Any Rogue Will Do

by Bethany Bennett

  While Montague didn’t appear in the immediate area, every protective instinct within Ethan reared its head, so he followed at a distance just in case, keeping an eye on the people in her path. As she sailed with the confidence of a queen across the room, then down a hall, she smiled at a few acquaintances.

  Leaning on the wall several feet from the doorway, he waited for her to emerge from the retiring room. Female voices approached the door. None of them were Lottie’s.

  “She must be a fool to give up such a treat for a fatter purse. Especially with a hefty dowry of her own.”

  “She has to have a huge dowry if her father ever expects to unload her on some poor fellow. Her bank account isn’t all that’s plump.”

  “Doesn’t Lord Amesbury care he’s getting used goods? I overheard my brother saying Montague described exactly how pink her bits were—if you understand my meaning. The words eager and enthusiastic were used. Repeatedly.”

  “Poor Paper Doll Princess. Amesbury isn’t that much of a catch. Not with his past…”

  Sometimes Ethan was grateful for his ungentlemanly build. As he straightened from his casual stance against the wall, he didn’t feel even remotely gentlemanly. The tittering laughter cut off when they caught sight of him.

  Curling his lip with disgust, he stared each of the three women down—he couldn’t call them ladies after that shameless display of vindictive tongue wagging. One by one, the women avoided his gaze, then scurried away as if he would release hellhounds after them.

  One minute passed. Then two. Finally, Lottie emerged from the room. Ethan snaked an arm around her waist, gently pulling her toward a nearby passageway. The small dim space, intended for servants, had only a single lamp on the wall, near a set of narrow stairs.

  “Ethan—”

  He towed her deeper into the shadows, then used his body to protect her from the view of those passing by. “Now. Look at me, lass.” Flat eyes stared at his cravat, lacking her usual spirit. “Sweetheart, look at me.” The endearment slipped out, but it felt so right he couldn’t regret it.

  She firmed her chin until her jaw set in a mulish line, then raised her gaze to his. There was no use biting back a smile. Lottie’s stubborn streak made an appearance in that narrow little point of her chin, which was too adorable for words. His girl had a spine of steel, even if she occasionally forgot that.

  When had he begun thinking of her as his?

  “How much did you hear?” she asked.

  “I’m a beast, which we both knew already. They have grossly inaccurate opinions about your beautiful figure. And every one of them deserves tae be courted by that rat Montague.”

  “All of it, then. Or most of it. I doubt they knew I was in the room. Not that my presence matters, I suppose.”

  “It’s rubbish. Every bit of it.”

  “How are you certain it isn’t true? Montague is saying I—” She gulped. Tears shone in her eyes in the low light. “He’s saying I—”

  Ethan brushed a finger down the side of her face, as he had that evening at the inn forever ago. Still impossibly soft. “We both know you didn’ drop Montague for my fortune or because you’re fickle in your affections. You barely tolerate me on the best of days.” That got a watery smile. “I don’ care how far things went between yourself and Montague. He’s a bastard and a rogue tae say such things about you, no matter the circumstances.” The siren song of her luminous skin called to him in the dim light, drawing him a half step closer.

  “For what it’s worth, they’re lies. He kissed me. I didn’t care for it. I tried to push him away. But he refused to take me home without another kiss. I think he likes to hurt women. I had bruises, but by the end of it, so did he. Since then I’ve refused to see him.”

  Bracing an arm above her head, he closed his eyes and pulled her close with a hand around her waist. The move wasn’t meant to be an embrace for anything but comfort. “Oh, lass, I’m sorry. If I could take away that memory, I would.”

  The hug changed when she raised her face toward his and rested her hands on his waist. Air grew scarce, but that might be because he held his breath. The expression on her face looked an awful lot like welcome.

  “Maybe we can’t take it away. But you could replace it. Can you kiss me, please?”

