Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  All he could do was stare at her. Aunt Eunice had tied Jane. Sweet, innocent Jane, who’d probably never had a lascivious thought in her head.

  He amended that. Her five children hadn’t been brought by fairies, after all. “I thought she tied me up because I was so wicked,” he admitted.

  “You were wicked.” A smile curved her lips. “But no more wicked than my boys, I’ll wager. Fortunately, their father and I believe that wickedness is better countered with hard work and intense study than with cold baths and lectures.” She patted his hand. “And a little fishing never hurts, either.”

  Tears started anew in his eyes as the knot of self-loathing that Madeline had loosened with her sympathy and love unraveled even more. All this time, he’d let himself believe it was his fault. All this time, he’d let it rule his life and his future…What a waste.

  He gazed about her comfortable parlor, where a doll sat on the writing table and a child’s crooked sampler hung over the fireplace, all of it radiating family and warmth and home. He could have had this, if only he hadn’t held on to his anger and self-doubts so long. “I take it that you’re happy with…forgive me, I’ve forgotten your husband’s name.”

  “Lawrence. Yes, I’m quite happy with him. He’s a good man.” Then she added, in the dry tone he remembered her having even as a girl, “I stay happy by keeping Mama out of my life. Or I did until Tessa came.”

  “Tessa!” he said, appalled he’d forgotten his niece for even one moment. “Good God, does Aunt Eunice tie her—”

  “No. Mama learned her lesson with you. Besides, she and Father know they must treat Tessa well to gain guardianship, though I look in on the dear girl when I can.”

  He tensed. “Is that why you agreed to be a witness in your father’s case? Because you figured you could make sure they didn’t harm her?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re on the list of witnesses for your father.”

  “The devil I am!” She sat back against the settee with a black scowl. “How dare he! That is so like Father, to do something like that without consulting me.” She glanced at him. “I would never have agreed to it, and he knows that. No doubt he intended to drum up some excuse for my bowing out at the last moment, without ever telling me.”

  Relief washed over him. “I suppose he knew they would find it suspicious if his own daughter didn’t appear to support him.”

  She nodded. “And I certainly wouldn’t have. Age has softened Mama very little. She still spouts her nonsense at every turn. Poor Tessa is pretty thoroughly miserable, I’m sorry to say.” She eyed him closely. “Is that why you’ve come? To try and convince them to give her up? Because I don’t think that will work.”

  “I know. And there’s the rub. And the real reason I’m here.” Leaning forward to plant his elbows on his knees, he stared blindly across the room. “I’m getting married, Jane.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, then caught herself. “Oh, please don’t tell me that your fiancée is balking at your taking in Tessa.”

  “That’s not the problem, I assure you.” Wanting to gauge her reaction, he turned to look at her. “My fiancée is Miss Madeline Prescott.”

  Jane appeared startled. “Our Madeline Prescott? The doctor’s daughter?”

  “Yes. We met in Richmond. She teaches at the girl’s school where I mean to enroll Tessa.” He then told her as much as he dared about how they’d met and what he’d discovered about her father.

  When he got to the part about how Dr. Prescott had sunk into a debilitating melancholy as a result of what had happened to Mrs. Crosby, Jane paled and stared down at her hands.

  “That’s why Madeline won’t marry me just yet,” he went on. “She’s concerned that her father’s situation will hurt mine and Tessa’s. And I’m concerned that her father’s situation is too dire to ignore. I came here hoping to find a way out of this tangle.”

  “And have you?” she asked, oddly reluctant to meet his gaze.

  “I’ve discovered he’s not as disliked here as his daughter thinks. People seem to respect him.” He gave a faint smile. “They respect him more now that they have no reliable physician to care for their ills, which is usually the way of things.”

  “He was a good doctor,” she conceded. “I liked him quite a lot.”

  “Unfortunately, that does him no good. Everyone seems to think it’s only a matter of time before Dr. Prescott is charged with murder.” He cast her a grim glance. “I want to help the man and I want to help Tessa. I honestly don’t know how to do both.”

