Falling In Love Again (Heroic Rogues Series)

by Marie Higgins

  Laughter sprang from Marcus’ throat before he could stop it. “My lord? Oh, my good man, do you know how long I’ve wanted to be called that?”

  “You know,” Gabe’s voice lowered, “now that your brother is dead, you’re indeed a lord. You are really Viscount Lockwood—the next living heir.”

  Groaning, Marcus swiped his hand down his face. “Oh, no! What have I done?”

  Gabe grinned. “You have changed your life. From now on, things will only get better. Mark my words.”

  * * * *

  Numbness spread through Isabelle as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her life was over. Literally. She didn’t even have enough funds to return to England yet she couldn’t remain in New York, either.

  She and Mrs. Winters had traveled the town for several days searching for her inheritance. All she discovered was how deceitful and crooked her father was in his business dealings. Many men hated Commodore Stanhope. The thought of the man she’d adored as a child treating other people so rudely left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  It wasn’t until they met someone who personally knew her father that Isabelle’s dreams crumbled. The man told her he knew about the betrothal agreement between her father and Viscount Lockwood. Apparently, her father promised a large amount of money to the viscount upon their marriage. The day her father left New York to sail back home was when the viscount discovered the lie. Her father had not the funds to pay the viscount. Nothing of significance was left in her father’s name, not even the house she stood in. The solicitor illegally owned it, yet he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Isabelle had the law on her side, but nothing could be done unless the man was found and brought to justice.

  She sighed and rubbed her forehead as an ache pounded in her skull. She’d thought about trying to find Captain Hawk to see if he would assist her, but how? The man led a secret life. He would not walk around town wearing a mask. She had visited the spot Gabe had dropped her off that last day, hoping she find the highwayman or Hawk himself, but to no avail.

  Even if she had found Hawk, he wouldn’t help her. There had been a change in him those last few days. His gaze was distant, and the warm man she’d come to know grew cold and unfeeling. He acted as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

  There was only one choice left. Viscount Lockwood, her betrothed. She prayed he’d have an ounce of kindness and either marry her or give her money to return to England. Although, from what she’d heard about the viscount, he didn’t have a heart, so giving her money was almost certainly out of the question. Because her father had lied about the money, would the viscount think the betrothal agreement void?

  From the bedroom doorway, Mrs. Winters cleared her throat. Isabelle glanced at the woman in the mirror before turning to face her.

  “Are you ready to leave, my dear? I have a carriage waiting.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I’m as ready as I shall ever be, I suppose.”

  Side by side they walked down the stairs and outside. Tears stung Isabelle’s eyes, but she didn’t have the strength to shed them.

  The carriage ride was quiet. Only the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the streets echoed through her head. Was this God’s punishment for making bad choices in her life? Could she be paying for her father’s sins too? Most everyone she’d met since arriving in New York treated her with disdain because of her father.

  As the carriage stopped, Mrs. Winters patted Isabelle’s clasped hands folded in her lap.

  “My dear, you need to be strong now. I believe Viscount Lockwood will do the honorable thing and follow through with the betrothal agreement.”

  Shaking her head, Isabelle sighed heavily. “I’m not that optimistic. I fear he’ll turn me away just as everyone else who knew my father has done. Besides, would he not believe the engagement broken because Father didn’t follow through on their agreement?”

  “I cannot say, but you forget something, my dear. Your father and the viscount were friends. I believe this will be a good thing to help us out in our dire situation.”

  “I pray you’re correct, Mrs. Winters. I don’t know where to turn if he denies our request.”

  The driver helped both women down. On shaky legs, Isabelle walked toward the front door, her heart beating in an unsteady rhythm the whole time. Although she didn’t want to marry him, she must. Either she died of starvation, or she died of lack of love. At least eating would keep her body healthy. Perhaps she didn’t need love in her life. Hawk had been correct when he said love was for fools.

  She was a fool no longer.

