A Marriage of Rogues

by Margaret Moore

  “I didn’t plead or beg. I simply put a proposition to you that you were quite free to reject. You did not.”

  “No doubt you wish I had. Then you could simply have tried to blackmail me. You wouldn’t have had to be intimate with me.” He walked closer, his dark eyes full of angry accusation. “Who is the cheat now, my lady? And what other secrets are you keeping?”

  “As many as you, I daresay.’

  His nostrils flared and his eyes widened for the briefest of moments, telling her he did have other secrets. That shouldn’t have been so surprising or disappointing, but it was.

  “So our marriage is a bargain between rogues,” he said grimly, “one who cheated to get out of a game of cards and the other a liar willing to trade on a man’s guilt to get what she wanted. And now you have my name and all the comforts being my wife affords you.”

  Although she backed away from him, she felt righteous indignation, not fear. “Comforts?” she repeated scornfully. “Do you think it’s a comfort to know you could be with other women and I gave you leave to do so? That I dare not ask where you go or why or when you will return no matter how much it hurts or humiliates me? Have you any notion at all how it feels to see the questioning looks from the servants that I’m apparently ignorant of such things?”

  “You set the terms of our agreement, not I. If you’d rather break our bargain—”

  “Not in this life!” she declared, wondering if he’d planned to make her so angry she would leave him.

  He turned on his heel and marched to the door, then hesitated on the threshold before glancing back at her over his shoulder, his gaze cold and hard as marble. “Tomorrow I’m going to London with Caroline, where hopefully my solicitor will talk her out of this foolish notion of suing the viscount. Now you need not feel humiliated should anyone ask where I am. As for when I’ll return, I don’t even know myself and that will have to do.”

  * * *

  After Dev had left her, Thea sank onto the nearest chair. She hadn’t meant to tell him she knew the cards had been marked unless and until he’d refused to marry her. Only then would she have threatened him with exposure as a cheat, to get enough money to live on for a year or two until she found another means to survive. That would have been a last, desperate resort. Marriage had been a desperate hope. When that had come to pass and especially when they had shared such passionate desire, she’d begun to believe her one and only gamble had paid off.

  Now...now she felt lower than the worst scoundrel in the world.

  And a pregnant one at that.

  She sighed and looked around the lovely room. This estate had seemed like heaven on earth the first time she saw it, when she believed her father was on his way to a distant shore to begin his life anew, or so she’d hoped, and although she’d feared deep in her heart that he could never change. But now she was forced to realize she really didn’t know what her father had done after she left him. Or what might have happened to him.

  For the first time in her life she prayed he had gambled away all his money in a card game and that was why he hadn’t taken ship. That he was still somewhere in Liverpool, doing his best to regain what he had lost. As long as he was living!

  She must try to find him. She would try to find him, and now that whatever affection or desire her husband had felt for her had likely been destroyed, she would do so by herself, as she’d had to do so many other things.

  * * *

  Two days later, Dev paced in the drawing room of his Mayfair town house. It was smaller than the drawing room at Dundrake Hall, but even more expensively decorated, with plasterwork and expensive paintings of English landscapes and thick damask upholstery and draperies. He’d decided it would be better for Caroline and Roger to meet at his home than Roger’s chambers. They were grim rooms, darkly paneled.

  Now, though, he wasn’t so sure meeting here was the best idea. If they’d gone to Roger’s chambers, he wouldn’t be stuck here waiting. And thinking. And wondering what he was going to do about his marriage.

  Before he made any decisions about that, they must first try to talk Caroline out of this ludicrous notion of suing Leamington-Rudney for breach of promise. Whatever Thea thought about the restoration of Caroline’s self-respect, and although the idea of protecting unsuspecting females was worthy, the gossip would surely make things much worse for Caroline and take longer to die down.

  When he heard someone arrive at the front door, he hurried to the hall, where he saw one of the footmen admit Roger. He returned to the drawing room and went to the bell pull. When a maid immediately appeared at the other door, he sent her to fetch Lady Caroline, then stayed by the hearth.

  Roger entered the drawing room, took a quick survey of Dev and closed the door behind him.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, his dark eyebrows lowered as he joined Dev by the fire. “By the tone of your letter, I assume it’s important. Is it something to do with your wife or her father?”

  “Have your men found out anything more about Sir John?”

  “Not yet. Has he contacted your wife?”

  “Not that I know of, and she said that as far as she was aware, he sailed for Canada. But we can discuss that later. I asked you here today for a different reason. You’ve heard me speak of my friend Paul, the Duke of Scane’s son?”

  Roger nodded. “The young Apollo?”

  “I’m sure I’ve also mentioned his sister, Caroline.”

  “Yes,” Roger answered with a hint of wariness. “I believe you said she’s very pretty.”

  “Quite,” Dev agreed. “She’s gotten herself in trouble.”

  “With you?”

  “God, no! With Lord Leamington-Rudney. She ran off with the lout after he promised to marry her, but they never went to Gretna Green. He took her to Liverpool instead. I found them there and persuaded her to come home with me. Her father was going to send her to Europe and provide her with an allowance—the wisest course, no doubt—until my wife suggested that Caroline sue the viscount for breach of promise. I want you to convince Caroline that would be a disaster.”

