Romancing The Rogue (The Rogue Chronicles Book 1)

by Lana Williams

  Then again, their previous correspondence had included an absurd statement about seeking additional funds should recovery of the lost ship be an option at some point in the future. She bit her lip at the thought.

  Rather than share her concern with her mother, she opened the seal and withdrew the letter, only to have a second piece of paper flutter to the floor.

  She retrieved it, a glance revealing a banknote. The amount scrawled across it sent her heart pounding.

  This made no sense. Some sort of mistake must’ve been made. She unfolded the letter and quickly skimmed the contents, only to read the message again more slowly.

  “What does the letter say?” The concern in her mother’s tone wasn’t to be ignored.

  “’Tis good news. Very good news.” She lowered the letter with a smile, hardly able to believe the unexpected turn of events. “Apparently, there was a miscommunication. The ship Father invested in, the Majestic, was never lost at sea, only delayed by a storm and in need of repairs. The ship’s captain sent word advising of that, but the shipping company never received it. At any rate, Father’s investment, profit, and interest have now been paid.”

  Caroline handed her mother the signed banknote and letter so she could see for herself.

  Her mother reached out with a trembling hand for the papers, her gaze holding on the banknote for a long moment. “That is a significant amount.”

  “It is, indeed.” The money would go a long way toward paying their accounts and leaving months of cushion. Yet the entire situation seemed unreal to her. Perhaps because the payment was so unexpected and the explanation so simple.

  “Shall we tell your father?”

  “Maybe so. He’d been certain of a positive outcome for the investment. Hearing it succeeded after all might help him regain his confidence.”

  “If he remembers that particular ship,” her mother added. “I’ll let you share the news but avoid telling him too many of the details. Those might only confuse him.”

  “Of course.” Caroline squeezed her mother’s hand. “What delightful news this is.”

  “You realize that when Margaret hears of this, she’ll want to order fabric for new gowns.”

  Caroline smiled. “Allow me to review the accounts, especially the doctor’s. It would be nice to provide the servants with additional wages as well. Then we’ll decide if fabric should be purchased. No doubt that would be less costly than ordering new gowns. But there’s no need to order fabric for me.” At her mother’s questioning look, she added, “I’m already betrothed. My appearance no longer matters.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. If rumors about the earl’s lack of funds are true, this might be the last new gown you’ll have for some time to come. Besides, you’ll need something pretty to wear for your wedding. The day is fast approaching. Less than two weeks away now.”

  My wedding.

  The phrase brought the oddest combination of panic and excitement. She grew less certain each day as to whether their betrothal would end. The money certainly took the immediate pressure off her to marry a wealthy man, but the funds would only sustain them for a few months. Then what? Her feelings for Richard were complicated. She no longer knew what she wanted, if given the choice.

  Did she now have a choice?

  Her mother went to share the good news with Annabelle and Margaret, leaving Caroline staring at the documents still in disbelief.

  A tingle passed over her. Only last week, she had shared this very situation with Richard. And now a banknote arrived that not only returned the investment, but included profit and interest.

  Did he have something to do with this? Surely not. How could he have accomplished such a feat? Yet snippets of previous conversations and information came to mind, the same ones that had been circling her thoughts of late.

  Why had he confronted her that first night on the terrace at the Southby ball? He’d seemed so certain she knew something, that she’d spoken with the duke about a matter of importance. He’d been adamant, in fact.

  Then had come the night she’d discovered him in Viscount Stafford’s library. She still didn’t believe his ridiculous excuse that he needed a moment away from the crowd.

  Why had he happened upon her in that bookshop? That was too much of a coincidence. And his skills at fighting the man with the knife couldn’t be denied.

  And now this. She tapped a finger on her chin as she considered the various possibilities.

  She’d already decided Richard was more than merely a rogue. Yet no matter how she shifted all those bits and pieces in her mind, she didn’t see an obvious answer.

  There had to be a way to discover more about who Richard truly was.

  Her goal of protecting her family hadn’t changed, and if she were to marry him—her breath caught at the thought—she needed to know what he was about, if she could truly trust him with her family. And with her heart.

  ~*~

  A hint of dawn lightened the horizon as Richard stared out his bedroom window early the next morning. His room overlooked the garden with only a narrow view of the street out front. The neighborhood was eerily quiet this morn, or perhaps his unease came from the dream that interrupted his slumber.

  He took another sip of brandy. Though the amber liquid burned his throat, it did little to settle his nerves. The dream—or rather, the nightmare—didn’t come as often as before but was disturbing nonetheless.

  It wasn’t a surprise he’d dreamed of that terrible night—not when Dumond had been in his thoughts so often of late.

  Dumond had convinced Richard to travel with him to the Continent after they completed their final year at university, despite the danger due to the war.

  Richard hadn’t realized what his friend was about at first. He thought they were having their own version of a Grand Tour, seeing the sights and enjoying the local food, drink, and women while dodging areas of unrest.