  He hung his head, then grazed his lips along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, because by all that was holy, he’d just been asked to kiss Lady Charlotte Wentworth, and those were the closest body parts to his lips. Lottie’s nearness, the dramatic dip of her waist, her unique scent cueing his body to the intimacy of the moment—all of it would be forever lost to him if he made a mess of this.

  As she’d told him of Montague’s assault, every bit of him had wanted to rage, to pound a fist through something, to hunt the slimy toad down and ensure he never touched another woman. But he had an excellent reason to not do any of that—Lottie in his arms, warm and willing, asking for a kiss. With one hand pressed so firmly into the wall, it was a wonder he didn’t leave a handprint behind in the plaster. Ethan tried not to pounce on her like a man offered his fantasy, although that was exactly what was happening.

  Their breathing dominated the narrow passage, muffling music from distant rooms filled with guests. Opening his lips slightly, Ethan allowed himself a small taste of her skin at the shoulder—salty, complex with rich flavors he’d crave after tonight. As he placed slow, openmouthed kisses along the arch of her neck, her body softened against his. When he kissed her jaw below her ear, Lottie’s breathing grew shaky. She liked that.

  He finally reached the corner of her mouth, and she turned her head and met him halfway.

  * * *

  She would think about the consequences later. Plans for the future, the list of qualities she needed in a husband—she set all that aside. Right now this mattered more. The heat coming from his body set off an unsettling buzzing under her skin she realized was need. Desire. That lust he’d mentioned on the balcony, then inspired as she’d watched him from her bedroom window. She knew how he looked under these well-tailored evening clothes.

  This decision would throw them off course, away from the familiar. The danger of that, the unknown, made something within her come alive.

  He finally kissed her lips. Usually, her brain assessed every moment, searched for ways to handle situations, prepared for any outcome—from the worst-case scenario to the best. All that went silent. There was simply her and him. And they fit.

  His mouth moved over hers, and that part she’d only just discovered—the desire for more, for him, flared brighter. The gentle scrape of his teeth on her sensitized bottom lip drew a noise from her somewhere between a moan and a whimper. This was nothing like the bruising mashing of faces she’d experienced with Montague. Where Montague had roughly taken, Ethan was asking, gently coaxing as he gave pleasure.

  Kissing him was like learning a new language. There was a call and answer between them made of breath and sounds that weren’t words but somehow still created a conversation—the most erotic conversation of her life.

  If his hands caressed her, she’d probably purr. But he kept his palm firmly against her lower back, straying neither north nor south. The contact was both too much and not enough. She arched her body into him, chasing that need for more.

  When the kiss ended, her small groan joined his heavy sigh. He rested his forehead against hers, exchanging air for a few more seconds. Their mouths were so achingly close. It took all her remaining self-control not to lick that dip at the top of his lip.

  “You taste like heather honey, lass.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Her world shook a bit, so it made sense that her voice would shake too.

  “Aye.” Ethan eased his body away in small increments. One of her hands skimmed up his chest, and his blue eyes fluttered closed. After a moment, he stepped away and offered a hand. “I believe, my lady, that you owe me a dance.”

  That was that, then.

  In a daze, she returned with him to the r
ooms full of people. He hadn’t run his fingers through her hair or mussed her gown. Nothing of her outside appearance gave away the internal shift she’d just experienced. There was more to be had, and while she hadn’t had time to unravel the tangle of emotions inside her, her heart and mind agreed that the feeling was significant. That this would complicate things but perhaps for the better.

  They lined up for a country dance as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  As if he hadn’t just caused an emotional earthquake making her question every unsentimental piece of her perfectly planned future. Because those plans didn’t make room for more.

  Lottie curtsied when the music began and sent him a sunny smile, as if he hadn’t just potentially ruined everything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Calvin dropped the paper next to Ethan’s breakfast plate. “Either you’re living an alternate life I’m not aware of, or the gossip columnists are getting desperate with their conjecture.”

  Ethan flicked the edge of the newsprint out of his eggs. “What are they saying this time?”

