Waiting for a Rogue Like You
Rogues of Redmere
Samantha Holt
Copyright 2018©Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter One
Penshallow, Cornwall 1813
Rain beat upon the window. The fire beside Drake hissed as droplets seeped down the chimney. Wind buffeted the inn, making its presence known, slipping through the cracks in the window behind him and sending a chill down his spine. He tightened his muscles and forced away the shudder that threatened to wrack him. He hated nights like this.
He drained his ale and gestured to Louisa to bring him another. The tang of drink had long worn off and the gentle warmth of the alcohol had dissipated. He’d need something stronger before long if he was ever to sleep through the weather that was battering the coast of Cornwall. But his bed was a few hours away, so he’d save a healthy helping of whiskey until then.
“Bit late even for you, Drake,” Louisa commented, whipping a cloth from her belt and wiping down the table before placing a mug of ale in front of him.
He grinned at the pretty barmaid. “Do you not enjoy my fine company?”
She gave him a knowing look. Louisa had always been somewhat immune to his charms. But then the owner of the Ship Inn knew him better than most in their small fishing village. With Louisa’s help, he and the rest of his crew had skirted many a customs man.
“So long as you have coin, I enjoy your company just fine.”
He shook his head. “And here I thought it was my fine looks and witty humor you liked me for.”
“Some women might be charmed by your scarred face, Drake, but I prefer a man with a clean jaw and a sensible look about him.”
He smirked. “Ale and insults. I wonder why I continue to come back here.”
“Because”—she paused and tucked the cloth back into her belt— “I’m the only innkeeper who will have you.”
A shout at the bar drew her attention from Drake, leaving him alone with his fresh ale. He lifted a finger and trailed it down the scar on his lip. A cold knot bunched in his stomach. He shook his head and dropped his hand away.
One scar hardly meant much. Besides, Louisa was right. Despite his limp and the scar, women found him more handsome than ever. The nice little air of danger seemed to draw them in with ease. At least he wasn’t grizzled like Knight. That man was more scarred and ugly than any of their smuggling crew.
Drake took a quick swig of ale, closing his eyes briefly to feel it slide down his throat and settle in his gut, washing away the tightness there. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of a fair-haired wench, currently propped against a wall with a redheaded friend, looking bored indeed.
He crooked a finger at the woman and motioned to her friend. A little female company would pass the time until either the weather settled, and he could return to the ship or he passed out from drinking. Either would be acceptable, but he’d rather fall asleep in a tangle of female limbs.
A smile curved the woman’s lips and she pressed a hand to her friend’s arm, drawing her attention to Drake. Both women sidled over, one draping herself immediately across his lap. She smelled of log fires and too much cheap perfume, but her body was soft against his and her breasts bountiful. The redheaded woman drew a chair close and sat beside him, running a hand down one arm.
“You a soldier?” she asked.
“Not anymore.”
The woman on his lap laughed. “Drake is a captain,” she told her friend. “She’s new here,” she explained.
Drake dug through his memory for a name for the woman currently running her fingers through his hair. He knew most of the wenches who frequented the inn and the chances were he’d bedded her before but her name escaped him.
He flashed a grin at the friend. “Lucky for me.”
“You want two tonight then?” The woman on his lap trailed her fingers down his chest, slipping into the open neckline of his shirt.
Her cool, slightly rough fingers made him shudder. Behind him, the rain beat against the glass. He nodded swiftly. “Two. Definitely.” Hell, he’d have four or five if he could. On a night like this, being wrapped in a bundle of warm, female bodies was sounding more appealing by the second. “What’s your name?” he asked the redhead.
“Anything you want it to be.” She leaned in and stroked a hand down his chest. “He’s strong.”
The light-haired woman nodded. “Drake here is practically a gentleman, aren’t you, Drake?”
“Rich, strong, and practically a gentleman,” the woman cooed. “You should have a wife to go home to.”
He chuckled and stroked a finger over the revealed shoulder of the redhead. “Why would I want a wife when I can enjoy the company of women like you?”
And many other women. Since returning from the war, he’d found it remarkably easy to sway women into bed. Not that he’d ever had any real difficulties, but captaining a ship and a little gray around the temples had certainly helped. He grinned to himself. Gave him that worldly, dangerous look that combined so perfectly with the scar.
A gust of frigid air blew into the inn, riffling the fabric of the woman’s gown. Leaves tumbled across the wooden floorboards and one came to a stop near Drake’s boot. He glanced up at the newcomer.
Female. He straightened a little. A female in a fine gown. He peered around and noted he wasn’t the only one to stir at the entrance of this stranger. Several other men followed her with their gazes as she passed by their tables.
