The Rogue

by Emma V. Leech

  He opened the door and shouted, and two men came smartly at his call.

  “Take the prisoner below. See that he is fed and unharmed, he is to reach the gallows without a mark or you will feel my wrath, do I make myself plain?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Henri watched with uncertainty as Lawrence was led away, and Alex's cold eyes met hers.

  “Miss Morton,” he said by way of taking his leave, and nodded his head, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Henri stood there for a moment and then took a breath. She had the strangest feeling that she hadn't actually breathed since the ship she now stood on had been sighted. She walked a little unsteadily to the bed and sat down. She was suddenly aware of the slightly nauseating motion of the ship, the creak of wood and rigging, and the muffled steps and calls of men both above and below her. Up until this point her mind had been totally consumed with fear, with shock, with wonder - with Lawrence, and her surroundings had all been caught up with that fact. But now she was sat here, still and alone with her thoughts and her surroundings seemed to want her to take note, for try as she might she was struggling to make sense of what had just happened.

  The Earl of Falmouth was, indeed, a good man. A man who had been bowed by grief at the loss of his brother. The charismatic pirate captain who she'd come to care for was going, somehow, to be saved from the gallows. Though at this point she could not conceive of how such a thing could be arrived at. But there had been something about the earl that made her believe he would think of something.

  She lay back on the bed and decided she would take a moment to rest before she changed her damp clothes, even though the cold, wet material around her made her shiver. But then she closed her eyes, and sleep had begun to beckon when there was a frantic knocking at the door. Frowning she hauled her protesting limbs upright and hastened to answer it.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Henri?” cried an ecstatic voice from behind the wood and Henri was almost bowled to her feet as the generous figure of Annie burst through the door and enveloped her in a hug.

  “Oh, Miss Henri!” the lady sobbed, running hands over her Mistress' face and arms, as though ensuring everything was, indeed, in the correct place and quite as it should be. “Are you alright? Did the brute hurt you?”

  Henri beamed and hugged her maid with quite as much enthusiasm. “Oh, Annie, I am so glad to see you, you cannot imagine!”

  “Whatever were ye thinkin', child?” she scolded, for once in her life overcome with an excess of maternal instinct. “If I hadn't followed ye, oh, Lawd, I dread to think what may 'ave befallen ye!”

  “You sent Lord Sinclair?” Henri exclaimed, as all became clear. She frowned as questions crowed in her mind. “Papa? Is he well, is he here?”

  Annie shook her head. “No, my lady. Your papa is well but his lordship insisted he stay home and carry on as usual. No one is to know ye are missin' see. You've gone to stay with a cousin in the north, that way he said, if we found ye safe, none would be the wiser and yer reputation quite safe.”

  “Oh.” Henri nodded, thoughtful, wondering why this didn't seem to be as much as a relief as perhaps it should be. She had the diamonds, though, she thought. She need not marry the earl now and if Lawrence was freed ...But she was getting ahead of herself, Lawrence was currently in irons and a long way from freedom.

  Annie looked at her young charge and pulled a face. “Look at the state of ye. Now get them wet things off this minute. We'll get ye warm and dry, and ye can tell me what the devil you've been up to. For if I know you, there's mischief brewin' here somewhere.”

  Henri smiled, reassured by Annie's familiar nagging tone, and allowed herself to be wrangled out of wet cloth and into a warm bed, with tea and crumpets, and a rapt audience to hear tell of her adventure.

  Chapter 19

  “Wherein truths are told.”

  Henri forced her unwilling eyelids open and blinked as a shaft of bright sunlight fell across her face. Through the tiny porthole she could see another brilliantly blue sky. Beside her Annie snored, soft huffing sounds that made her smile. Climbing with care, she edged around the curvaceous hills of her maid's slumbering form and exited the bed without so much as a fluttered eyelid from Annie.

  Giving it a little shake first, she stepped into a clean petticoat and sighed as Annie's sharp gaze caught her eye.

