Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

  But he couldn’t, wouldn’t change, not even for her. He was not about to develop feelings for the daughter of the man who’d killed his mother and destroyed his life. That simply could not happen. He would enjoy Livvy’s company, and more if she allowed it, but to develop romantic notions for her? No. She was the last woman on earth he could fall for. And she would never fall in love with him either. The sense of obligation because of her father’s debt would always hang between them.

  Even if he somehow found a way around his hatred for her father, his twin sister would see it as a betrayal. And he had to protect Helen. He’d failed to once before and had almost lost her. He could not fail her again. He wasn’t sure how long he sat in his chair with his thoughts a decade in the past, before he realized his footman stood in the doorway, hat and coat in hand.

  “Your coach is ready, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Martin rose and donned his coat. He strode to the front door and, with a nod to Harris, left the townhouse.

  Martin settled into his coach and closed his eyes as the vehicle rocked forward. He could spend the night at Brooks’s and give himself some space, perhaps. It would be good for the both of them. He would protect himself, and Livvy would learn that her words and actions would have consequences. Just as her father’s actions had consequences.

  When he reached Brooks’s at number 60 on St. James’s Street, he felt as if he’d aged a dozen years. This morning when they had gone riding, he felt like the day had ended well and Livvy was willing to share his bed. He had not planned on being driven to his club in a black mood. He noted the flurry of excitement in the gaming halls as he entered. The club was well known for its high stakes. Fortunes would be made by some and lost by others. He lingered only a moment in the doorway, watching the young bucks cast their fates with the cards. He wondered who the high flyers would be tonight. A young lad, one of many who served at Brooks’s, collected his hat and coat.

  “May I do anything else for you, sir?” the lad asked.

  “See if there’s a room open tonight. If there is, reserve it for me. My account is under the name Martin Banks.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.” The boy rushed off. Martin left the main corridor and headed for the meeting rooms, but he froze when he heard Hartwell’s name being bandied about.

  “Hartwell owes you two thousand?” the man asked his companion.

  Martin hesitated, lingering in the shadows as he listened to the two gentlemen standing at the end of the hall by the gaming room they’d been in moments before.

  “He does, and I have half a mind to collect in another way.” The second man laughed. He was perhaps Martin’s age or a few years older, but there was a cruel twist to his lips.

  “What do you mean to do, Stamford?” the first man asked.

  Lord Stamford? Martin inwardly cringed. The man was rumored to be a bounder who had little respect for women and animals.

  “Hartwell has a daughter. A ripe little peach, or so I hear. If he wants to avoid debtor’s prison, he can give her to me. I heard another fellow bought her off him not too long ago for a debt. Shouldn’t be too hard to do the same, assuming that other man hasn’t worn out her usefulness.” Stamford laughed cruelly.

  Martin’s stomach turned violently. This man was a dark mirror image of himself. He’d taken Livvy just as this man planned to. He was no better than Stamford, except that he would let Livvy come to his bed, rather than force her. But that gave him no comfort in this moment. He swallowed hard, tasting bile as he tried not to think about how he and this wretched man were alike.

  “Been a while since you had a bit of muslin, eh?” the first gentleman said with a snicker.

  “Not that long, but I need a good chit to shove on her back for a few hours each day, and a sweet little creature like that…” Stamford groaned in delight, and his friend laughed.

  Martin’s vision colored red as he stormed toward the two men. He lunged at Stamford and slammed him against the wall. Hitting him felt good, cathartic in a way Martin didn’t want to think about.

  “How dare you speak like that!” he shouted.

  “What the devil are you talking about?” Stamford curled his hands in fury and then punched Martin in the face.

  He took the blow hard, grunting as his left eye was struck. He let go of Stamford for just a moment.

  “You touch Miss Hartwell and I will kill you.” He couldn’t take back what he’d done to Livvy by taking her away from her home, but he could save her from a man like this.