  She rapped at the door and a tall, thin, man, who she presumed was the butler, greeted her. He wore the required black jacket and breeches as the others she’d seen. His narrowed eyes and thin, stretched lips told her he wasn’t going to be a pleasant man at all.

  Nonetheless, she smiled. “Good day. My name is Miss Isabelle Stanhope. I’d like to see Viscount Lockwood if you will. I don’t have an appointment, but I believe he’ll want to see me since…” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin determinedly. “Well, I’m his betrothed.”

  The man’s eyes widened. He stepped back and ran his gaze over her. Despite of the disgust bubbling in her throat for his inspection, she maintained her posture. Chin up and shoulders back, she silently told herself.

  After a few awkward moments without him answering, she added, “He knew my father, Commodore Stanhope.”

  Finally, a spark of recognition lit the servant’s eyes and he opened the door wider, motioning them to enter.

  “Thank you.” Her knees knocked as she wobbled into the hallway. She prayed she didn’t lose her strength now.

  He led them to the drawing room then backed out, closing the doors behind him. Isabelle didn’t dare let out a relieved breath yet although her companion did so in a loud gush.

  “I feared he wouldn’t allow us entry,” Mrs. Winters said.

  “As did I.”

  Clutching her hands against her middle, Isabelle slowly moved around the room, admiring the paintings, the statues, and the expensive vases. Never had she seen such a room. For fear of breaking something, she didn’t dare breathe too hard.

  Strong footsteps echoed from down the hall. Isabelle turned to face the door. When it opened and she received her first look of Viscount Lockwood, confusion washed over her. Why hadn’t she pictured him this young? Or this robust? Or handsome? Since he was friends with her father, she’d assumed the viscount was closer to her sire’s age and therefore didn’t have a strong, physical build.

  She couldn’t be more wrong.

  When he stopped and met her stare, his gaze moved over her in bold perusal. It was hard to decipher his expression, only because his forehead remained creased and his lips pursed.

  “Lord Lockwood.” She curtsied first then he bowed. “I hope you forgive me for the unannounced intrusion. I fear in my excitement to meet you, I didn’t even think to send a calling card first.”

  He straightened and lifted his chin. “No need to apologize. You are welcome here, of course.” He motioned to the couch. “Please, will you not rest yourself for a spell?”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She turned then quickly remembered her manners. “My lord, may I introduce my companion, Mrs. Winters?”

  He bowed. “Nice to meet you.”

  The older woman curtsied. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  His gaze moved back to Isabelle. “Would you and your companion enjoy some tea?”

  She glanced at Mrs. Winters as they both sat at the same time. “We would be delighted to take tea with you,” Isabelle answered.

  As the viscount turned toward the butler, she took more time studying him now. He didn’t dress like most men she’d met in New York. In fact, he reminded her of the men back home. Only in England could they be so outlandish with their colorful clothes. The white periwig on him wasn’t becoming, and she wondered what his hair color really looked like.

  He turned back to her and smiled. “I have to admit, Mi
ss Stanhope, I didn’t think I’d ever meet you.” He walked to the chair beside her and sat. “Since the death of your father, I imagined you would stay in England with your family.”

  Uncomfortable, she shifted her position. She dared not tell him the truth. He would surely turn her and Mrs. Winters out without a shilling. “When I hadn’t heard from my father’s solicitor, I thought it best to sail here and see to settling the estate myself.” She shrugged. “Little did I know the man would steal my father’s things and leave town.”

  Viscount Lockwood nodded as he rubbed his chin. “I’ve heard the same story. How horrible it is for you to have made such a long journey.”

  “Yes… well…” She swallowed hard. “There’s little I can do until that thief is caught and brought to justice.”

  “Exactly. I pray for your sake it will be soon.”

  Why was he not saying anything about their betrothal? How could she lead into the topic herself? The viscount mustn’t think their betrothal should be honored any longer. Perhaps he was thinking more about himself right now and that was why he didn’t say anything. His selfishness was another bad trait she’d heard about.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she squared her shoulders. “My lord, you’re probably wondering why I’m here—”

  When the butler walked into the room carrying the tea tray, she held her thoughts until he sat the tray on the table in front of them. Mrs. Winters scooted to the edge of the seat and grinned.

