Romancing The Rogue (The Rogue Chronicles Book 1)

by Lana Williams

  Including the most important secret of all—that she loved him.

  She’d come to the realization that she wanted a real marriage with him, and that meant honesty. Starting out on the right foot should’ve come the night on that garden terrace, but due to the unfortunate circumstances in which they’d found themselves, everything had gone awry.

  She intended to end that this very night by stealing a few private minutes with him to tell him what was in her heart.

  But the light that filled her at the sight of him was quickly extinguished.

  He spoke to Lady Mintford, holding her gloved hand before him as though it were a precious object. His head was bent toward her, a charming smile on his lips.

  The lady’s eyes widened at whatever Richard had said, then she tilted her head back as she laughed. She reached up to pat Richard’s cheek, her forward behavior causing a lump to form in Caroline’s chest.

  “Isn’t that Aberland?” her mother asked. “Why is he speaking with Lady Mintford in that manner?”

  Caroline swallowed back the hurt rolling through her. If her mother had noticed his inappropriate behavior, then Caroline couldn’t pretend she misinterpreted the situation. Why would he act like that? “I have no idea.”

  “I’ve never cared for that woman. Go see what he’s about, Caroline.” Any other time, the determined glint in her mother’s eyes would’ve amused Caroline. But not this time. Not with dread sweeping through her.

  Caroline approached the couple with a sinking heart, terribly confused, feeling like an outsider. How could this be the same man who’d held her so tenderly, so passionately in the carriage last evening?

  Richard glanced up, guilt tightening his expression as he cleared his throat. “Oh. Hello, there.”

  The knowing look in Lady Mintford’s gaze did nothing to increase Caroline’s confidence. The way the pair looked at her, she had the distinct impression a jest or two had been spoken at her expense.

  Doing her best to hide her hurt, she curtsied. “Good evening. I was hoping to find you here,” she said to Richard, choosing to ignore the lady.

  “Oh?” His arched brow made it appear he was surprised at her statement. He turned back to Lady Mintford. “Would you excuse us for a moment? I need to have a word with...her.” He raised the lady’s gloved hand to his lips, his smile back in place when he looked at the woman.

  Caroline could hardly breathe. She wanted to go back out the door and come in again, certain she’d entered some strange world where everything she secretly feared had come to life before her very eyes. If she tried again, surely she’d see all of this was a terrible mistake.

  The coolness of his eyes as he at last glanced at her again squeezed her heart. “Over here should suffice.” He pointed toward a corner of the room where a large potted fern would allow them limited privacy.

  She noticed that he didn’t touch her, didn’t tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow and hold it tight. Hadn’t he done that just last night?

  “I’ve decided that we will not suit,” he said the moment they reached the fern.

  “What?”

  “I thought perhaps this,” he paused to gesture between them, “might work, but I’ve realized I prefer more sophisticated and experienced women. Women with less family drama.” The sympathetic smile he gave her squeezed her heart even more. “I’m certain you understand.”

  “No. Actually, I don’t.”

  His expression sobered. “I think we’ve both known from the start that there would never be a wedding. Don’t you agree?”

  She stilled, her mind and body numb. At last, she nodded, the movement jerky. She couldn’t deny the truth of that.

  “Of course, you should blame me when you call off our betrothal. With my reputation, no doubt you’ll receive much sympathy. Perhaps even an offer from someone with wealth. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t that right?”

  She stared at him, trying to process what he’d said. But it was what she saw in his eyes that made no sense. The raw pain in their depths had her reaching for him, to tell him she knew this was all a lie. That he should stop.

  He jerked back as though he couldn’t bear her touch. “This is for the best. You’ll see.” With a quick nod, he left her standing there alone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next evening, Richard eyed the lattice work in Wayfair’s elaborate garden, hoping it would hold him. He’d spent the entire day hounding the halls of Whitehall, insisting the code breakers try harder. He’d even attempted to study the messages himself, determined to unveil their secrets.

