Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  To her astonishment, Raleigh reached for the book, snatching it from her easily. She sputtered as he took it with his gloved hands, then swallowed her protest as his slender fingers stroked the cover. Her breath caught oddly at the sight.

  “Coelebs in Search of a Wife, Comprehending Observations on Domestic Habits and Manners, Religion and Morals. Gad, Jane, you cannot take this tripe seriously!”

  “And why not?” she said, bristling.

  “Why not?” Leafing through the pages, Raleigh read aloud a passage in which the young protagonist was interviewing the parents of a potential bride. It should have been most moving and enlightening, but Raleigh made the fellow sound like a self-righteous prig. To make matters worse he effected a falsetto voice when mimicking the man’s words, and it was all Jane could do to retain her composure.

  Upon finishing, Raleigh looked at her, his brows arched in mockery. “Gad, Jane, you cannot tell me that is the sort of husband you would want!”

  With a frown of dismay, Jane removed the book from Raleigh’s careless grasp. “I admit he sounds a trifle…pompous,” she said, “but perhaps this is not one of her best works.”

  Her half-hearted defense of Hannah More was met with a resounding peal of laughter as Raleigh threw his head back, so carelessly engaging that Jane wanted to retch. “I cannot think what you find so amusing, for I daresay that my dear papa would approve my choice of literature.”

  Raleigh only laughed harder. “Literature? Hannah More?”

  Jane flushed. “Papa says that she is a tireless striver for moral improvement.”

  Finally, Raleigh stopped his infernal whooping to gaze at her with what could only be described as an unholy gleam in his eyes. “And do your morals need improving, Jane?” he asked in a low voice that nearly made her shiver. For a moment, she could only gape at him as an unseemly riot of sensations seized her. As she watched, his lashes lowered, his grin faded slightly, and Jane found herself staring at his mouth.

  Jerking her attention away, Jane lifted the volume in front of her face, thinking to dismiss him, but soon a gloved finger appeared above the page, pushing it back downward. There was nothing to do but meet his gaze once more, although she scowled at the disturbance. “And, as for your dear papa, I think he would much prefer the works of Homer and Euripides! Isn’t he a scholar of ancient Greece?” he asked.

  Jane had forgotten that Raleigh was well acquainted with her family and all its foibles. “He is, rather, but it is Charlotte and Max—Lord Wycliffe, who are the true devotees,” she said, raising her book again.

  “And you are not?”

  Sniffing loudly, she slammed the tome onto her lap. “I am sick to death of hearing about Plutarch and the like!” she exclaimed, daring him to reprove her.

  But this was Raleigh, not Max, and he only laughed, as if pleased by her words. “Good for you! It seems we have one thing in common then, for I admit to nodding off whenever Wycliffe and your sister get into one of their long-winded discussions.”

  He was lounging back among the cushions, his perfect body casually displayed in its tight clothing, his blue eyes glittering with shared humor, his lips drawn upward in amusement, and it was all Jane could do not to smile helplessly back at him. Instead, she bit the inside of her lip and told herself that forgoing his companionship was good for her. Just like avoiding wine and sweets and luxuries—and the excessive passions of anger and envy. Restraint. Jane had practiced it all her life, and now she must apply it to her relationship with her husband. With a huff of dismissal, she turned once again to the pages before her.

  “I shall have to find some reading material for you,” Raleigh said softly, his voice gently teasing. “Something more appropriate for a newly married woman than such deadly dull business as this.” Only Raleigh could make the suggestion sound wicked, as if his choice would be anything but appropriate. Jane steadfastly ignored him.

  “Jane.”

  She frowned at his tenor changed to a more urgent tone, and she steeled herself against its appeal. Raleigh was never serious. “Yes?” she asked without looking up.

  “I would like to apologize for Pimperington.” The words, uttered with a semblance of sincerity, made her swallow hard, but she betrayed nothing behind the shield of her book.

  “That is not necessary. You have chosen your friends and may certainly invite them to dine,” she said, refusing to acknowledge any deeper meaning behind his words.

