All Men Are Rogues

by Sari Robins

  “Sí.”

  “How could anyone think such a thing? The man would rather have cut off his own arm than turn traitor.”

  “I do not pretend to understand the English. Sometimes I think they are…” He pointed to his forehead. “What is the English word for chiflado? But they are our friends and we need their help to free our country.”

  A cloud of confusion swept over her. How could anyone could ever believe her father disloyal? She dropped down on a cold stone bench. “It boggles the mind.”

  He sat down beside her. “So what do you do now?”

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. “How in heaven’s name could anyone ever believe for a moment that my father was untrue?” The man had given his life, in many ways had given up his family, in service of his country.

  He grasped her hand in his. “Perhaps my father was wrong…”

  She glared at him.

  He shrugged. “It happens.”

  She shook her head again. Everything seemed distorted suddenly. Unearthly, unreal. Father had sent her to London with his last breath. But he had told her to collect her legacy and leave, posthaste.

  “Do you have family? Protection? Does this Barclay care for you?”

  “What? Ah. No.” She bit her lip, lost in thought. “I have family here, but distant. I take care of myself. You know that, Angel.”

  “You are a young lady whose father has been murdered before her eyes. Do not be foolish. You need protection, Evelyn.”

  She straightened her shoulders and looked directly into those chocolate brown eyes. She just needed some time in London. Not long. If she could follow her father’s instructions, then she would be all right. She had to be. “I can take care of myself, Angel.”

  “You English are irracional.” He stood and began pacing up and down the shallow path bordering the bench, the pebbles crunching angrily under his shiny buckled shoes. “Your father was murdered by your own government and you think you are safe here?” He huffed and continued pacing. “You know as well as I, better than me, that this is not a game. Let me help you.” He stopped short, crouching down before her. “Father is working with Wellington. He has resources. Let us help you.”

  Tears of gratitude welled up in her eyes, threatening to break free and overwhelm her. She could not handle his generosity; it burst through the protective shell of her numbness, making her feel as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces. She blinked back the tears and clamped down on the emotions crushing her chest.

  “You are so sweet, Angel. I appreciate the offer. I…I have some things I must take care of. If all goes as planned, well, then all will be fine. But if I do need you…”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Evelyn? Do not get yourself mixed up in this business. It is too dangerous, and you have paid too dear a price already.”

  She raised her brow disbelievingly. “And you are not already neck deep in the nasty games?”

  He growled, “My father always said you would have made a hell of a man.”

  “From him that is a high compliment indeed. Still, I can take care of myself just as well being a woman.” She would have to.

  “My offer stands. You will consider it?”

  What if her plan did not succeed? What if she really was alone in the world without assistance or income? She hated the thought of having to rely on the handouts of others, but what choices would she have then? At least she knew that Angel was sincere. That he and his father had the wherewithal to help her. She blew out a long breath of air.

  “I will think on it,” came her cautious reply.

  “Offering for her hand after only one chance meeting?” Barclay stepped closer from down the garden lane. “She is still in mourning, for heaven’s sake,” he declared in a mocking tone.

  Evelyn’s cheeks warmed. Well, she could not take it out on Barclay. He was innocent of their deadly world.

  She and Angel both stood.

  “I understood that Señorita Evelyn has sworn off marriage,” Angel replied lightly.

  Evelyn pasted a small smile on her tight lips and feigned a teasing jib. “And once I’ve set my mind, have you ever known me to alter it, Angel?”

  “No,” he replied smoothly, once again the diplomat’s charming son. “But I can still try to change it.”

  “Is your heart broken once again, Señor Arolas?” Barclay asked, watching Angel carefully.

  “I think my heart is safe with Señorita Evelyn.” He bowed, his eyes only for Evelyn. “I will call upon you. Where do you stay?”

  “Belfont House with Lord and Lady Fontaine, my cousins.”

  He kissed her on both cheeks. “Until then. My lord.” He nodded to Barclay and swept down the lane, his long black coattails flying behind him.

