All Men Are Rogues

by Sari Robins

  He held open his hands with widened fingers that looked more like sausages than human flesh. “Papers, papers. Always need to do the filing.”

  Evelyn glared disdainfully at the gross mess of the room. “It seems you are well behind.”

  He pushed his large spectacles up his bulbous nose and picked his hat up off the rack. “Well, then. It is getting late and I must be on my way. Can’t keep the missus waiting, now can I?”

  “But you can keep me waiting? Need I remind you that I am a client of your firm’s, Mr. Marlboro?”

  “So what can I do for you?” he asked nervously while setting his hat upon his brown, curly-topped head.

  She pulled her documents from her reticule and held them out. He did not step from behind his desk or remove them from her hand.

  “I am here to collect on my father’s estate. I am his sole heir and the documentation is all in order. The assets listed in these accounts shall be transferred to the following list of banks as soon as they open in the morning.”

  He swallowed. “Ah, matters such as these are quite delicate and take, ah, a certain amount of time to review and manage…. Papers, legal matters, and such.”

  She lowered her chin and glared at the troublesome man. “Do not toy with me, Mr. Marlboro. I am well aware of the legal implications, the legalese, and other aspects of these simple financial transactions. It will take three days to process the appropriate papers and then two weeks to transfer all assets to the foreign establishments. The entire matter can be resolved by the end of the month.”

  He licked his flabby lips. “It really is not quite as simple as all that.”

  “Do you represent my family’s interests or not? Or shall I bring your ineptitude to the attention of the bar?”

  He straightened. “There is no need to become difficult, Miss Amherst. Yes, I was your father’s solicitor—”

  “Was?”

  “Things have changed somewhat. Given his unusual activities.”

  The butterfly in her belly suddenly broke free of its cage and hammered against her ribs to escape. “My father is deceased. His legal documents, all prepared by you, designate that all of his assets fall to his sole surviving heir, me.”

  “It has come into question whether these assets…” He began wringing his chubby hands, and Evelyn had to stifle the desire to scream Spit it out! “…well, whether they were ill-gotten gains…” His nasally drone trailed off.

  She pushed down the nervous bile that had risen in her throat and lifted her chin. “Ill-gotten gains? What does that mean?”

  “Certain matters have come to my attention which need bearing out before we can proceed.”

  “Who challenged my rights?” she demanded.

  “Now see here, Miss Amherst, I represented your father for a very long time.”

  “Obviously not very well, or there could be no question as to the rights of his designated heir.”

  He let out a long breath. “My hands are tied.”

  “Who’s challenged my rights, Mr. Marlboro?”

  He grimaced at her sharp tone but did not answer.

  This was becoming an exercise in futility. Someone had intimidated Mr. Marlboro, and nothing she could say would make a dent in his stonewalling.

  “This is not the last of the matter, I assure you.” She turned on her heel and stormed out the door. She did not deign to acknowledge Mr. Tuttle as she pushed past the swinging wooden panel and out into the corridor, where she stood quaking furiously from head to toe. She clutched her parasol and her reticule tightly, to stop her hands from shaking; her heart was hammering so loudly that she wondered if all of London could witness her anger. And her fear. Trepidation tasted bitter on her tongue as she marched down the passageway. She barely saw the dark and vacant offices as she blindly headed outside…to escape from the answers she had waited for, dreaded, and now confirmed.

  She made her way down the shadowed, dusty stairwell, her gloved hands skimming against the narrow walls. At the bottom of the stairwell, in the enclosed threshold, she stopped and pressed her forehead against the thick, wood-grain panels of the external door. She breathed deeply, trying to ignore the dank odors of the passage while attempting to slow the racing of her heart. The tremors had left her feeling depleted and alone. Something wet slid down her cheek, and she realized that she was crying. Crying! God in heaven! That that spectacle of a man could bring her to tears! She angrily brushed them aside and sniffed. Without that money, she would lose her freedom, her independence. She swallowed. Her future. She squared her shoulders and pushed away from the wall. This was simply an obstacle to be removed. A rut in the road to be overcome. But the words sounded hollow in her heart.

  She took a deep breath and pushed open the large wooden door. It squeaked loudly into the darkening twilight. She stepped out into the fresh air, inhaling the scents of evening, trying to pull herself together.

  Ismet advanced from the shadows. Another man followed by his side. Where Ismet glided with the sleekness of a snake, this man moved with the lazy grace of a lion. The king of the jungle.

  “Lord Barclay? What are you doing here?”

  The memory of his heated embrace flashed through her mind, exorcising her troubles for an instant. She raised her gloved hand to her lips, and then dropped it. She had too much to worry about to dwell on a stolen kiss that probably meant nothing to him.

  “We were concerned for you. The butler overheard your direction to the hackney driver, and I came to ensure that all was well.”

  She prayed that the darkness would conceal her eyes, which were likely rimmed with red. She cleared her throat. “Why would it not be?”

  “Your man is not exactly the perfect escort. Why, he barely speaks English.”

  Ismet gave no indication that he understood. Approval swelled within her. Ismet was the keenest of men. If he did not appear to understand the language, he could not answer questions.

