The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Nor was the sermon of a nature that would inspire repentance. Hester’s mind wandered as she thought about why a woman as nice as Lady Stanchfield would be unfaithful to her husband. What little she’d seen of Lord Stanchfield didn’t endear him to her, but still, he seemed a typical man of his class. As if she knew what that was, she chided herself. The more she saw of the English aristocracy, the less she understood of them. They seemed a rule unto themselves. Yet here they were on a Sunday morning, following the same Scriptures she and her family lived by.

  Hester tried to look around her, but she didn’t see Mr. Delaney. In fact, she didn’t remember ever having seen him attending before. At least he wasn’t a hypocrite.

  After the service, she didn’t know where to go. If she went outside, she risked coming upon some lovers’ tryst. If she went out to the stables or archery ground, she’d likely run into Lord Billingsley. She hadn’t seen him since his attack two evenings ago, but she knew she couldn’t avoid him forever.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to hide in her room on such a glorious day. She picked up her book and left the house, determined to find some solitude in the vast gardens of Thistleworth Park. There couldn’t be that many couples looking for a meeting place. Making sure once again that she wasn’t followed by any unwanted male, Hester finally ended up at a sheltered garden surrounded by yew hedges. Bypassing the stone bench, she opted for the soft, green grass and leaned against the bench.

  She was deeply engrossed in her book, when she heard a masculine voice above her.

  “You have hidden yourself well, Miss Leighton.”

  “Major Hawkes!” she glanced up and saw him towering over her. His handsomeness always took her breath away, but now it was tinged with the knowledge of what those masculine yet soft lips felt like grazing hers.

  “I have spent the last hour in search of you.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “You have?” She wondered what the reason might be. His kiss? His sister’s conduct? She felt the color rise to her cheeks for both causes, and put the memories aside, preferring to suppress them altogether for the moment. The latter was too disturbing, the former—well, she hadn’t come to any conclusions yet on how her new feelings for the major would affect their friendship.

  “Yes. Do you mind if I have a seat?” he motioned to the stone bench.

  “Of course not. Please do,” she hurried on, suddenly shy.

  “Would you prefer to remain on the lawn or come join me here? I could just as well sit down there with you.”

  She glanced down at his light colored breeches. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to get grass stains on your…” Her voice faded away in embarrassment. She had learned that in London society ladies didn’t speak of men’s “unmentionables.” If she were at home with her brother, she would not hesitate to speak plainly.

  “Have no fear, Miss Leighton.” Before she could stand, he came to join her on the grass. “I have sat on much rougher terrain in my uniform.”

  “Of course. How silly of me.”

  “Not silly at all. We are at a house party where decorum is of the utmost consequence.”

  His deep blue eyes were twinkling at her and she smiled tentatively back.

  “Speaking of decorum,” he began after a moment.

  Hester looked up from the book she’d been in the act of closing. Was he going to mention their kiss?

  This time it was he who looked down at his loosely clasped hands. “I wanted to speak to you about…my sister.”

  She stared at him. Her mind couldn’t help conjuring up the scene she had interrupted the afternoon before. “Did she send you?” she asked softly.

  He met her gaze once more, his eyes searching hers. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

  “But why?” She felt a reluctance to talk about what she’d seen.

  He gave a wry smile. “She’s terrified of what you might do.”

  Hester struggled to understand his meaning and finally her eyes widened in horror. “You mean she thinks I might tell someone?”

  “I told her I was sure you wouldn’t tell a soul.”

  “Of course not!”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a gentle smile, which warmed her more than she’d ever imagined a man’s smile could. Then she remembered what they were talking about and she sobered, turning her face from his. “I just want to forget I ever saw anything.”

  “Of course you do. But it’s not always possible to forget what one has seen, is it?”

  Although the words were lightly spoken, his tone was tinged with sadness. She turned to him slowly, realizing he must be thinking of the war. As she shook her head in agreement, he smiled with understanding. “So, what now?”

  “Now? What do you mean?”

  “Will you despise my poor sister?”

  “Oh, no! Of course not—” she began and then stopped as she realized her feelings for Lady Stanchfield had changed.

  “But things are not the same, are they?”

  She nodded, glad he understood. “It’s the same with Lord Billingsley. I always found him a rather tiresome, pompous gentleman, yet harmless enough, but now…” She couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her. “I’d be happy never to see him again.”

  He chuckled. “Unfortunately, the man is a shameless leech. He won’t leave Thistleworth unless Delia throws him out. Now there’s a thought…” He rubbed his chin, considering.

  She laughed. “Please don’t have Lady Stanchfield do anything so drastic on my account.”

  “Delia is awfully worried you’ll think less of her.”

  Hester turned away from him again. “Your sister has been so kind to me. Since I arrived in England, only you and Lady Stanchfield have truly made me feel as if I’m worth knowing.” She smiled. “Your sister is not many years older than I, yet she persists in calling me child and lambkin and behaving as if she’s a mother hen and I’m the baby chick.” She looked down at her lap and smoothed away the blades of grass she’d plucked earlier.