  “Shall I pour, my lord?”

  “Thank you, yes. Very kind of you, Mrs. Winters.” He turned back to Isabelle. “Now, you were saying?”

  “Um, yes. The reason I’m calling on you today is to ask…” Oh, dear. She couldn’t. But she must. “To ask about the betrothal agreement signed between you and my father.”

  His face paled slightly and his eyes widened. Inwardly, she died. She could tell he didn’t want to pursue marriage, which suited her just fine. Hopefully she could talk him into giving them money instead.

  He licked his lips. “The betrothal agreement? What would you like to know, Miss Stanhope?”

  “Well, I would like to know if you still plan on honoring the contract.”

  There. She said it. Now she had to wait for his answer.

  Silence grew as large as an elephant in the room. Not even the sounds of her shallow breaths were audible. The viscount stared into her eyes, and she could practically see wheels turning inside his head. She’d caught him off guard, obviously. What bothered her more was why he hadn’t thought of this on his own? Did he think once her father was dead the contract was void? Or was it that her father had been dishonest? She may have wanted the agreement cancelled, but now she needed him. Well, at least needed his money.

  Suddenly, he stood and walked to the window. The chuckle he released seemed forced.

  “Miss Stanhope, forgive me, but I honestly didn’t think of it.”

  He stared outside for a few more moments that seemed to pass slowly. She fidgeted in her seat, only to have Mrs. Winters touch her hand and silently scold her with her gaze. Taking another deep breath, Isabelle prayed for patience.

  “But why would I not think of it?” he continued. “After all, a betrothal agreement is legal and binding.”

  “My lord, perhaps it’s because I waited so long to call upon you. I understand why the contract slipped your mind.”

  He turned around, walked back to his chair and sat. He lifted his teacup and sipped, watching her over the rim of the cup. His eyes appeared almost two colors; a blue and gray. Right now the blue appeared more prominent. Still, she thought he looked out of place wearing his bright peacock attire, and especially that ridiculous wig.

  Done with his drink, he set his cup on the table then sat back in his chair. Folding his arms, he smiled. The lines around his mouth told her it wasn’t real.

  “My dear, Miss Stanhope. Forgive me again for hesitating, but you did catch me off guard.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “However, I’ve made my decision.”

  She sat straighter and closer to the edge of the couch, holding her breath. Beside her, Mrs. Winters remained stiff.

  “I will honor the contract and marry you.”

  Relief swept through her, and at the same time she wanted to cry. Now wasn’t the time. Instead, she flashed him her best semblance of a smile and tried desperately to stem her quaking limbs. “I… thank you, my lord.”

  “Usually it’s the father of the bride who prepares everything,” the viscount continued, “but since he isn’t here, I think it best if we have a small ceremony. Perhaps with just a few people.”

  “Indeed. That’s the best course of action.”

  He leaned over and grasped her cold hands. “Allow me to make the arrangements. We will marry as soon as possible.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  He stood and walked to the door. His butler stepped in. “Please find my secretary posthaste. I have a wedding to arrange.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Walking toward her, the viscount looked too broad through the shoulders for his clothes. As she swept her gaze over his length again, she realized his muscles strained against his breeches. Her face flamed. How indecent, to be sure.

  He took her hands and pulled her up. “Can I assume you and Mrs. Winters don’t have a place to stay? Since we know about your father’s estate…” He shrugged. “Don’t think me too bold, but if you would like, I’ll have a room made up for you both and you can stay here.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Stress had taken its toll, but it was the viscount’s shocking kindness that made her want to weep with happiness. “Bless you, my lord. You’re correct in assuming we have no place to stay.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Please, Miss Stanhope, rest yourself on my couch while I have my servants prepare your room. I’ll have my cook arrange the midday meal, as well.”

  She curtsied. “You’re most kind, my lord.”

  Mrs. Winters curtsied, also. “Yes, you are. I swear I have never met a kinder soul in my life.”