  Stamford puffed up. “Oh? You fancy her as well?” He started to straighten his waistcoat, but Martin lunged for him again.

  “Hold on!” The first man stepped between them, slapping a palm to each of their chests.

  “We can settle this matter.”

  “Can we?” Stamford laughed darkly. The smug look on his face made Martin feel wild and reckless.

  “I’d be happy to settle this on the field,” Martin growled.

  Stamford answered with a jackal’s grin. “As would I, Mr.…”

  “Banks. Martin Banks.”

  “You’re the fellow who bought the little chit.” Stamford grinned evilly.

  “And I’m going to be the fellow who shoots you,” Martin warned darkly.

  “Wait, Banks? I’ve heard of you!” the first man said. “You’re quite the fortune maker, I hear.”

  Martin knew Stamford’s companion was doing his best to ease the obvious tension, but Martin didn’t care.

  “Littleton Field. Tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Agreed. Tomorrow.” Stamford jerked his head in a nod. He and his companion beat a hasty retreat into the gambling rooms.

  Martin stormed in the reading rooms and threw himself into the nearest chair. He sat there, stewing over the encounter with Stamford for some time before someone handed him a glass of brandy.

  “You look as though you may need this, old boy.” Rodney Bennett chuckled as he took a chair beside Martin.

  “I suppose I do.” He accepted the brandy and took a long gulp, ignoring the fiery burn of the liquid in his throat.

  “Let me guess. You and Stamford are dueling tomorrow?” Rodney asked.

  “How on earth would you know that?” Martin grumbled.

  “He’s boasting in the gaming rooms about it. Arrogant bastard.”

  Martin winced as he felt his eye already starting to swell. He’d be lucky if he had good enough vision in his right eye to fire a pistol. “You’ll be needing a second, then?” Rodney’s tone was light and far too normal. But then again, he’d been through all this before. The last time had been several years ago when Martin had lost the last of his then meager funds to a man named Gareth Fairfax. Gareth had challenged him to a duel, and Rodney had been his second.

  Only I never fought that duel. Helen did in my place.

  And Gareth had fallen in love with her, the brave woman who’d fought a duel disguised as her twin brother. If she knew he was facing another duel, she would strangle him. But he had to do it, to protect Livvy, because he was the damned monster who’d put her in this situation to begin with.

  “Martin, what’s the matter, old boy?” Rodney leaned forward, worry lines etching his face.

  “Have you ever had the sudden realization that a course of action you took was incorrect and it may have caused more harm than you intended?”

  Rodney’s lips tilted down in a frown. “Not sure I follow.”

  “I challenged Stamford to a duel over him wanting to buy a woman to satisfy the debts of the woman’s father.”

  “That was noble of you.” His friend grinned.

  “It wasn’t.” Martin sighed, and the sound was world-weary, which was exactly how he felt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because I already bought the girl a few days ago for a debt owed by her father. I’m no better than Stamford.”

  Rodney paled. “You bought a woman?”

  Martin nodded. His stomach was still coiled in tight knots. “
I bought her companionship, though now I believe there is little difference.”

  “But…how?”

  “It was the night we went to the Argyll Rooms. The girl’s father and I have a history, one of a personal nature and enmity on my part. I saw him losing, and I took advantage. In the end, he owed me a vast sum, far more than he could pay, and I went to his house, planning to toss him out. And then I saw her. She was lovely and brave and… She offered herself to me. I accepted. I took her home that night.”

  “Good God, man!” Rodney’s face was red with anger. “Send her home!”

  “I would, but…” I can’t. Martin drew in a breath. “If I do, I fear Stamford will show up on her father’s doorstep, demanding the same. I fear others will hear of it and seek similar satisfaction. What have I done?” He buried his face in his hands, pressing the heels of his hands so hard into his eyes that he saw stars.

  “But you haven’t…?” Rodney cleared his throat.

  “No. She has nothing to fear from me. If she wants me, all she needs to need to do is ask, but I won’t force her.”