  They’d shown him nothing.

  Perhaps if the hurt in Caroline’s green eyes hadn’t haunted him, he might’ve been able to think clearly.

  Damn Wayfair.

  He’d uttered the oath so often that it now came naturally with each breath he drew. Better that he hold onto his anger than permit despair to fill his heart.

  The duke had left him no choice. In order to save Caroline’s life and her family from irreparable damage, he’d had to do as Wayfair had instructed—request that Caroline break their betrothal. The duke insisted Richard make her believe him. In fact, he’d watched Richard’s conversation with her to be certain Richard convinced her of his sincerity.

  If Richard hadn’t had the excuse of Lady Mintford, he couldn’t have possibly gone through with the act. He would’ve slipped, and Caroline would’ve seen through his lies.

  The only way Richard could think to rectify this situation was to provide evidence of the duke’s guilt. Since Whitehall had yet to determine what the messages said, Richard was left with finding other evidence. He hoped Caroline would forgive him when all this was over.

  Searching the duke’s library again was futile, especially when the footman who worked for Wayfair hadn’t been able to uncover anything either. The only other place to look was his bedroom. The footman hadn’t been able to search in there without drawing the valet’s wrath.

  The duke was out for the evening but might return at any moment. The sooner Richard completed this mission, the better—for both Caroline’s sake and his own. He put his weight on the lattice. Though it felt less than stable, he saw no other way to reach his goal.

  He quickly scaled it, cursing his injured arm as he reached a balcony on the upper level, and levered himself over the stone railing, grateful the thing held. The knob on the French door turned easily. Excellent. That saved time.

  Coals burned in the fireplace, lighting the room enough for him to make out the outline of a massive bed and dark furnishings, confirming this was the duke’s bedroom.

  He quickly crossed the room toward the small desk along the wall, only to hesitate. With so little time to search, he needed to choose wisely. He shifted toward one of the bedside tables and tried the drawer. Locked. That was a clue in itself.

  Listening for anyone approaching, he pulled out his pick and went to work, pleased when the lock clicked. He opened the drawer and withdrew several papers but the light was so dim, he couldn’t read them. Setting them aside for the moment, he checked the drawer to see if he’d missed anything.

  His fingers grazed a cool metal object and he withdrew the item, his heart hammering at the jewels that glittered in the elegant handle.

  While this wasn’t the proof Whitehall might want, it was all the proof Richard needed to claim justice for Dumond. And for Caroline.

  He slid it into his pocket. Now he need only determine the best way to use the familiar weapon.

  ~*~

  Caroline stared at the correspondence as she sat at her father’s desk. No matter how many times she tried to focus and comprehend what it said, the words made no sense.

  Two days had passed since that horrible night at the musicale when Richard had broken her heart. She had yet to announce the end of their betrothal as he’d requested to anyone other than her family.

  She’d relived those brief minutes, time and again, but couldn’t understand them any more than she unde
rstood the letter in her hand.

  Hurt had changed into numbness that left her functioning but not living, and certainly not feeling. Feeling would only allow the pain to return, and that she couldn’t bear. Not yet anyway.

  When Annabelle entered, Caroline forced her lips to tilt, hoping it looked like a smile. Her mother and sisters knew the details of what Richard had said, and they’d provided support and love. Their concern for her helped more than she could say.

  “Good morning.” Her sister stepped around the desk to give her a hug. She didn’t bother to ask Caroline how she was.

  Caroline appreciated that as she didn’t want to lie.

  “Anything of interest arrive?” Annabelle leaned over Caroline’s shoulder and pointed to one of the letters. “Oh, the pawn shop sold the sheep painting. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A lump formed in Caroline’s throat as she stared at the letter. While that had been what she wanted and the money was welcome, somehow it seemed like a mistake given how upset her father had been over the loss.