  Swallowing hard, Jane netted her fingers together nervously. “I do.”

  For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “What?”

  “I think I can help you. But it means betraying a confidence and…” Her troubled gaze met his. “Why do you want to marry Miss Prescott? It’s not because of her father’s kindness to you as a boy, is it? Or just to strike back at Father?”

  “I love her.” He spoke without thought, but the moment he said the words, he knew they were true. Why had he not acknowledged it from the first? Because he’d been a coward and a fool.

  But he wasn’t now. “I love her very much. I’d do anything for her. She’s the only person who ever saw me for what I am.” He smiled. “Other than you.”

  “Oh, Anthony,” she said with a heartfelt groan. “I’m happy for you, but…it has placed me in a most difficult situation.”

  “How so?”

  “I have to tell you something. I should have told this to someone when this whole mess with her father began, but…well…they’re still my parents, you know, and I was sworn to secrecy…”

  When she trailed off with a frown, he prodded, “What is it?”

  “I hoped Father would stop badgering the vicar once the Prescotts left town. I swear I didn’t know how badly the scandal had affected Dr. Prescott. I assumed he’d opened a practice elsewhere, and the entire thing would come to naught.”

  “Damn it, Jane, what do you know?”

  “Something about Father that no one else knows. He doesn’t even realize I’m aware of it. Mrs. Crosby was the one to tell me, and she made me swear I’d never tell a soul.”

  “But she’s dead,” he pointed out. “And I can’t believe she would want Dr. Prescott to suffer for trying to help her.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded to herself, as if making a decision. “Someone has to end this madness. I suppose it will have to be us.”

  “Stop watching me like that, will you?” Madeline’s father snapped as he settled back against the squabs and stared out at the houses of Telford. “I’m fine.”

  “Sorry, Papa.” They’d entered the outskirts of town a few minutes ago, and she’d been trying to gauge his reaction ever since.

  “It’s not as if I’m going to leap from the carriage to my death,” he groused. “You should realize that by now.”

  She did. Sort of. They’d spent much of the long trip talking, and she’d come to realize that his deep despair hadn’t resulted just from Mrs. Crosby’s death. He’d already been suffering from the melancholy that Mama’s death had triggered. Back then, he’d shoved his grief down deep, partly so he could be strong to comfort Madeline and partly because he’d been unable to face his guilt at not being able to save his wife from death.

  As a doctor, he’d known it was impossible with consumption, but that hadn’t stopped him from feeling helpless. So when Mrs. Crosby had died, all those lingering feelings of helplessness had mingled with his honest guilt over Mrs. Crosby’s death, paralyzing him in grief. Madeline prayed that the paralysis was finally ending, but after months of living with it, she was still afraid to hope.

  “Where do you think Lord Norcourt will go first?” Papa asked her now.

  The practical question heartened her, for it illustrated the clarity of his mind. “The vicar’s house, I suppose. He spoke of talking to the magistrate, too.”

  As their post chaise tru
ndled down the main street of Telford, a coach and four suddenly rushed by them. Her glimpse of it made her cry, “Stop the carriage!”

  “What?” her father exclaimed. “Why?”

  “Anthony’s traveling coach just went past us, headed back out of town. I recognized the Norcourt crest on the door.”

  Papa ordered the post chaise to halt, then instructed the driver to follow the other coach. As he sat back down, he said, “I’d like to know why you recognize the fellow’s crest. When were you in his traveling coach, and how exactly—”

  “Not now.” She thrust her head out the window. “Where is he going? He’s not leaving town. He just made the turn at—Oh, no. He’s headed for the Bickhams.”

  “Why ever for?”

  “I don’t know! But I imagine we’re soon going to find out.”

  They pulled up in the drive right behind Anthony’s coach to see him starting up the stairs. He swung around when Madeline leaped down without waiting for the post boy’s help. “What the bloody devil are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Watch your language, young man.” Papa climbed out behind her. “I’ll have you know that my daughter is a gentlewoman, no matter what you may think.”

