A Pair of Rogues

by Patricia Wynn

  And Robert was happy because of her. God knew—as did Ned—that Robert's upbringing had not been an affectionate one. No more than his own, Ned reflected with a bitter mental shrug. Eton at six. The cold indifference of schoolmasters. No protection from sadistic senior boys for whom one had to fag. The early separation from parents, who had no particular interest in one anyway.

  And, yet, here was Robert, with two devoted spaniels at his feet, billing and cooing over his little marquess like any nursery maid, and—if he only could see himself—eyeing Louisa as if he could hardly restrain himself until time to go to bed.

  The emptiness in his own life in comparison suddenly pressed on Ned's heart like a blacksmith's anvil on a pedestal of stone. Gads, but he was envious!

  But a rake had no business even thinking of marriage. It was quite all right for Robert, who had always been strait-laced, and it undoubtedly would be for Robert's sister, too. Her middle name was certain to be Virtue.

  But no decent girl would consider marrying a man with Ned's reputation. And he had had enough of the other kind to last him a lifetime.

  With the baby asleep in his arms, Robert preceded them from the room, meeting the nurse in the hall. Louisa accepted Ned's arm.

  “Robert is right, you know,” Ned said to her in a confidential voice as they strolled towards the dining parlor. “I would make the very devil of a husband."

  “I think you are sadly mistaken. We would so very much like to see you happy. And I cannot help feeling that the perfect match is awaiting you just around the corner."

  Ned chuckled in response, but his laughter was forced. “I wasn't made for such things, my dear. My life has been a dismal trail of debauchery and seduction.” He tried to lighten his tone. “Besides, I know you are wrong, because the hair on the back of my neck is lying completely flat."

  Louisa paused, holding him back. “I beg your pardon?"

  “Didn't Robert tell you?” Louisa shook her head, so he continued, “I have the most extraordinary gift. When marriage is in the air, the hair on the back of my neck always rises, the way a dog's does when it senses a threat. It comes in quite handy, I assure you. It's got me out of a sticky spot or two."

  This wasn't true, of course, but it was his usual tale, designed to entertain his hostesses, and Ned almost believed it himself now. “I felt it quite strongly when you and Robert were courting,” he said. “Wagered a hundred pounds at White's on the outcome of your affair and made a nice, tidy bundle when you married. Paid off my immediate debts and carried myself for months on the surplus."

  Louisa dimpled as they resumed walking. “And you say you've felt nothing of the sort since I mentioned Christina?"

  “Nary a twinge.”

  But the strange thing was, Ned felt a frisson right now, just at the sound of her name.

  Louisa's smirk must have had something to do with it. She looked as if she knew something he did not know, and the result was, the hair on the scruff of his neck was standing straight up. He shivered.

  Louisa watched him closely. “You're certain you feel nothing at all?"

  “Positively not."

  “That is just as well, I suppose.” As she swept towards her place at the table, however, Louisa still managed to look uncommonly delighted. “For, as he said, Robert is quite opposed to the idea.”

  Ned pushed her chair in, and she glanced back at him with a secretive smile. “Quite adamantly opposed."

  * * * *

  “Christina!”

  As Lady Christina Lindsay descended from the carriage which had carried her up from Bath, she spied a red-headed whirlwind descending from the steps of Broughton House. Louisa embraced her, then gave the coachman his instructions, before drawing her quickly into the house.

  Christina decided, as she did every time she saw her new sister-in-law, however brief their visits tended to be, that she liked Louisa very much. She had not been certain what sort of reception to expect when she had been foisted upon Louisa by a mother who could not be bothered to come to London herself. The Dowager Duchess of Broughton had made it clear that her family should expect no more of her efforts on their behalf. Her husband's death, she said, which had occurred a year before Robert's marriage, had robbed her of all desire to live.

  From Christina's perspective, the Dowager did not appear to have altered at all.

