The Rogue Is Back in Town

by Anna Bennett

  Perhaps it couldn’t be accomplished in a day or two, as he’d originally hoped. Nigel probably had no idea that the house he wished to sell was occupied by an elderly man and his feisty niece, who happened to be far too beautiful for her own good. Dealing with them would require a bit more patience and persuasion than Sam had initially anticipated.

  But persuade them he must. Nigel had given an ultimatum, a final opportunity to prove that Sam could be trusted. That he was capable of more than a life of gambling, womanizing, and excess. That despite considerable evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t a complete waste of human flesh. However, before he could hope to convince anyone else of that fact, he had to convince Miss Lacey.

  She sat upon her wobbly, faded chair with her arms crossed, her chin held high, and her gaze icy, a warrior queen intent on defending her kingdom.

  Sam circled behind her, adjusting the ties of his shirt and smoothing his jacket in a futile attempt to make himself more presentable. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the settee, and sat opposite her.

  “I would never forcibly remove you,” he began. “And I sincerely apologize for threatening to do so.”

  She sniffed. “Have you nothing else to add?”

  “I was only beginning to enumerate my offences,” he replied, even as he scrambled to think of another. “I also regret calling on you in my current disheveled state … and the insensitive manner in which I behaved earlier. Most of all, I regret causing those furrows on your forehead.”

  “How gallant of you to mention it,” she said dryly.

  “Forgive me, Miss Lacey. That was poorly done. But rest assured, even frown lines cannot detract from your beauty.” Good God, he should stop talking before he dug himself even deeper. “A momentary cloud doesn’t diminish the brilliance of the sun—it only makes one appreciate it more.”

  She narrowed her eyes skeptically. “If the apology you offer is sincere, you will leave this household at once.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “It’s a very simple matter,” she snapped. “You could do it if you wished.”

  “It occurs to me that we would make more headway if we were to converse in a civil manner. Would you allow me to explain?”

  She glanced at a clock with a cracked face perched on the mantel. “I shall give you exactly ten minutes to make your case. After your time has expired, you will leave. If you do not, I shall send for the authorities and alert them that a strange and dangerous intruder refuses to leave the premises.”

  “Strange and dangerous? Perhaps I’m a bit rough around the edges, but that hardly makes me a criminal. In fact, I’m attempting to extend an olive branch, in case you hadn’t noticed—”

  “Nine and one-half minutes,” she intoned.

  Damn. He expended five more seconds on a slow, seductive smile, confident it would be worth the investment of time.

  But she continued to glare at him, rigid as ever.

  “I know little of this house’s history,” he began, “but I will share what I know. You deserve to have all the facts, such as they are.”

  She frowned, and her lips parted as though she’d speak, but instead she gave him a curt nod.

  “My father, the former Marquess of Currington, was unfailingly kind to everyone and generous to a fault. He had an encouraging word and a warm smile for everyone he met, from the lowliest maid to the wealthiest duke. He routinely visited the poor and sick, bringing food and medicine. And he allowed his distant relative—your aunt, I assume—to live here without recompense.”

  “He sounds like a very decent sort,” she said, as though she couldn’t quite believe a man of his caliber had spawned such an evil son.

  “Decent, yes. But I fear he was not the shrewdest businessman. I can’t recall him ever calling in a debt.” Sam paused and swallowed so he’d be able to continue discussing his father without his voice cracking. “You wouldn’t happen to have any brandy in here, would you?”

  “I most certainly would not.” She called to the butler who’d apparently been standing guard just outside. “Would you please bring up a tea tray, Mr. Finch?”

  She checked the clock. “Eight minutes.”

  “Are you always so punctual?” he quipped, but he found himself truly curious about her. Why would a beautiful young miss choose to hide away in a tumbledown house with her peculiar uncle? She must have received marriage offers aplenty, and yet, no man had managed to capture her heart—yet.

  “Time is a precious commodity, Lord Travis. Wasting it is akin to throwing guineas into the gutter.”

  “How eloquently stated.” He pressed his fingertips to his temple, willing the pounding in his head to subside. “But you are correct. Life can be snatched away in an instant. My father had the largest heart of anyone I know … and, ironically, it was that organ that ultimately failed him.”

  “I am sorry to hear of it,” she said softly. “You must miss him.”

  “I do.” Sam shifted on the settee, taking a moment to compose himself. “When he died, one year ago, my brother inherited his title—and all of the headaches that come with it. My father had not been ill. He’d had no time to put his affairs in order. So, the task of sorting through all his mismanaged accounts, properties, and business ventures fell on Nigel.”

  “I see. And I suppose that you consider this house one of the mismanaged properties.”

  Damn, but she was sharp-tongued. “I didn’t say that. But I won’t insult you by tiptoeing around the truth. While reviewing my father’s papers, Nigel apparently discovered that this house belonged to my father, which means it is now his. I’m afraid he has alternate plans for the property which require you and your uncle to relocate.”

  She sat there, still and silent, but she’d heard the words. The rapid rise and fall of her chest belied her calm exterior. “Is that all?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She closed her eyes momentarily as though summoning patience. “Have you shared all you know about this house’s history?”