  “An' what are ye about now?” Annie demanded, pulling herself upright and yawning wide with a groan as she hauled herself out of bed.

  “Oh, Annie, don't be a simpleton, you know very well I must go and see Lawrence.”

  Annie folded her arms and gave her an uncharacteristically fierce look.

  “Now, listen 'ere, ye said yerself that 'is brother is sworn to see 'im to freedom. Didn't ye?”

  Henri opened her mouth to argue as she sensed there would be some reason why she ought not to see Lawrence, and seeing Lawrence was something she felt very strongly about doing, as soon as possible. However Lord Sinclair had said that, so she just sighed and nodded.

  “An' how is it goin' to look if ye go runnin' down to 'im like 'e's ye lost love or some such with ye fiancée aboard?” Annie gave her a knowing look and Henri stifled a blush.

  She hadn't told Annie everything that had happened between her and Lawrence, but her maid had a vivid imagination and she doubted she was far off the truth in divining what had actually transpired.

  “Oh but, Annie, he's all alone and ...”

  “And 'e's a big boy is Capt'n Savage. Remember all a those stories we read about, eh? He's been in worse scrapes an' walked away. Yer pirate is safe enough for now I reckon, an' yer best off payin' respects to his lordship, after all 'e's done for ye.”

  Henri pouted as Annie picked out a clean dress and lifted it over her head, quite ignoring her mutinous expression.

  “I still don't like him,” she muttered, her voice muffled through the thick material of what happened to be her best winter dress in imperial cambric muslin, she noticed and scowled at Annie. “Why have you brought all my best things?”

  Annie shrugged. “Because if things had gone bad, ye wouldn't ha' cared what ye wore, if ye'd died ye'd have need ye best fer layin out. And as it is a lady should always have her looks to fall back on if 'er other plans go awry.”

  Henri blinked and would have reproached Annie for her matter of fact way of speaking of her possible demise, but another more alarming idea came to mind.

  “Annie,” she said, her voice accusing. “You like him!”

  Annie shrugged, ignoring her young lady's wide eyes as she turned her around to do up the tiny buttons that ran up her spine and the high neck of the dress. “Well 'is lordship's very 'andsome, I'll say that,” she admitted, before adding. “And I do like me a commandin' man, an he's got that in spades. E' says jump and the world hitches its skirts.”

  “Annie!”

  “Ye could do worse n' that is all I'll say.” She prodded Henri towards the chair so that she could brush her hair and dress it and Henri was too thunderstruck by such betrayal to protest.

  “There's no use in poutin' an' huffin',” Annie mumbled around a mouthful of pins. “What use is yon pirate to ye? If e's anythin' like 'is brother I've no doubt e's dashin' an' easy on the eye, but a man like that will get 'imself strung up sooner or later, no matter if 'e escapes this time around. An' ye can bet 'e'll leave ye with squallin' babes to feed and nothin' to feed em on or to keep ye warm but the memory of him.” She leaned down and planted a kiss on Henri's cheek. “It's no way to live, my pretty lass, not for you.”

  Henri blinked hard and Annie sighed, folding her arms.

  “Oh, Miss Henri, what 'ave ye gone an done?”

  Looking away from Annie, who knew her far too well and saw far too much, Henri cleared her throat. “Nothing at all. I just ...” She sighed. Lawrence had made it perfectly clear that there was no future for them. He wouldn't take her if he had to run, and indeed a life of running and hiding didn't seem
very appealing but then never seeing Lawrence again ... “Oh, Annie,” she said, her voice full of hopeless regret.

  Annie hugged her. “Now, now, none o' that. First things first, ye have to get 'im safe away from the gallows. So go an' see 'is lordship and find what's to be done about it. We'll jus' 'ave to see where the fates take us, won't we?”

  Henri sniffed and straightened her spine, while Annie settled her best plum-coloured, morone mantle around her shoulders for her and pinched her cheeks. Henri winced as she was poked at but made no complaint

  “There now, just bite ye lips a little, make 'em nice and rosy.”