  Her mother's normal failings were only half the reason for Christina's nervousness today. By now, she was certain her sister-in-law must have been made aware of her damaged reputation. Within the family, Christina was known to be something of a problem. Her own mother had declared her a rag-mannered hoyden since birth.

  Why would Louisa want the trouble of bringing out such a girl?

  But whatever secret fears Christina had harbored about her reception were momentarily laid to rest by Louisa's warm welcome.

  “I shall give you five minutes to examine your room, and then you must come see Robert Edward."

  “See the baby?"

  “Yes, of course. You will love him. He is so droll."

  Christina laughed. “Louisa, you must be the only mother in London to say such a thing about her infant. Would you not rather relate to me the horrors of your lying-in?"

  “Pooh!” Louisa said, dismissing these with a toss of her carrot-topped head. “I can assure you they are easily forgotten. I quite ignored them myself as soon as I saw my darling."

  Bustled up to her room, Christina could only marvel again at this strange creature her brother had wed. Who would ever have expected somber Robert to have so much sense? Twelve years younger than he, Christina had only sketchy memories of her serious elder brother. Seeing him with Louisa the first time had been a startling experience. The air between them had seemed to vibrate with a curious kind of energy. It had been something she could not fathom, but had vaguely envied.

  After a quick freshening up, she joined Louisa in the nursery. With conspiratorial smiles, both ladies tip-toed over to the cradle. Robert Edward was fast asleep. Their presence must have disturbed his little lordship, for he yawned and stretched with his tiny eyes still closed, poking out his swaddled bottom until his back arched at an impossibly concave angle.

  Christina gave a low, watery laugh and promptly fell in love.

  “I'm so happy you invited me to be his godmother,” she whispered, as she and Louisa retreated from the room.

  “I knew you would love him. You are just like Ned."

  “Ned?"

  “Yes. The Earl of Windermere.” Louisa closed the door to the nursery and led the way back downstairs. “He is to be godfather."

  “Godfather—Ned?” A vivid memory flooded Christina's brain—a head of windswept hair, as thick and black as pitch; merry eyes with a teasing gleam; two strong arms; and a comforting lap.

  She waited until her sister-in-law and she were safely ensconced in Louisa's withdrawing room with the doors firmly closed, before saying, “The rake? I thought he and Robert had parted company many years ago. It is certain in any case that I've heard of Lord Windermere's tainted reputation, even so far away as Bath. He doesn't seem to be the sort of man Robert would have for a friend."

  “Ned has his moments,” Louisa admitted, “but he has been so good to Robert and me. And he adores the baby."

  His handsome face flashed in Christina's mind again. “He always did like children,” she said.

  Louisa paused in her stitching. “I didn't know you two had ever met."

  Christina grinned. “You could scarcely call it a meeting. I doubt if he remembers me at all. I was five and he was seventeen. He came down with Robert on the long vacation, but had the good sense never to come to Broughton Abbey again. Of course, I doubt my mother would have allowed Robert to invite him again."

  “Oh, dear.” Louisa seemed strangely discomposed. “What did he do?"

  “I've never been entirely sure.” Christina frowned, searching her memory for clues. “Something to do with the upstairs chambermaid, as I recall. It wouldn't
have taken much to turn our mother against him. She's referred to him ever since as ‘that horrid Windermere boy.’”

  “Yes, I believe that is precisely how she referred to him in her last letter. I'm afraid I was so unwise as to advise her that we had chosen him for a godparent, but she did ask. Still, I shall refrain from asking Robert about the incident, and I would advise you not to either. Their friendship always has a rather ... precarious feel.

  “But what about you?” Louisa seemed curious. “You were very young when he came. Why do you remember him?"

  A smile pulled at the corners of Christina's mouth. “I remember him as the only one of Robert's friends who ever made me sick."

  “Not sick!” Louisa looked stunned. And strangely disappointed.

  “Not in the way you think,” Christina said, laughing. “I meant quite literally sick. I was playing out in the park with my nurse, when Robert and he passed by on their way to hunt. When Ned saw me, he ran over and grasped me by the wrists. He started to spin me about in a circle faster and faster. I was rather frightened at first, and then delighted by the ride.”