  His friend nodded. “Good. I’d call you out myself, friend or not, if you did something like that to any woman.”

  “That’s because you’re a good man.” Martin said dryly. “Far better than me.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Rodney laughed before he grew serious again. “So tomorrow you duel Stamford. Where and when?”

  “Littleton Field at dawn.”

  “Then I’ll be there,” Rodney declared. “Do you plan to sleep here tonight?”

  Martin nodded. He couldn’t imagine himself going home under these circumstances.

  “Then get some rest and have someone look at that eye. It’s likely to swell and compromise your vision tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Martin slapped Rodney’s shoulder as the other man rose from his chair and headed out. He would no doubt be going home to his wife and children, and for the first time Martin envied him. For a brief second he dared to imagine Livvy was at home, waiting up for him with a babe in the nursery and her smile ready and warm when she saw him.

  That is a life you will never have. Certainly not with her.

  The thought turned his heart cold, and he reached for the brandy. It would be his only companion on a cold night like this.

  ***

  Livvy stared at the clock on the mantel in her chambers. It was nearly midnight. She couldn’t sleep. Not after how she’d seen Martin hurt at her words. It was her fault she had driven him away. Mellie had said that he left for his club and would not be back tonight. The staff had been given orders to keep her in her room, but she had a suspicion none of them would enforce it. She tiptoed out of her chambers, wrapping the dressing down tight around her to keep warm. Thankfully Martin’s townhouse wasn’t as drafty as her own home had become.

  She reached his bedchambers. The door was unlocked, and she slipped inside. His valet was there, polishing a set of his boots. He startled when he saw her and blushed.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She backed toward the door.

  “It’s all right, miss. I’m finished. I usually take the boots downstairs, but with the master out…” The valet brushed the polishing rag over the tip of the boot, then put the boots in the armoire against the wall on the far corner.

  “Thank you.” She leaned forward against the beautiful bed, watching the valet tidy up.

  “Do you need anything, Miss Hartwell? Before I go?” he asked.

  “Oh… No thank you.” She glanced toward the fireplace, which was beginning to run low. “Except perhaps more logs. I could feed the fire myself, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” The valet bowed. “I’ll have a footman bring some up shortly.”

  After he left, she wandered about the room, examined the fine porcelain washing basin, the shaving razor, the sandalwood scent in a small bottle. She raised her nose and inhaled. The scent brought back memories, vivid ones of Martin holding her close, kissing her in a hard but pleasing way. She’d never imagined kisses could be so passionate, wonderful, frightening.

  And I drove him away. Did it matter that he’d bought her? Shouldn’t it only matter what she felt? She felt good when he kissed her, good when their breaths mingled and their bodies pressed flush against one another. Maybe that was all that mattered.

  Pride—her pride—shouldn’t matter, not anymore. The damage was done. She was no longer innocent by society’s standards. Shouldn’t she at least enjoy the sins she would be ruined for anyway?

  She would risk falling for him, but perhaps that was inevitable. She was already drawn to him, and it was not simple carnal fascination, but something else. The haunted look in his eyes when he spoke of his family and the early death of his mother, the hints of the reluctant amusement in those mysterious blue eyes, the tenderness of his lips and hunger of his hands created an inseparable tangle of emotions for her. She could not view him as just one thing. He was not the cold and callous man she’d mentioned in speaking to Mellie. He was anything but that.

  Livvy climbed into his large bed and stared into the depths of the dwindling fire, her mind lost in a chaotic swirl of thoughts.

  Do I risk it? Do I dare give myself over, heart and soul, and pray the glimpses I’ve seen of a good man are real? That a man like him could learn to love me?

  Hope was all she had to cling to in the darkness. Hope that she would find the answers, and hope that once dawn was here, Martin would come home to her.