  Calvin pointed. Today’s headline declared “Paper Doll Torn Between Love and Money” in bold print. A sketch below showed Lady Charlotte as a one-dimensional cutout caught in a tug-of-war between two men. Montague’s perfect face shone as the hero in the picture, while Ethan’s hulking form sported an ill-fitting coat made of pound notes.

  “Charming. Only accurate in that Montague is one gambling note shy of debtor’s prison.” Ethan folded the paper to hide the cartoon. One bright spot in all this was that the gossips weren’t aware of his financial situation if he’d been cast as the rich suitor who’d wooed her with his money.

  Calvin flopped in the chair beside him. “People are mocking you, Mac. Is all this worth it? You don’t even get to marry the girl in the end.”

  “She’s worth it.” They’d kissed last night, and he couldn’t help feeling that the landscape was changing beneath his feet. They’d gone into this engagement with clear boundaries: which people would know the truth, how long it would last, and who would end it.

  Now he didn’t want her to end it. Whether that translated to actually desiring marriage, he didn’t know. But he sure as hell desired Lottie.

  After their kiss he’d blurted out the first thing on his mind and told her she tasted like heather honey—sweet, earthy, and precious. Heather bloomed for only a short while, so the honey produced by the bees was all the more treasured for its rarity. She tasted like the best parts of home, and the knowledge had kept him awake late into the night.

  Whether this new territory was a good thing or a disastrous mistake remained to be seen. And if by some miracle they blew up their plan and actually headed down the aisle, convincing the earl to give his blessing would be its own challenge. He set that particular problem aside. Best not to borrow trouble.

  “Think the engagement will be enough to discourage Montague?” Cal asked.

  That was a question he’d been considering since last night. The man’s boldness to hurt her in front of everyone while smiling and expecting her to smile too—Montague was worse than he’d thought. “I don’ know. James Montague isn’ known for his accommodating nature.”

  “He’s a sewer rat, plain and simple. We need to find a way to protect her beyond a phony engagement,” Cal said.

  “I’m open tae ideas.”

  “There’s something off about him, you know?” Cal sipped his coffee.

  Ethan flipped the newspaper open and studied the cartoon again. “Money. He’s in debt up tae his eyeballs. If we control his finances, we control the man. Maybe we get Danby tae call him home tae rusticate in the country.”

  Cal nodded in agreement. “We buy up his debts. I shadow him at the tables and buy his markers. Then we dun him all to hell and back.”

  Ethan sighed. This was going to be expensive, tapping into what he had saved in case the brewery project went awry, but if it meant Lottie would be safe, it would be worth it. “I’m goin’ tae ask Lottie tae join me at Woodrest for a few days. The new brewmaster is moving in, and I need tae check in on the worksite. It gets us away from Town for a while. Are you fine with following him while I’m gone?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll turn it into a learning experience for the Puppy. We’ll call it ‘An Idiot’s Guide to the Underbelly of London: What Not to Do.’ We’ll have a grand time,” Cal said.

  Silence descended between them. Years of friendship meant Ethan could recognize a comfortable silence—and this wasn’t it. “What else is on your mind, Cal?”

  He took his sweet time answering. But finally, Cal sighed and said, “It’s been one of those weeks where I want to run away from home. I fear the problems would find me again eventually, though.”

  “Sister or father?”

  “Both,” Cal said without humor. “Emma’s plans for her Season grow more intricate and expensive with every letter. You’d think finishing school would teach common sense or budgeting, but apparently not.”

  “Is the estate having financial difficulties?” Ethan’s brow wrinkled. “And here I am making expensive plans tae take down Montague. I hope you know that’s something I’m financing, not you.”

  “No, I’m fine. And I’ll happily help with taking down Montague. I know you’re good for it eventually. This is nothing more than the usual frantic bailing measures to clean up my father’s messes—which I also had to do yesterday.” Cal’s relentlessly chipper personality usually kept his face alight with laughter, but right now he looked tired and about ten years older.

  “The usual problems with your father?”

  “Indeed. That man couldn’t keep his pecker to himself if his life depended on it.”