  She made a disparaging face. “I suppose I must have giggled too much, for as soon as he stopped I began to feel ill. I'm afraid I lost my breakfast all over his boots."

  Louisa covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, dear. He must have been quite put off. But what did the boys do? Were they horridly callous?"

  “Not at all. Ned was very contrite. He held me on his lap until my spasms passed. As I recall, Robert stood around and looked helpless."

  As soon as she'd felt better, her brother had consigned her to Nurse's care, but not before Ned had kissed her on the cheek and said he was sorry. He had given her a hug and dusted off her dress before she was led away.

  Nurse had scolded, of course.

  Christina emerged from her memory to find Louisa gazing at her speculatively. “Perhaps that was the incident that angered your mother."

  “Oh, no. We made a pact of secrecy before Nurse carried me off. I never told on him, and I'm certain that Robert never did. Nurse would not have wished to either, or she would have been blamed for letting me play with the boys."

  “I hope you haven't nourished a disgust for Ned all these years,” Louisa said on a questioning note.

  “Of course not.” Christina chuckled. “I should think he would be the one to have a disgust of me.” If he did not, he would be one of the rare ones. She had managed to offend most people with her antics. Gazing at her sister-in-law now, Christina wondered how long it would be before she managed to offend Louisa's sense of propriety, as well.

  “I don't think Ned recalls the incident."

  Christina knew a moment of disappointment. “No, of course he would not. Why should he remember a little girl he met just once?"

  Louisa sighed. “Yes, men are so insensitive. They never cherish romantic moments."

  “Romantic? Louisa, you cannot be serious."

  Even Louisa laughed. “Well, perhaps not. Perhaps you and Ned were never meant to be a couple. I can see that now."

  “A couple?” Christina felt a curious fluttering in her stomach. “What on earth are you saying?"

  “Oh, I must not mention it,” Louisa said, rising from her couch. “Just a silly notion of mine. But dear Robert is entirely opposed."

  “Opposed to what?"

  Louisa's smile faded. She breathed a heavy sigh. “You will think me quite silly, considering what you have just related, but knowing you both, I had thought ... I had just briefly hoped that you and Ned might make a match."

  “How absurd.” Christina felt the feebleness of her smile.

  “Isn't it? At least ... it is, I suppose?"

  “Of course it is. Why should you hope for such a thing?"

  Her eyes cast down, Louisa fingered the skirt of her dress. “It's Ned. I know he's lonely. He may seem like a rogue, and I do not doubt he gets up to the worst possible mischief, but I do think he would make a wonderful husband for some fortunate girl. And you seem so alike in the way you both took to the baby. And of course, it would be lovely to have him in the family ...."

  Louisa was rambling, and Christina knew she should stop her, but an image of Ned's handsome face had come again into her mind. She had never forgotten that face: his big, dark, laughing eyes with their hint of secret delights. They had swum before her vision many times, almost as if he were twirling her still.

  She gave her head a mental shake and said, “You are being fanciful."

  “Yes, and so Ned told me."

  “Ned told you ....” Christina felt color rushing to her cheeks. “You never had this conversation with Ned!"

  “Well, not this precise one, I don't believe."

  Christina burst into a laugh. “Louisa, you are outrageous. The poor man. You will be quite fortunate if he even shows up at the Abbey tomorrow. I expect he will avoid me like the plague."

  “It is just as well.” Louisa shook her head despairingly. “As I told you, Robert would not hear of it at all. In fact, he would much prefer that Ned not meet you. He does not trust him."

  “Indeed.” Christina could feel her hackles rising. How dare Robert concern himself with whom she should meet!

  She was no longer a schoolroom miss. She had been restrained long enough—at her school, sometimes forcibly when her rebellious nature had led her to commit unpardonable acts. Coming to London was supposed to mean freedom, and, she had hoped, a blessed end to her unrelenting restlessness. She'd be confounded if she would allow Robert to dictate her taste in men!