  Barclay frowned. “He seemed in quite a hurry to be off. I trust I did not offend him.”

  She bit her lip, lost in thought.

  “Miss Amherst? Are you alright?”

  “Uh, yes, I’m fine.”

  “You know that if you require anything, I will gladly be of service to you.”

  Her eyes fixed on him warily. “What would make you think that I am in need of assistance?”

  “This is a difficult time for you. Returning to England. Your father’s recent passing…” He lifted her chin with his finger, catching her gaze with his gray-green eyes. “I mean it, Miss Amherst. If you are in any difficultly, you can tell me what it is about, and I will do everything in my power to assist you.”

  Although her lips felt like wood, she forced a smile up at him. If he had any idea of the madcap world her father traversed. Had traversed. It was dangerous for all, particularly the unwary. He would be a guppy in a pond full of sharks. Well, not a guppy, but certainly no sharp-toothed predator. She shook her head and smiled reassuringly. “I am fine, my lord. Just catching up on old times with Angel. It made me think about…about before my father’s passing. That’s all.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “I have very broad, dry shoulders.”

  “Father always said crying evidenced weak moral character.”

  The delicate notes of a waltz drifted into the garden through the open French doors. She took a deep breath and pushed away the fears threatening to overcome her. She needed to be alone. To think. She looked around the empty gardens. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and the crickets chirped in time to the music. The world moved on and so would she.

  He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “I am not a charming Spaniard, but I trust that my company does not bore you to tears.”

  She looked up. “Did you say something, my lord?”

  “You seem quite lost to another world. Will you share it?”

  “I apologize, my lord. Let us return to the ball.”

  She turned, and her foot brushed against a boulder lining the lane, rubbing her healing blisters. Searing pain pierced her ankle, and her step faltered. He caught her in his agile arms. All thought of her hurting foot fled as she suddenly found his silky lips pressed against hers. Her mind honed in on the contact of his mouth intimately caressing her lips, beguiling, intriguing. Heat coursed from his body to hers as he pressed closely against her. His hard form caused a wellspring of warmth to cascade deliciously from the top of her head to her toes, blanketing her body with sensual heat.

  This was nothing like the ardent stolen kisses she’d shared the summer before with the brazen rogue Count Bryon. The wiry Frenchman had been all hands, grabbing, pressing and demanding. Until, that was, Sully had discovered them. Her dear Sully had turned into a bellowing giant, ready to hound Count Bryon all the way back to Paris. And he very nearly had. Since then, Sully had behaved like a mama bear with new cubs, she being the nursling.

  Evelyn’s arms crept up Justin’s muscular shoulders, relishing the passion, the excitement, and his deliciously soft lips, just for a moment. Until the everhovering Sully would charge from nearby and pounce on the unsuspecting marquis. But wait, Sully was nowhere near, Fath
er was dead…. A great ball of despair burrowed in her chest as the reality of her situation hit home; she was alone, truly alone for the first time in her life. She closed her eyes and pressed closer to Barclay’s warmth, trying to soak in his radiance, trying not to feel so awfully alone.

  He wrapped his powerful arms more tightly around her, and delicious sensations chased all thoughts from her mind. The press of his lithe body and hard thighs against hers made her body melt like wax to flame. Everything seemed to loosen within her, and the horrors were driven away by his passionate embrace. She inhaled his musky, masculine scent, relishing the pleasure of being desired, of being free from her troubles. It was momentary pleasure, but she wished this moment would last forever.

  “Have you no shame?” a female voice shrilled.

  Barclay tensed and broke the kiss. Evelyn’s lips still tingled from his searing touch. The arms holding her squeezed tighter, then slowly released her. She looked over his shoulder. In the moonlit trees stood the dragon lady, staring angrily, and Lady Fontaine, waving her fan as if in desperate need of bucketfuls of air.