  “Let me guess—another jilted mistress.” A jilted mistress was always preferable to the heartbreaking interviews with younger servants in the family way.

  “This time it was an opera dancer. Father pulled his old trick of gifting paste jewels, then barred her from the house. As per usual, the next person she called upon was me. Why can’t he simply remarry and be faithful? Mother’s been dead for a decade. And you can’t tell me the man is grieving her. They hated each other.”

  “How long did it take her tae proposition you?”

  “About fifteen seconds,” Cal snorted. “As if I’d consider my father’s leftovers. Ugh.” He shuddered and Ethan laughed. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, nor would it be the last. Even though there were few things more pathetic than an aging rake, it would be foolishness to expect the Marquess of Eastly to change. While Cal accepted that, he still—more often than not—had to clean up his father’s messes. Whether that meant a payment and a cottage somewhere for a servant and the Marquess’s by-blow, or situations with an angry lover, Cal stepped in and did the dirty work.

  “The Marquess doesn’ deserve you.”

  “He’s the only father I have. Even if he is utter rubbish at it,” Cal said.

  “At least Emma only wants a pretty dress.”

  “Or twenty. But you’re right. She’ll only debut once. After that her wardrobe will be someone else’s problem.”

  Ethan wiped his mouth with a napkin, then finished the cup of tea he’d nursed over breakfast. “I’m going next door. Would you like tae join me?”

  “No. Hardwick is coming by. My tailor delivered a new coat, so I’m passing one on. I need to work on my you’d be doing me a favor by taking it off my hands face.”

  “You’re dressing the lad now?” That explained why Adam’s coat had looked familiar a few days ago.

  Cal shrugged. “He lives on pennies. Insists on saving his pay for a rainy day. What kind of rainy day is he expecting that warrants living like a pauper? I pass along what I can and try to convince him it’s not charity. Then he makes the clothes over to fit. Which probably means he cuts the bloody thing in half and sews it back together. The boy is painfully thin.”

  There was something in the way he’d taken Adam Hardwick under his wing that reminde
d Ethan of Cal’s determination to befriend him years ago. “Adam and I are both lucky tae have you as a friend. I have a few cravats I can add tae the donation if you think he could use them.”

  “Nice sentiment, but I’ll pass. Your linen is a disgrace.” Cal poured himself another cup of coffee. “Enjoy the lovely Lady Charlotte. Charm Lady Agatha for me.”

  Shrugging into his overcoat, Ethan laughed. “Is such a thing possible?” As he pulled on his gloves, he paused, clearing his throat. “Since we’re catching up, there’s another thing. Lottie said something last night. She refuses tae call me Mac.”

  “But we’ve always called you Mac.” Calvin rested his elbows on the table and cocked his head, listening.

  “Don’ you remember? Some of the lads called me MacBrute that first year. That shortened tae Mac. She says the nickname is disrespectful.”

  Cal sat back. “Huh. Never thought of it that way. Always thought it was in good fun, but I see your point. I call you Mac all the time. I don’t mean any offense by it.”

  Ethan drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. Ethan was positive Cal, more than anyone, would understand that he wanted to be called by his rightful name. “I know you don’ mean tae offend. Before Lottie brought it up, I’d accepted the name. But she’s right. They called me Mac so no one would forget I don’ belong here. Not really. Just another Scotsman puttin’ on airs, taking a title from a good English family.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re worth ten of these young lordlings born with silver spoons in their mouths. What happened with your cousin and his son is tragic, but no one can blame you for being the next in line to inherit. You belong here. Never doubt that,” Cal said.

  “Thank you.” Those doubts sometimes crept in, especially when he spent a lot of time in London. A wave of homesickness for Woodrest flooded him. He wanted to bring Lottie to Kent. See if she liked Woodrest and the people who mattered most to him. That might be courting heartache, when their relationship had a time limit. Of course, if he convinced her to give them a chance, he’d have to deal with her father. That man hated him. As it was, once word reached her father, all hell would break loose.