Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  The veins stood out on his balding forehead. “And what if I refuse?”

  “You’ll force me to reveal the existence of your mistress. I somehow doubt that the blunt you gain from my niece’s estate will afford you much pleasure once your reputation is destroyed.”

  His uncle’s hands curled into fists. “You’ve been far more wicked than I.”

  “Perhaps. But I never lied about it. Funny thing about country folk—they forgive the peccadilloes of men like me if we confess our faults and strive to do better. They never forgive being lied to.” He lowered his voice to a menacing thrum. “Now, I wish to see my niece. Where is Tessa?”

  Sir Randolph released an inarticulate growl of outrage, but he knew he’d lost the fight. Anthony had left him no alternative but to comply. “I will have her fetched,” he gritted out.

  That was enough to rouse Anthony’s suspicions. “No. Tell me where she is.” When his uncle merely glared at him, Anthony headed for the door. “Very well, I’ll find her myself.”

  “Now see here, boy—” his uncle snapped from behind him.

  Anthony stopped short to fix him with a dark look. “I am no longer a boy at your mercy, Uncle. You will address me as Lord Norcourt or not at all. Where is my niece, damn you?”

  His uncle’s eyes burned with resentment. “She is in the garden with your aunt, meditating upon the beauties of nature.”

  Knowing only too well what that meant, Anthony rushed out the door. Madeline lifted her skirts and broke into a run to keep up with him. To Anthony’s relief, he still remembered his way about the house, so he was able to reach the garden within moments.

  And there, kneeling on the bricks in a shift of rough fustian, was his golden-haired young niece, chin held high and eyes glittering her defiance as his aunt strode in front of her, railing about some infraction. For a moment, he flashed on Jane at that age and was catapulted back to the age of ten, when feelings of helplessness were his daily companions.

  Then Madeline came up beside him to slide her hand in the crook of his elbow, and his world was set to rights once more.

  “Tessa,” he said, interrupting his aunt in midlecture. “Come, dearest.” He held out his free hand. “We’re going home.”

  “Uncle Anthony!” Tessa’s face lit up as she leaped to her feet and rushed to throw her arms about his waist. “I knew you would come. I knew you would!”

  As Madeline slipped off her muslin pelisse and laid it over Tessa’s slender shoulders, Aunt Eunice turned on Anthony, her eyes sparking with hatred. “How dare you! The girl is ours, and there’s naught you can do about it!”

  “Let her go,” said his uncle’s tight voice behind them. “I’ve agreed to relinquish guardianship to An—…to Lord Norcourt.”

  The look of mad outrage on Aunt Eunice’s face as she faced her husband was truly frightening to behold. “You spineless worm! You let him browbeat you, did you? Well, I’m not about to let the girl go off with a blackguard who consorts with whores and—”

  “Shut up!” his uncle said. “You will do as you are told, woman.”

  She blinked. Aunt Eunice had been the only person Uncle Randolph never attempted to cow. “How dare you use that tone with me!”

  Her husband stepped toward her with clenched fists. “You will have the servants pack Teresa’s things and send them down to Lord Norcourt’s coach, do you hear?”

  “And why should I do that?” she snapped.

  “Because if you do not, I will have the footmen carry you bodily up the stairs and lock you in our bedchamber until our nephew and the others are gone.”

  Anthony took a bittersweet pleasure in how the blood drained from her face.

  “Why are you giving her up?” she hissed. “I deserve to know that, at least.”

  “Because I have decided it,” Uncle Randolph said. “That is all.”

  The inadequate answer took Anthony as much by surprise as it did his aunt. Suddenly the truth dawned on him, making him turn to his uncle with an incredulous look. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  His uncle glared daggers at him, confirming that Aunt Eunice had no idea her husband had kept a mistress and sired an illegitimate daughter.

  Anthony burst into laughter. “My God, she doesn’t know! That’s too rich!”

  “Know what?” his aunt demanded.

  “Nephew…” his uncle choked out.

  Ignoring the man’s mute plea, Anthony turned to her, the truth hovering on his tongue. How he’d love to tell her that her husband was as much a cursed profligate as the nephew she despised. How he’d love to bring her world of strict principles crashing down about her ears, to leave her in a shambles the way she’d sought to leave him and Tessa and Jane.

  Jane. That halted him. He’d promised to use her information carefully. If he revealed it to his aunt, God only knew what could result. At the very least, his uncle’s mistress would suffer.

  And for what? His fleeting moment of vengeance? It would hardly make up for the years he’d lost.

  He stared at his aunt then, at the lines of bitterness on her brow, the ugly twist of her lips, all the signs of a truly unhappy woman. He could do nothing more to hurt her than her own life and philosophy had already done.

  Glancing over at Madeline, he saw the love shining in her eyes, and his heart caught in his throat. He already had what he wanted. Tessa was going with them, and the doctor stood tall beside the slumped form of Uncle Randolph. No point in letting the ugliness of the Bickhams alter his life anymore.

  “What is it I don’t know?” his aunt demanded again. “What secret do you think to tell me?”