  “Yet my own mother would never—would never—” She couldn’t even say the words, the concept was too shocking.

  “Commit adultery?” Gerrit finished for her.

  She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. The words sounded so severe, bringing their sinfulness into stark relief. She couldn’t even reply to Gerrit. The words made her understand that she hadn’t misconstrued the scene in the rose arbor. No matter how she might like to explain the scene away in an innocent way, it was clear Lady Stanchfield was breaking the seventh commandment.

  “What was worse,” she said almost in a whisper, “was seeing her at church this morning with Lord Stanchfield. They looked as content as—oh! It doesn’t bear thinking on!” She shook aside the scene from her mind.

  Major Hawkes said nothing for a few moments. Then, “Do you know how Delia came to marry Lord Stanchfield?”

  She shook her head.

  “My parents arranged it. She was nineteen and had already enjoyed one season. My parents, with four children close in age and no great income, didn’t want to finance another London season. Those are quite costly, you know. We grew up not far from London. A season in town entails renting a good house in a respectable neighborhood, hosting any number of parties, purchasing a whole wardrobe for those offspring being presented. Then with the cost of my commission in the army and my brother’s studies at university, well, things were a bit strained for a while.”

  “I understand.”

  He smiled faintly. “Possibly not, but no matter. When Lord Stanchfield began to leave his calling card and show a marked preference for my sister, my parents jumped at the advantageous match. Not only was he titled, but more importantly, he had a substantial income and family seat. My sister would be set for life. My sister had no real choice in the matter.”

  “How awful for her. I hardly know Lord Stanchfield.”

  “You’ve probably observed him enough to see that he’s an insipid fellow with little to recommend him but
a love for hunting and fishing with his drinking companions. As long as my sister provided an heir for him, he was content to ignore her existence.” He shrugged. “And since that blessed event has not yet occurred, nor may it ever occur as the time goes by, Delia’s place beside her husband is in no way assured.”

  “But you said he pursued her. He must love her.”

  He shrugged. “Love? How long does that sentiment last once a couple has exchanged their vows?”

  “A lifetime.”

  “You sound convinced. What? Are there no unhappy marriages in the Maine Territory?”

  She frowned, thinking of the marriages she knew besides her parents’. “The husbands and wives of my acquaintance seem content enough. Leastways, they don’t go around revealing their problems to others.” She tilted her head, picturing her parents’ circle. “Mrs. Smith is a bit bossy, and everyone says Mr. Smith is henpecked, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “There are a lot of second marriages but it’s not because the first marriage was unhappy. People are often widowed and a widow or widower doesn’t stay single long. They usually have young children to raise, and there’s always someone willing to share the load.”

  “Do so many die young?”

  She nodded. “A fair number. There is sickness—fevers and such. We have few doctors.”

  “Marriage seems like a risky business there. You’ve seen much death?”

  His question caught her off guard again and she took her time to mull it over. “I suppose so. I hadn’t thought about it in those terms.” She looked at him. “You have seen much death as well.”

  He nodded but said no more.

  “During the war?” she ventured. She sensed he would say more so she remained silent but after a few moments when he’d said nothing, she turned the subject back to what they were talking about previously. “At least in Maine people marry for love, even the second marriages.”

  “One can’t live off love.”

  “But to marry anyone—to agree to share a lifetime together for mere monetary considerations! It’s not right. It’s so mercenary. And look where it ends. Look at your sister’s plight!”

  He nodded. “Very true. On the other hand, she could have married a penniless young gentleman who stole her heart and be living on the fringes of poverty, with a half dozen children to feed. Instead, look at what she enjoys.” He waved his hand at the green bower surrounding them.

  “At what price?” Hester murmured.

  He leaned back with a sigh. “If I ever want to live with half this comfort, I must some day conform to my parents’ wishes and pick out a future wife from the crop of heiresses presented every year at court.”

  Hester looked at him in disbelief. “I can’t imagine your marrying against your will.”

  “Believe me, I have fought it until now, but some day I may have to pay the piper, in this case whichever creditors are the most pressing.” He grinned. “But if I must marry for money, I shall go about it on another plane entirely from Delia. Instead of being led like a lamb to the slaughter by my parents, I shall take full control.”

  Her eyes widened. “How so?”

  “I shall go about it methodically, like planning a military campaign. For starters, I will assess the terrain and select the least attractive female on the Marriage Mart, the one whose papa was most desperate to be rid of her to a charmingly worthless fellow like myself for a substantial price.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at his description, hardly believing he could be speaking of something as important as his marriage.

  “She would be so grateful to me for offering for her, that she’d never give me any trouble and let me go my merry way.”

  She shook her head at him. “I don’t think any woman would be happy with that arrangement.”

  He eyed her, the look in his eyes belying his facetious words. “You think not?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Ah, but we would conclude a straightforward bargain where no emotional entanglements would hinder things.”

  “How wonderfully romantic,” she replied, her tone dry.

  “But eminently practical.”