  “Claire, no one saw. Do not make a scene…”

  “Close your trap, Leonore. He is my son and I will not have him disgracing our family. If only George were here to set you to rights, Justin. Then you would not behave so appallingly.”

  His body turned to stone.

  Evelyn tried to be embarrassed but found herself incapable of the emotion. Unlike Count Bryon’s heavy-handed clinch, Justin’s embrace was an amazing thrill she was not about to regret. And she was unable to pretend she was sorry just to placate a venom-toothed harpy. Unwilling to let their intimacy dissolve just yet, she whispered, “Why do you allow her to speak to you so?”

  He looked down at her, and bleakness filled his smoldering eyes. “She is my mother. She’s had a difficult life….”

  “Remove yourself from that harlot this moment, Justin.”

  He slowly stepped away from Evelyn and turned. “I will not have you insulting our cousin, Mother. She did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I made the improper advance. She is an innocent.”

  Lady Fontaine advanced quickly, her shoes crunching in the sea of nuggets. She leaned forward, urging quietly, “A hasty retreat is in order, my dears.”

  “What are you mumbling to them, Leonore?” Lady Barclay demanded shrilly. “Don’t you dare take that lightskirt’s side!”

  “I was just saying how late it grows and how Evelyn and I had best be off before my husband loses his shirt in the gaming room.” Lady Fontaine locked arms with Evelyn and steered her toward the ballroom, pointedly facing away from her sister-in-law.

  Evelyn shot Justin a silent farewell over her shoulder, relieved to be escaping so lightly. She pitied the poor dove; he was left to deal with his witchy mother. How could anyone so amiable come from a mother that foul? She shook her head. We all had to live with the legacy of our parents. And suddenly Evelyn recalled that she needed to claim her own inheritance, or her future would be in dire straits indeed.

  Justin watched them leave, not for the first time in his life thanking the heavens for his aunt’s benevolent intervention. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation with his mother. Since birth she had plagued him, hounded him, and yet, deep in her heart, had always loved him. But she had granted any affection in exchange for performing as she required. Love was not gratis in the Barclay family. It required fulfilling responsibilities to Mother, to the family, to Society, to anything she found worthy. Personal feelings carried no weight in her world. The scales were measured on how you had proven yourself, lately.

  “The fault is mine, Mother. Do not try to punish Evelyn for my improper conduct.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Pray tell me you’re not dupe enough to think you actually care for her.”

  He shrugged, not meeting her eye. “She is a fine person who has had a difficult time of it. You, of all people, should relate to losing a loved one—”

  “Don’t you dare try to put me in the same class as that, that vulgar missy.”

  “You just don’t like that she won’t let you walk all over her. Contrasting with most of the young ladies you deal with, she actually has a backbone.”

  “She has no sense of propriety. She cavorts with foreigners—”

  “Who else should she associate with? She’s not set foot in her homeland for over twelve years! Her father dragged her to the four corners of the globe in service of our king!” He ran his hand through his hair, exasperation edging into his voice. “How can you punish her for her father’s choices?” The irony of his charge struck him in the chest like a musket ball. That was exactly what he and the colonel were doing—penalizing Evelyn for her father’s crimes. He pushed aside his misgivings. If she was guiltless, his investigation would prove her such.

  “She is horribly unsuitable as a wife.” Mother jabbed a bony finger into his shoulder. “And that’s where your responsibility lies. I should have a grandson at my knee, not be chasing harlots in the bushes.”

  “Don’t get into this again, Mother. I am young yet—”

  “Lord Solomon has four boys and he is two years your junior. I will not allow you to risk our future, our legacy, for some debaucher. You have no sense at all. She’s after our title, our money—”

  Sarcasm permeated his tone. “There’s no way she could actually prefer my company—”

  Her cat-shaped eyes mocked. “As I said, no sense. Women do not choose men for their fine conversation or their strapping form. Granted, you come from good stock and thus are well favored. But you are nothing without our title and our funds. I pray you are not foolish enough to believe she might be fond of you for anything else.”