  Rolling her eyes Henri did as she was bid, for there was really no point in arguing.

  “Perfect.” Annie picked up her dirty linens and packed her other belongings away before heading for the door. “I'll tell his lordship ye wish to see 'im as soon as 'e may.”

  With annoyance, Henri watched her maid hustle out of the door and wondered where exactly the fates would take them, and if she'd get there with Lawrence.

  ***

  She didn't have long to wait before his lordship deigned to wait upon her. He strode into the room and as always she was left feeling insignificant as he seemed to take up all the available space. The similarities between the two men were becoming ever clearer, and she took a moment to appreciate the powerful shoulders and arms, and the long, strong legs that showed to such advantage in those tight breeches and black boots that they were encased in. But where Lawrence was all devilish smiles and laughing blue eyes, this man still made her shiver. His cool grey eyes cast over her with no apparent reaction as he nodded to her, polite but distant. She curtsied and sat, waiting for him to address her.

  “Well, Miss Morton, what is it I can do for you?”

  “Have you seen Law ...” she paused, blushing a little at her all too familiar use of his first name and correcting herself, avoiding his eye. “I mean to enquire if you have seen your brother this morning?”

  He snorted, apparently amused by her discomfort. “I have seen Lawrence this morning, yes. Yes he is quite well, he has broken his fast and I have made some progress with a plan to free him from the tangle we seem to be in.”

  “How?” she asked, heart thudding with anticipation.

  “I have an estate in Bordeaux, on the south west coast of France, it was in fact our mother's, the Comtesse de Longueville. As it happens I had plans to visit and see what, if anything, was left after our friend Bonaparte has ravaged the country. I had people there I could trust, we can both still trust,” he amended, adding, “Assuming that any of them still live.” This was said lightly, almost callous in tone and she wondered of there was anyone besides his brother that he cared for?

  “Once there, I will have Lawrence installed in the cellars beneath the Château. He played there as a boy, there are many tunnels and secret ways in and out of the place. I've no doubt he will make good use of them.”

  He stood, turned slightly away from her as he spoke, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. He looked every inch an English aristocrat and an extremely forbidding character. She realised she was a little afraid of him and sat up straighter.

  “And what then?” she asked, her tone a little more forceful than she had intended, but if the extent of his help was to let Lawrence loose in the French countryside then she was going to have words for his lordship, strong ones.

  “And there, Miss Morton, we seem to be at something of an impasse.”

  “How so?” She turned in her seat, following his movement as he began to walk the room, his face severe with displeasure, his footsteps muted by the thick rug beneath his feet.

  “How so?” he repeated. “Because my brother is a stubborn fool, that is why.” He spoke with no little heat and she felt her temper rise on Lawrence's behalf, whatever they had disagreed on, no doubt Lawrence had his reasons.

  The earl walked around to his side of the desk and sat down, looking her in the eyes properly for the first time since he'd entered. She quailed a little under that cold grey gaze but she didn't look away.

  “I have suggested that Lawrence be found locally by some who would remember him, that we spread the story that he lost his memory as the result of some injury. His scars ought to back that up well enough, and then he would say that he somehow ended up a prisoner of the French. That he has only recently recovered, and now that the war is over, has made his way back to our estate.”

  She blinked at him.

  “B-but, that's perfect!” she exclaimed, excitement bubbling up inside her. “What a marvellous idea!”

  Alex nodded, folding one long leg over the other and sighing. “I agree. It is simple enough to be believed but because of the war, hard enough to prove either true or false to be unsurprising if none are able to corroborate. And I know there are those locally loyal to both our family, and most certainly to Lawrence should the need arise.”

  “Oh?” Although Henri was pleased to hear that, a small tremor of doubt assailed her as she wondered who exactly would be so unswervingly loyal to Lawrence and why? She shook herself. That was of no matter, Lawrence needed to be safe, no matter who it took to achieve that. She just hoped it was an old, toothless man and not some pretty young thing who had been in love with him as a child or something horribly romantic of the sort.