  “Only this, Aunt. Life needn’t be misery. Not when those you love surround you.” He cast her a pitying glance. “If you had shown me one ounce of kindness after Mother died, you’d have had my heart for a lifetime. You’d have had a nephew in your corner as well as a daughter, and probably scores of grandchildren to brighten your old age. But you threw my heart away with both hands, along with Jane’s. From what I understand, she’s already taken her family away from you. I’ll take my family off, too, and leave you to the cold comfort of your principles.”

  “Your family!” She sneered at Madeline and Dr. Prescott. “These two?”

  “Aye,” Dr. Prescott put in. “Your nephew is marrying my daughter, you old witch.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Contempt laced her voice as she stared Anthony down. “I always knew you were worthless. Who else would you marry but a chit of no rank or birth, who spends her days examining dead creatures and probably spends her nights wallowing in the same immorality as you?”

  Years ago, her self-righteous words would have sent a knife through his heart, but now he saw them for what they were—the poisonous rantings of a woman who had no other use for her tongue.

  “Immorality? That ‘chit’ has more morality in her little finger than you do in the whole of your soul, madam. You’d be lucky to have such a woman in your corner. But since you’re too foolish to realize it, we’re only too happy to leave.”

  Sliding one hand around Madeline’s waist and the other about Tessa’s, he gazed into their sweet faces and smiled. “Come, my darling family. Let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  Dear Cousin,

  A few months ago, you pontificated in your letter about loans, and in the wake of excitement over Miss Prescott’s wedding to Lord Norcourt, I forgot to respond. Today a bank draft arrived to remind me—payment of the loan I made to her and her father months ago. So now I’ll point out that if you’d taken your own advice eleven years ago about not giving loans, I would have been in dire straits indeed. Thank you for going against your own principles.

  Your grateful relation,

  Charlotte

  That’s enough giggling, girls,” Madeline chided. “Or I’ll tell my husband what you’re giggling about.”

  As Anthony arched an eyebrow at her, Tessa, Lucy, and Elinor subsided into blushes from their seats at the dining room tab
le. Although Madeline adored having them at Norcourt Hall for her birthday celebration, she’d forgotten what girls their age could be like. The subject occupying them on this visit was the recent Harvest Ball that Lucy and Elinor had attended, since they’d had their come-outs shortly after Madeline had left the school to marry Anthony.

  Tessa had taken well to life at the school, and for her second term she’d begged to live there, too, so she could be closer to her new friend Elinor, who’d lived with a relation nearby during her debut. Madeline had to hand it to Elinor and Lucy, who’d left the school but still attended the teas for graduates—they’d both taken Tessa under their wings so eagerly that she’d become like a younger sister to them.

  “I remember when you used to giggle at the table, Maddie-girl.” Madeline’s father winked at the others from his seat beside Mrs. Jenkins, soon to be Mrs. Prescott.

  “I never giggled in my life!” Madeline protested.

  “I seem to recall some giggling when you imbibed a certain gas…” Anthony teased.

  When that roused the girls’ questions, Madeline shot him a look that said she’d repay him for that little comment later. Outrageous devil that he was, he merely laughed. And despite having been married to the man for nearly five months, she still responded to that laugh with an increased pulse and a silly fluttering in the pit of her belly.

  “Uncle Anthony,” Tessa chirped, “Lucy has a question for you.”

  Poor unsuspecting Anthony said, “Ask away, Miss Seton. You know I’m always happy to help you girls.”

  Lucy seemed to debate something, then thrust out her chin. “If a gentleman asks a lady to meet him, say, in the garden, say, at night, so he can show her the constellations, is he…well…”

  “Who asked you to meet him in a garden at night?” Anthony growled, tossing down his fork.

  “No one in particu—”

  “It was Lord Westfield!” Elinor offered. “He said he’d show her the stars.”

  Tessa and Elinor giggled together.

  “I’ll show him stars,” Anthony muttered. “Westfield isn’t good enough for either of you, considering that he spends half his evenings at Mrs. Bea—”

  “Anthony, darling,” Madeline cut in before he actually named the popular brothel, “I’m sure Lord Westfield meant nothing by it.”

  Anthony snorted, then gave the girls a warning look. “Stay away from Lord Westfield, understand? He’s most definitely a beast in gentleman’s clothing.”

  “What about his younger brother?” Tessa asked in wide-eyed innocence. “He told his sister—she goes to the school with me—that he couldn’t wait until I was old enough to dance at our assemblies, because he wanted to dance with me.”

  Anthony’s mouth dropped open; then he cast Madeline a glance of sheer fatherly panic. “God save us, she’s already lining up dance partners for the assemblies!”

  “Don’t worry, that’s a few years off yet,” Madeline said, biting back a smile. “The girls don’t get to dance with boys until the age of sixteen.”

  “I don’t suppose Mrs. Harris would add ten years to that,” he said hopefully.

  “Don’t be silly, Uncle Anthony.” Tessa gave him an airy smile. “Then I’d be twenty-six, and that’s far too old.”

