All Men Are Rogues

by Sari Robins

  “By your command.”

  She parted her lips and waited for his intimate caress. But instead of accosting her into a clinch, he gently took her bottom lip between his lips and sucked until all thoughts of rogues and scoundrels fled from her mind. A wonderful heat smoldered up her body, engulfing her in a flaming wave of desire. With his finger, he gently tilted her head and once again pressed his open mouth to hers. When his tongue flicked inside, touching hers, shocks of lightning electrified her senses, curling her toes. She quivered with delicate joy. Wanting to be nearer, wanting more of this tantalizing touch, she shifted closer on the short bench and banged her teeth against his.

  “Ouch.”

  He pulled away.

  “I am so sorry,” she mumbled with embarrassment, holding her hand to her mouth.

  He smiled, pulling her back against him. “Come here, Evelyn.”

  His use of her Christian name was an intimate caress to her ears. She allowed him to pull her closer. She tilted her head, and when his lips met hers, his tongue intertwined with her own, playfully bringing her senses to a new level of heated awareness. She had had no idea of the intensity and passion that could be evoked from a kiss. And what a kiss. Her nipples tingled, her skin warmed, and the most glorious tickling sensation unfurled in her belly. It made her want to taste more of him. She arched her back as the smoldering heat turned into an inferno radiating from her middle and rippling outward to every extremity. She lost all thoughts except those of his heat, his touch, his caress, and the promise of more pleasure.

  The driver shouted and the coach rocked to a stop.

  Justin slowly disengaged from her and looked out the window. “We are here.”

  “Where?” she asked, dazed, with her hands still clutching his strong arms.

  “Belfont House.”

  She blinked. He slowly unpeeled her hands and shifted to sit across the carriage. The space beside her felt cold and empty with him gone.

  Sighing, she adjusted her hat. All good things must come to an end.

  The door opened and the stool was set. Ismet stood patiently outside, along with the rest of the real world.

  She nodded slowly. “I thank you for escorting me here, my lord.”

  “Justin,” he whispered as he took her hand and brushed a kiss across her palm. She shivered. Flashing a devilish smile, he added, “When we are alone it is Justin.”

  Her face heated. She had not known that she was still able to blush after her wanton display. “Will you be coming in?”

  “I will leave you here, Evelyn. I have an appointment, much delayed, I’m afraid.”

  The dear man had waited for her for hours and deferred his own business out of thoughtfulness for her. “I am sorry to have kept you.”

  He smiled. “Well worth the delay, I assure you. In fact, I might be tempted to ask John Driver to take us on another round about the park.”

  “Although it is appealing, I do not wish to worry your aunt further.” And she had pressing business with her father’s journal upstairs. She paused in the doorway. “Another time perhaps?”

  His grin was mischevious, “Anything you desire.”

  Unable to keep the smile from her lips, she raised her brow. “Anything?”

  “If it is within my power.”

  She withheld her sigh. If only it were in his power to make the world a saner and safer place. Evelyn turned and stepped out onto the walkway, inhaling the scent of horse and leather. She looked down the street at the rows of fashionable houses lit by the glow of the golden moon. But Justin was able to give her a pleasurable retreat from this chaotic world. For that she was grateful indeed.

  Chapter 6

  Justin jumped from his carriage and bounded up the stairs to No. 60, St. James Street. After handing his hat, cane, and gloves to the footman, he entered the dark, wood-paneled main room of Brooks, his favorite club. He ignored the elegant furnishings and well-dressed members, immediately spotting Colonel Wheaton standing by the mantel, deep in conversation with a cluster of gentlemen. He squared his shoulders and slipped into the ruse that he and the colonel were acquaintances, members of the same club who occasionally happened upon each other. It allowed them to exchange information more frequently.

  “Balderdash,” exclaimed Captain Hasterby. “I see no reason why the troops require such supplies.”

  “Yes, they can live off the land,” added Superintendent Garvey. “The country has substantial resources. No need to make ducks and drakes of us all.”

