Any Rogue Will Do

by Bethany Bennett

  Lottie took a tentative sip of the stew. “This is delicious. The bread is perfect. Somehow, it’s the small inns that have the best bread. Have you noticed?” Nerves made her chatter.

  When he took a bite, he wrinkled his nose. “Whatever ale she used must be ghastly.” He pushed the bowl aside, but Lottie stayed his hand.

  “I would hate to offend her. She has been such a lovely hostess. She didn’t even raise a fuss when you asked to have our meal in the room. It’s been a long day of travel, and this is all we have to eat.”

  Montague sighed, then finished the bowl and took her second slice of bread with a petulant look. Lottie held her tongue about the bread theft and made idle conversation with her captor in front of the fire while she waited.

  It wasn’t long before Montague’s gurgling stomach interrupted the conversation. He frowned, placing a hand to his belly. “I told you that stew was off.”

  Feigning concern, Lottie frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought it delicious. Strange that I am suffering no ill effects.”

  Montague’s face contorted in pain. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Oh dear. You don’t look well. Perhaps you should find the privy.”

  Montague shot a glance to his bag with the gag and ropes. The desire to bind her while he was indisposed was so obvious, she almost made a grab for the bag herself. In the end, his bowels made the decision.

  The heavy footfalls of his boots on the stairs rattled a small framed painting on the wall as he ran from the inn to find the outhouse. Although their room had a lovely floral-painted chamber pot, he must have decided that whatever was happening didn’t need witnesses.

  If she could thank him for that, she would. Instead, Lottie smiled into her teacup and enjoyed the crackling fire.

  Mrs. Mitchell poked her head in the room through the open door. “Are you well, Mrs. Montague?”

  “All is as it should be.” The women exchanged a grin, and Lottie sat back to stare at the flames and wait.

  The peace did not last long. Montague stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on the doorway. Using the wall for balance while one hand held his stomach, he groaned, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Maybe you should lie down until you feel better.”

  Montague whimpered as she tucked him into bed like a small child. When he closed his eyes on a pained moan and rolled to face the wall, Lottie moved the chamber pot across the room, slipping it behind the curtains.

  It would be a long night for some of them in this inn.

  * * *

  Dusk came and went. For the past half hour Lady Agatha’s coachman had carefully picked his way through darkness, with only the moon and a hanging lantern to guide the way. No one spoke of stopping for the night, all of them acutely aware that Lottie and Montague were preparing to spend their second night on the road.

  “We found them!” The outrider’s cry pierced the repetitious clamor of hooves and carriage wheels.

  Ethan sagged in the saddle. “Thank God.”

  They came to a stop and waited for the grinning footman to bring his mount alongside them. “The Wild Dove, just at the edge of Doncaster. I’ve left Georgie to watch their coach, but it seems they’re stopped for the night.”

  When their party arrived at the inn, they didn’t try to be quiet about it. No doubt Ethan looked a formidable sight, storming across the yard, with the many capes of his coat fanning out behind him. Theatrics weren’t usually his style, but if Montague happened to be watching, Ethan hoped the worm quaked in his boots. The innkeeper’s eyes widened when Ethan burst through the front door and skipped formalities. “A man and a woman arrived in the red carriage that now sits in your stables. Where are they now?” Ethan slapped a coin down on the bar. The innkeeper eyed the coin.

  A squat little woman sidled up beside the innkeeper, beaming at Ethan. “Goodness, you are a big one, aren’t ya? She’s in the parlor through here.” She came around the bar and led Ethan to a door. “Safe and sound, she is. If you’re wanting to dispose of the man, he’s upstairs wishing he were already dead.”

  Wishing he were dead, was he? Curious. “I’ll deal with him later. Thank you for your help.”

  Calling the tiny room a parlor was generous. After two days of imagining worst-case scenarios, Ethan thought himself prepared for anything. He’d never considered this.