  “He’s harmless, really,” Raleigh said. “He is slightly deaf, so that is why he speaks so loudly. And he is slightly gauche, which explains his thoughtless insult in presuming you a governess. However, if you persist in dressing that way, you cannot blame people for mistaking you.”

  Jane nearly gasped in outrage. Raleigh was turning his friend’s ill-mannered behavior back upon her, as if she were at fault! “There is nothing wrong with my clothing,” she replied stiffly.

  Raleigh laughed. “Oh, Jane, admit that you have deliberately chosen somber hues that make you look as though you are in mourning!”

  Once more, she slammed the volume down onto her lap. No one had ever had cause to complain about her garments before, except for Charlotte, of course, but her sister was used to expensive gowns that matched her beauty. “I wear what is appropriate for me,” she said. Wasn’t it Sarah who claimed there was no sense dressing a sparrow in peacock feathers?

  “Well, now you are a viscountess, so you may wear something besides black, gray and brown,” Raleigh said. Before she could protest, he went on. “As to Pimperington, you may have noticed that he has a tendency to speak his thoughts aloud, without due consideration, but he is a good sort. And when he is short of funds, he finds an excuse to visit, so that I’ll feed him, and I do.”

  Jane’s mood shifted as this admission called up a grudging admiration for her husband. It was good of him to provide a meal for Pimperington, even if the man was an odious creature. She knew her father would heartily approve such conduct, and she wondered if perhaps Raleigh did care about something other than his cravat. She eyed him speculatively.

  “I’ve been in that situation myself and have relied on the generosity of friends,” he admitted with a rueful grin, and Jane’s admiration fled. So that explained his sudden charity! The thought of this wealthy, spoiled dandy cadging meals from others positively sickened her. Raleigh was everything she’d thought he was, and less.

  “Please, say no more!” she begged, burying her face in her book again. Somehow, to have her worst opinions verified was no comfort to her. Indeed, she wished that her husband could be something else, someone who did not lie or waste money or worship his mirror.

  “Eh? What is it, Jane? Say you are not still put out with Pimperington. He is not so bad!”

  Despite her efforts to control it, Jane’s agitation grew, forcing her to speak. “Where you wish to eat is not my concern. However, when you concoct Banbury tales about me, I cannot condone it!”

  “What’s that?” Raleigh asked, sounding genuinely confused.

  “Let me refresh your memory,” she said, laying aside Hannah More’s tale. “You claimed to your friend that you had a tendre for me when it is simply not so! I can tolerate many things,” she said, as her eyes wandered over his excessively well-dressed person, “but I must insist upon honesty between us.”

  Instead of blushing with shame, the rogue leaned back in his seat, a slow grin curving his lips. “And how can you be so sure I did not—have a tendre for you, that is?” he asked.

  Nearly sputtering in outrage, Jane nonetheless resolved to maintain a modicum of restraint. “I am not one of your…many flirtations, my lord, so do not treat me as such! Believe it or not, I find myself quite able to withstand your charms without swooning!”

  Raleigh made a great show of sighing. “I know, Jane love, but you cannot blame me for trying, can you?” He dimpled, his eyes gleaming with mischief in a pose he no doubt thought endearing, but Jane told herself that she was immune. She sniffed.

 
“Ah, well, no doubt it is for the best and you have come into my life to keep me humble,” he said, pretending a conciliatory tone. “But you cannot scold me for’ what I told Pimperington. I had to say something. He is one of the most well-known gossipmongers of the ton, and I did not want any speculation as to our marriage. I did it to protect you, Jane.”

  “So you say,” she answered primly. He had proved himself a liar, so how was she to determine the truth? Better to treat every word the man spoke as suspect than to buy a pig in a poke, as Sarah would say. Nor had she any intention of letting him know how much his tarradiddle disturbed her. “But I do not know why you went to such trouble,” she said airily. “No one will swallow the tale, anyway.”

