The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Thank you for…coming to my…aid,” she said softly. Her smile was sweet, her gaze filled with gratitude.

  He half-turned from her, rubbing the back of his neck to keep from touching her. “Think nothing of it. I’m just glad I got here in time.”

  “Yes, I am, too,” she said with feeling. When he said nothing more, she asked, “What did you mean by ‘losing his wager?’”

  Gerrit hesitated, regretting that she’d heard that. “Billingsley and some of the other youngbloods placed wagers that…he would be the first…to steal a kiss from you.”

  “What?” She stared at him, her eyes wide.

  It sounded even more vile in the retelling. He looked away from her, ashamed that he’d even been a witness to it. “It happened one evening after dinner. You said it yourself, the gentlemen have a few too many brandies and forget they’re gentlemen.”

  “You said Lord Billingsley thought he’d be the first! What kind of woman do they think I am?”

  When he said nothing—having no way to defend their behavior—she shook her head as if trying to puzzle it out. “I thought Lord Billingsley was a gentleman! That they all were.”

  He found her innocence both endearing and alarming. What would have happened if he hadn’t come to Thistleworth?

  She clutched her arms tightly around her midriff.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head.

  He took a step toward her. “You’re trembling.”

  “Just the reaction, I suppose.”

  “That’s understandable.” After a few seconds, he said quietly, “You must have a care whom you go on solitary walks with in the evening…or anytime, for that matter.”

  “He tricked me! He told me you had sent him and that you were waiting out here with a spyglass to show us some ‘curious phenomenon in the sky,’” she quoted with a short, bitter laugh.

  “He’s a clever fellow. You’d best be more cautious around him in future. Endeavor never to be alone with him.”

  “You needn’t tell me that! Believe me, I have tried my best to evade his company.”

  “He doesn’t give up easily.”

  She gave a firm shake of her head as if putting the event behind her. “He couldn’t have hurt me anyway.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “I’m protected.”

  “Protected?” He glanced around the enclosed shrubbery. “By whom, may I inquire?”

  “By the Lord.”

  He gave a snort. “Isn’t there a scripture somewhere about not tempting God? Being out alone with a gentleman falls into that category, I would think.”

  “I told you, the marquess tricked me.”

  “So, when was the Lord going to put in an appearance to save you this evening?”

  “He sent you, didn’t he?”

  It was his turn to stare at her. “Believe me, the Lord wouldn’t choose me to guard a young lady’s virtue.”

  “But you did, didn’t you?”

  He shook his head, charmed in spite of himself. “You green girl.” He didn’t know whether to be angry or worried about her misplaced faith in him. At that moment all he could think was how easily he could take advantage of her. The thought sickened him. To distract himself, he challenged her, “And what if I hadn’t come along?”

  “‘Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,’” she replied softly.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s what Job said of the Lord. It comes down to trust.”

  Trust. That word again. No young lady had ever been safe in his company. They were all fair game as far as he’d been concerned.

  “How did you know to find me here?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” he replied quickly, glad for the change in topic. He explained about receiving the note. “I smelled something fishy right away. You see, I’ve been watching Billingsley for a few days, wondering when he was going to make his move.”

  “‘Make his move?’”

  “The wager,” he reminded her. “He had to prove himself soon to the others, or they would start to roast him.”

  She shuddered in revulsion, which made him feel as dirty as the men involved. How many times hadn’t he participated in similar challenges?

  “Why didn’t you just tell Lord Billingsley to stop such a wicked plan?”

  “He’d have laughed me to scorn.”

  “You were afraid of being laughed at?”

  “It wasn’t so long ago I’d be the one suggesting such a stupid bet myself. I knew it would do no good to try to stop them. I figured I’d have better luck keeping an eye on him…and you.”

  She pondered his words. “So, you’ve been looking after me all these days?” She didn’t sound angry but curious.

  He felt uncomfortable under her close scrutiny, as if she were seeing more than he cared to reveal. Why hadn’t she focused on what he’d just told her, that he’d made similar wagers in the past?

  “Is…that why…you’ve been meeting me in the evenings?” she asked slowly.

  He nodded. In part, he added to himself.

  “So you are my guardian angel.” She smiled, as if receiving a revelation which pleased her.

  Again he snorted. “The sooner you get that silly idea out of your head, the better off you’ll be.” Knowing how dangerous her situation grew as long as she remained outside alone with him, he said, “Come, I’ll take you back inside.”

  “All right,” she said but made no move.

  As he drew closer to take her arm, he asked, “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  She nodded, facing him. He stood so close to her, he could see her chest rising and falling. What was she thinking? What did she see in his eyes? Suddenly, he found himself helpless. Leaning down an inch…then two…he brushed his lips against hers.

  She felt sweet and yielding.

  He ached for more. With a supreme effort he withdrew from her a fraction. “That should show you.”

  “Show me what?” Her voice was a soft breath against him.

  “That I am the last man you should trust.”

  “Why shouldn’t I trust you?”

  He sighed. “Because I am no better than Billingsley. Probably many times worse.”

  Despite his warnings, all he could read in her gaze was complete faith in him. He groaned inwardly. No, don’t let her develop some kind of hero worship of me.