  A fire roared in the hearth, providing warmth for the couch that had been pulled close to the fireside. Lounging under a blanket, reading a book, was Lottie. Steadying himself with a hand on the doorframe, he let the relief roll over him as he drank her in. She was here. Safe. Reading, of all things.

  An incredulous smile split her face before she threw the blanket aside and launched herself from the couch. “Ethan!”

  He met her halfway, swooping her up in a hug and burying his face in her hair. Relief stole his breath, and the broken mess of his heart calmed somewhat when she clutched him as if afraid to let him go. She may not love him, but she didn’t hate him, and he’d have this one last hug. He skimmed his hand up and down her spine in a soothing stroke, and she responded by tightening her grip.

  Except, this was all wrong. No matter how strong the urge to hold her close and never let go, their relationship was a thing of the past. As if the letter had never happened, she’d slipped into place under his chin, where she fit like a puzzle piece. Those dark curls he loved frizzed in a halo around her head, then knotted into a tangled braid down her back. The gown she’d donned almost forty-eight hours before was a mess, yet she managed to be the most beautiful wreck he’d ever seen. But she wasn’t his. With slow, measured movements, Ethan untangled her fingers from around his neck and stepped back.

  Rather awkwardly, Lottie pushed her hair off her face and tried to set herself to rights, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sure what’s appropriate, given our new circumstances, but I am happy to see you.”

  The feet between them felt like miles. Speaking past a tight throat, Ethan asked, “It’s no’ my business, but are you…Did he—”

  Staring at her feet, she shook her head. “Montague has much to answer for. But I am safe and relatively untouched.”

  Part of the worry nested in his chest unraveled. “Where is he?”

  “Unwell at the moment. I planned to set off on my own at daybreak.”

  “Can’t say I’m unhappy he’s sick. Although it puts a wrinkle in my plan tae beat him tae within an inch of his life.”

  “He’ll be back to his evil self in a day or so. We only poisoned him a little. Mrs. Mitchell made an excellent accomplice.”

  “Poisoned him? Of course you did.” In spite of the heartache, she made him laugh. “You’re brilliant, lass, but you’re also a wee bit scary. Well done.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself instead of him. “I, ah, I didn’t expect you to come for me. Not after my letter.”

  “Yes, your letter.” Peeling his gloves off one finger at a time, he tried to find the words to address the situation. “I’m not here tae press my suit, lass. We both know that’s over. Darling told me you’re going home, so I’ll see you tae your father safely.” The earl would probably love the opportunity to share his thoughts on Ethan’s presence in Lottie’s life, face-to-face. “I’ll let the others know where you are.” Turning to the door, he focused on the metal doorknob instead of her as he spoke. “Engaged or not, I’d come for you if you needed me, Lady Charlotte.” Best to get back in the habit of addressing her properly. She wasn’t his anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The next morning dawned with a heavy gray fog over the landscape. Lottie said goodbye to Mrs. Mitchell, thanking her again for her help, then joined Ethan and Lord Carlyle.

  “He’s under guard. Last time I checked he was a sweaty, foul mess, drooling on his pillow. The man snores like some kind of wild animal,” Lord Carlyle said.

  “Not all men make those noises when they sleep? I had wondered.” They turned to her with twin aghast expressions.
“I’ll take that as a no. Ethan—I’m sorry—Lord Amesbury, I’m ready to leave when you are. Darling and Aunt Agatha are already in the carriage.”

  Amesbury turned to Lord Carlyle. “Three days. That should give him time tae recover sufficiently for travel. Hire a carriage and meet me in three days.”

  “Agreed. He wanted to go to Scotland so badly. Who are we to say no?” Lord Carlyle grinned.

  “Where are you taking him?” Lottie wasn’t sure why she cared in the grand scheme of things, with so many other issues to worry about. Ethan’s gentle rejection last night still hurt. We both know that’s over. She’d broken them.

  “We’ll bring him tae my village near the Solway Firth. I have a plan tae make sure he never touches another woman.” Amesbury’s thunderous expression would inspire fear in anyone. Anyone but her.