  He nodded.

  “Then allow me to tell you what I know of it. Many years ago, my uncle and his young, beautiful bride spent the happiest years of their lives here. She sang as she played the harp in this very parlor every night after dinner, making up her own words to amuse my uncle. But she took her last breaths in the bedchamber upstairs, after giving birth to a stillborn child, and my uncle … well, he had the harp removed because the mere sight of it broke his heart.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said, surprised he meant it. He didn’t know Lord Wiltmore personally, but Miss Lacey obviously adored him. And damn it all if that didn’t complicate matters. Ousting a stranger who’d been sponging off his family’s generosity for decades was one thing. Now the man had a name … and a sympathetic past … and a beautiful niece.

  “My uncle lived here, alone, for several years,” she continued, “channeling all his grief and loneliness into his research. His study down the hall houses the notes representing thousands of hours of meticulous work. He rarely ventured out into society, until…”

  “You and your sisters arrived?” he provided.

  “Yes. You see, no one was eager to take in three orphaned girls with no fortune of their own. A few cousins contrived a plan whereby Meg, Beth, and I would each stay with a different family member, spreading us out over three different counties. But we couldn’t bear to be apart and had resolved that we’d run away before we’d dissolve our trio. We had already secretly packed our bags when we received the letter from Uncle Alistair, inviting us to stay with him. This house was our salvation.” She swallowed, and her eyes welled.

  “Miss Lacey,” he said. Crying women were his Achilles’ heel. “There’s no need to—”

  “Please, allow me to finish.” She squared her shoulders, blew out a long breath, and composed herself. “This parlor is where Meg taught me all the colorful French words she knew and where Beth tried to show me how to waltz but
turned everything around so I learned the gentleman’s part by mistake. It’s where my uncle made a game of teaching us the Latin names of different animal species, and Meg always won—except for the time that Beth and I cheated by hiding the answers in an embroidery hoop.” She glanced up at him guiltily. “Meg still doesn’t know about that.”

  He grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  She stared at him, impassive. “You say your brother has a paper—a deed, I presume—proclaiming this house to be his. I may not have anything so tangible, but my uncle, my sisters, and I … we are the heart and soul of this house.”

  “I don’t believe that houses have souls,” he said wearily. “They are built not of flesh and blood, but of brick and mortar.” He eyed a fine crack in the ceiling. “And if you want to know the truth of it, this one could use a bit more mortar.”

  “And you could use a bit more compassion. It’s hardly a secret that this house is in need of repair. The stairs creak so that it’s impossible to sneak to the kitchen in the middle of the night, and the banister still wobbles from the time I slid down it and broke the newel post—and my arm. This house is neither grand nor elegant … but it’s ours.”

  Sam stood and raked a hand through his hair. She’d given a pretty speech, but all those stories were a transparent attempt to pull on his heart strings and manipulate him. She wasn’t the first person who’d been required to move from one residence to another—people did it all the time. So why did he feel like such a monster for asking her to go?

  Planting his hands on his hips, he faced her. “Yes, this has been your home for some time, and it has served you well. Nothing will erase your treasured memories. But my brother was quite adamant. He expects me to take possession of the house.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and a chill slithered down his spine. “Why did your brother send you instead of a solicitor? Why are you the harbinger of this disagreeable news?”

  Bloody hell. What was he supposed to tell her? That the task had fallen on him as a penance for climbing into bed with a spinster well into her seventh decade? That it was a test he must pass if he wished to avoid being disowned by his brother—the only close family member he had left, now that their father was gone?

  The truth was that until Sam accomplished the task, he wouldn’t have a place to rest his head at night.

  “Suffice it to say my brother left the job to me,” he said coolly, “and I will not fail him. I see no need to summon your uncle immediately, but when he awakens, we must tell him the news. You may be the one to tell him if you like … but if you don’t, I will.”

  Spots of color appeared high on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed defiantly. “Heavens, would you look at the time? I’m afraid your ten minutes have expired.” She rose from the chair and walked briskly toward the front hall, blue silk swishing around her legs like a lake in a tempest. “I must bid you good day, Lord Travis—and insist that you refrain from calling in the future. You and your deplorable manners and your … your ridiculous claims are most unwelcome here.”

  Chapter FIVE

  Julie clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling. She’d never been skilled at bluffing, and yet, she’d rushed headlong into a standoff with this exceedingly masculine, ruthlessly handsome stranger. She’d demanded that Lord Travis leave at once, but he hadn’t made the slightest move to do so. Instead, he stared at her insolently, letting his gaze rake over her as though taking her measure.

  She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. What if he refused to do her bidding? She couldn’t very well grab him by an impossibly muscled bicep and haul him out. No one in her household possessed the strength to overpower him, and besides, she wouldn’t risk injury to any of the staff.

  She’d threatened to alert the authorities, but would she? Blast it all, as much as it pained her to admit even to herself, Lord Travis could be telling the truth. She’d assumed that the house was Uncle Alistair’s ancestral family home but had never had cause to ask him about it. What if the house truly did belong to the marquess? Alerting the authorities would do naught—but possibly expose her uncle and her as squatters.