  General Jacobs pulled out his enameled snuffbox and helped himself to a pinch. “Wellington is avoiding additional opposition from the populace when he invades. The man’s a genius.”

  “Yes, stunningly good plan,” intoned the colonel. He scratched his long white sideburns. “It will deprive the Paris government of local support. Wellington’s no fool.” He looked up, and his steely blue gaze noted Justin’s appearance across the room. “I am off to the gaming room, gentlemen. I feel the need for a spot of cribbage.”

  “I did not know that they allowed such tedious play,” yawned Lord Filbanks.

  Colonel Wheaton set his snifter down. “Well, I’m an old man and do not like to learn new rules. Muddles an already cluttered brain.”

  “I heard that Banks and Tanner were playing Ecarte,” Jacobs offered. “I’ll warrant the stakes are high.”

  The group disbanded, some of the men continuing their conversation, while others drifted toward the gambling chamber.

  Justin stepped forward. “I will join you, Colonel Wheaton.”

  The older man nodded. “Used to do quite well against your father, Barclay. We’ll have a go.”

  They strolled into the gaming room, and Justin’s lips quirked up as they always did upon seeing the unadorned walls. Horror, if anything, distracted the players.

  As they settled in with their brandies and cards, Justin marveled at Wheaton’s ability, any time of day or night, to get a quiet corner table separated from the rest of the players in the large, wood-paneled gaming room. He did it without an obvious word to anyone. But by this point, Justin should cease being surprised by the crafty master of spies.

  “Any news?”

  “Not much.” Wheaton peeked from under bushy white brows. “You?”

  Justin shook his head. His lips were pressed in a firm, hard line.

  “How are you faring with the girl?”

  He could not quite meet the man’s eyes. “She does not seem the sort to be involved.”

  Wheaton sniffed. “You’re not going soft on me, Barclay, now are you?”

  “Most certainly not,” he replied, annoyed. Just because he did not wish to discuss the intimate details of his relationship with Evelyn did not make him soft. “She is new to Town, knows no one, and is without resources. Most ladies of my acquaintance would be desperate and in tears. She simply seems resolved to make it to the next day. On her own.” Why should it irritate him that she was so determined to proceed without assistance? Well, for one thing, it made his task all the more difficult.

  “You like her,” the old man charged. “Your mother must be thrilled.”

  “Actually, Mother has taken Miss Amherst into dislike.” He made certain not to call Evelyn by her Christian name. Wheaton was too canny by far and would read too much into it.

  The old man chuckled. “Leave it to your mother to ferret out the rotten fish. Looks and style cannot hide the chit’s true nature. She is, or was, Amherst’s darling.”

  Justin looked up, surprised. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Only from afar. At the Coventry Ball. A pretty thing. Lucky for her she favors her mother.”

  Justin did not recall having seen the colonel at the ball. Then again, his focus had been elsewhere. He lay out his two cards into a crib.

  Wheaton turned over a card, and his thick lips bowed into a scowl. “I still think the girl might lead us somewhere. Either her or Sullivan, when he shows.”

  “I have seen neither hide nor hair
of him, and she is watched constantly.”

  “Do you think he will show?”

  Justin looked down at his cards, barely seeing them. He nodded slowly, thinking of the conversation during his walk in the park with Evelyn. “Assuredly. Especially when he learns that Miss Amherst’s inheritance is in doubt.”

  “So Marlboro is cooperating.” It was a statement. The colonel would expect nothing less.

  “The man will do whatever we say.”

  “Good. Then she really is without resources.”

  “Except, of course, for my doting family, which you so conveniently arranged for her.” Justin was finding it hard to hold a grudge against the man. The plot was brilliant. It gave him every access to Evelyn and put her completely in his power.

  The older man waved his gloved hand. “She’ll be desperate soon enough. Keep a tight rein on her, see if she makes any contacts, sends notices to the papers and the like.”

  “I know how to do my job,” he growled.

  The colonel ignored him.