  When he’d walked through that door last night, there’d been a moment when all was right in the world. The thump of Ethan’s heartbeat had sounded like home, and none of the events of the last few days had mattered one whit. He’d smelled of cold air and smoke.

  Then he’d stepped back, and reality had reared its ugly head. Ethan wasn’t hers. He wasn’t even Ethan anymore. And that was her fault.

  “I’ll see you in the carriage.” Given the mad clash of emotions warring within her, retreat seemed the best option.

  Her maid sat beside Agatha on the plush seat, which thankfully smelled worlds better than the prison carriage of the last few days. “Darling, how is your head?”

  Lottie had learned last night that Aunt Agatha had supplied Darling with regular draughts of willow-bark tea to make travel slightly less torturous, since, surprising no one, the maid had insisted on joining the rescue party.

  “They didn’t manage to knock it off my shoulders. Hurts like the devil.” Darling touched the spot on her head with a wince. Darling’s pallor remained ashy, highlighting the livid bruise on her head, and a scabbed cut in her hair.

  “Stop touching it, then,” Agatha huffed. Her godmother seemed thinner after the last several days of stress, although blessedly solid and, well, Agatha.

  “Auntie’s right. Don’t touch it. I worried about you, you know.” Lottie checked the doorway at the inn. Amesbury’s shoulders filled the space as he paused to fasten his coat and run a hand through those curls she loved so much.

  The carriage rocked under his weight. The only available space was next to Lottie, and judging by the smug look her maid and godmother exchanged, that wasn’t an accident.

  “One more night on the road, then we can part ways at your father’s estate tomorrow before supper,” he said.

  Well. Heroic rescuer or not, he clearly couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Not that she could blame him. Silence fell on the carriage for several miles. The longer they went without speaking, the sterner Agatha’s face grew, until the woman’s pointed looks at Lottie became uncomfortable. Try as she might, Lottie drew a blank, searching for a safe topic besides the weather.

  “Does anyone else smell smoke?” She craned her neck to view the landscape. There wasn’t a telltale plume in a field, or even a nearby cottage to explain why she smelled fire.

  Beside her, Ethan shifted farther away. “That’s me you’re smelling. I didn’ change clothing before I left, and then forgot tae bring a satchel for the road. Apologies. I was in a hurry.”

  Ignoring that last bit of sarcasm, Lottie laid a hand on his knee and said, “How is Woodrest? I was worried sick over the fire. Are the tenants safe?” Goodness, how had she not asked before now? The thigh muscle under her fingers tensed, and she snatched her hand away as if burned. Everything about his body right now screamed hands off, and she had to respect that. But Lord, how she wanted to touch him. To linger and soak him in.

  “Our good friend Montague hired an arsonist tae wreak havoc at Woodrest. I was dealing with that when I got your letter. No one was hurt. The construction site will need tae start anew. The granary is a loss, as is this year’s harvest. John Billings never made it tae the main house.”

  “I trust the fiend is now in custody,” Agatha said.

  “Nay, he’s my newest tenant.” He gave Agatha a tight smile. “After making such a mess, ’tis only right he cleans it up. Montague hired a desperate man tae do his dirty work in exchange for enough coin tae feed his family.”

  Lottie rested her head in her hand and propped her elbow on the window ledge. Sweet heaven, had there ever been anyone so good as this man? “That’s a significant loss for you, and then you had to deal with my letter. How utterly wretched. I’m so sorry.”

  “Aye, the twenty-fifth of never would have been a much better day tae call off the wedding. I understand why you did it, though.”

  Silence descended once more, now laden with an awkwardness none of them could escape.

  Agatha wasn’t one to let such a thing stand. “I think we can all agree Montague has done irreparable damage to your reputation. Slinking back to London with a concocted story might work, but Montague borrowed the carriage from one of his cronies, and that gentleman will talk. Returning to Westmorland is logical, but I do not like it. Not one bit.”