  She had said the words many times before, but somehow it hurt more this time. As if now it actually mattered that someone valued him for himself. Not for his birthright, or his money, or his tricks in foiling the French. Evelyn’s esteem seemed hard to come by, and claiming it would mean he was somehow worthy.

  Mother stepped closer, trying for a conciliatory tone. “Certainly, if your brother George was still with us, you could dally as you wished. But life is not always as we would prefer it, and you have a duty to us. A duty to your family. To your heritage. To your sister and to me.” She squeezed his hand. “I know you will not disappoint us, Justin. I have had too much suffering in my life as it is. Pray do not break my heart completely, or I might not recover.”

  How could he justify to her that he was doing his duty in associating with Evelyn? How could he explain to himself that he relished the lovely young lady’s company, admired her pluck, and, yes, had enjoyed that kiss. He let out a long breath. He should never have taken this assignment. Mixing his clandestine activities with his private life was a recipe for disaster. Now the stew was already in the pot, the ingredients boiling and the colonel hungry for results. But suddenly it was Justin feeling the heat of the flames. Danger, treachery, passion…heady spices indeed.

  Chapter 5

  Evelyn’s bottom was going numb. She shifted in the hard seat and stabbed her parasol in irritation against the wooden leg of the chair. The little man sitting across from her pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles up the ridge of his nose but pointedly ignored her and focused on the ledger on the desk before him.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, the large oak door yawned open, and Evelyn quickly stood at attention. Her black skirts rustled as she discreetly shook out her cramped legs. A head peeked out, then disappeared, and the door shut with an abrupt bang.

  She pressed her fists on her hips and glared at the little man behind the desk. “Enough is enough.”

  He licked his reedy lips and patted the formerly white handkerchief across his shiny bald forehead for the thousandth time.

  “Mr. Marlboro is a very busy man, Miss Amherst.” His eyes shifted away, and he pressed the cloth to his lips. “A very busy man.”

  “Well, I am finished waiting on his convenience, Mr. Tuttl
e.”

  “You did not have an appointment.”

  She slammed her sturdy parasol on top of his desk. He jumped like a frightened rabbit.

  “You can tell his eminence that I will sleep here if I must but I am not leaving until he speaks to me about my father’s estate.” She stepped closer and narrowed her eyes. “And unless Mr. Marlboro wishes to hurdle out his window to get home for dinner, he can and will see me.”

  Mr. Tuttle nervously eyed her, then the closed door to the inner sanctum. He seemed to come to a decision. The law clerk was either more intimidated by the young lady before him, or hungrier for his dinner, than he was afraid of his superior.

  He sidled from behind the little wooden desk, slowly opened the door a crack, and slid inside the next room. Evelyn could not hear a word of the discussion, but after a moment, a sweaty Mr. Tuttle peeked out.

  “Mr. Marlboro will see you now, Miss Amherst.”

  Evelyn squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, firm on establishing the appropriate rapport with the man who had kept her waiting until the sun was nigh into the west.

  She stepped into a large office. It smelled of old papers, leather, and burned wax. Candles illuminated the musty room, exposing the piles of papers on every available surface, including the massive black desk behind which sat one of the heaviest men Evelyn had ever seen. She briefly wondered if the man had to pay triple for his suits, given his enormous bulk. Evelyn crossly reasoned it must have been his need for dinner that had finally driven him to acquiesce and see her. Otherwise, he probably would have remained hidden inside his cluttered cavern.

  Laying hands the size of ham roasts atop his desk, he pushed himself up and nodded, jiggling his many chins. “Miss Amherst. I apologize for keeping you waiting. If you had had an appointment…” His voice was a thick, droning whine.

  Her smile was brittle. “Ah, Mr. Marlboro, I would gladly have allowed any clients who actually had an appointment to come in before me, if,” she added in a steely sweet voice, “that is, there had been anyone to see you in the last three hours.”