  The next move belonged to Lord Travis, and Julie held her breath as she waited for him to make it.

  He strolled closer, casually, as though he had all the time in the world, and paused before her. “Bold words from a woman in your precarious position. I am attempting to be reasonable, but make no mistake—I could toss you and your uncle out onto the pavement if I wished.”

  Blood boiling with indignation, she spoke through her teeth. “No gentleman would threaten a lady in that manner.”

  His amused, heavy-lidded stare did nothing to cool her temper—but it had a most peculiar effect on her belly. “I never claimed to be a gentleman, Miss Lacey. I find the associated rules rather confining.”

  “Rules like wearing a cravat and dressing modestly in the light of day? I suppose such customs must be quite tedious for you,” she said sharply.

  “They are.” He crossed his arms, leaned against the door jamb, and smiled—the very picture of an unapologetic rake. “My reputation should be proof enough that I am not constrained by society’s mores. Something you would do well to remember.”

  His gaze flicked over her face, lingering a bit too long on her lips.

  Her cheeks flamed, but she would not retreat—not even an inch. Instead, she played her last remaining card. “And you would do well to remember that I have two powerful brothers-in-law. Neither the earl nor the duke would be pleased if they knew you were here, harassing me.” It was true. And though neither was within one hundred miles of London, Lord Travis needn’t know it. “They are fiercely protective of their kin, and no one with a smidgen of good sense would dare to raise their ire.”

  The corner of his mouth curled into a wicked smile. “I’ve never been accused of having good sense, but your point is well taken.” Thoughtful, he sauntered to the mantel and picked up one of Uncle Alistair’s odd treasures—a drinking cup with a stem resembling a griffin’s claw. Running a finger over gilt silver, he inspected the cup as though debating its value. But she knew what he really was about—he was marking his territory.

  She wanted to launch herself at him and rip the cup out of his hands. He had no right to touch her uncle’s prized possessions or frown at the thin layer of dust covering the knick-knacks in his collection or arch a superior brow at her.

  But he might very well have a right to the house. So she bit her tongue.

  “It occurs to me that each of us has something to lose,” he drawled. “You stand to lose your home, and if your irate brothers-in-law unleash their anger on me, I stand to lose my perfectly straight nose.”

  A dozen retorts danced on the edge of her lips, but she remained silent.

  “However, if we were to work together,” he continued, “perhaps we’d be able to minimize our losses.”

  Julie blinked in disbelief. “I don’t see how we could possibly—”

  Mr. Finch entered the room, carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot, assorted china, and a plate of scones. “Here you are, Miss Juliette,” he said, setting the tray on a table. “Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No, thank you. I shall ring if I require assistance of any kind.” The words had barely left her mouth before Lord Travis swooped over the tray, plucking a scone off the platter like some audacious bird of prey.

  When faced with trials and tribulations, her first instinct was always to turn to her sisters. But they were married now, starting their own families. Meg and Will had their hands full with their adorable seven-year-old twin adopted daughters and were also expecting their first baby together. After Meg suffered a few fainting spells, the doctor ordered her to rest as much as possible until the babe arrived that winter. Julie would not risk upsetting her sister in her fragile condition and certainly didn’t want to be the reason her devoted husband had to leave her side.

  Beth and Alex were also unavailable for the ne
xt few weeks while on their honeymoon—in an undisclosed location. Their butler knew how to reach them in case any emergency should arise, but Julie was loath to spoil this idyllic time for the couple. After all they’d gone through to find each other, Beth and Alex deserved a few weeks of newly wedded bliss. Indeed, they deserved a lifetime.

  Julie could handle this on her own. All she had to do was put off Lord Travis for three or four weeks, until Beth and Alex returned. She would delay using all manner of tactics. She would feign naiveté, create a diversion, and drag her slippers at every opportunity. Anything to spare her sisters this headache—and spare herself some embarrassment.

  Because she had a terrible, sinking feeling that her current dilemma was somehow tangled up with her previous indiscretion with the marquess. It seemed an unlikely coincidence that the man she’d foolishly kissed—and even more foolishly believed to care for her—now claimed to own the house she occupied.

  Perhaps if she pretended to be amenable to working with Lord Travis, she could sort it all out before her sisters or anyone else learned what she’d done—and how she’d humiliated herself.

  Lord Travis had helped himself to a second scone and was plunking sugar cubes into his tea. “Shall I pour for you?” he asked.

  “Is there anything left?” she replied wryly.

  “Forgive me. I hadn’t broken my fast, but I’m already feeling more human.”

  “If only you could behave like one,” she muttered uncharitably.

  “Do not count on it, tigress,” he said, handing her a cup of tea.

  Her hackles rose. “Tigress?”

  Shrugging, he said, “You’re formidable, like a tigress guarding her cubs.”

  She rewarded the observation with an icy glare but was rather pleased on the inside. She’d been aiming for formidable. “Earlier, when you said we should work together, what did you have in mind?”

  “I thought we might make certain accommodations for each other. Compromise.”