Diamond in the Rogue

by Wendy Lacapra

  A knock startled them both. He tensed almost imperceptibly, while she placed her hand over her heart.

  “Oh, yes.” He glanced to the ceiling. “You’ve absolutely mastered a man’s mannerisms.”

  He yanked open the door. Jack’s hair bobbed as he attempted to see inside the room, but Rayne filled the crack between the door and jamb with his body. Not exactly difficult, muscled as he was.

  “Yes?” Rayne demanded.

  “I brought your bag, just like you asked.”

  “Set it down and be gone,” Rayne replied.

  The bag thudded ominously against the floor. For a fleeting second, she wondered if she’d be better off spending the night in the barn with the boys.

  “I knew he was a she,” Jack said. “Ain’t ever seen a footman who had eyelashes like that.”

  “Well”—Rayne handed the boy another coin—“you’re going to forget you ever saw those eyelashes. Repeat after me—I ain’t never seen anyone with the lodger at all.”

  “Pardon?” Julia interrupted indignantly. “Just what are you going to do with me?”

  “You”—Rayne didn’t turn—“be quiet, or I’ll consider a gag.”

  “Oh.” Jack’s voice had a smile. “Is that how it is? Well, then. Came here alone, you did, Mr. Laithe. Me and the boys will swear it.”

  Julia placed her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s a fine feather, Jack! The least you could do after nearly breaking a lady’s jaw is make certain she’s—”

  Rayne’s heated glance sucked the word unmolested right out of her throat.

  “What ya mean, there, Stanley?” Jack called from the corridor.

  “Well.” She stiffened, looking Rayne in the eye. “What if this gentleman plans to abduct me?”

  “Seems the other way around. You were the one hanging off the back of his carriage.”

  Jack, at least, had properly judged the situation.

  “And…” Jack chuckled. “If you’ll pardon, miss, he’s seen your right hook. Doubt he’ll take chances. I warn you, though, guv. It’s a good one…for a girl.”

  Rayne’s gaze remained fixed to hers. “Hardly.”

  She flexed her hand and curled it back into a fist. Rayne’s stare moved to her hand then back to her face. He actually had the gall to smile.

  A very, very wicked smile.

  “But now that I think, guv, I’m not sure it’d be right,” Jack reasoned, “leaving her here with you when she’s scared.”

  “You”—Rayne turned back to Jack—“who were about to beat her to a pulp? Forgive me if I doubt your sudden concern. And she’s not scared. I’ve never once seen her scared. Especially when she should be.”

  “What do you mean to do to her, anyway? And what’s she to you?”

  “I intend, if you must know, to make sure she’s warm and dry. As to who she is… This is Mrs. Katerina van Heldt, widely understood to have been my cousin’s mistress.”

  The bottom dropped out of Julia’s stomach.

  “Now,” Rayne continued, “you mistook me for the earl, which is understandable. But he’s bigger and meaner than I am. Do you actually think I’d lay a hand on his mistress—especially one who had taken such trouble to trick me into taking her to him?”

  “Bigger and meaner? Not if you was right in the head.”

  “I trust I’ve settled your concerns and your curiosity. You may go.”

  “Gone,” Jack replied. “And I ain’t seen nothing. Good luck getting back to your gent, miss.”

  Rayne kicked the bag back into the room and then closed the door.

  “Katerina is your mistress?!” Julia forced out.

  He unbuckled the bag. “Widely understood doesn’t necessarily mean actually was.”

  “But is she?”

  “Is she?” He glanced up. “No.”

  Her heart hadn’t slowed. “Was she?”

  As in had Katerina been Rayne’s mistress when they’d kissed in Southford’s stairwell…when she’d announced to her family she loved him?

  Rayne ran his fingers through his hair. “My past lovers aren’t any of your concern, are they, footman?”

  Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Katerina had been his mistress. Which could only mean Farring had been dead wrong—Rayne never had any feelings for her at all.