  “I was planning to go home anyway. Not under these circumstances, granted. But in the end, it’s all the same. Spinsterhood may suit me after all. You don’t have a husband, and your life is exactly as you wish it to be.” Beside her, Ethan tensed, giving her hope. If he didn’t like talk of her future without him, he might be open to an apology.

  Her godmother rolled her eyes. “Darling girl, there is an ocean of difference between a widow and a spinster. To think otherwise is foolishness. Marriage to the right person can mean unbelievable happiness. It is finding the right person that is the challenge. You two nodcocks managed to bungle your way into happiness through pure chance and half-baked scheming. Why not see if the earl thinks kindlier upon the match when seeing for himself the depth of your attachment?”

  “I’m no’ worth Lottie risking her relationship with the earl. Having her own estate and the fortune with which tae run it means everything tae her,” Ethan said.

  Ouch. Lottie bristled. “Money is not everything. You sell yourself short, sir.”

  Ethan finally met her eyes. “Do I, lass? I think we both know I have the right of it.”

  The blue of his eyes deepened with hurt, turning a shade she’d only ever seen in the flash of a bird’s wing or the reflection off a lake. Passion made his eyes a soft blue gray. But pain was a vibrant blue. She’d rather not know that.

  Darling’s wide-eyed expression implored Lottie to say something—anything—but all the words caught in her throat. Her emotions were a tangle, with guilt rising to the surface. When given the choice between Ethan or keeping her fragile relationship with Father and accessing her dowry, she’d chosen the money. Never mind that she’d had reasons for doing so.

  The fact that Ethan needed her dowry now more than ever and she wouldn’t be able to help didn’t matter. That she’d decided he could have helped sooner with the fire if he’d been home instead of distracted with her was also irrelevant.

  More than anything, she longed to rest her head on those shoulders that were wide enough to carry the world, and hear the rumble of Ethan’s voice in her ear telling her it would be all right. First, she’d need to find a way through his anger and ask for forgiveness.

  * * *

  Ethan shouldn’t have made a crack about her choosing her fortune over him. Regret slammed through him as soon as the words left his mouth. “I’m sorry, Lady Charlotte. That was rude. You were free tae end the engagement and did so for your own reasons. I apologize.”

  The adorable little wrinkle between her eyes showed up only when her considerable intellect pondered something. In the past he would have smoothed the crease away with a finger, then teased a smile out of her. Ethan clasped his hands tighter between his knees.

  Lady Agatha studied them with pursed lips. Darling sat quietly beside her, no doubt wishing she’d stayed behind with Cal.
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br />   Ethan held his tongue against a flood of words. Wouldn’t you know it, a big part of him wanted to beg. He’d thought there could be nothing worse than thundering up the Great North Road worried sick about her. He was wrong. Sitting next to her in a coach with their shoulders brushing at each bump and rut in the road and not being able to hold her could be a level of his own personal hell. As usual, Lottie was composed and keeping her cool, even after having to rescue herself from her kidnapper. There was an emotional boundary between them—her on one side and him on the other. To be held at a distance left him cold. She shifted beside him on the seat—right there and he couldn’t touch her.

  The carriage traveled at a sedate pace in order to keep their outriders and mounts as rested as possible for the journey, but he wished those wheels would turn faster. Ezra had arrived at the inn with a groom that morning and trotted alongside the coach. Even though it was kinder to let his mount travel without carrying his weight, it was tempting to escape the coach and ride outside.

  They stopped in York for a meal and supplies. Near the posting house was a bookshop and small marketplace that provided everything they needed for the long day ahead—reading material for Agatha, Lottie, and Ethan, and knitting needles for Darling. At a stall near the entrance of the market, Darling had cooed over yarn and charmed a discounted price out of the wool merchant. With a skein of yarn in her lap, the maid now happily clicked the needles as she created something. It was anyone’s guess what the mass of string would become.