  After a few moments, Justin offered, “She did run into an old acquaintance. A Spaniard named Angel Arolas.”

  “Son of Juan Arolas. The father’s working with Wellington. A dangerous man if he is your enemy, I understand. Smooth with the women, diplomatic with the men, and intelligent enough for two. Glad he’s on our side, for now.” He nodded and flipped a card. “I’ll set a man to follow the son.”

  Justin rubbed his forehead worriedly. “We just need more information, and time is waning. You said you did not know much. What have you learned?”

  “Just confirmed that the plot has something to do with the monetary system.”

  “Counterfeiting?”

  Wheaton scratched a bushy white sideburn. “Can’t see why they’d try that again. It’s never worked for Napoleon in the past.”

  Justin clenched his fist. “I cannot fathom that all of our sources cannot scratch up more than that. We must stop the plan from proceeding before it’s too late.”

  “If we can stop the plan. The thing may already be in motion.”

  He stated it so dispassionately that it made Justin want to pound his fists on the polished tabletop. Instead he flipped his cards and kept his voice low. “I cannot accept the view that we are powerless to prevent it. Every scheme has its weakness, the links upon which the chain of events must depend.”

  “You’re just like your father. If he couldn’t figure something out, he would look at it a thousand different ways until he unlocked the logic of the thing.” Wheaton flipped his cards. “If it held his attention, that is.”

  Justin shifted his shoulders. “George was the brilliant one. Not me.”

  “Yes, your brother was quite intelligent, but you are better at strategy.”

  “Strategy will get us nowhere without information.”

  “Move up the timetable on the girl.”

  “There is only so much I can do to gain her trust without raising her suspicions. She is no fool.”

  “Add pressure.”

  Justin threw down his cards, irritated with the under-belly of this business. Where was the dignity in tormenting an unprotected young lady? “I will do the best I can.”

  “Good. And while you’re at it, get me a new deck. This one is missing a few cards.”

  Justin felt as if a wave of ice water crashed over him and froze him on the spot. He stared at the colonel hard, trying to assess if the man was sending him a hidden message. “What did you say?”

  The old man held up the deck innocently. “I need some new cards.”

  Justin forced himself to relax. The colonel did not know about his brother. He took a long, deep breath and compelled his heart to resume beating normally. Colonel Wheaton seemed unaware of the effect his play on words had had on the marquis.

  A gray-haired wizened chap in a sober charcoal suit shuffled over. His reedy lips split into a loose, wide grin, exposing tobacco-stained teeth. “Now here’s a game I can enjoy.”

  Justin stood and was mortified to feel his cheeks heat. “Sir Devane.” He nodded, in awe of the wise, elderly gentleman who’d galvanized the spy trade at the Foreign Office years before.

  Wheaton nodded but did not stand. “Lee. How are you, old man?”

  Sir Devane’s hazel eyes twinkled as he responded, “Speak for yourself, Wheaton, I might be as ancient as the hills but I can still beat you at cribbage.” He raised a spotted hand to his temple. “I’d always taught you, it’s here that makes the difference. You don’t need brawny muscles to play the game.”

  Justin understood all too well what game he referred to, and he was slightly put off by Wheaton’s lack of respect for his former mentor. Although Sir Devane had retired before Justin had begun his service, the old gent was a walking legend for having saved the empire innumerable times.

  “You may have my seat, sir, I’m off to livelier amusements,” Justin said as he held out the chair for him.

  Eyes twinkling, the elder gent asked, “Nothing too dangerous, I hope?” Little escaped those canny hazel eyes. Justin wondered how much the man knew. Did he still keep his fingers in the till at two and seventy years?

  Wheaton sipped from his brandy, commenting dismissively, “Nothing more dangerous than chasing lightskirts. Even a greenhorn could handle it.”

  For the first time in four years, Justin had the sudden urge to throttle his superior. The man’s disdain was wholly uncalled for and unjust. Perhaps it was Wheaton’s way of motivating his troops? If so, Justin was growing tired of the tactic.