  A wave of heat flashed through her, followed by the sudden realization she was chilled. Desperately chilled.

  And exhausted.

  And starving.

  And, above all, completely humiliated.

  …

  Had Rayne thought Julia a scourge when she was speaking? Her silence was worse. In silence, he read all the despicable things about himself he already knew to be true.

  He’d used her.

  Finally, she understood.

  The bitter part was, Katerina hadn’t been his lover—ever. Allowing the ton to believe she was had been an aspect of one of the only generous, altruistic acts in which he’d ever participated.

  Katerina had lost everything when France had invaded her home. She’d survived, for a time, as a French general’s mistress. Her life had intersected with Rayne’s when, following a battle, she’d managed to help a wounded English soldier and his wife escape imprisonment.

  The soldier—who turned out to be Farring’s runaway oldest sibling and Rayne’s close friend—had directed Katerina to Rayne’s residence, and, though Rayne and Farring had hatched a plan to hide all three at Periwinkle Gate, Katerina’s former associations meant she’d be scrutinized, and scrutiny meant danger for the other people who had found refuge at the Gate.

  However, for Katerina to take up residence in London, she needed a man powerful enough to provide good reason for the home office not to send her back to her war-torn country…a connection salacious enough to prevent deeper inquiry into the soldier and his fate.

  In other words, she’d needed Diamonds.

  Rayne pinched the bridge of his nose.

  None of this was his story to tell—lives still depended on secrecy.

  And if Julia believed without questioning what everyone else had taken for granted, so be it. She deserved to feel embarrassed.

  She’d endangered him.

  She’d endangered herself.

  And he hadn’t any idea how he was going to get them both out of the mess she’d created. All he could do was focus on the next step—getting her out of her wet clothes before her chill brought on something worse.

  A furious Julia would survive, kicking. But if she fell ill…

  He tossed around his neatly folded clothes, looking for his nightshirt while cursing himself for not having a better option than something he wore to bed.

  He might never be able to sleep in the thing again, but at least she’d be dry and covered.

  “Why are you suddenly so quiet?” he asked. “And what did you mean ‘change your mind about the pirates’?”

  She kept her eyes on the growing ring of wet droplets around her boots. “I—” Her voice wobbled just a touch. “I am deciding what I am going to do with you—if you attempt to prevent me from proceeding.”

  “You’re trying to decide what to do with me?”

  “Yes,” she gritted out. “I require your carriage. In the process, you may consider yourself tangentially abducted.”

  Preposterous thing. Didn’t even make sense. “Abducted, am I?”

  She closed one eye. “You—you might o-oblige me by appearing sufficiently frightened.”

  He went back to sorting through his clothes. “I’m not.” He pushed apart the sides of the valise as far as they could go. “Strike that. I am frightened. Do you know what Bromton and Markham are going to do to me when they catch up with us?”

  She snorted. “Don’t count on them to save you.”

  Save him? More like string him up by h
is toenails. “They are probably hot on our heels as we speak. I wouldn’t be surprised if they break down that very door before dawn.”

  “S-sorry to disappoint. B-Bromton is on his way back to London. M-Markham is on his w-wedding trip. T-they have no id-dea I’m not still in the village.”

  He exhaled and closed his eyes. “If that’s true—and I don’t for a moment believe it is—at least that means I can have you back before anyone notices you’re gone.”

  “N-n-no you w-w.” She stopped trying to speak.

  “Since you can’t finish a sentence, you might as well admit defeat.” Finally! His shirt! He shook out the linen.

  “You are j-j-just going to go to b-b-bed?” she demanded indignantly.

  “No.” He held out his shirt. “You are going to change while I go down and get us something to eat.”

  Her eyes went round. “You want m-me to put on that?”

  “Did you bring anything else to wear?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. Get out of those clothes before you catch your death.”

  She snatched the shirt. He turned away, feeling her glare burning against his back.