  “However,” Alex said, breaking into her thoughts. “Lawrence is being remarkably stubborn about the whole thing. He refuses to co-operate.”

  “But why?” she demanded, putting her earlier defence of Lawrence's reasons far aside and wholeheartedly agreeing with the earl.

  “Because he believes that he is too well known, that someone, somewhere will recognise him as The Rogue and the discovery will destroy the family name.”

  “And what does he propose as an alternative?” she demanded, feeling quite as furious as Alex had sounded moments before.

  “Oh, my brother is full of plans,” Alex said, his expression dark. He folded his arms and once more turned the full force of his cold grey eyes on her person. She swallowed. “He has made me promise, upon my honour, to marry you, despite the lengths to which you were apparently willing to go to in order to escape such an unpleasant fate,” he said with a sneer as Henri blushed with some force and fervently wished she could join Lawrence in the hold. “He then intends to disappear, never to be seen again.”

  “No!” she gasped and then shook her head, crossing her arms and meeting his gaze with defiance and not caring a button whether he believed her an ungrateful wretch. “I won't have it. I won't marry you, and I won't let him go!”

  For the first time since Lawrence had left the room last night she saw the earl smile, and this time there seemed to be some frail glimmer of warmth in the expression.

  “Well, my dear, it appears that finally we have found something on which we can agree. All that remains to be done now is to find a way to persuade my brother of his folly.”

  Chapter 20

  “Wherein Miss Morton agrees to play with fire.”

  Henri looked at Lawrence’s brother across the imposing oak desk and sighed. Why Lawrence, after spending the last decade cultivating a fine reputation as a thief and a rogue, now - at this particular moment - felt inclined to come over all honourable and self sacrificial was beyond her. It was very bad timing and most irksome, especially when such a simple and effective plan was quite within his grasp.

  “So what do we do?” she asked the earl, who was sitting with a thoughtful expression, long fingers steepled together. She watched as he pursed his lips, as though contemplating something rather distasteful, before turning back to her.

  “Can you act, Miss Morton?”

  Henri raised her eyebrows. “Not to my knowledge, though in truth I have never had cause to discover the talent lacking. Why?”

  The cool grey eyes looked her over, curious and apparently considering.”Because I feel we must indulge in a little play acting, a deception, to convince Lawrence that he would be far better off doing as
we wish.”

  Intrigued, Henri leaned forward over the desk, her arms folded over the polished top. It seemed a most unlikely suggestion from the Earl of Falmouth and she was eager to discover what exactly he had in mind. “What manner of deception did you have in mind, my lord?”

  “In the circumstances I think you may call me Alex,” he replied, though his voice didn't imply that he enjoyed giving her the familiarity of his name.

  “In what circumstances?” she asked with apprehension, believing she had a vague idea where this was going.

  “In the circumstances of our engagement and the wedding that will take place on our return to England.”

  “B-but ...”

  Alex waved a hand to silence her and glaring, she ground to a halt.

  “Miss Morton, Henrietta ... if you will allow the familiarity?” Those grey eyes looked at her as though he was bored to death and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  "I prefer Henri," she replied equally stiff and still glaring at him.

  “Henri, you were quite right in what you said to Lawrence. He doesn't know me anymore. I am not the man I was when he left.” She realised Lawrence must have told him her previous description of the earl’s infamous behaviour. A shadow fell over his expression and she could see the weight of guilt that the past years had left upon him. “In truth, I'm not sure I ever was that man, though I did try to be everything that I believed was right and proper for the son of an earl. But his death changed everything, it changed me. Before he ... died, I was ever concious of honour and propriety and nothing stood more important in my mind than the family name.” He snorted, looking on her with amusement. “And I can see from your incredulous expression how far I have fallen from those lofty heights and just how tarnished that name has become.”

  Henri felt her cheeks burn and tried to school her face into something less expressive, but tales of the wicked Earl of Falmouth, his gambling and his legion of petticoats were too numerous to hear such confessions without a little scepticism.