  “How long have you been here?”

  He nonchalantly swung his cane. “Oh, quite some time.”

  “Why did you not come up?”

  “I saw the address. You are here on personal business. I did not wish to disturb you.” He clicked open the gold watch hanging from the red fob at his waist. “It certainly took some time. I am glad that I did not delay you further.” He snapped it closed and studied her. “All is well, I presume?”

  “Fine. We should be heading back.”

  The wooden door behind them swung open, and the heavyset Mr. Marlboro stepped through the threshold. He raised his hammy hand to his hat. “Ahh, excuse me, Miss Amherst…” He stiffened. “Ahh, my lord Barclay.”

  Barclay nodded curtly.

  Evelyn turned her head and gave the offensive man the cut direct. After a pregnant pause, he hastily turned and waddled down the street.

  She turned to Barclay. “Do you know him, my lord?”

  “Only by reputation. I use another firm housed in this building.” He looked toward the darkening trees. “Might I suggest we move on? My carriage awaits around the next corner.”

  “Certainly. I do not wish to worry your aunt further.” And there was nothing useful to be accomplished here.

  Once again ensconced in the marquis’s plush coach, Evelyn couldn’t keep Mr. Marlboro’s words from running through her mind. “Ill-gotten gains.” That could mean only one thing; someone was trying to prove her father was a traitor and confiscate her wealth. But what type of evidence would they procure? Or manufacture? There were no charges against her father—he was dead. Moreover, the government could not declare him a traitor without it becoming known that he had been in intelligence. Governments were loath to claim anything except for the inoffensively neutral. So how was the matter legally proceeding? Was she simply to be swept under the rug? Or worse yet, ignored completely? She was not about to stand by and have her father’s name besmirched and her fortune stolen. If necessary, she would march into the House of Commons and declare her father’s innocence to the rooftops
, if it would do any good. But it would not. She sighed. Which way to turn now?

  “You are brooding, Miss Amherst. I pray our last encounter does not make you ill at ease in my company.”

  She was ripped back to reality. “Oh, that, well…no.” Her cheeks warmed, but she resisted the urge to touch her lips. “Not at all.”

  “I confess I got a bit carried away.” He smiled. “But I cannot claim to regret it. It was very…special.”

  She tilted her head, interested. “Really? How so?”

  “Well, I…” He rubbed his chin. “If I were a lady it would be my turn to blush.” Pursing his lips, he stated, “Well, to be frank, I have had the opportunity to kiss a few ladies in my time. And your kiss, well, it was…better than any I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Really?” It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one affected by that searing embrace. “It certainly banished all troubles from my mind.”

  “Troubles?”

  She blinked. Had she said that aloud? She wanted to kick herself for having such loose lips, in more ways than one.

  Silence filled the cabin.

  “Has this something to do with the solicitor Mr. Marlboro?” he asked.

  She hated to lie to him but could not dare tell the truth. What would she say? I’m trying to follow my father’s dying instructions so I have a future and am not murdered too?

  He broke the quiet. “On second thought, I apologize for intruding. It is your personal business and none of my affair.” He raised his hand to the curtain and pulled it aside, allowing moonlight to filter into the plush cabin.

  There was a novelty, someone not trying to interfere in her life. She studied his profile in the pale light. His strong nose added a touch of haughtiness to his features, but even in shadow the man was stunning. It was growing all the more difficult to categorize him as “cousin,” and she wondered if she really wanted to keep him at bay.

  Heavens! What was she thinking? She had no time to dally with a dashing marquis; her very future was in jeopardy! Father would be mad as hops at her for losing sight of her target. She needed to stay focused and not allow herself to be distracted. She needed to keep her head clear and her business in the fore. And finding a way to access her fortune was the first of her tasks.

  “Please do not interpret my silence as anything but what it is—woolgathering, my lord. I am simply ruminating on some of the legal issues pertaining to my father’s estate. As a matter of fact, if I may ask, which solicitors do you use?”

  “The Troutman Jones firm. They are quite good.”

  She filed the name away for later use. She might be needing new legal representation. But how was she to pay them? She bit her lip.

  “They are on retainer and are available to any in the family with legal issues.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so kind?”

  He straightened. “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you always trying to be of service to me?”

  He blinked, as if taken off guard. “I, well, I like you.”

  She crossed her arms.

  “I kissed you,” he continued.

  Her brow furrowed. “Although it was quite lovely, what does that have to do with anything? As you well have admitted, you have kissed many ladies.”

  “But that was different.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s just different. They were my…” He shifted in his seat, seemingly at a loss. “Those ladies, well…we had an arrangement beneficial to both sides. It was an exchange, so to speak.” He continued as if searching for the words. “Nothing was freely given. But with you, the passion was, is, very real.” Frowning, he observed, “You seem quite plainspoken in discussing such matters. Are you in the habit of accepting kisses?”

  “Hardly. I just do not understand what difference the kiss makes.”

  He shifted in his seat. “I like you. Everything about you. Can it not be as simple as that?”

  “Not in my experience.”

  He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully watching her. “It is understandable for you to be wary. And I applaud you for it. You have lived as a stranger the world over. You have no parents or protector….”