  But she had learned one thing, at least, at that dismal seminary. She gave Louisa her most earnest look and said, “I would never want to do anything to disappoint you or Robert."

  To her astonishment, the smile Louisa gave her was full of a cryptic satisfaction.

  “That's quite all right,” Louisa said. “I am certain you will not disappoint me.”

  Chapter Two

  “Dearly beloved, ye have brought this Child here to be baptized..."

  Yes, we have, Ned thought bitterly. And received a rare tongue-lashing for it!

  The previous prayers had been designed to make men such as Ned squirm in their pews, dwelling as they did upon the sins and omissions of everyone present. The archbishop, called out in all his glory to induct the infant marquess into the Church, intoned the words with no emotion, seemingly unaware of the chastening reproofs echoing off the walls. But those on the receiving end, the parents and godparents huddled against the draughts and the cold seeping up from ancient stones, could scarcely be immune to feelings of guilt here in Westminster Abbey, where Gothic ceilings, as proof of centuries of faith, arched above them.

  Except for little Miss Debutante, Ned thought. He stared across the baptismal font at Robert's sister and scowled.

  He had vaguely remembered her as a taking child, with long, silky hair and big, wondrous eyes full of trust. Her hair now was only slightly less fair than before, but it had been schooled into sleek obedience, if not into outright curls. Her eyes were demure and downcast as an elegant female's should be. Though her figure was undoubtedly tempting under her fur-trimmed pelisse, nothing she wore had been designed to attract a gentleman's attention. In short, she was the perfect debutante, fresh out of school and ripe for the Marriage Mart.

  The Lady Christina Lindsay should have come as no surprise. Robert had said she would be as boring as all the other girls her age. Still, Ned had nourished a glimmer of hope that her trusting eyes would still hold a touch of their childish wonder. Instead, they seemed to look on the world with the same elegant disdain displayed by all the Lindsays.

  With her willowy figure and skin like an English rose, she should have no trouble snaring some poor duke or earl, even without her considerable fortune. She'd make the perfect centerpiece for his home, the treasured ornament of his hearth, as long as he didn't mind being bored to death.

  Ned thought of Louisa's suggestion that he and Christina should suit and almost sno
rted aloud. Nothing about this chit could tempt him. And the notion that Robert would allow him within fifty feet of such a model of deportment was twice as ludicrous.

  She was far too virtuous for him and he too ruined to touch her. As he flinched under the archbishop's prayers, the contrast between them made him increasingly irritable. She was standing in the transept with perfect composure, looking for all the world as if butter would not melt in her mouth.

  At least, the hair on the back of his neck had recognized its mistake. It lay as unruffled against his skin as a dead mackerel on the beach.

  “Dost thou, therefore, in the name of this Child, renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desire..."

  Ned winced.

  “...and the sinful desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them?"

  Ned panicked. Renounce them myself or for Little Ned? He wished he had thought to ask for a clarification. He was quite willing to renounce them on Robert Edward's behalf, but did he have to give them up himself?

  Suddenly conscious that both Louisa and Robert had turned to stare worriedly at him, he quickly found his place in the prayer book.

  “I renounce them all; and by God's help ...."

  Little Miss Debutante took up the words when he did. She must have started to say them earlier and had to wait to repeat them with him. Ned counted himself fortunate that Robert wasn't close enough to kick him. He certainly looked as if he wanted to ....

  * * * *

  Startled into awareness by the unnatural pause in the words, Christina realized that everyone was waiting for her to speak. She hastened to locate the proper response and began reading it with Ned.

  She had been dozing with her eyes fully open. Having been forced to attend daily prayer for so many years, she had become quite adept at appearing attentive when her mind was otherwise employed. The archbishop's low, monotonous voice had been just the thing to induce mesmerism in one so deeply ingrained in these habits.

  She cast a glance Ned's way and thought he looked a bit paler than he had at first sight this morning. The disappointment she had felt on seeing him still festered in her breast.