  “Dr. Prescott!” Anthony flushed. “I meant no disrespect, sir. I was simply startled by—” He grabbed Madeline’s hands, his expression turning to one of concern. “Truly, sweetheart, is something wrong? Why have you come?”

  “To prevent you from making a terrible mistake. Papa and I agree that you shouldn’t take any chances with your niece’s future, not on our behalf. I only hope I’m not too late to stop you.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, his face clearing. “I have the situation well in hand.”

  “But Anthony—”

  “Will you just trust me? I love you, Madeline—too much to ruin our future.”

  His words sent her heart into the heavens. “You…you love me?”

  “More than life.” He lifted her hands to his lips and tenderly kissed them. “And I’m not fool enough to risk losing you for any reason.”

  “What about Tessa?”

  “She’ll be fine. I mean to make sure of that. So it’s time to give up control, sweetheart, and let the ones who care about you—”

  “—help me.” She smiled through anxious tears. “Very well. I shall try.”

  Before they could say more, the door at the top of the imposing marble steps opened, and a figure emerged. Madeline’s blood chilled. Sir Randolph himself had come to greet them.

  With a squeeze of her hands, Anthony turned to face his enemy. “Good afternoon, Uncle. I’ve come to fetch Tessa.”

  Sir Randolph’s eyes narrowed. “If you think I’ll just give her over—”

  “I think,” Anthony said coldly, “that you’ll do precisely that once you hear what I have to say.” He glanced about at the coachman and other servants drinking in every word. “But this conversation should take place in more private surroundings. May we come in?”

  Sir Randolph hesitated, his gaze flicking over the three of them. Then he shrugged. “You may enter, nephew.” He glared at Papa. “But your miscreant companion must stay right where he is, him and his accomplice.”

  “Now see here, sir—” Papa began, but halted when Anthony laid his hand on his arm.

  “This is my fiancée and my future father-in-law,” Anthony replied, “so I expect you to refer to them with more respect. And since this discussion largely concerns them, I demand that they be part of it.”

  As Madeline groaned, Sir Randolph’s lips curved up in a sly smile. “Your fiancée, is it? My solicitor will be pleased to hear of your new…domestic arrangements.” He stepped back and indicated the open door with a flourish. “Do come in, all of you. We can settle this matter for good.”

  “Indeed we can,” Anthony muttered under his breath as he offered Madeline his arm.

  She took it, still anxious about what he intended to do, but when he laid his hand over hers and cast her a fleeting smile, she found comfort in it. At least they were together in this.

  After they entered the baronet’s spacious manor, Sir Randolph ushered them into his study but didn’t offer any refreshment or ask them to sit. Clearly, he thought to have this interview over with swiftly.

  He faced Anthony with a look of cool contempt. “Well then, get on with it. Say your piece. It will not change anything.”

  “Before I address the matter of Tessa,” Anthony said, “I mean to address the matter of Dr. Prescott. We both know why you’ve held a grudge against the man all these years—because he had the courage to speak to my father about how you and my aunt were treating me.”

  “Did he? I was unaware of it.”

  “I doubt that. Just as I doubt your reasons for tormenting him in this matter of Mrs. Crosby’s death.”

  “My reasons are the pursuit of justice. He killed the wife of my vicar.”

  “Given the results of the enquiry afterward, there’s some difference of opinion on that matter. And I do find it interesting that the woman’s own husband hasn’t demanded that charges be brought against the good doctor.”

  “Ah, but he will.” Sir Randolph cast Papa a vile glance. “Watching a profligate like you take his side will convince the vicar of what I knew all along—that Dr. Prescott is a sly seducer of women who doesn’t deserve to live.”

  When Madeline tensed at the thinly disguised threat, Anthony tightened his grip on her hand to keep her silent. “You have no proof of your assertions, nothing but ranting.”