  “I liked that painting too,” Annabelle said. “But Father will soon forget it. The money is more practical to have than something pretty to look at.”

  Caroline nodded, the lump in her throat refusing to dislodge.

  Sensing her upset, Annabelle knelt beside her chair. “What is it?”

  Caroline could only shake her head, unable to form the words to explain how she felt. What if the presence of that painting had somehow helped her father? What if selling it had done more harm than good, upsetting him needlessly?

  She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over. Life had been difficult enough but now that Richard was no longer part of her world, even the smallest task felt overwhelming. She could no longer make the smallest decision without self-doubt creeping in. Her family was depending on her, but she had nothing left to give.

  “Don’t worry so,” Annabelle said as she wrapped her arms around her. “Be gentle with yourself. These things take time to recover from.”

  Caroline drew a shaky breath, resting her head against Annabelle’s. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’ll never have to find out.” Her sister leaned back and smiled. “I’m right here beside you. You know I’d do anything to aid you.”

  “Yes, I know.” But nobody could help her at the moment. Perhaps in a few months, when her heart healed, she’d feel better.

  A knock sounded at the library door then it opened, revealing Barkley. The perplexed expression on the butler’s face had Caroline and her sister exchanging concerned looks.

  “What is it?” Caroline almost hated to ask. She didn’t think she could deal with any further bad news.

  “A delivery. For your father.” He stepped into the hall and came back with a large wrapped rectangle.

  “That can’t be a...painting,” Annabelle said.

  Caroline stood even as her stomach dropped. “How could he have possibly purchased something like that without us knowing?” The last thing she wanted to do was squander their newfound funds.

  “Perhaps there’s a note inside,” Annabelle suggested.

  At Caroline’s nod, Barclay set the package on the desk and assisted Annabelle to unwrap it.

  “Oh!” Caroline could only stare at the sheep painting. The very one the pawn shop had just advised them had sold. “I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

  “Barclay, isn’t there a note?” Annabelle asked.

  “Not that I saw, miss.” The butler shook his head.

  As Caroline stared at the painting, the truth slowly sank into her. She knew exactly how it was possible. Tears filled her eyes, and she sank to her chair, her legs trembling.

  “Caroline? What?” Annabelle squeezed her hand. “Who sent the painting?”

  Caroline met Barclay’s gaze, and a smile curved his lips, suggesting he knew as well.

  “I believe the Earl of Aberland might have something to do with this,” he offered.

  “Richard.” She whispered his name, blinking, afraid to believe what the delivery meant.

  Annabelle frowned. “Truly? But why?”

  “Because he cares for me after all.” The fragile hope fluttering deep inside her both frightened and thrilled her. She didn’t pretend to understand why he’d said the things he had, but she intended to find out. Murmuring a prayer, she rose to change her dress.

  ~*~

  Richard carefully penned a message at the desk in his library. On the front, he wrote Le Sournois.

  That alone should concern Wayfair, but Richard hoped what he’d scrawled underneath would alarm the duke even more. It involved details for which he didn’t yet have proof. The Jib and Anchor Tavern near the shipyard seemed like the perfect place to meet—not so dissimilar from the tavern in France where Wayfair had killed Maria and Dumond.

  Richard hadn’t wanted to confront the duke in his bedroom the previous night. Not with so many servants milling about. Nor did he want to murder the duke in his sleep. That wasn’t justice.

  Instead, he intended to call out the duke and challenge him to a duel. Richard didn’t care what weapons they used—pistols or swords—he was adept with either. Besides, he’d needed time to leave a written accounting of everything he suspected the duke was involved in. He’d completed that prior to writing the message. His plan was nearly in place. Whitehall continued to work on the messages, but Richard no longer pinned his hopes on them.

  The jeweled knife sat on his desk, but in Richard’s mind, it glimmered in the torchlight, protruding from Dumond’s chest. The knife wouldn’t mean anything to Whitehall but meant everything to Richard.