  But Richard had soon realized Dumond’s travel preferences were as deliberate as the people with whom he met. When Richard confronted him, Dumond confirmed his suspicions, sharing that his elder brother worked as a spy for the Crown, and he was following in his footsteps. Dumond found the work and travel interesting and entertaining and did his best to convince Richard to join him.

  The idea of serving a purpose, of aiding his country, appealed to Richard, and he entered the intelligence efforts without hesitation.

  He and Dumond spent most of their time on missions in France on and off for over a decade, collecting information wherever they could find it under the guise of English rogues in search of diversions.

  Maria had been one of their informants, helping to connect them with those willing to share what they knew. Richard had been attracted to her from the start and the stressful situations they encountered brought them closer. She was an experienced woman, her husband killed by a French officer years before. She and Richard had spent many pleasurable hours together.

  But when Dumond’s brother was killed on a mission, Dumond changed. He at last realized the serious side of spying, that men, and sometimes women, were willing to die to keep—or take—secrets. His anger toward the French had grown to the point where Richard had to stop him from killing those who didn’t cooperate. Proof of guilt shifted in Dumond’s mind to proof of innocence, a much more elusive attestation.

  That terrible night, they’d been dressed as peasants while they waited in a small tavern not far from Paris. By then, they both spoke excellent French and were able to fool most if not all of the people they encountered.

  Maria was to meet them there. She remained the one soft spot Dumond had. Richard feared his friend was half in love with her, just as Richard was. Or at least as much as young, naïve men could love.

  Her dark eyes and exotic looks spoke of Gypsy ancestry. Her voluptuous curves and sultry voice easily convinced men to talk. When she turned on the charm...Richard shook his head at the memory of her powerful skills.

  So powerful that he and Dumond had been bl
ind to her true mission. She was supposed to meet them to deliver the information she’d gathered from one of Bonaparte’s captains. The details she promised included French troop movements that would prevent the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of English soldiers.

  Had she always been a double agent or had that last meeting with the French captain been the turning point for her? What might Le Sournois have done to coerce her into identifying him and Dumond? Offered her money? Threatened her family? Richard was haunted by the fact that he didn’t know why—and never would—she’d betrayed them.

  Richard was certain Le Sournois must have witnessed her meeting with the captain then followed her to the tavern to see with whom she’d share the traitorous secrets.

  Richard had been seated some distance from Dumond, something they always did in public places with the hope of keeping at least one of them alive. Dumond had been far more skilled at spying than Richard, and to this day, Richard wished Dumond had survived instead. No doubt he’d have already killed Le Sournois.

  Maria had seemed unsettled when she’d met Dumond at the tavern, as though she already knew things weren’t going according to plan. She’d stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. At least, that was what Richard surmised from his table across the room. He didn’t know what she said to Dumond when she rose from the table.

  At Dumond’s gesture, Richard followed her outside but didn’t see her. Not right away. He’d searched in the dark before at last coming upon her just outside the stable, stumbling toward him.

  Her breath came haltingly, her dark eyes wide with terror, a hand pressed to her middle.

  “What is it?” he’d asked. “What happened?”

  But words were nearly beyond her. He took her hand in his, only to find it warm and wet with blood. Each breath she drew rattled in her chest.

  “Who did this?” he demanded.

  “Le...Sournois.”

  The Sly One? Richard had no idea to whom that name referred at the time.

  “Hurry. Dumond...I’m sorry.” The barely audible words came out with the last of her breath. Then she’d collapsed in his arms.

  Richard lowered her to the ground then rushed inside to get help though he feared it was too late. To his surprise, Dumond had been nowhere in sight.

  He hurried out the back and came upon Dumond lying on the ground on his side.

  As Richard reached for his shoulder, he knew his friend was dead. “Dumond?”

  The man rolled onto his back at Richard’s touch, revealing a jeweled dagger stuck in his chest.

  The blast of a pistol firing, the barrel aimed at Richard, was the last thing Richard remembered. Unfortunately, the bright flare of the gun firing had hidden the identity of whoever had pulled the trigger.

  A local shopkeeper had found Richard, taken him home, and seen to his injury. Several days had passed before he’d recovered enough to leave his bed. By then, everyone he made inquiries of had conveniently forgotten any details of that night.

  Once he’d regained his health and his wits, he traced the unusual dagger he remembered vividly to a shop in Paris, where the shopkeeper revealed that an Englishman had purchased it. An English lord visiting relatives in Paris.

  Other duties had pulled him back to England, but Richard had continued his quest from London to find Dumond’s murderer as well as each time he returned to Paris. Only so many lords had relatives in France and were the approximate age and appearance of the man described by the shopkeeper.

  With much effort and pure luck, Richard had eventually narrowed Dumond’s murderer to three men who fit the basic description and had been in France at the time. Now those three had become two—Stafford and Wayfair.

  He couldn’t help but feel the dream was a reminder of his vow to find Dumond’s killer. Caroline had become a distraction but one he couldn’t remove when he was bound by honor to protect her.