He watched, breath held, waiting for an opportunity to glimpse her features. Tucked under a cloak, she carried herself like a woman who had been to a finishing school, head lifted, shoulders back, with a graceful elegance seldom seen in Cornish fishing villages. The women here had no time for worrying about their posture or how they walked.
She glanced around, and Drake straightened further. He’d known somehow. Known how beautiful she’d be. She pushed down the hood of the cloak, revealing black, glossy hair coiled carefully. A few loose, damp strands clung to her face and she pushed one away with a finger. Generous lips combined with large eyes and a profile that was as close to perfection as he’d ever seen. A bolt of need speared him, sending liquid heat through his body.
What the devil was a woman like that doing in an inn so late at night unchaperoned?
The woman stopped at the bar and leaned over to speak to Louisa. He could not hear the words exchanged, but Louisa shook her head and
the lady made a frustrated noise. She slumped onto a stool at the bar and dropped her head to the wood, leaving her arms hanging limply at her side. She straightened herself quickly and seemed to shake herself out of whatever distress she had found herself in. He heard her ask Louisa for a sherry.
Well, if he ever saw a woman in distress, here was one. And Lord forbid he ignore a beautiful woman in need. He peeled away the female hands from his chest and fished out a few coins and handed them to the wenches. The fair-haired woman rolled her eyes.
“Can’t keep Drake’s attention for long,” she explained to her friend. “Not when there’s another pretty face around.” She jerked her head toward the woman.
The redhead pouted. “A pity. Perhaps we can warm your bed another time, Drake.”
He nodded. “How could I pass up on such an offer?” He winked at the redhead and waited for the woman on his lap to move before rising and snatching his ale.
He’d once loathed the limp his injury had given him, but once he’d discovered it softened women toward him, he used it to good effect. He didn’t need this woman’s pity today, though, so he opted to keep his limp at a minimum.
Louisa motioned to him when he approached the bar. “Drake, perhaps you might know where Knight is.”
He lifted a brow and looked between the woman and Louisa. Up close, the stranger was pure perfection. Creamy skin, slightly dewy from the rain, flushed cheeks, a few delicate freckles across her nose, and lips that made him want to sink to his knees and beg to feel them on his skin. She mimicked his expression, lifting one dark eyebrow.
“What would a lady like you be wanting with Knight?”
“That is none of your business.”
He’d been right. This was an educated woman. Potentially wealthy too. The finery of her clothing was even more apparent now he was a mere few steps away, and her accent was refined.
He shrugged and settled himself on the stool next to her. Louisa shot him a warning look that said ‘play nicely’ as she went to attend to two men by the fireplace. He flashed her a grin. He always played nicely. So nicely in fact, most women came back wanting more.
Drake gulped down some ale, watching her from the periphery of his vision. She kept her gaze pointedly ahead. “If you do not tell me what you want with Knight, I am not sure I can help.”
Her head snapped around. Fire flared in her eyes. “I have had a long, tiring day. If you know something, I suggest you tell me immediately.”
His lips quirked. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “No.” Her shoulders sagged. “I just need to know where Lewis is.”
The hint of vulnerability in her posture pulled at some seldom tugged string inside him. He’d done heroics. Still did occasionally, though they rarely involved women. The smuggling ring for which he captained a ship was mostly a cover for their wartime involvement. Under the guise of nothing but lawless smugglers, he and three other men organized shipping goods and spies to help the war effort. However, that was about as heroic as he got since getting struck by shrapnel in battle. The pretty penny he earned smuggling goods in was the real benefit.
As much as he wanted to continue to toy with her, he could not. “Away on business, I’m afraid.”
“You are an acquaintance of his?”
He nodded. “A friend I suppose. Though Knight might say otherwise.”
The brooding hulk of a man had been brought on as the face of their smuggling efforts. He had a criminal look to him and hardly anyone knew a thing about him. Red, the Earl of Redmere, who had been the one to bring them together, knew little more than the rest of them, save that Lewis Knight’s terrifying exterior saved them from many a scrape.
“When will he return? Where are his lodgings?”
“That is a more difficult question to answer, I’m afraid.”
“If you are his friend, how do you not know where he is?”
Drake lifted a shoulder. “That’s Knight for you. He likes to keep himself to himself.”
She sighed again and tightened the cloak around her neck. When she made to leave, he put a hand to her arm. Her gaze shot up to his, her eyes reminding him of luxurious, warm whiskey.
“It’s a dark night.”
Her lips curved. “Most nights are.”
He chuckled. “It’s cold and wet too. Why do you not join me for a drink by the fire? Dry off before venturing out again?”