  “One can never be too careful when it comes to the ladies.” The weathered man dropped into the seat with a slight groan and set his gold-topped cane against the table. “They are far cannier than we ever give them credit for. Why, one of my most wily adversaries was a great dame named…” At the scowl on Wheaton’s face, the old gent shook his balding head. “Well, that’s a story for another time.”

  “I will keep that pearl of wisdom in mind, sir. Good evening.” Justin tipped his hat and moved off. Wheaton did not even acknowledge his departure.

  At the threshold of the wood-paneled room, Justin turned and looked back. Through the clouds of smoke hovering over the card tables, he watched the two vastly different men playing their game. Although far from a stripling, Wheaton still had many years left in him. Yet he was burly and gruff, while Sir Devane, a weather-beaten man arguably on the shelf, could not be more jaunty or sanguine. Not for the first time Justin wondered what it would have been like working for the legendary Sir Lee Devane. He had been known for nurturing greatness in his budding apprentices. Justin speculated on how well he would have flourished under the man’s tutelage. He sighed. Well, he would never know; Wheaton was the master of espionage now.

  He turned, motioned to a footman nearby to deliver a new deck of cards to the two players, stepped out the door, and strode down the thick-carpeted hallway. Justin had to admit, Wheaton was exceedingly good at his job. He was the most results-oriented person Justin had yet to encounter. An unsavory feeling itched at his shoulders thinking of Evelyn in the colonel’s sights. The colonel was not a man to cross, and somehow Evelyn had managed to secure a position on Wheaton’s hit list.

  He could not quite imagine her threatening the realm. Still, he realized that although he knew her fresh lavender scent, the press of her soft, lush form, and the velvety touch of her lips, he still knew very little about Evelyn. Distinct from most ladies of his acquaintance, she did not like to speak of herself overmuch. Yet, just as the colonel had charged, he liked her, in addition to being physically attracted to her. Too attracted for his own good, it seemed. He was growing distracted where she was concerned—something he could not afford to do.

  Stepping out into the cool evening air, he pressed his handkerchief to his lips and stared down St. James Street, wondering which way to turn. If Colonel Wheaton’s sources were correct, and they usually were, there was too much at stake to lose perspective where Evelyn was concerned. He squared his shou
lders and strode down the steps, heading toward Jermyn Street. Nothing like a gaming hell to loosen men’s pockets and their tongues. He should be able to scratch up more on this conspiracy. His efforts had to be worth something this night. He had a job to do and was not about to play the softee, beautiful woman or not. On one matter Justin was certain both of the older men at the card table would agree; duty to England came foremost and personal feelings only complicated the matter. Justin just had to trust that it would all shake out in the end.

  Chapter 7

  “Devil take it!”

  Evelyn crumpled the paper into a ball and angrily threw it across the room to join a heap of others. She rose and stalked over to the curtains, throwing them open. Moonlight filtered in as clouds glided past. Even the open window could not give her enough fresh air to alleviate the crushing scents of burning candles, ink, and parchment.

  She stretched her arms overhead and arched her back, feeling the blood warming her cramped muscles.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Father?” she whispered to the starless night.

  The crackling fire answered her with a resounding hiss.

  She rubbed her weary eyes and resolutely closed the curtains. No one needed to know that she was still awake at, what was it? She last recalled the hall clock tolling the hour of three. She turned and lifted a basket and gathered up the scattered papers strewn around the room. Once the floor was cleared, she crouched before the fire and tossed each paper in and watched it burn, ensuring that nothing legible of her scribblings was left. Just as she had been taught.

  Once her task was done she closed her father’s black leather-bound journal and removed it from her secretary. She sat before the fire with the book in her lap. Slowly, she lay down, resting her head against the soft animal skin and inhaling the comforting scent of leather. It made her feel close to her father. This was her legacy just as much as any money. His handwriting, his words, his thoughts. She lay on the thick carpeting before the fire and stared unseeingly at the dancing flames.