed at his insides. “Where are we going?”

  “My old bachelor quarters are nearby. The entrance is discreet, so no one will see you enter, and no one will disturb us while we talk.”

  His coach stopped outside an alley, blocking entrance to it except from the carriage, and he leaped out, then handed her down. Momentarily grateful to the women who’d demanded discretion of him in their liaisons, he hurried her the few feet to the private door, unlocked it, then hustled her inside before waving the carriage on. His coachman knew where to wait for a summons.

  While he closed the door, leaving them in a dim stairwell lit only by a transom above their heads, Madeline watched him in clear confusion. “You kept your bachelor quarters? But surely your family has a town house.”

  Debating whether to tell her the truth, he led her up the spindly stairs to his modest rooms on the next floor. As he let her into the suite and locked the door behind them, her gaze fell on the licentious prints hanging on his walls.

  When she shot him a questioning glance, he sighed. No point in hiding any of it from her now. “I initially kept my rooms with the intention of using them once I gained guardianship of Tessa. But I haven’t been here since I began that process, for fear that my uncle might be having them watched.”