The Rogue's Revenge

by Lucy E. Zahnle

  "Rather a rum customer to be so cozy with Her Grace!" Will muttered.

  "Where the devil is the Rogue? He should be here to protect Lucia from the likes of that bounder."

  "Why did you invite such an undesirable?" Blayne asked, shaking his head.

  "We didn't! He came as Mountheathe's guest. Val sent Giles an invitation before I realized..." Malkent stopped in mid-sentence, staring as Lucia bestowed upon Rochedale a broad, bright smile. Tracy swore again, threatening to hunt the Rogue down and drag him to the ball before Lucia fell under the spell of...he cast a darkling glare at Rochedale...some out-and-outer.

  "I don't think you'll have to go far, Tracy. Look!"

  Magnificent in midnight blue and silver, Robin sauntered into the room, greeted his hostess, then scanned the crowd. His jaw hardened when he saw Lucia in earnest conversation with Sir Winston Rochedale.

  ***

  Lucia slid into a chair next to Rochedale with a swirl of blue satin skirts. "Do you have the letter?"

  "Undoubtedly, dear girl. Do you have the brass?" His raking glance caused her to blush.

  "Well, I -- that is, I have some of it." Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirts across her lap. "Would you not consider lowering your price a little...for old times' sake?"

  Rochedale's watery eyes hardened. "I would not!"

  Lucia met his gaze steadily. "I have three thousand, seven hundred and sixty pounds. It shall be yours when you give me the letter."

  "Perhaps I should speak to Lord Mountheathe. I'm certain he will not hesitate to buy and he will pay the entire five thousand. That was my first inclination and I obviously should have heeded it." He started to rise and Lucia reached out to him almost, he fancied, in supplication.

  "Wait! Perhaps I can get more from...somewhere."

  He sat down again. "Bridland will pay, you know. He can't afford to ignore me. I only offered you this opportunity because I live to help old friends. I am too soft-hearted, I suppose," he sighed, shaking his head, "but, of course, if you cannot meet my price..."

  "I will have it for you," Lucia promised with husky intensity, though she hadn't a clue where to find the necessary funds. "Just tell me when and where we are to meet."

  "Tomorrow at dawn in front of Newgate. If you are not there with the money when the sun rises, I shall assume you are not interested and take the letter to Mountheathe."

  "I shall be there!" She smiled at him, masking her misgivings.

  "See that you are. I will not wait for you, dear girl, if you are late." He offered her his arm as the dance ended and escorted her back to Lady Easterbury.

  ***

  Eyes smoldering, fists clenched, Robin started toward Lucia and Rochedale. He had not traversed half the ballroom when Sir Winston returned Lucia to her aunt. As Robin halted uncertainly, Malkent appeared beside him. "I'd like a word in private with you, Rogue, if you please."

  In his library, Tracy poured claret and settled comfortably behind his desk, his feet propped on its polished surface. As Robin took a chair and accepted a glass of wine, his smoky eyes met Malkent's with deceptive mildness. "Well?"

  "I trust, Rogue, that you will not disrupt Valeria's ball with a public continuation of your private quarrels?"

  "If I see that vulture, Rochedale, hovering over Lucia anymore tonight, I cannot answer for my actions," Robin said.

  "Yes, well, I don't care for the man above half myself. Mountheathe brought him and Val is too polite to refuse him our hospitality."

  Robin's lips tightened, but he said nothing, sipping his wine with deliberate calm.

  Tracy drummed his fingers on his desk and glared at Amberley for a few moments, then suddenly exploded. "Damn it, Rogue! What the devil are you about, flaunting half the Cyprians in London under the ton's nose? That is no way to gain acceptance, sir! Devil take it! You're a married man!"

  Mocking laughter glinted in Robin's eyes. "We can't all be paragons of fidelity like you, Tracy. Surely you remember how quickly I tire of women? I was mad for Lucia when we married, but it has been almost four months now. My lady wife fills me with ennui. I crave excitement and variety and I find it in a simple evening of pleasure in the haunts of gentlemen."

  "Pleasure!" Malkent snorted. "Over the past fortnight, I've watched you cut a glittering swath through the demimonde, pursuing dissipation as if the devil owned your soul. You drink deeply. You play deeply. You win...and win...and win! You even bed a ladybird upon occasion, but I'd wager Malkent Chase you've not had a minute's joy from any of it. Your eyes are glassy. You never laugh or even smile. You look like death, man! What's going on? Did you quarrel with Her Grace?"