  “Why don’t you marry me then? I’m an heiress,” she said before she could consider her words.

  Seconds of absolute stillness followed as his blue eyes met hers. She didn’t flinch, but held her chin high, wondering what was going on behind his steady gaze.

  Then the moment was broken with a gesture of his hand and an indulgent smile. “I could never ruin a good friendship with marriage. Besides, you’ve forgotten my advice already. You must fix your focus on firstborn sons. They are the only ones who count.”

  She chose her words carefully, adopting his light tone. “You are most likely right. We would never suit.”

  He brought up one knee and rested his elbow on it. “And why wouldn’t we suit, wise child?”

  “For one thing, my future husband needs to be a man of God. I could never marry a man who is not saved.”

  “Saved from what? Eternal perdition?” His tone was teasing.

  “Yes,” she replied with utmost conviction.

  Gerrit looked into those hazel eyes and felt a chill down his spine. At any other time—even those moments when he faced death in the thick of battle—he could have laughed in her face. But not today.

  Why did it seem with each day he had been home that he was indeed already sentenced and condemned?

  “Oh, there’s no one to save me from that,” he countered, keeping his tone carefree under her scrutiny. Why was it that he always had the feeling those eyes saw more than he cared to reveal?

  “Yes, there is. His name is Jesus.”

  He shook his head. “My dear, I’m afraid I’m beyond the pale of even His mercy.”

  “There’s no one beyond His mercy. God’s love for us is stronger than death.”

  A love stronger than death? The words shook him. There was nothing stronger than death.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gerrit returned to London two days later. He didn’t care if the duns in London beat down his door. He didn’t care how deserted or hot the city was. The emptier, the better as far as he was concerned. He didn’t care if Delia felt abandoned. He’d done what he could. If that slowtop Reggie didn’t behave more discreetly, it was his own fault if they were discovered.

  Before leaving, he’d informed Delia of Billingsley’s behavior, and she, as hostess, had quietly asked him to leave the house party. That taken care of, Gerrit was free to quit Thistleworth. Quit it he did, at earliest dawn before any of the guests were up. He felt like a thief on the run, hating himself for his cowardice where Hester Leighton was concerned, but helpless to behave any differently.

  He knew he must not see Miss Leighton again, for her own good.

  The fact that he was at times actually tempted to pursue her terrified him. More than anything, he didn’t want to end up hurting her. He prided himself on the fact that he still had some ethics left. But he also knew he was a weak man, given to indulging his every whim, especially when it came to women, games and drink.

  However, the more time he spent in Miss Leighton’s company, the harder it was becoming to hold onto those few shreds of scruples and not turn his charms full force on her. He was an expert seducer; he had enough conquests to know he would succeed, no matter how many religious convictions she claimed. Stronger, more experienced women had succumbed to his lures.

  He considered his amorous history, not with pride, but in a realistic assessment of the risks to the young, innocent woman.

  Why not pursue Miss Leighton? a tiny voice asked. As she had so frankly stated it, she was an heiress, and an heiress would keep the wolves from the door, even if her money had no power to save his soul.

  Like a strong magnetic pull, the idea drew him. What was it about this girl that threatened to captivate him as no other woman in the British Isles and across the Continent of Europe had and whose attraction he fought with everything he possessed?r />
  It was more than her freshness and innocence. He’d enjoyed that before. It was more than her pretty face and pleasing personality. He’d known such women by the score—more beautiful and vivacious. Was it perhaps the look he’d sometimes catch in her eyes, a sort of pensiveness, as if she were discerning who he really was deep in the recesses of his black soul?

  He was tempted at those times to give in to his desires and pursue her, to meet the challenge he read in her gaze. It was as if he wanted to win her for the sole purpose of discovering what her look really meant. Somehow he suspected that even after he’d captured her and was ready to claim his victory, she would have the last laugh. Those variegated brown eyes with their greenish depths, would laugh as if to say, “You thought you’d fooled me, that I was too naive to know what I was getting, but you didn’t fool me. I knew exactly who you were.”

  He’d see then that she had perceived all along what a base, worthless fellow he was. She’d uncover his history, and then concede that even her Savior would want nothing to do with Gerrit.

  He shook his head at the folly of his thoughts. She was a mere chit of a girl. What did she know of men and the world? Look how Delia’s behavior had shocked her.

  Miss Leighton was an innocent. He was sure of it. How he’d love to test his theory by stealing another kiss—not a bare skimming of lips. No. This would be a soul-searing kiss that would brand her forever as his.

  One real kiss would prove just how innocent she was. But he’d held back up to now from crossing that threshold.

  Why was he trying so hard to spare her? Or was it himself he was desperate to spare?

  After Major Hawkes left the house party, Hester found Thistleworth Park a dreary place. At least Lord Billingsley had also departed. Neither had bid her goodbye and she wondered if they had left together. She felt Lord Billingsley’s departure a good riddance, but couldn’t help feeling a sense of hurt at Major Hawkes’s lack of any farewell.