  Roger’s expression altered, again only slightly, to what Dev called his “legal face.”

  “Is Lady Caroline with child?”

  That thought hadn’t occurred to Dev. “I don’t know,” he grimly replied. “I don’t think so. I hope not.”

  “If she is, would she consider marrying the viscount for the child’s sake?”

  “That would be worse than any scandal,” Dev said with firm conviction.

  “Having heard of some of his more unsavory activities, I concur.”

  “So even if there is a child, surely you agree that she should take her father’s offer and live abroad, where no one knows what she’s done.”

  Roger didn’t answer right away, and when he did, he was guarded. “I agree that a lawsuit can be difficult for a young lady to endure. However—”

  He fell silent when Caroline herself entered from the dining room.

  She was very pale, and although the bruises on her face had faded, there were still signs of a black eye and a nasty mark. Her hair was simply dressed and the only jewelry she wore was a little gold chain around her neck that Paul had given her on her twelfth birthday. Her attire was youthful and charming, a pretty cream day gown embroidered with little pink roses that suited her better than anything her mother would have chosen for her. She held a packet of letters, probably from the viscount and the evidence Thea had mentioned.

  “Lady Caroline,” Dev said, moving toward her, “this is Roger Bessborough, my solicitor.”

  He turned toward his friend, to find Roger regarding Carolyn with something like...surprise? Astonishment? No, it was more akin to reverence, like a man beholding a miracle.

  Caroline, meanwhile, blushed and stared at the hem of her gown, more bashful
than he’d ever seen her, no doubt because of the reason she was there.

  “Thank you for the introduction, Sir Develin,” Roger said, his tone and expression once again that of an attorney at work. “As the discussion will be of a legal nature, the lady and I should be alone.”

  Having faith that Roger would put the ramifications of any lawsuit to Caroline in such a way that she would surely change her mind, Dev nodded.

  “Ring for the footman when you’re finished,” he said, starting for the door.

  Neither Caroline nor Roger moved, or said a single word.

  * * *

  After more than an hour of anxious pacing and more indecisive thinking about Thea and his marriage, Dev was summoned to the drawing room. Roger was there; Caroline was not.

  “I suggested Lady Caroline rest before dinner,” Roger explained. Then he looked intently at Dev and said, “We are suing the viscount for breach of promise.”

  Dev’s jaw dropped. “You don’t mean to say she talked you into agreeing with that ridiculous notion?”

  Roger didn’t bat an eyelash. “I believe her case has merit, yes. She has letters that are evidence of a promise to marry, one that the viscount did not fulfill.”

  “What can be gained by a lawsuit?” Dev demanded. “She doesn’t want him to marry her, does she?”

  “No, nor is she with child. She’s suing because she wants to show the ton that the viscount is a scoundrel. I also believe your wife was right to suggest that by taking the viscount to court, Lady Caroline will regain some measure of her pride and self-respect.”

  “The scandal will destroy what pride and self-respect she has left,” Dev protested.

  “I think not. Lady Caroline strikes me as a woman strong enough to endure the gossip as long as she can prove she was deceived by a heartless cad.”

  Dev sat heavily, then quickly marshaled another argument. “Not only will gossip run wild, but it might cause a break between Caroline and the rest of her family. She might not care about her mother, but her father and brother—”

  “She told me she’s never been close to them. To be sure, she has some regret about the possibility of losing her father and brother’s goodwill, but I agree her own self-respect is more important.”

  Dev let his breath out slowly. “You really think she ought to sue.”

  “I really think she has a right to make her own decision in this matter, and based on the evidence I’ve seen, she has a good case against the scoundrel.”

  “I feel like a man on a sinking raft.”

  Roger’s expression changed from coldly rational attorney to concerned friend. “I appreciate that you care for her because she’s Paul’s sister, but I have to ask. Is there anything more to your feelings for her?”

  Dev shook his head and answered honestly, “No, never. If Caroline thought otherwise, she was mistaken.”

  Feeling the need for a drink, he went to the tray holding a decanter of brandy and glasses and poured a considerable amount into two of the glasses. He held one out to Roger, who shook his head. “Drinking will not make it easier for you to accept Lady Caroline’s decision.”

  “Or anything else,” Dev said before he took a quick gulp. “I recall the last days of my mother’s unfortunate life.”

  “As difficult as it may be for you to accept,” Roger said with quiet compassion, “we must allow Lady Caroline to make her own decision in this matter—or to change her mind should she do so. She’s suffered a great deal.”

  “I realize that.”

  “I wonder if you, or I, or any man, can truly understand how used and humiliated a woman in such circumstances can feel.”

  “I suppose not,” Dev answered with a sigh.

  A long moment of silence stretched between them, each thinking of his own mother and how she’d been deceived by a man. The same man.

  “It’s time I got back to my chambers,” Roger said.

  Dev nodded and walked with him to the door.

  * * *

  After Roger had gone, Dev absently picked up the letters that had arrived that day. Most were invitations he could easily refuse and he set them aside.