  He blew out a frustrated breath, rocking back on his heels. “My dear, innocent Miss Leighton, I am a soldier of fortune and a wastrel of the worst kind. Never forget that. If your wise sire were here, he would warn you to flee from my kind.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” With that statement, which expressed the same sort of confidence she had when talking of her Lord, she touched his cheek with her fingertips. Then she let her hand drop and turned from him. Before he could react, she began to leave the shrub-enclosed area. Gerrit followed her, thrown more off-balance by her brief touch than he cared to admit.

  They walked back to the house without speaking. At the terrace, he opened the door for her, and she looked up at him. The light from the doorway spilled onto her face. He was caught by the hint of wonder in her eyes. He had the sense that he could do anything with her and she would acquiesce willingly. Such a responsibility filled him with a sense of dread.

  “Come, it’s getting chilly,” he said, more abruptly than he’d intended.

  When they finally reached her room, he waited while she opened her door and made sure the room was unoccupied.

  “Thank you again for rescuing me,” she said, standing at the door. “I shall never forget it.”

  He searched her face, hoping she would be able to put the terrifying incident behind her—and forget his kiss. “Don’t worry about Billingsley. He’ll probably give you the cold-shoulder for a few days, but he’ll get enough ribbing from the other fellows to have to act the good sport.”

  She shuddered. “I can hardly believe they will all be discussing me like th
at.”

  Unable to help himself, he reached out and touched her on the cheek with his forefinger. “Men are dangerous creatures not to be trusted. Never forget that.”

  She shook her head, making him all the more aware of the softness of her skin. “Not all of them.”

  He broke the contact. “I’m one of the vilest.” Without another word, he turned and made his way back down the corridor.

  He returned to the terrace to ponder what had happened. He could kick himself a thousand times over for that kiss. In one moment of carelessness, he’d ruined everything.

  In his book there were only two kinds of women: wenches and ladies. Miss Leighton didn’t fall into either category. He didn’t quite know where to place her, much less qualify the feelings she was arousing in him. He’d yearned for women before; he’d been on the hunt many times in the past, stopping at nothing until he obtained what he wanted. But then his interest waned and he was off on a new chase.

  Why the hesitation where Miss Leighton was concerned? Why not go after what he wanted? He hadn’t let innocence stop him before.

  An image of another young lady rose in his mind. Gillian Edwards. Even now the memory filled him with revulsion at his own despicable behavior toward her.

  But it was too late to right past wrongs. He’d just have to live with the kind of man he was. And keep as far away from Miss Leighton as he could.

  But now in the warm night, Gerrit was helpless to stop his imagination and longing from having free sway. He remembered the exquisite softness of her skin and her yielding lips and felt like a parched man in the desert.

  That brief kiss had been a mistake. A terrible mistake. More for him than for her.

  Lord Billingsley’s shocking behavior was eclipsed from Hester’s mind that night by the greater impact of Major Hawkes’s kiss.

  Hester lay awake in her bed a long time reliving it. She touched her own lips, remembering the soft texture of his and the whiff of the spicy, masculine scent of his cheeks.

  So, this was what all the excitement was about, what so many poets devoted pages to, what drove so many individuals to periods of apparent insanity….

  She could begin to understand it—the way her heart warmed at the mere sight of the major, how her heartbeat quickened when he came to take her for their evening walk, how she perked up at the sound of his laughter and blossomed under the teasing look that came into his eyes at certain moments. Why, she’d come to think he was the most fascinating and kind man she’d ever met…and even felt a conviction the Lord had brought him into her life. She could now understand it…this thing called love….

  The next morning, as she prepared to descend the stairs, her thoughts reverted to Lord Billingsley. She wrinkled her nose. How she wished she could avoid him altogether. A perfect gentleman one moment, a monster the next. She remembered Major Hawkes’s words that men were dangerous creatures. She knew men were powerful. She had seen enough of their feats in the logging industry back home. She knew they frequently drank too much or brawled. But she had never experienced the direct loss of respect from one for a lady.

  She bit her lip. She knew there was a certain type of woman—a few who inhabited the waterfront taverns in Bangor—who wouldn’t mind the kind of behavior Lord Billingsley had exhibited last evening. But those women were the exception. She’d never known a gentleman to behave so to a lady.

  Once again, she thanked the Lord for Major Hawkes’s timely appearance. She didn’t doubt for a moment that the Lord had sent him. To think he’d been looking out for her all those days. She touched her fingers to her lips, marveling once again at his kiss.

  So different from Billingsley’s. So tender and…gentlemanly. Yet she’d sensed behind it, a passion held in check. What would it be like to be kissed with abandon by him? She shivered, but not with revulsion as she had over the marquess’s kiss. She smiled. The major had tried to warn her afterwards that he was worse than Billingsley. She wanted to reassure him. She hadn’t objected to his kiss in the least. She’d even felt a momentary pang when it was over so quickly.

  She frowned. Why had the major been so adamant in making her believe he was as untrustworthy as Billingsley? She’d pondered his words quite some time in her bed last night. He seemed intent always on making himself appear in the worst light to her. A gentleman could not return so decorated from war and be the base fellow he claimed.