  With a shake of his head, he acknowledged how much more she was to him than someone to shield. She’d captured his interest from the start with her beguiling green eyes. Her cool reserve hid a passion he’d never expected. He admired her loyalty to her family and the way she did her best to protect them, especially her father, when it should be the other way around. She’d made the best of her family’s difficult situation, using her intelligence and wit. She never did what he expected and had her own brand of logic.

  Life with her would be a joy with a few trials thrown in to keep things interesting. Whether that would come to pass, he didn’t know. But he was beginning to hope it would.

  Somehow, he had to find the focus to fulfill his vow to Dumond while protecting Caroline. That began with Wayfair.

  He didn’t know what the duke was up to, but he intended to watch him closely. Though tempted to confront the duke about his request to Caroline, he might learn more by watching and waiting.

  Taylor, the man he’d caught at the bookshop, had yet to talk. Given the appalling conditions in Newgate, chances were he soon would. Learning who he worked for would be a good beginning. His testimony could be the proof they needed to close in on Wayfair.

  Patience was a learned skill, one Richard had yet to master.

  The sounds of the street below echoed between the houses to reach him—the call of a gas-lighter as he extinguished the lights along a nearby street, the rumble of the coal cart making deliveries. It all sounded familiar and normal, but he knew events were spiraling tighter and tighter. Much like an overwound spring in a clock, something was bound to give.

  Perhaps that was what the dream suggested. If so, he needed to stay on high alert, regardless of his growing feelings for Caroline.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Richard entered the brightly lit entrance hall of the Torrington ball that evening. Though he preferred to come through the garden doors at these functions, he hated to be predictable. He hadn’t spoken with Caroline since their brief time together at the bazaar but assumed she would be here. Several other events were being held this evening, but this one was “the” event to attend if one had been fortunate enough to receive an invitation.

  He joined the receiving line and spoke briefly with the hosts before making his way down the steps into the ballroom. This was a more intimate affair than the balls he’d attended in previous weeks, but it was still a crush. Less people in a smaller space.

  He paused along the wall to look over the guests and caught sight of Caroline across the room, his heart lifting at the sight. That was the only way to describe it. He wasn’t sure what to make of the sensation.

  He did his best to shove aside the feeling, reminding himself that he needed to concentrate on his mission. His feelings—whatever they were—would have to wait until he claimed justice. Remembering the order of his priorities was vital at this point.

  Richard understood the danger he faced, especially after having such a close miss during his last encounter with Le Sournois. He couldn’t help but rub the scar that he bore just below his heart. Whether it had been luck or fate, an inch or two higher and he wouldn’t be standing here.

  Funny how seeing Caroline had him thinking it had been fate. That perhaps she was the reason he’d survived that night.

  He realized he walked toward her without consciously deciding to do so. Already his determination faded. After all, little could be done at the moment with Wayfair or Stafford, which left him to enjoy Caroline. She conversed with her cousin, Lady Louisa, a beauty who rarely gave him a second glance.

  Caroline caught sight of him, the joy lighting her face causing his chest to expand. The array of emotions crossing her face as he approached made him wonder what might be going through her mind. But the very first emotion had been joy. That only made his chest feel lighter.

  She excused herself to her cousin before coming forward to greet him. “Good evening, my lord.”

  “And to you. How are you faring?”

  “Well.” She nodded as she looked over the crowd before catching his gaze once more. “Very well, actually.�
��

  “Oh?” His curiosity caught, he waited to see if she’d explain.

  She moved closer, bringing her lilac scent to his notice. The light fragrance suited her perfectly and made him long to press kisses along her elegant neck and breathe it in.

  “We received a surprising letter.”

  He raised a brow, doing his best to keep his thoughts on her words.

  “A letter from the shipping company with which Father made that unfortunate investment. A banknote was included.”

  Richard did his best to hide the satisfaction that filled him. “That is surprising indeed. Whatever did the company say?”

  “The ship was not lost at sea after all but had been damaged in a storm. Repairs took quite some time. At any rate, the ship arrived safely in London not long ago and sold its cargo for a significant profit.”

  “That’s excellent news.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Did you have anything to do with the matter?”

  He glanced away, surprised how tempted he was to admit his involvement. The need to have her see him in a good light after she’d expressed her lack of faith in him at the bazaar took him aback. But if she knew he’d succeeded in forcing the company to pay her father, it would only create more questions—questions he couldn’t answer. “I don’t know what you mean. Why would you think so?”

  She frowned, watching him closely until he wanted to fidget like a schoolboy. “I think it an odd coincidence that soon after I mentioned the loss to you, we received both a letter and money.”

  “Very odd indeed. Would you care to dance?”

  She blinked at the change in topic. “Of course, but I have additional questions.”

  “Certainly.” He took pleasure in holding her gloved hand and tucking it in the crook of his elbow, pressing it close against his side.

  That small contact with her settled him, much to his surprise. He blamed the dream but wondered if it was more than that. As if touching her somehow soothed his soul.