  One was addressed in Mrs. Wessex’s familiar spidery hand, except it looked even more poorly written than usual, as if with great agitation.

  He immediately tore that one open. It was dated the day before and said,

  Sir Develin: I hardly know what to write. Your wife has left the house without a word to anyone. When her absence was discovered, Jackson immediately dispatched some of the footmen to search for her in case she’d been out walking and was injured. When she wasn’t found on the estate, Jackson and I took the liberty of going to the village, where Jackson learned—discreetly!—that she boarded the coach for Liverpool. We don’t know more than that. This may not be surprising to you. Nevertheless, I felt it my duty to tell you in case it is, and that we are all worried and pray for the safe return of both you and your wife.

  Sincerely, Violet Wessex

  The rest of the correspondence dropped from Dev’s hand as he read the letter again. Thea had gone to Liverpool? Alone and without telling anyone?

  Perhaps she’d gone to meet her father, or—

  He spotted another letter in the pile that had fallen and scattered on the floor, one addressed in his wife’s hand. He snatched it up and ripped it open.

  Develin—I’ve gone to Liverpool to look for my father. I shan’t be gone long. I’m familiar with the city and its dangers and I won’t take any unnecessary risks, but I cannot rest until I’ve done my best to find him. Thea

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shivering in her old pelisse and bonnet, Thea rapped on the cracked wooden door in the ancient brick building down a filthy lane by the wharfs of Liverpool. She had been in the city for three days and had yet to find out whether her father had boarded a ship bound for Halifax or not. As Dev had said, Sir John Markham wasn’t listed on any ship’s manifest, but neither had he been seen at the lodgings they’d stayed in before. Nor had she found anyone who’d gambled or shared a meal with him since she left him there.

  This was the last place she knew to inquire, the worst of all the gambling hells her father had frequented. As she’d made her way here, more than one seaman, more than one drunk, more than one prostitute looking for customers, had watched her walking down the cobbled street smelling of tar and salt water and fish. One or two of the men had called out to her, asking how much, but she ignored them and kept going until she reached the unfortunately familiar lane, then the door leading to the sort of gambling hell a man like Dev would never hear about. This was a place for poor, desperate men playing for shillings and pennies, not noblemen wagering small fortunes.

  A narrow slot in the door shot open and a quarter of a face, including a rheumy brown eye, appeared. “Wha’d’ya want?” a deep voice growled.

  “I’m lookin’ for me father,” she replied, exchanging her upper-class accent for a lowborn Irish one, her tone pleading as she let the tears come to her eyes. Tears had often proved effective with even the most hardened of doorkeepers. “His name’s Mayhew, John Mayhew.”

  Her father had long ago assumed an alias and learned to speak like a less aristocratic, educated man when he was driven to play in such places, as she had when she came to fetch him. If she didn’t seek him out, he would often play day and night, without food or rest, until he collapsed.

  There had been no John Mayhew on any ship’s manifest, either.

  The man shifted, trying to get a better look at her. “What’s it worth t’ya?”

  Pleading and tears were not going to work with this one and she clutched the neck of her pelisse more tightly. “I have a little money.”

  “Maybe it ain’t money I want.”

  “Money is all I’ve got t’ offer.”

>   “No, it ain’t.” Again the man moved, this time to open the door a bit wider, so she could see more of his unshaven, pockmarked face. His clothes were dirty, and he smelled of beer and sweat.

  He ran his tongue over his thick lips. “I can think of a few ways you can pay.”

  This was not the first time such a proposition had been put to her, so while his suggestion was repellant, she wasn’t shocked. “Either you tell me or I’m going t’ the Big Man. He likes me and he’ll make you sorry if you don’t tell me.”

  The nickname of the ruffian who ran the docks had the effect she hoped. The man at the door scowled, then said, “Mayhew ain’t here. Ain’t been here for weeks.”

  She nodded and turned to go, only to find the end of the lane blocked by a huge, burly fellow leading a group of equally tough-looking men.

  The Big Man and his gang.

  The door to the gaming room closed with a dull thud behind her.

  “Well, now, who’ve we got here, eh?” the Big Man asked as he came toward her. He was not just tall, but bulky, his upper body evincing powerful muscles probably developed unloading ships. His thighs were wide as tree trunks.

  Thea began to back away until her nose told her someone was behind her and she stopped before she collided with one of his men.

  “Ain’t you a dainty little thing?” the Big Man said, strolling closer. “New to the docks, are ya?”

  “And who might you be, big fella?” she answered coyly and as if she had no idea.

  The man drew himself to his full height—almost six and a half feet. “Able Fields. They call me the Big Man because I’m big everywhere.”

  “A seaman, are ya? And this lot would be your shipmates?”

  “I run the docks,” Fields replied as the rest of his gang chuckled. “Anything happens here, I know about it,” he boasted. “Any buying, selling or trading takes place, I get a cut. Anybody don’t want to pay winds up in the harbor.”

  “A man o’ power, then,” Thea said as if she was impressed. “Well, well, I’ve been wastin’ me time elsewhere. How’d you like to buy a girl a drink, Mr. Fields?”