  Robin stared into the swirling ruby of his claret. "What is it you want of me, Tracy?"

  "I've told you already that I only want to help you. Let me be your friend, damn it all!" the earl almost shouted.

  "Nobody helps anybody without expecting something in return, my lord, and the price is usually too high!"

  "If every good deed has a price, Robin, what's yours?" Tracy asked. "I made some inquiries and discovered that you've assumed financial responsibility for all of Mountheathe's abandoned charities. What are you getting out of that?"

  "Giles's profound irritation! It's most gratifying, je vous assure, and I'll thank you to stay out of my affairs in future."

  Tracy sipped his claret, giving Robin a long, measuring look. "You could at least be a little more discreet in your raking, Rogue. You have severely overset Her Grace with your scandalous escapades."

  "She appears to have found ample solace in the company of her 'dear Lord Peter'!"

  "You're off the mark there, Robin. Norworth asked my permission to pay his addresses to Concordia just this morning. I expect to announce their betrothal any day."

  "I am certain he shall be a model husband! I understand that his affairs, unlike mine, are exceptionally discreet."

  "Devil take it, Rogue! What happened to you? You never used to be so cynical!"

  "People stopped trusting my word, Tracy, and I grew rather less naive about the world." Bitterness and rigid anger rested upon Robin's countenance like a tangible mask. "Norworth means to have Lucia and I've seen the way she looks at him! A thousand wedding bands or betrothal announcements won't keep them apart! She's already begun to plan for the elopement. She has stolen some thirty-seven hundred pounds from me. Lucia Lightfingers, enfin!"

  "She has stolen from you?" Tracy was stunned. "Are you certain? Perhaps it was a servant or..."

  Robin's laugh was cold and harsh. "I'm in no doubt as to the identity of ma petite voleuse. Assuming I was asleep, she stole the brass in my presence."

  "And you didn't stop her?"

  "No!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because... Because... Je ne sais pas! If she bolts with Norworth and he later abandons her, she will need money, especially if she is burdened with a babe. I would not have her cast herself, penniless, upon the world." The tenor of Robin's voice had changed and when his eyes met Tracy's, agony writhed in their grey depths. "Once she escapes, she'll never willingly come to me for assistance and God only knows how long it will take me to find her." Robin finished his wine, set down the glass and rose, obviously chafing to be away.

  Tracy was silent for a moment, staring down into the dregs of his wine. "Love hurts like the very devil, doesn't it, Rogue?"

  "I won't even pretend to understand your meaning, mon cher Tracy." Robin's drawl was cold and sardonic. Tracy raised his head to discover that Robin had himself once more in hand. He lounged against the back of his chair in easy, insolent familiarity, his lips curved in a derisive smile and the pain in his smoky eyes hidden beneath drooping lids.

  "Nonsense! Anyone with eyes can see that you and Her Grace have..."

  "Une mariage de convenance and nothing more," Robin said, rising. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I am pledged to Bellefield for cards." He bowed and departed.

  ***

  In the midst of the bustling ball, Lady Malkent's garden
was an inviting retreat of quiet walks and romantic alcoves fitted with stone benches. In one of these alcoves, Mountheathe, his face slathered with the white paint of the fashionably pale, offered matrimony to Concordia.

  "M-Marry you, my lord!" The lady echoed his proposal as if it were a totally alien idea. She searched his face, seeking a warm response within herself to his smile. Dismay washed over her at her heart's apathy.

  "We shall have the grandest wedding of the Season!" Giles said, not waiting to hear her answer. "Oh, Concordia, you have made me the happiest of men!" He pulled her into his arms, trapping her in an iron embrace.

  "My lord! I have not said..." she protested, struggling. Giles's lips smothered her words as he kissed her with the possessive passion of a man triumphant in conquest. His mouth bruised hers, his teeth gnawing at her lips until she fancied she tasted blood. She tried to push him away, but his arms imprisoned her. An aversion amounting to panic possessed her.

  A polite clearing of the throat caused Mountheathe to raise his head. Taking advantage of this distraction, a gasping Concordia broke free of his embrace.