  She’d just have to continue showing him that she did trust him.

  The memory of his kiss gave her the courage to venture downstairs and face the company. Major Hawkes would be there. She smiled again. His kiss had been exquisitely sweet—like maple sugar poured on new fallen snow.

  Instead of seeing Major Hawkes as she wished, Hester ended up wandering around the large house after breakfast, at loose ends. Her hopes of seeing the major had been dashed early. She heard at the table that he had gone off with Lady Stanchfield’s husband on a shooting party. The men would probably be gone all day. She found it strange since he hadn’t joined the hunting expeditions up till then.

  After Billingsley’s behavior, and the major’s information that several of the young gentlemen had discussed her and placed wagers on Billingsley’s success or failure, Hester felt no inclination to join the young gentlemen who’d remained behind.

  Unfortunately, she had no desire to be in the ladies’ company either. With the exception of Lady Stanchfield, they all treated her like some innocent beyond help. The day loomed before her. She paused at the landing, debating her options. A walk, a book?

  Deciding she’d take a book out to one of the sheltered gardens to read, she headed for the library. With most of the men gone hunting, she knew she was safe from unwanted male company in the gardens. During the daylight hours, at least, she reminded herself with a shudder.

  Book in hand, Hester stood on the terrace, shading her eyes from the sun. Once again, she’d forgotten her parasol. Mrs. Bellows would scold.

  Hmm…where to go? Her eyes skimmed the top of the temple visible above the trees. She grimaced, remembering her tussle with Billingsley the evening before. She looked in the opposite direction, then smiled. The rose arbor. It was a lovely private spot, filled with benches and shaded with the lovely pergola redolent with the scent of roses.

  Clutching the book more firmly to her chest, she headed down the steps in that direction. She couldn’t help looking behind her several times to make sure she wasn’t being followed, but she saw no one but a lone gardener. Breathing a sigh of relief, she entered the first arched trellis. The fragrance of late-blooming yellow climbing roses assailed her as she passed under it.

  Oh! Her hand went to her mouth, stopping the silent exclamation.

  Directly in front of her, at the far end of the enclosed garden, stood Lady Stanchfield locked in an embrace with a gentleman. Embarrassed at having intruded on a private moment between husband and wife, Hester began to back out. Just as she was remembering that Lord Stanchfield was not at home, the couple separated a fraction.

  The gentleman first spied her across the small garden. Staring daggers at her, the middle-aged man, whom she vaguely recognized as one of the guests—a Mr. Delaney—swore as he disengaged himself from Lady Stanchfield. For a second, Hester stood motionless, unable to take in what she was seeing.

  Then she turned, wanting only to forget the tableau. Before she could disappear back through the arbor, Lady Stanchfield began running toward her.

  “Hester, wait!”

  Hester turned back a moment, her hand still clutched to her mouth. She lowered her hand and tried to compose her features. “Forgive me. I hadn’t meant to come here. I really—I mean, I’m sorry, I—I really must go—” She fled the garden, ignoring Lady Stanchfield’s renewed pleas to come back.

  Hester was in no shape to talk about what she had seen, not with one of its perpetrators. She let out a choked sound as she raced away from the area. What could Lady Stanchfield possibly say to her to offer an explanation?

  What a
naive fool she’d been! Hester held her middle, feeling sick. Sick with what she’d seen and wishing she’d never seen it. Major Hawkes was right. She knew nothing of the world.

  “Hester, please…please wait! I can’t run as fast as you. You must listen to me, please!”

  Hester finally stopped, unable to harden herself against Lady Stanchfield’s cry. She stood watching the other lady finally catch up to her.

  Lady Stanchfield was panting heavily, and Hester had a moment’s alarm. What if she swooned? She’d have to fetch Mr. Delaney. The thought terrified her.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  The lady just nodded, still unable to speak. “You…are…so…swift,” she finally managed between gulps of air.

  Hester remained silent until finally, with a last sigh, Lady Stanchfield’s breathing slowed. She grasped the shawl around her shoulders more firmly with one hand. With the other she smoothed down one side of her hair.

  “I must look a fright.”

  Hester felt the heat flood her face, realizing how Lady Stanchfield had gotten so mussed.

  “My dear, I am so sorry you had to see that.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” she began, then realized that would be a lie. She amended, “Please forget I saw anything.”

  “I—” Lady Stanchfield waved a hand as if floundering for how to proceed. “You’re so young and innocent. Please don’t think so badly of me.”

  “I’m thinking nothing at all,” Hester continued, hearing her own voice coming out stiff and prim. Oh, what could she possibly say? How could she condone what she’d seen? Why was Lady Stanchfield making her confront it? “Excuse me, I must go. I—” she lifted her book, hardly knowing what she was doing “—I was just looking for a spot to read. I must go and find some place.” Some place where I’m sure to run into no one, she wanted to shout hysterically.

  Before Lady Stanchfield could stammer any more apologies, Hester turned once more and hurried off. Thankfully, this time her hostess didn’t attempt to follow her or call her back.