“I did not come here for a drink.” She slid off the stool and flipped up the hood of her cloak. “Particularly not with a man who enjoys the company of...well...” She slid a pointed look toward the women who had found another couple of men to occupy them.
“I see I am to have my previous sins held against me.” He stood and straightened. “But regardless, you should not be out there alone. Many unsavory sorts frequent nights like these. It’s not safe for a woman like yourself.”
“I have travelled a long way alone, sir, and dealt with many unsavory sorts.” Her lips tilted. “Some even worse than you.”
He shook his head with a grin. Her bold stance combined with the dash of fire in her eyes had him off balance—not the sort of position in which a man with a damaged leg needed to be.
“You would put yourself in danger to spite me? A man you do not know?”
The woman ran her gaze over him. “I see more danger to my person here.”
He could not deny that. Every part of him ran hot with need. The spark had ignited into an inferno as soon as she’d opened her mouth and looked at him with such disdain. If she remained in his company, he could not guarantee he’d remain a gentleman.
Not that she thought him one in the first place.
“Now, if you will excuse me...” She nodded toward the women. “I shall leave you to your female company. No doubt they would prefer your companionship to their current friends.”
“Then you admit there is something a woman might like about my company?”
“Not this woman.”
She gave him no chance to respond, striding toward the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the night. He opened his mouth then shut it, sinking back onto the stool.
Well, blast. His charms had utterly failed him. However, if she was looking for Knight he might well see her again. Perhaps next time, he would be able to make a better impression. What an attractive, refined woman like her would want with a beast of a man like Knight, however, he did not know.
A knife of dread jabbed into his gut when two of the patrons stood. They conferred for a moment then nodded to each other before leaving the inn. Men like that did not leave in the middle of a storm—not without purpose.
And he had a strong suspicion what that purpose was.
The woman.
He sighed and snatched up his jacket from his original seat. It looked like he’d be seeing the woman sooner than he thought.
Chapter Two
“Oh blast.” Julianna lifted her foot and grimaced, eyeing the puddle she’d failed to avoid.
Wind buffeted her, pushing back her hood for the hundredth time and soaking her hair. The warm glow of lamplights from the few cottages scattered across the hills leading down to the village made her shudder in envy. The sooner she made it back to her lodgings, the better.
No, the sooner she found her brother, the better. Damn the man. Why did Knight have to be so secretive and evasive? It was not like someone would ever come after him.
Unlike her. For all she knew, her fiancé could be on his way down to Cornwall right now, likely ensconced in a nice, luxurious carriage. She trudged farther along the grooves created by carts and carriages travelling up the hillside, keeping to the grass so as to avoid any more puddles.
Of course, John would travel in nothing less than luxury while she had been forced to take the mail coach all the way down to Cornwall. That in itself had been daunting, crammed into a tiny compartment with strangers. However, it was still better than waiting around to be married to such an awful man. Now all she had to do
was find her brother and pray he could help her. If not, she would likely starve on the streets.
And what unforgiving streets these were. The tiny fishing village was vastly different to her father’s estate on the border of Scotland, or Edinburgh or any of the other fine towns throughout the country. Ships were docked in the harbor, their lamps lit and reflecting off the choppy water. Even the long estuary could not protect them from the raging sea. Smaller fishing boats kept them company, bobbing up and down with each wave. Sea spray battered the village that huddled around the estuary.
Julianna hunched farther into her cloak, pinning it in place with a hand. The gentle weight of her reticule knocked against her hip, reminding her of her destitute state. She had little coin left and had only just been able to afford her lodgings for the night. All the travelling had cost her what little fortune she had to her name. Somehow, she would need to find a way to earn money because she would not ever return home, not if it meant being forced into a marriage with the vile Mr. John Slade.
The sign of a boot hanging over the inn in the distance made her muscles loosen. She would get warm, dry off, and then begin her hunt again as soon as the sun rose. Perhaps she should have stayed at the previous inn until the rain had eased, but she could not remain around such a man. She might not have a wealth of experience around men, but she knew a rogue when she saw one. Whoever he was, she had no doubt he would try to take advantage of her, and Julianna Knight was no fool.
Or perhaps she was. She paused, aware of a shadow in the periphery of her vision. Her cloak blocked much of her vision, so she pushed it back a little, quickening her pace. She could not hear footsteps over the gusts of wind and rain, but a shiver trailed its icy fingers up her spine. And it was not because of the cold.
She was being followed.
Risking a glance over her shoulder, the ice solidified in her stomach.
She could not see his features, but he was a big man and clearly following her. Julianna fixed her attention on the inn sign. She was not far away. If she could just make it—
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