  He went into the corridor and shut the door behind him. Something heavy—likely her breeches—thudded against the floor.

  Fuck. Those breeches.

  One never could tell a woman’s true form. Now, because of those breeches, he no longer had to imagine the shape of her thighs.

  He gritted his teeth and headed down the stairs.

  He collected a bowl of stew and a bowl of bone broth from Mrs. White, declining her half-hearted offer of assistance.

  Mrs. White’s distaste—her judgment—was written into the lines of her face. No matter. She’d proven herself mercenary, and he was used to disdain by now. There was no point in trying to convince her that nothing untoward was going to happen in that room tonight.

  Which, of course, was true, if hard to believe.

  Besides, the less Mrs. White saw of Julia, the better. Jack, Rayne trusted to keep his mouth shut—Jack wasn’t going to admit to getting duped. But Mrs. White?

  Abductions ended two ways—a hushed-up marriage or an expensive, public prosecution. If the woman was of unblemished character—like Julia—the latter would cause her embarrassment and, perhaps, forced retirement to the country. The man, however, would be ruined. His word, good as mud.

  He’d no doubt which path Markham would pursue. The last thing he needed was to people the witness box on Markham’s behalf. News of such a sensational trial would spread even to New York—obliterating his refuge.

  For now, Mrs. White believed Julia was Katerina. And, if she were to spread the tale, Katerina would, no doubt, claim she’d been the one in his room. Apparently, his small role in her rescue resulted in Katerina’s continued belief he could do no wrong, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  But if Julia convinced Mrs. White she was, as she asserted, abducting him with the intent of forcing him to wed, there was no telling what mayhem would follow.

  He frowned as he ascended the stair.

  Did Julia intend to force him to wed? She’d only asserted she was abducting him—of all the ridiculous things—but she’d also said something about requiring a carriage, hadn’t she?

  He supposed he’d soon find out. He knocked on the door with his elbow.

  She opened the door, the lamp setting her shape aglow from behind. He looked away from an accidental peek at her tempting silhouette.

  “I hate you,” she said as he passed. “I-I’ve been trying to decide how I feel, and I’ve de-decided.”

  “Well”—he set down the bowls—“that makes all this far more logical.”

  He proceeded to collect the tinderbox and then blinked in surprise at the young but cheerful fire in the grate.

  How many young ladies could light a fire with only a tinder box, some kindling, and a log? How many could have hung off the back of a coach for more than thirty damn miles?

  He refused to be impressed.

  “I-If you must know—”

  He knelt down and laid another log onto the fire.

  “—I am not after you!”

  He snorted. “Of course not.”

  “You arrogant ass.”

  He lifted the poker and poked at the flames. At least her teeth had stopped chattering. “So, let’s hear this… Why were you abducting me?”

  “I said,” she replied, closer behind him now. “I was after the traveling chariot… I…I require conveyance.”

  “Conveyance.” He jabbed the coals.

  “To the Scottish border. Where I p-plan to meet one Edmund Alistair Clarke, Lord Belhaven.”

  Her voice softened as she spoke the name. His blood ran cold, though for what reason, he could not imagine.

  He replaced the poker and stared into the growing flames.

  So what if she wasn’t after him after all? This was a blessing. A bloody triumph. Only, who the devil was Edmund Alistair Clarke?

  The name sounded vaguely familiar.

  An older man, he thought. Lived in the next county over from the Grange, if Rayne was not mistaken. Then again, he’d been away a long time. And peers had the confusing habit of passing on their names to their children.

  He repeated her explanation, just to be sure. “You are headed to the Scottish border.”

  “Y-Yes.”

  He braced himself on the mantle. “To meet Edmund Alistair whats-his-name.”

  “It-t-t is,” she interrupted, teeth chattering once again, “a g-grand love s-s-story.”

  The log cracked, and something within him fanned to flame. Something violent. He rose to his feet.