  Lord Norworth stood just inside the alcove, his eyelids drooping in sleepy boredom, his mouth set in a grim, hard line. "I am sorry to disturb you, my lord, Miss Lannington, but I believe this is my dance?" He looked expectantly at the lady.

  "Wish us happy, Norworth! Concordia has just agreed to be my wife!" Giles crowed.

  Peter froze, his eyes shifting first to Mountheathe and his triumphant gloat, then to Concordia, pale and decidedly subdued considering the grand news. "Indeed!" he drawled. "In that case, I will not press my claim for a dance upon you, Miss Lannington. I'm certain you and your...fiancé...will want to be alone. May I tender my wishes for your greatest happiness?" Peter bowed, whirled on his heel, and strolled away.

  Concordia's world collapsed as she watched him go. She took a step toward the retreating viscount, but Giles pulled her back into his arms. "And now, my love, let us plan our future."

  Furious, Concordia slapped him and he released her, rubbing his stinging cheek. "I am not your love and I have not accepted your offer!" she said. "I will never wed you, my lord! I don't care for your high-handed ways and I won't be dragged, willy-nilly, to the altar by a man who hasn't the decency to wait for an answer to his proposal. I would appreciate it if, in the future, your lordship would refrain from mauling me. Good evening, my lord!"

  Eyes snapping, cheeks red and back stiff, Concordia stalked out of the alcove. Stunned, Giles watched her leave. She was definitely not his meek and demure Val, he thought, shaking his head.

  Determined not to forfeit the Lannington dowry without a struggle, he strolled back to the ballroom, contemplating ways to get Concordia to the altar. After dismissing several ideas out of hand, he decided to opt for a familiar method. He would abduct Concordia and carry her off to Gretna Green. She would have but two options, then; marriage or ruin; and he doubted she'd choose the latter.

  Giles smiled, certain of his success, for he'd have no interfering cousin rushing in to save the maiden this time. He had had a brief private word with Rochedale and knew that Sir Winston was set to murder the Rogue's doxy at dawn tomorrow. Robin would be far too busy making funeral arrangements to rescue anybody.

  ***

  Concordia rushed into the ballroom from the garden, then stopped, smoothed her skirts, and pasted a bright smile upon a distinctly gloomy face. Endeavoring to appear calm, she scanned the room frantically. Spying Lucia sitting beside Lady Easterbury, she hurried over to her as quickly as proper decorum would allow. "Your Grace! Would you care to take a turn about the room with me?" she said.

  Concordia's suggestion was couched in casual tones, but the intense plea in her eyes hastened Lucia's already willing consent. The women linked arms and set off at an ambling pace.

  They found chairs in a secluded corner of the ballroom and sat down. "Oh, Your Grace! The most terrible thing has happened!" Concordia's words tumbled out in a low breathless rush. "Lord Mountheathe has offered for me!"

  "Am I to wish you happy, then?" Lucia clasped the other girl's hands, striving to keep her own opinion of her cousin-in-law from coloring her response.

  "No! I did not accept! He...he is not the person I believed him to be!"

  "Oh, my dear! I am so sorry if he has hurt you."

  "It isn't that! I -- there is another gentleman whom I had hoped would..." Concordia turned her face away from the crowded room as tears spilled from her eyes. "He-he knows about Lord Mountheathe's proposal and saw him kiss me...quite against my will, I do assure you," she confessed between sobs. "And he looked so... so... I have lost him forever! I know it!"

  Lucia turned her body a little, trying to shield Concordia from curious stares. "I'm sure that can't be true if...if this other gentleman really loves you."

  "I don't know whether he loves me...loved me, for he'll nev- never come near me again!" Concordia sniffed.

  Lucia gave her a handkerchief from her reticule. "Who could ever stay away from you, as pretty and witty and sweet as you are?"

  "L-Lord Norworth could. He can have any woman he wants! I love him so much, but how could he ever care for me after... after..." Concordia shook with incoherent sobs.

  Feeling stupid and helpless, Lucia stared down at Concordia's gleaming chestnut tresses as the younger woman wept into the handkerchief. She wondered that Miss Lannington did not go to her aunt with her romantic problems and was just about to suggest it when Concordia lifted her tear-stained face, a small, hopeful smile shadowing her mouth. "You are a close friend of Lord Norworth, aren't you, Your Grace?"