  “Leave it to you to fall back on the rule of law.” His uncle sneered at him. “You never understood the rule of morality, did you? For you, the world is simply a playground—”

  “It has been, yes. After experiencing your version of morality, I was more than eager to find some other rule by which to live my life. And I admit I made a less-than-stellar choice.” He slid his arm about Madeline’s waist. “Fortunately, this good woman here has shown me that morality has many faces. It’s only the one worn by hypocrites like you that I have trouble with.”

  “I am not the one who committed a crime,” Sir Randolph said loftily. “I am not the one who gave a woman a dangerous gas—”

  “A woman?” Anthony cut in. “Mrs. Crosby was no mere woman to you, was she? Otherwise, her death wouldn’t have incensed you so.”

  Sir Randolph went quite pale. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Anthony’s hard gaze was unrelenting. “How odd, considering that you’ve been paying for the maintenance of her mother in Shrewsbury all these years.”

  As the ramifications of that began to sink in, Madeline exchanged a look with her father, who appeared stunned.

  “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Anthony went on. “Only a hypocrite would deny the existence of his natural daughter.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Dear Charlotte,

  Have you never heard the saying, “Neither a borrower or lender be”? Those are sound words in this day. But I suppose there are times when a man must venture out beyond his principles. That may be true for a woman, too.

  Your philosophical friend,

  Michael

  Perhaps it was a measure of Anthony’s wickedness that he found an intense satisfaction in the alarm spreading over his uncle’s cheeks, but if so, he didn’t care. Sometimes revenge truly was sweet. And the fact that Jane had been responsible for helping him strike the blow made it even sweeter.

  “I can’t imagine…I don’t know where you could have heard such a tale,” his uncle began to bluster.

  “From a reliable source.” Anthony had promised Jane not to reveal that she’d told him. She had only found out because Mrs. Crosby, eager to know her half sister better, had confided in her. To Jane’s knowledge, even the vicar didn’t know he’d been a pawn in Uncle Randolph’s scheme to gain respectability for his bastard daughter by passing her off as the legitimate daughter of a widow.

  “Your source is mistaken,” his u
ncle said.

  “I doubt that. And I’m sure if I were to pursue the matter, I could find someone to attest to Mrs. Crosby’s illegitimacy. Then the vicar might not be so eager to press charges. Indeed, I rather think he’d prefer to have nothing to do with you. By all accounts, he loved his wife. It would be a shame to sully that love by embroiling him in a scandal.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” his uncle said, horror turning his skin a mottled red. “To ruin the good name of a sweet and innocent young creature—”

  “I wouldn’t want to, no,” Anthony countered. And he’d promised Jane he wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t use the threat of it to force his uncle’s hand. “The vicar seems innocent of your machinations on your daughter’s behalf.”

  He glanced over at Dr. Prescott, whose face wore a mixture of anger and remorse and confusion, then looked back to his uncle, hardening his voice. “But Madeline’s father is innocent as well. We both know doctors lose patients every day. It’s time that you acknowledge you acted blindly out of anger at the loss of the only daughter still fool enough to love you.”

  “Anger and ignorance,” Madeline said hotly. “You always hated that Papa shined the light of reason on your nonsense, Sir Randolph. You used Mrs. Crosby’s death to be rid of the only check to your power in Telford.”

  “My daughter was the fairest thing ever to grace this village, and your father—”

  “Tried to save her,” Anthony finished. “And you’ll admit as much to the vicar when we leave. You’ll also spread the news about town. If necessary, you’ll get down on your bloody knees and beg the man’s forgiveness before half the populace, so that he can return to his home!”

  When his uncle bristled, Dr. Prescott stepped forward with quiet dignity. “No need for that, sir. I mean to set up a practice elsewhere. I find I can no longer stomach living in Telford.”

  “As you wish,” Anthony replied. “We can always use a good physician in Chertsey.” He returned his gaze to Sir Randolph. “But I have a more important demand, Uncle. As of now, you will withdraw your petition for guardianship of Tessa. You will explain to the court that you and my aunt are growing too old to raise a young woman.”