  “Oh, don’t be so sure of that,” Raleigh said. His tone made her look at him, but the amused expression he sported prompted her to glance swiftly away. Careless cad! With another loud sniff of displeasure, she picked up her book, but he had robbed her of any pleasure she might have found in its pages. Now, she could not read the young man’s earnest speech without hearing Raleigh’s mimicry.

  And so she fumed for the rest of the day and most of the journey to follow, as time passed much the same along their northern route. Raleigh eventually took the hint and began riding alongside the coach, until rain forced him to join her once more.

  Jane was not sure what was worse. When he was not with her, the luxurious interior seemed suddenly uncomfortable and empty, and the pace grew more wearying without the sound of his voice, gently teasing her. Despite her best intentions, Jane often abandoned her book to peer out the window for a glimpse of her husband, for without him, the sunlight dimmed and the air grew chilly.

  Conversely, when Raleigh was present, Jane felt a constant annoyance with his carefree attitude. She disliked his light-toned conversation, his perfect clothes and, worst of all, the mocking gleam in his eye that seemed to mark his amusement with everything—even himself. She told herself that Raleigh, for all his faults, was a better companion than the maid, whom she refused to ride with, and that even his company was better than none, but dissatisfaction plagued her.

  Perhaps it was the travel to which she was so unaccustomed that fueled her ill temper—or the total upheaval of her placid life that was responsible. But no matter how she tried to view her new circumstances, there was no escaping the fact that she was married to an unsuitable man who wanted no part of her.

  For at each inn Jane was given a room with her maid, and she realized, with no little dismay, that such would be the course of her marriage. Apparently, despite his easy banter, Raleigh could not even bring himself to get an heir from her. Although Jane was relieved to escape his attentions, and indeed, had sworn she would not submit to them, the old bitterness sometimes surged forward, reminding her that she was not pretty enough or shapely enough to gain a man’s affection.

  When the galling refrain haunted her as she lay alone in a strange bed in the darkness, Jane resolutely told herself that it didn’t matter, not this time. For in this case, it was Raleigh who was not good enough for her.

  Chapter Six

  After the tiresome days of travel, Raleigh was relieved when they drew close to their destination at last, although he found his surroundings rather inhospitable. Only he could claim an inheritance this far away from civilization, Raleigh mused as he looked out over the vast moorland expanses of heather and grasses that sloped into the Pennines.

  “Demned desolate country, isn’t it?” he muttered, although he did not expect a response. Jane had been treating him as a pariah for days. At a loss for a reason, he could only conclude that her natural ill humor had reasserted itself. And all of his efforts to entertain her had failed resoundingly.

  Raleigh frowned. If he wanted to feel a failure, he could visit his parents. He decided that to be saddled with a wife who engendered such sentiments was a sad reflection on an unjust fate—the same unjust fate that had deeded him a godforsaken hall in Northumberland.

  Raleigh shuddered as he considered the empty moors and the attendant wind that blew so fierce it rocked the coach to and fro. They should have stayed where they had supped, a dreary outpost called the Rose and Thorn on the edge of the last village. But after making inquiries as to Craven Hall and discovering how near they were to it, Raleigh had eagerly instructed the coachman to continue rather than pass the night at the ramshackle inn.

  Now, as dusk closed in around them, Raleigh had cause to regret his hasty decision, and he cursed the strange lot in the taproom for forcing his hand. He had been in enough scrapes to know to heed his instincts, and there was something about the Rose and Thorn and its denizens that raised them all.

  The locals had seemed wary, less friendly than most, who were eager to have news from travelers. When he had asked after Craven Hall, they had muttered some hasty directions before turning their backs on him and retreating among themselves. He was still wondering what to make of their reactions.

  “A demned strange lot!” Raleigh said aloud. “All those furtive glances and hushed whispers when I mentioned Craven Hall. You would have thought I had asked after Frankenstein’s castle! The place is probably such a horror they’re all afraid to speak of it, let alone go there!”

  “I am sure you’re exaggerating,” Jane said, without looking up from that boring tome of hers.