  “You reckless little—” He swung around. “Good God!”

  She’d turned blue. Blue.

  Chapter Five

  She should have resisted Rayne’s embrace. Correction. She would have resisted his embrace, if body-convulsing shivers were something one could simply command away.

  Rayne—a tower of a man, with a terribly forbidding downward glance—grabbed her shoulders, gaze fixed on her trembling lips, and engulfed her in his arms.

  Not very gently, either.

  She stiffened as, with a rough sigh, he hustled her forward. She hadn’t any choice but to follow—her legs had ceased to properly function.

  She leaned against his muscled chest for support as he reached back and yanked the quilt off the bed.

  “Y-You shouldn’t use that b-blanket.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “Katherine s-says any m-m-manner of verm-min—”

  “You’re freezing. Your other clothes are drenched. My coat is dripping. And Katherine isn’t here.” He released her and shook out the blanket.

  Her knees buckled.

  “Woah there!” He caught her by the waist. “Vermin are the least of our worries.”

  Our.

  She would have mock-chuckled if she’d had the strength.

  As if he’d ever share anything with anyone.

  As if he even knew how to share.

  Our.

  Damnation! How had everything gone so dreadfully wrong?

  He sunk to his shins, bringing them both terribly close to the flames. Wood squealed against wood as he dragged the table closer and propped his back on the leg. Physically, he urged her to give him her weight, then covered them both with the blanket.

  Lord, he radiated more heat than Cook’s brick stove.

  Every limb of his body scorched as he adjusted her position between his thighs. She reached out toward the fire, but he yanked her back.

  “M-my hands—”

  “First, we warm your center.”

  She scowled.

  “Just sit. When you stop shivering you can do whatever you like—rail at me ’t
il morning, spit every insult you know.”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes, suddenly tired. “Curse aloud?”

  “If you so desire.”

  “Fuck,” she repeated his lovely word.

  He groaned. “I deserved that, I suppose. Should have watched my mouth, though Lord knows how you dement my mind.”

  He studied her with an odd expression. Then he sighed as he attempted to place a bowl of broth into her unsteady hands. He took back the bowl when it became apparent her shaking would scatter the contents before she had a chance to drink.

  “Let’s try this.” He adjusted her position so they were nestled cheek-to-cheek.

  Steam from the warm bone broth spread over her face, dissipating all thought. He tilted the bowl; she sipped. Salt. Heat. A slight meaty taste. Soothing warmth traveled down toward her belly. She sipped again. It wasn’t a steaming pastry, but the broth made her insides relax.

  Still, part of her hovered above the scene, mortified. Rayne was feeding her, for goodness’ sake. She’d never abducted anyone, of course, but she doubted this was how things were supposed to proceed. Now, she’d be beholden to him, and that just wouldn’t do.

  “No more,” she managed.

  “Just one more sip—a deep one, this time.”

  This Rayne, she knew. Overbearing. High-handed. Severe.

  This Rayne, she trusted. Oddly enough.

  She obliged him by drinking deep, and then she sucked in her lips.

  “Done,” she said with a narrow-eyed glare.

  He took a drink himself and then set aside the bowl. Beside them, the fire snapped. A stray ember spiraled up the chimney, fading to ash.

  She purposefully tensed her shoulders and then let them drop. “I am exhausted.”

  “I know.” He rearranged the blanket into a tent for her breath. “Just breathe, now. You’re going to be warm again soon.”

  She inhaled dense, male-scented heat. In. Out. Repeat. Her breath calmed her inner chatter. One thing, however, she could not deny. Everyone told her she was strong, but right now, all signs pointed toward the opposite.

  She was weak.

  Weak.

  Not just physically, either.

  Rayne had used and humiliated her. Rayne had put an ocean between them. He couldn’t have been clearer about his lack of interest. Still, she’d tended her fascination for him the way he was tending the fire in the grate.