  She raised her brow. “Are you offering your services again?”

  He straightened, ostensibly horrified. “I would not dare disgrace you so.”

  Relieved, she leaned back against the cushion. He was just trying to help her, and here she was questioning his every motive. Since greeting her at the quay, he had been only the kindest of gentlemen to her. She had been living in her father’s world for too long. Her father’s world. She still had Father’s personal journal. He had railed that she keep it with her always. He had been so insistent. Perhaps there was valuable information inside? Information that could clear her father’s name and pave the way to free her inheritance. A small bubble of excitement jumped in her belly. The possibilities whet her appetite to take action. Not to sit by and allow the Mr. Marlboros of the world to have their way. What was Sully always saying? You are only as powerful as you choose to be.

  “If my offers for assistance offend you…” he stated tentatively.

  She waved her hand. “I am being silly, my lord. You are all that is kind and generous.”

  “Do not attribute such qualities to me, Miss Amherst. Being with you is purely self-serving.”

  Suspicion flared again. “How so?”

  “You are good company and my mother dislikes you. An irresistible combination.”

  She smiled, relaxing. “Ah, so much to recommend me.”

  “Beauty, keen wit, intelligence. What more could one want? I must confess, you are not at all what I expected.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Nothing like what I expected at all.”

  She tilted her head. “Is that another compliment, my lord?”

  He stared her straight in the eye. “I don’t know what it is.”

  “At least you are honest.”

  He shook his head. “Anything but. If I were being honest, I would confess my unholy desire to pull you into my lap and kiss you again.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I’m glad that Ismet chose to ride up top.”

  “Why? He cannot understand me.” He rubbed his gloved finger across his bottom lip. “Or is it because that allows me to kiss you?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She licked her lips, nervous anticipation making her stomach flutter. “In Ancient Rome a kiss was used as the legal bond to contracts, hence the use of a kiss at the end of a wedding ceremony to ‘seal’ the marriage vows.”

  He moved onto the seat beside her, and his heat beckoned. Taking her gloved hand, he raised it to his lips, asking huskily, “So what shall we agree to?”

  Her breath caught. He smelled of musk and man and was so disarmingly amiable. There was no one to jump in to “protect” her. She reminded herself that she was an adult. And with that responsibility came a certain amount of freedom. Her curiosity, mixed with a small measure of wanting that contact with another, coalesced into a sense of daring. There seemed no reason not to indulge the abandon of a little kiss, especially when the rest of her life seemed so devoid of pleasure. And Justin was just the safe person to allow her a taste of the forbidden fruit. He was kind and so delectably handsome, with his dimpled chin and lush lashes. Where was the harm?

  “Let us agree not to settle for anything,” she answered, her voice suddenly a thick whisper.

  “No marriage, you mean?” He leaned in close.

  “Anything.”

  He pressed his velvety lips against hers, and it happened again. She was lifted out from the quagmire of her worries and into the most titillating oasis of pleasure. He wrapped his strong arms around her and pressed his hard body against hers. Her body melted into him, drawing closer still. His lips parted slightly, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, lightly caressing her teeth. Surprised, she jerked back.

  “I thought only rogues and scoundrels knew how to kiss
like that,” she gasped, only half-jokingly.

  He gently stroked her arms with his palms, quieting her as one would a skittish colt. He moved his lips to her ear, deftly nibbling on her lobe and sending shivers racing down her spine. “All gentlemen are rogues and scoundrels, we simply dress better.”

  The corners of her lips lifted into a smile. Justin was unlike anyone she had ever known. He was certainly nothing like the lechers and fortune hunters she had endured in the past. He was straightforward, guileless, a man simply looking to enjoy a few innocent kisses. Well, perhaps not completely innocent.

  He splayed light butterfly kisses along her jawline while running his hands down her back and pressing her closer still. “I do not see the harm in exploring simple diversions between friends, do you?”

  Explore. She was endlessly curious and hungered to understand the magic between a man and woman that led so many to tragedy. She would be in London a few short weeks. She might never have this safe opportunity to taste physical pleasures without someone trying to force her to compromise her life. She leaned back and caught his half-hooded gaze. “You do understand we cannot marry?”

  “I would be a fool to think that I could tempt you into matrimony with a few kisses.”

  She sighed, reclining.

  His minty breath tickled her throat as he continued, “I would need at least ten estates, hoards of cash, a villa in Italy. Oh, yes, and five or six juicy titles to tempt you.” He nibbled on her ear.

  She smiled and swatted his chest. “You toy with me!”

  “That is the whole point, is it not? To play freely without Damocles’ sword of marriage hanging over our heads?” He traced his finger along her neck, raising tingles down to her toes. “Uninhibited safe play between friends with the true understanding that we do not press for anything more than is freely given.”

  Ahh, the freedom of being able to explore her passion without the fear of being trapped, without Sully’s or her father’s disapproval tainting the experience. To have a delightful escape from reality. It was too enticing a lure.

  She licked her lips, jumping off the cliff she prayed was as secure as it appeared. She stated breathlessly, “Show me.”