Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, Jane tried to turn her attention to the portrait she had unearthed, but her mind kept wandering back to Raleigh, as was its wont of late. She reached up to tuck back a loose strand of hair and smudged her cheek with the effort. Lifting a corner of her apron to wipe it off, she hesitated, warmth seeping through her has she remembered Raleigh’s whispered confession that the sight of her all sweat-streaked and hot aroused him…Jane let the material fall and spared a moment to savor the desire that now came as naturally to her as breathing.
“I must love you.”
Jane smiled at the sound of his voice, for it was as if he had sensed her longing and returned home to satisfy it. Glancing eagerly in the direction of his speech, she spied him lounging in the doorway, looking so handsome and elegant that she wondered if her heart would ever stop leaping at the sight.
“Oh, and why is that?” she asked lightly as she stepped toward him. She watched his gaze travel over her face and drop to her throat and then her breasts, and she felt her body spark and flare. His lashes drifted lower as he straightened and pushed away from the doorjamb with easy grace.
“Because I’m willing to stay in this godforsaken place.”
“What? Did you talk to the solicitor?” Jane asked, halting in surprise.
“Yes,” he said, approaching her with a sly grin. “And he tells me that we actually have money. A veritable fortune, Jane! We can save your precious hall and modernize it with improvements, hire enough staff to live in comfort and raise our children on the moors.”
Before he had even finished, Jane was already running to him, and when she threw her arms around him, he caught her up, swinging her around like a top. She was breathless and giddy by the time her feet touched the floor once more, dizzy from more than her turn around the room. For Raleigh’s sake, she was thrilled that at last he had something of his own, but it was his plans for Craven Hall that made her blink back tears.
“Are you absolutely certain you want to stay here?” she asked. Although she feared the answer, she had to know. “What about London? Won’t you miss it?”
“There’s nothing there for me that I haven’t done a hundred times over,” he said, that mocking gleam back in his eyes. “While there are some things to partake of here that have not yet sated my appetite.” His hand drifted down her back and lower, even as he grinned wickedly.
At her dubious expression, he laughed. “If it please you, Jane, we can go visiting, wherever and whenever you wish, but this rambling old wreck is mine, and I find myself feeling rather proprietary. I intend to make good use of it.”
Studying him closely, Jane saw a new seriousness in his gaze, not enough to darken his naturally high spirits, but sufficient to reassure her that he wanted to make a home, a family, a life here. She smiled up at him, sharing a long moment of mutual happiness, and then he lowered his head. Before he could kiss her, however, a loud thump erupted nearby, startling her into breaking away.
“Not again!” Raleigh complained. Turning around, he spread his arms wide and addressed the room at large in an aggrieved tone. “Why is it so difficult to love my wife without interruption in this house?”
Jane smiled even as she retrieved the painting that had fallen. She leaned it upright, then stepped back to view the dark rendering of an elderly gentleman with bushy gray brows, and a grim, if not quite fierce, expression.
“I should have known!” Raleigh said wryly. “The old bugger’s been harassing me ever since I arrived! Hmm, I suppose I shall have to forgive him since he left us such a tidy sum, as Mr. Fairman put it.”
“Are you sure this is your great-uncle?” Jane asked, eyeing the portrait dubiously. The old fellow did not resemble Raleigh in the slightest.
Her husband moved to stand beside her. “I say! He has the look of the Holroyds, and his temperament is painfully obvious.” Raleigh shuddered. “Thank God I get my looks from the earl’s side of the family.”
Jane frowned as she studied the rendering, for something about those big brows and grim mouth seemed oddly familiar. “He reminds me of someone,” she mused. The eyes, too, so harsh, were strangely reminiscent of…Suddenly, she turned toward Raleigh, and they both spoke at once.
“Mrs. Graves!” they cried, Jane in alarm, and Raleigh with some amusement. Staring at her husband, she gasped. “Do you realize what this means?”
Raleigh nodded. “She’s his daughter.”
“But how? When did she return? Surely she wasn’t here all the time? Why would he make his own daughter serve as his housekeeper?” Jane stopped abruptly, as a new, more horrifying thought came to mind. “Good heavens, you don’t suppose she killed him, do you?”
“Lud, no,” Raleigh said. “If she’d meant to murder him, she would have done it long ago.”
His words were hardly comforting, and Jane wondered if she had somehow misjudged the woman she had seen as overworked, underpaid and unhappy. Obviously, there was much more going on here at Craven Hall than she had ever imagined.
“The ultimate gothic denouement!” Raleigh exclaimed.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“All the gothic touches, Jane, from the rattling chains and eerie moans to the glowing skull, telltale blood, the cryptic warning and even those monks were her idea! She took them all from books, which makes our little discovery simply too fitting!” he said, dissolving into laughter.
As much as she enjoyed the delightful sound of his humor, Jane sniffed in disapproval, for she had no idea what he was talking about. Finally, he must have noticed her stiff stance, hands on her hips, for he gasped for breath.
“Sorry, love, but think! What’s one of the most popular staples of the novels you claim to disdain?”