  “Not ‘tall,” Raleigh protested. “I vow I’ve never seen such singular looks from a roomful of common folk. It was positively eerie!”

  “Mayhap they were dumbstruck by your magnificence, for they most certainly have never seen the like here before,” Jane said dryly. “Why, your waistcoat alone probably blinded them.”

  Raleigh laughed, delighting in one of her rare, brief displays of humor, even if it was sarcasm directed at himself. “I know I’m awe-inspiring, Jane, and I’m glad to hear you’ve finally realized it.” Before she could take umbrage with his teasing, Raleigh went on in a conversational tone. “But I’m afraid their reaction was more akin to horror than wonder. Very shady business, all those dark looks and significant silences. No doubt, Great-uncle Cornelius made himself quite unpopular.”

  The old bugger probably had stolen the village blind, if Raleigh knew his mother’s relations, but he decided to keep that information to himself. “Since the days of the feudal privileges have passed, what do you suppose he did to win such enmity?” he asked idly.

  “He probably just kept to himself. Some people are suspicious of those who are less gregarious,” Jane replied, eyeing him meaningfully.

  Raleigh laughed again, taken with Jane’s feeble attempt to scold him. Really, she would have to do much better than that if she wanted to match the wiggings he had received from his parents.

  “As you say,” he replied easily. “Most assuredly, that is how he offended them. People from miles around were put out because he would not join them in a glass of ale.” Jane’s quick frown portended another dressing-down, but this time, Raleigh easily diverted it with one glance through the window. “Good God, will you look at that!” he said.

  Outside a mass of golden-gray stone rose out of a strand of gnarled oaks like something out of a nightmare. It had begun its existence as a Tudor, but over the years additions had been made, haphazardly stuck to one side or the other, echoing every style that had since come into fashion and faded into obscurity.

  Two stories of mullioned windows sported a variety of pediments. Slanted roofs met castlelated walls, and at one end an octagonal tower, oddly off-center, curved inward to what resembled an orangery. Over all, some kind of dark, thorny vegetation climbed like a pox up the old stones clear to the very chimneys in places.

  “It’s a monstrosity!” Raleigh exclaimed. “A mishmash of every repugnant trend foisted upon the countryside by amateur architects. No doubt it will fall down around our ears as soon as we open the door.” Leaning his head back against the cushions, he closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the odious vision. Of course, considering his run of luck, he had been anticipating a disast
er, but even his direst predictions could not have conjured up the reality of his inheritance.

  It was the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

  “Certainly it is not perfect,” Jane said, and only her uncharacteristically snide tone made him contain his snort of laughter. “But it just needs work. Why, see there! A few strong men and a determined gardener could reclaim those stone lions and that lovely old archway.”

  Lovely? Something about Craven Hall was lovely? Raleigh opened one eye to find himself gazing at an entrance overgrown with the most dreadful greenery he had ever seen. He could only presume them to be hellish plants erupted from the bowels of the earth, which was where the entire wretched building belonged.

  And it was his.

  For a long moment Raleigh simply stared at the hideous structure, stuck here in the middle of nowhere, a dark blight in the twilight, with bits of leaves and grass flying about it like a tempest. “Demned Holroyds. Mother’s the only one with any taste, and that questionable at times,” he muttered.

  As he sat there, dreading getting any closer to the place, Raleigh slowly became aware of Jane’s attention upon him. He realized that he must not be behaving in what she considered the appropriate manner, but there was something more in her expression than her usual disdain—a hint of bitterness that drew him up short. Surely she was not interested in Craven Hall? With a groan, he put aside all thoughts of turning back the way they had come and exited the coach.

  He was nearly knocked down by a fierce gust as he turned to help Jane to the ground. Howling like a banshee, the wind whipped their cloaks and tugged at Jane’s simple cottage hat as they hurried toward the stairs that fronted the north face. Gingerly, he stepped over the ubiquitous vegetation that plagued the entire building, watching for any errant tendrils that might trip a man who wasn’t awake on all suits.