  Lucia did not answer and Concordia plunged on. "Maybe you c-could find him and tell him that I-I am not to marry Lord Mountheathe after all. Tell him it was all a hum and that I-I-"

  "That you love him?"

  "Heavens, no! Don't tell him that! He...he is sure to laugh at such girlish sentiment!" Concordia twisted Lucia's handkerchief until the tortured wisp of silk and lace ripped, then stared, dismayed, at the shredded cloth between her fingers. Lucia assured her that she would speak to the viscount and the ladies rose, strolling into the garden, where Concordia dried her tears and composed herself before returning to the ballroom.

  ***

  Lucia found Peter muttering curses as he paced a quiet, dimly lit garden alcove. "Is anything amiss, my lord?" she said, stepping into the circle of light cast by a single lantern. "I was passing by when I heard your voice."

  He hesitated. "No, nothing is amiss," he said after a moment. "Won't you sit down, Lucia?" He bowed her toward a marble bench at the back of the alcove.

  "I can tell that something has overset you, Peter!" Lucia said as they sat. "We are friends, are we not? If you need help or a sympathetic ear, I am here."

  Chirping crickets filled the silence as Peter stared into large, blue eyes that beckoned confidences freely given, yet promised a welcome even if they were not. Had he ever had any resolve to keep his distress at Concordia's betrothal a secret, it disappeared beneath the spell of Lucia's compassionate gaze.

  "I have the devil's own luck... begging your pardon, Lucia!... when it comes to love," he bitterly confessed as he stared into the darkness. "I have searched for love, for the right woman for years; for a lifetime, it seems; and now, when I finally find her, she betrothes herself to someone else before I have a chance to offer for her. It doesn't bear thinking on, especially when the bas... the man is little more than a barbarian, in point of fact. How can she place herself, her future, her life in the hands of that...that...!" Peter sprang up to pace the alcove once more, fury in his stride. "I'll have his rotten, lily-livered heart out for the buzzards! Dam- dashed if I won't!"

  Lucia rose and laid a hand upon his arm. Feigning ignorance of his rival, she asked, "Whose heart would you sacrifice, my lord?"

  "Giles Bridland's! Bad 'cess to him!"

  "Did the lady actually say she was going to marry Mountheathe?"

  "'Twas Mountheathe did all the c
rowing! The way that beast pawed her...! I tell you it is past bearing! I shall ask Bellefield to be my second! If you will excuse me, Your Grace..." He started to walk away.

  "Before you do anything rash, my lord," Lucia said, raising her voice a little, "would it not be wise to speak to the young lady in question?" Peter turned to stare at her in the half-light. "Miss Lannington confessed to me that Mountheathe had offered for her this evening...and that she had refused him."

  "But I saw... They were embracing and...and kissing!"

  "Mountheathe, it seems, did not wait for an answer to his proposal, electing to force his attentions upon Concordia in the assumption that she would accept him. It was at that moment that you happened upon them."

  Peter searched her face. "Truly?"

  Lucia stiffened. "I would not lie to you, my lord!"

  Norworth took her hands in his. "No, I didn't mean... I know that you are all that is good and honorable, Lucia, but such news is almost beyond believing! She refused the filthy beast!" With a boyish laugh, he swung Lucia's arms out a bit and danced her around in an exultant jig.

  "My lord, please!" She laughed breathlessly. "I am not fit for country dances at the moment."

  Peter abruptly halted his celebration. "Forgive me, Lucia. I had forgotten your...your delicate condition. Here! Let me help you to the bench." He put one arm around her waist, preparing to lead her to the back of the alcove.

  "No. I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath." She smiled up into his concerned face.

  "I can't begin to tell you how much you've done for me tonight, Lucia." Peter returned her smile, his other hand coming to rest on her waist as well. "I shall be the happiest man in the world if...that is... Do you think she'll have me for a husband? I'm not exactly a saint."

  "Confidentially, my lord," Lucia whispered, leaning forward a little, "I don't think she'll settle for anyone else,... but that is for her to say."

  "Truly? She told you as much?" Peter stared intently down at her, yearning to believe.

  "Why don't you ask Concordia?"

  "By God, I will!" he grinned. "Thank you, Lucia! I don't know how I shall ever repay you for mending my heart!" He hugged her in gratitude and joy.