Flushing, Jane tried to think while frowning at him. “A dark prophecy?”
“Close, love, but not quite. Although I hardly see myself as the evil usurper,” Raleigh said, even as he laughed at her expression, “Mrs. Graves is the mysterious heir!”
Raleigh didn’t like it one bit, but somehow Jane had discovered her power over him and was exercising it with wanton disregard for his newfound sense of responsibility. How was he supposed to be protective, if she wouldn’t let him? Demned female always did have a mind of her own, he thought ruefully. He could only be thankful that most of the time it turned in the same direction as his own.
Drawing a deep breath, Raleigh refused to let his thoughts wander down more pleasant avenues, for right now his concern was Mrs. Graves. He had called the woman into the dining room for an interview, and although he had not wanted Jane there, his wife had insisted upon being present.
“I’ve always thought she was queer in the upper story. What if she suddenly goes mad?” he muttered, slanting Jane a questioning glance. His wife sniffed, but he could see her trying not to smile. Lud, now the girl developed a sense of humor! Raleigh failed to see any cause for amusement.
“Really, Dev, sometimes I believe I preferred it when you didn’t care about anything,” she teased. “And anyway, I think you are entirely capable of protecting me.”
The light in her eyes reminded him of the night he had rescued her, and Raleigh grinned. He had performed rather well, during the fight with the thugs and later…For a moment, he was lost in delightful musings, but his smile faded with the sudden suspicion that he had once more been maneuvered.
It was too late to protest, for the housekeeper arrived just then. Looking as grim as usual, she sat before them in a pose eerily reminiscent of but a week ago. Raleigh cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Graves, I realize that the viscountess wanted you to continue your work here, despite your involvement in her own kidnapping,” he said, ignoring his wife’s scolding glance. “However, I’m sure you will understand our discomfort at discovering that your employment is not what it would seem.”
Staring stoically ahead, the woman gave no indication of her deceit, so Raleigh decided to get straight to the point. “To be blunt, we know who you are…cousin
.” Suppressing a shudder at that appellation, Raleigh certainly hoped that he never exhibited any of the bizarre behavior inherent in this branch of the family.
There was a long silence before she spoke. “How did you find out?” she finally asked, her voice betraying nothing but a sort of doomed resignation.
“We found a letter from Mr. Holroyd admitting to your existence,” Jane said gently. “We’ve been looking all over for you since, and you were right here all along!”
“Yes, exactly how long have you been here?” Raleigh asked, not quite as forgiving as Jane for the deceptions and schemes the old woman had hatched ever since their arrival. “From the letter, it sounds as if my great-uncle banished you at birth,” he noted, ignoring Jane’s sniff of disapproval at his words.
“He did,” Mrs. Graves said, with a fierce glare that would undoubtedly have done Cornelius proud. “My mother was ruined. She had to go away to relatives, who never let her forget her place. I hated him for what he’d done, and after my mother died, I came here to seek revenge.”
Startled at her vehemence, Raleigh felt a brief surge of sympathy for old Cornelius, who should have known that blood runs true…
“I applied for the position of housekeeper, intending to get some of my own back,” Mrs. Graves admitted. “But I found no evil demon, only a poor, sick old man, so…I ended up caring for him instead.”
Raleigh heard the whoosh of Jane’s indrawn breath. “And you never told him?” his wife asked.
“I kept meaning to, but he wasn’t always reasonable. He hated women and never would have hired me if he had not been desperate for some help. Few would put up with his moods,” she explained, quite unnecessarily to Raleigh’s way of thinking. “I was afraid that if he knew who I was, he would send me away in a temper.”
How fitting that Cornelius had come to depend, finally, upon the child he had rejected, Raleigh mused. Wherever he was now, the old bugger was probably writhing in agony. Then again, maybe not, for the two seemed to have formed some sort of strange relationship that defied Raleigh’s experience. But they were Holroyds, as cold and strange a bunch as ever existed.
“And you stayed on,” Jane said softly.
“I don’t know any other home,” the woman said, stiff with pride. Nor did she have any money, having worked without pay for who knew how long. At the realization, Raleigh felt a distinct sense of unease.
“Well, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish,” Jane said, confirming his bleak premonition. “Naturally, we do not expect you to serve us in any way, but to take your place as a relative in residence.”
Raleigh winced. As a servant, she was bad enough, but as a guest? He imagined Mrs. Graves’s grim countenance greeting him over the breakfast table, and his stomach churned. Lud, but she made the brood at Westfield Park seem positively appealing.
“Of course, if you would like to take a house of your own, or travel or visit relatives,” Raleigh said, “we will be happy to settle an allowance on you. No matter how badly straitened circumstances were while he lived, I assure you that Cornelius left a comfortable portion.”
For the first time, the housekeeper appeared startled, though by his offer or by the news of the old pinchpenny’s money, Raleigh did not know. “Yes,” she said shakily. “I would like to go back to my own village, if there is enough for a place for me.”
“A cottage. All your own,” Jane assured her.
If his wife expected effusive gratitude, she was to be disappointed, for Mrs. Graves’s expression remained stoic. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I will get my things together.”