  When she said it in the faintly disgusted tone of the very young, Madeline burst into laughter, since this was her own twenty-sixth birthday. “Yes, darling,” she told Anthony, “and we old people never dance. We’re too busy polishing our canes.”

  “And lying in our invalid beds,” Mrs. Jenkins said with a twinkle.

  “And snoring in church,” Papa put in as he squeezed Mrs. Jenkins’s hand.

  The four of them laughed together while the girls exchanged perplexed glances.

  But much later, after everyone else had retired and Madeline had finished dressing for bed, she entered the master bedchamber to find her husband frowning at himself in the mirror.

  “Do you think I’m old, sweetheart?” he asked as he peered closely at his hair.

  Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Not particularly. Why?”

  “I found a gray hair this morning.”

  She laughed. “I take it back. You’re doddering on the edge of the grave.”

  “That’s not funny,” he grumbled as he faced her. “I feel old whenever Tessa and her friends start talking about young gentlemen.” He scowled. “Gentlemen, hah! They’re a lot of scurrilous scoundrels who ought to be horsewhipped before being allowed anywhere near young ladies.”

  Another laugh escaped her. “Whatever happened to the rakehell I married?”

  “He now remembers every minute of his misbegotten youth and fears for the safety of females around men like him.” He sighed. “Good God, listen to me. I am old. I’ve become quite the stodgy fellow.”

  “Hardly,” she said, brushing a kiss to his lips.

  Yes, he’d grown into a responsible gentleman determined to build a good life for them in Chertsey, but he was a long way from stodgy. A stodgy man didn’t stop what he was doing to go on a picnic when his niece requested it. Or build a laboratory on his estate so his wife could pursue naturalist studies to her heart’s content. Or chase said wife around the table with reckless abandon.

  “The girls continue to ask you questions about rogues without the least concern about your stodginess,” Madeline went on. “Clearly, they still regard you as quite the authority on the subject.”

  He gave a rueful laugh. “I knew those rake lessons would prove the bane of my life.”

  “Probably for years to come. Or at least until Tessa marries.” She backed toward the bed with a grin. “Now I have a question for you, Lord Norcourt.”

  His look changed at once to that of the rakehell she knew and loved. “And what might that be, minx?”

  She slipped her wrapper from her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. “If a gentleman asks a lady to meet him, say, in his bedchamber, say, at night, so he can show her the stars, is he…well…”

  “Grateful to her for indulging his beastly nature?” he rasped as he caught her about the waist and drew her to him. “Delighted to be married to such a wise and clever woman?” He bent his head. “Wildly, deliriously, ecstatically in love?”

  “I was going to say, ‘angling to seduce her,’ but I like yours better.”

  “Then the answer is yes.”

  “To which question?” she teased.

  “All of them.” He nuzzled her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Now come on, sweetheart. Let me show you the stars.”

  And he did.

  Author’s Note

  The anesthetic properties of nitrous oxide (otherwise known as laughing gas) were discovered by Sir Humphry Davy in 1799. The famous chemist really did write a 579-page tome about his experiments on it, in which he included accounts of use by such celebrities of the day as poets Robert Southey and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Peter Roget (yes, that Roget), and Josiah and Thomas Wedgwood. But not until 1846 was the gas actually used to numb pain, and by then ether and chloroform had also been discovered. In the intervening years, the gas was primarily used for entertainment at parties, a practice which continues to this day. Sir Humphry’s wife was indeed a jealous woman, and he did have health problems stemming, some say, from his addiction to nitrous oxide.

  I based the incident with Dr. Prescott’s patient on a real-life occurrence that happened to a friend of mine. He had an abscess, and when the doctor began to probe it, he went into sepsis. They had to rush him to the hospital to prevent his dying on the table. It made me wonder what happened in times when knowledge of sepsis and a means for combating it weren’t available.

  Condoms have been around for centuries, with the oldest extant specimen (dating from 1640) having been discovered in Sweden, along with its Latin user’s manual. And yes, it has ribbons. Pictures of it appear on the Internet.

  As for my other elements about sexuality, until the seventeenth century, masturbation wasn’t
considered that awful. Some medical works even touted it as a remedy for unwise liaisons. That changed in 1710 with the release of Onania; or the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution and All its Frightful Consequences in both Sexes considered, written by a clergyman, and the subsequent release in 1760 of a book by a Swiss physician, Samuel Tissot.

  Despite the occasional pamphlet refuting those anti-masturbation critics, the furor continued, with the practice being decried throughout the Victorian Age, when it reached its height with ingenious devices invented to prevent it. Voices like those of Madeline and her father who criticized the hysteria were widely ignored. And yes, animals do masturbate.

  Animals have been a source of fascination to humans for years, which is why menageries like the one on Charles Godwin’s estate sprang up everywhere in England in the nineteenth century. Clarabelle is based on a real-life rhino named Clara who was exhibited throughout Europe in the mid-1700s, entertaining thousands. She was reported to be tame and friendly. So how could I resist putting her look-alike in a book?