  His grin widened. “Thank you, ladies. Hearing that warms my heart. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the wedding plans.”

  “Of course.”

  As soon as he left the room, Isabelle fell on the couch and sobbed, not able to control her relief any longer. Mrs. Winters’ arms wound around her as she patted her back.

  “There, there, my dear. No need to fear any longer.”

  If there was nothing to fear, why was that emotion still suffocating her? Marriage to a stranger terrified her. Especially since she knew Hawk still held her heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marcus yanked off his banyan and threw it on the bed. What had he been thinking? He growled and pulled off his wig, running his fingers through his now short hair, wishing it were still long.

  He couldn’t possibly marry Isabelle. True, he was the rightful heir with the title and lands, and because of the death of his brother, the betrothal contract fell upon his shoulders. He sighed and rubbed his forehead pounding with a headache. Isabelle remained the spy who’d made a fool out of him. She was still the deceiving wench who’d tried to kill him.

  Stopping in front of the full-length mirror, he stared at his reflection. Would she see Captain Hawk in him? If he stayed in those dandy clothes of his brother’s, and wore that ghastly wig, she probably wouldn’t see his secret identity. However, with her under his roof, there was a chance she might suspect within time.

  He groaned and scrubbed his chin. What about the wedding night?

  Legally, she’d be his wife. He could finally do what he’d wanted to when she was his prisoner, and take her to bed. She was a hard woman to resist. Even downstairs a minute ago when he noticed her tears, he wanted to take her in his arms and promise he’d take care of her. His mind definitely didn’t know how to work properly around her.

  A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. “Who is
it?”

  “Your valet, my lord.”

  Marcus opened the door, letting in Gabe. “Thank goodness you’re here. I think I made a horrific mistake.”

  Gabe grinned wide. “Oh, no. I came to commend you for using your intelligent mind so quickly. If it had been me, I’d have fobbed things up, for sure.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Making Miss Stanhope your bride.” Gabe clapped his hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “How else are you going to get information from the Royal Navy? She was the spy we were after, which means she may know what’s going to happen next.”

  Once again, seeing Isabelle had rendered Marcus senseless. Why he’d not thought of that first was beyond him. Thankfully, his friend could think straight.

  “You’re correct, my good man.” Marcus paced in front of his bed. “She doesn’t know me as Captain Hawk, only as Lord Lockwood, her father’s friend. She’ll be more open to me than Captain Hawk.”

  “Exactly. I believe you’re closer to your goal, Marcus.” Gabe rubbed his hands together. “Now, what can I do to help?”

  Marcus threw back his head and laughed. “I’m now grateful I had my crew wear masks while she was with us. Miss Stanhope won’t recognize you as my first mate, or any of the other men.”

  “Good fortune has been on our side, lately. Has it not?”

  That subject was argumentative, but Marcus chose to nod instead. “The first thing we need to do is get the wedding taken care of quickly. I need more women servants brought into the house. Can I trust you to hire them?” After he’d said that, he realized the error. He knew Gabe’s taste in women. The man liked the buxom wenches; the kind that are easily seduced. Most certainly, Isabelle would find this type of woman offensive.

  Marcus held up his hand and corrected, “I want older women as servants.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.” Gabe touched a finger to his forehead as if in a salute.

  Marcus rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Wrong answer. Have you forgotten? We aren’t highwaymen.”

  “Um… I mean, yes, my lord.”

  “Much better.”

  For the next few hours, Marcus gave instructions to all of the servants on what they should do to prepare for the upcoming wedding. So far, his brother’s servants seemed to accept Marcus as the true master. Good thing because Marcus didn’t like killing people unless they were evil and deserving of the fate. He’d only been playing his brother’s role for twenty-four hours, but Marcus had learned something already. His brother was lazy. He did nothing for himself and relied on servants to do his bidding. Matthew wasn’t a friend to his servants, either. Marcus could never understand that. He believed in being a friend to those beneath him to engender trust and loyalty.