“No need to hurry,” Jane said. Raleigh choked back a protest at her words, but the housekeeper was already leaving the room. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned toward his wife, intent upon calling a halt to her generosity before she offered the grisly woman their home, their bed and their firstborn, too.
But he had taken only two steps when Jane stopped him with one of those beatific smiles that never failed to dazzle him into a stupor. “I’m so proud of you, for doing what’s right,” she said, her eyes gleaming.
When at last he found his tongue Raleigh grinned in helpless resignation. “Jane, love, what am I going to do with you?”
Epilogue
Raleigh found her on the moors, past the old stump where they had once faced the glowing skull together. Sometime in the past week, Jane had stuck a fat squash with painted features there, and he grinned at the whimsical bent that he was just discovering in his ever-surprising wife.
She was seated on a faded quilt, her sun-streaked hair lifted by a stray autumn breeze, and though he could see nothing of the child growing within her, thoughts of it made him pause and swallow as he studied her. It was difficult to reconcile this lovely woman with the prim and stiff creature he had married, but then it was hard for him to believe he was living at mad old Cornelius’s Craven Hall either.
Raleigh would have laughed out loud, delighted by the strange twists of good fortune that fate had granted him, but the letter in his hand had dampened his usually good mood. With a sigh, he began climbing the gentle slope once more.
“Dev!” Jane’s happy greeting made him bend down to kiss her smile before he sprawled beside her on the quilt. “What is it?” she asked, with an expression of concern. She knew him so well that Raleigh grinned despite his ill news.
“A letter from my mother, demanding to know why we have not returned and threatening to descend upon us,” he said, tossing her the missive that had arrived with the post. “Will you write and tell her that Craven Hall has not been torn down, per her orders, or shall I?”
“I will be happy to correspond with her,” Jane said, bless her heart. His wife’s sensible reply lightened Raleigh’s mood even as he found his gaze dipping to her increasingly strained bodice. There were a lot of unexpected advantages to this business of producing an heir, Raleigh mused, but the pleasing thought reminded him too quickly of his own familial responsibilities, and he nearly groaned.
“It sounds as if they are actually asking to visit, not threatening to do so,” Jane said, glancing up from the letter.
Raleigh’s mood dipped again. “Does it matter? When they arrive, they will make our lives miserable!”
“I admit they do not seem as if they would be the warmest of guests, but surely they aren’t all that bad?”
“Worse!” Raleigh said, with a shudder. “They will not approve our plans,” he warned.
“Whyever not?”
“Because they don’t like anything I do.” Turning onto his back, Raleigh affected his best imitation of the earl. “Frivolous, my boy! Pouring money into a ridiculous old wreck in Northumberland. Godforsaken place! No society whatsoever. Time you took your place here! Have to think of the future, the earldom!”
Jane’s loud sniff drew a halt to his mimicry, and Raleigh glanced up at her with amusement. Although she still sometimes made her disapproval known in no uncertain terms, it was not often that he heard one of her good, old-fashioned sniffs anymore.
“Well, I think that your parents ought to be very proud of you!” she said with such heat that Raleigh felt warmed right down to his toes. “You have proved yourself to be resourceful and intelligent by discovering some wonderful treasures among your great-uncle’s effects. And you single-handedly ousted smugglers from the property, which showed great strength and courage, not to mention skill with fisticuffs and such!
“Plus, you were clever and well-read enough to unravel the whole business with the gothic clues and discover the truth about Mrs. Graves. You have overseen the repairs to the house, planning some of the improvements yourself, and have earned the respect of the villagers who once threatened us! I think anyone would be suitably impressed by all that you have accomplished here!”
Raleigh looked at her, fairly bristling with righteous indignation, and he knew that the only thing that mattered was that Jane was proud of him.
“I think that once they learn of all that yo
u have done here, including providing them with a future heir,” she said, pausing to blush in a manner that delighted him, “I think they will be terribly proud of you. And if they still aren’t satisfied when they arrive, we will simply have to make them so uncomfortable that they do not prolong their stay,” she said, in a mischievous tone. “In fact, I know the perfect place to lodge them.”
The thought of his fastidious, august parents bedding down in one of the untouched state rooms still filled with Great-uncle Cornelius’s castoffs amused him tremendously, but it was the feigned look of innocence upon his wife that made Raleigh laugh aloud. Turning onto his side, he reached for her.
“Oh, Jane, love, what would I do without you?”
* * * * *
DEBORAH SIMMONS
Deborah Simmons is the author of a dozen Harlequin Historicals, beginning with Fortune Hunter in 1992. Number thirteen, the latest in her popular de Burgh brothers series, is scheduled for spring of 1999.
A former journalist, Simmons turned to fiction when the birth of her first child prompted her to pursue her longtime love of historical romance. She makes her home in the country with her husband, two children, two cats and a stray dog that stayed. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 274, Ontario, Ohio 44862. For reply, an SASE is appreciated.
eISBN 978-14592-6130-3
THE LAST ROGUE
Copyright © 1998 by Deborah Siegenthal
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
Deborah Simmons Page 26