  The papers Richard had found in the duke’s nightstand provided additional clues but would take time to thoroughly investigate. Richard didn’t have time. He wanted Caroline free of Wayfair’s threats immediately. He wanted her back in his arms, if he lived, and if she could forgive him.

  Voices in the foyer had him frowning. Visitors were not welcome. Not when he had so much on his mind.

  His butler appeared in the door, his expression disgruntled. “The Duke of Wayfair—”

  Before he completed the sentence, Wayfair shoved him aside and strode in. “What is going on?”

  Richard stood, doing his best to calm his rage at the sight of Dumond’s murderer. Had Wayfair somehow discovered what he’d taken from his nightstand? It didn’t matter. The outcome would be the same. Wayfair would soon be dead. “You’ve saved me the trouble of delivering a message to you.”

  “What possible message could you be sending to me?” Wayfair’s nostrils flared as he strode forward. “Unless you intend to explain why Miss Gold hasn’t yet publicly called off your betrothal.”

  Richard’s heart pinched. He’d been trying not to think of that. Nor had he spoken with anyone who would know if she had. But after the way he’d treated her at the musicale, he was surprised she hadn’t declared the end of their association far and wide.

  “You’ve forced my hand, Aberland. I’ve no choice but to—”

  More voices came from the foyer, interrupting Wayfair.

  Once again, his butler appeared in the doorway. “Miss Gold and—”

  Caroline appeared at the butler’s side before he finished announcing her. The beleaguered servant shook his head, looking askance at Richard.

  All Richard could see was Caroline. Heart racing, he studied her, wondering why she was here, unable to read her expression. He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or appalled by her arrival. Not when Wayfair was here as well.

  Her gaze swung to Wayfair, and her eyes widened in alarm. Annabelle stood behind her, keeping a close watch on Richard.

  Caroline hesitated, clearly confused as to why Wayfair was in his library.

  “Well?” Wayfair demanded. “You have not done what I requested.” He gestured toward Caroline, as if to suggest her presence confirmed Richard’s guilt. “You leave me no choice.”

  “You have always had a choice, but you conti
nually make the wrong ones,” Richard advised as he held out his hand to Caroline, anxious to put himself between her and the duke.

  The stubborn woman remained rooted to the spot.

  Understandable, considering how he’d treated her when they’d last spoke. Yet he’d hoped she somehow sensed the truth—that what he’d told her hadn’t been his wish.

  “Whatever are you speaking of?” Wayfair glared at Richard then his gaze dropped to the desk where the knife sat. His face paled. “Where did you get that?”

  Richard handed the message he had yet to seal to him. “You might want this.”

  The duke’s hand trembled as he reached for it, Le Sournois clearly visible. “I don’t understand.” His previous anger had vanished. “What is this?”

  “I think you know.”

  He opened the message, frowning at the contents. “This makes no sense.”

  “Those are the registration numbers of several lost ships that Lloyd’s paid insurance claims on—a significant amount to various companies.”

  “That has nothing to do with me.” The duke seemed to have regained his wits, admitting nothing.

  “When the authorities investigate those lost ships, I believe they will discover who is behind the companies that received the money and what that person did with those funds.”

  Wayfair’s thin lips tightened. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”

  “I’m proving you are Le Sournois, a traitorous English lord. That you’re funneling money from insurance claims to support Bonaparte.”

  Caroline stepped forward at last, much to Richard’s relief.

  But before she reached him, Wayfair lunged forward to grab her, surprising Richard with his speed. Wayfair spun her to face Richard with an arm wrapped around her neck and pointed a small pistol at her head. “I’ll be leaving with Miss Gold. If you wish to see her again, alive, you will tell no one about any of this.”

  Richard’s heart leapt into his throat. Fear held him tight, stealing his breath.

  Before he could react, Caroline drove her elbow backward into the duke’s middle. Annabelle grabbed a vase and ran forward to strike Wayfair in the head.