  The Gentleman's Seduction

  Lauren Smith

  Chapter Ten

  Martin studied the pistol in his hand, feeling the weight of the metal and the polished wood grip, which was cold in his palm. All around him the field was quiet, the predawn sky lit in a pale purple light. The coach that brought Stamford and his second, the man from the night before, Stephen Albright, had only just arrived to present him with his choice of pistol.

  “What you think? Does it shoot fair, you suppose?” Rodney whispered next to Martin.

  “Devil if I know. I rarely handle the damn things.”

  “What?” Rodney hissed. “Bloody hell, man, do you even know how to shoot?”

  “Of course I do.” He knew how to shoot well on a pheasant hunt with a rifle, but that wasn’t the same as firing a dueling pistol.

  “Are you satisfied with the weapon, Mr. Banks?” Mr. Albright inquired. He shot a nervous glance at Stamford, who was glaring at them.

  “I suppose,” Martin replied. He’d woken that morning with a headache and a sense of dread, and it wasn’t until the servant had come to serve him a brief breakfast that he remembered he was to face Stamford on the field in less than two hours.

  “There is one last chance to reconcile,” Rodney interjected. “Mr. Stamford, I believe you made unpleasant and ungentlemanly comments toward a young lady last evening. Do you withdraw such comments?” Rodney placed himself slightly in front of Martin, acting as an emissary. In that moment Martin saw how good a friend the other man was. Over the years Rodney had always stood by him and by Helen.

  Helen… He couldn’t believe his twin sister had faced this same trial, had taken his place against Gareth all those years before, disguised as Martin, while he lay unconscious in a broom cupboard after she’d knocked him out.

  He briefly closed his eyes, picturing her that day, willing to face death for him. He’d never been worthy of the people in his life who loved him. All he had done was let them down over and over again. If he died today, Livvy wouldn’t miss him—she would be grateful he was gone. Her debt would be paid, and she would go home…only to have a man like Stamford come and claim her in the same way. Fury rose in him like a violent storm, wind lashing the inside of his mind and heart. He could not allow such a thing.

  “I do not withdraw my comments,” Stamford declared. His aristocratic features were defined by the cruelty which shadowed his eyes.

  “Very well,” Rodney sighed. “Backs together, and
each man must count to twenty paces. Then turn and face each other.”

  Martin and Stamford approached one another. It took a fair amount of self-control to not toss the pistol to the ground and tackle him into the earth and throttle him. He drew in deep breaths and turned his back. Stamford did the same. Then they began to step away, counting their paces. When he reached twenty, he turned, facing his opponent. Albright and Rodney stood to the left, some yards away from the line of fire.

  “Pistols may be raised,” Rodney announced.

  Martin adjusted his stance. The meadow grass coated in ice was slick and uncomfortable beneath the soles of his boots. Then he carefully raised his arm. His fingers trembled slightly, and with one eye almost swollen shut, he felt like this was a very bad idea now, but he could not let Stamford just walk away, not after what he said he’d do to Livvy.

  Stamford raised his arm.

  “On the count of three, you may fire.” Rodney’s voice rang out over the frozen field.

  “One…”

  Martin licked his dry lips and adjusted his grip on the pistol.

  “Two…”

  Stamford’s lips suddenly curved in a devil-may-care grin.

  “Three—”

  Crack!

  Martin jerked sideways. Pain knifed through his upper arm. He cursed but kept his pistol up.

  “Banks! You’ve been hit?” Rodney shouted.

  “Grazed,” he grunted. “I think.” He looked at Stamford, who was staring at him, his face ashen.

  “It is your shot, Banks. You may fire at will,” Rodney said. Both he and Albright watched in worry.

  “Well!” Stamford almost shrieked. “Get it over with!” He stamped his foot like a petulant child, but even at this distance Martin couldn’t mistake the stark fear on the man’s face as he tried to stand sideways to reduce his chances of a lethal shot.

  He stared at Stamford, his gun raised. “Sell me the note Hartwell owes you and I won’t put a bullet through your black heart.”