Lord Rogue

by Tiffany Green

  “Yes, of course. I have cancelled my plans for tonight, so I will be here.”

  Evie glanced out of the window before her and found the grass overgrown and weeds invading the iris bulging up from the dark brown soil. She turned when she felt a hand on her arm, surprised to see Belle there and Ash gone.

  “We must talk,” Belle insisted with a quiet urgency in her voice. “I will understand if you would like to postpone our plans to attend Lord Montague’s—”

  “No.”

  Belle’s thin, honey gold brows shot up. “Are you certain, Evie? You can still do this?”

  “Yes,” Evie whispered before she changed her mind. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to be alone for a while.”

  Beautifully composed, Belle gave a nod. “I must speak with Elder about all that has happened. Will you be all right, Cherie?”

  “Yes.” Evie turned back to the window, wondering where the gardeners had gone. “I will be fine.”

  As soon as Belle’s carriage rattled down Brook Street and out of sight, Evie moved away from the drawing room windows and walked to the front door. She knew it would take her exactly four minutes, twenty-three seconds to walk to Jeremy’s house if she wasn’t in a hurry. A left on Brook Street and another left at Grosvenor Square, then four houses down. His was the largest house along the square and, in her estimation, the most handsome with red brick and tall white Corinthian columns lining the front.

  Today, it didn’t take half as long to reach. This time, instead of walking by the house and turning left on Grosvenor Street and another left on Davies Street, to come full circle back to Brook Street, Evie dashed right up the front steps.

  With her heart in her throat, she raised her hand to engage the lion-headed brass knocker, but the door opened. Startled, she came face-to-face with Dr. Benson, who wore a grave expression. “Pardon, my lady,” he inclined his head and took a step back.

  “How is Lord Fielding?” she asked in a rush, praying he would tell her he just got summoned for nothing. That Jeremy really wasn’t hurt and it was all a big misunderstanding.

  Instead, Dr. Benson shook his head in a grave manner. “Not good, my lady, I am sorry to say.”

  The breath lodged in Evie’s throat. So, what Ash told her was true? “Will he die?” she managed to squeak out.

  “Come, my lady, you look like you are ready to swoon.” The man took her arm and led her inside the mansion before she had the wits to protest. He spoke to someone and she somehow managed to sit on a chair. For several minutes, everything became a blur. The doctor spoke to her, but she could not recall a single word. She had no idea what she replied, if she did at all.

  Evie glanced down at a cup of tea, not having any idea how it got in her hands, then back to the doctor sitting across from her.

  “Would you like more tea, my lady?”

  “No, thank you.” She set the cup aside. “May I see him?” she asked before she thought better of it. For some reason, she still couldn’t believe Jeremy had been gravely injured. She had to see if for herself.

  The doctor turned to the elder butler hovering in the doorway, who simply inclined his head.

  Then Evie followed the men up the stairs, down a long hall, through a sitting room, and halted before a polished oak door. “You may speak to him, my lady, but do not be surprised if he doesn’t respond. He is unconscious. There are bandages around his face, just so you understand what you will see when you go in.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Benson,” she said, took a deep breath, and entered Jeremy’s dim room.

  She was so startled when she felt his presence, Evie stumbled to a halt. “How can this be?” she whispered into the darkness.

  When her eyes adjusted, she noticed the heavy dark blue curtains covering the windows were pulled tightly closed, and the only source of light came from a low burning lamp near the bed. Evie walked slowly forward. A pungent herb she did not recognize tickled her nose and she took two deep breaths to keep from sneezing. She approached the crack in the bed curtains and found a still figure lying there. His head was completely wrapped in strips of white linen. A red-brown blotch about the size of her palm covered the left side of his forehead. There were holes cut over his eyes and nose, and honey-wheat hair sprang up out of the top of the dressing. The exact color of Jeremy’s hair.

  With a trembling hand, Evie reached out. “Jeremy?” she whispered, but stayed her hand and drew back before touching him. He was so still, as though death already had him in its grip.

  Tears scorched her eyes with the thought of never seeing him again. There was so much she wanted to tell him. He couldn’t die yet. He just couldn’t. A small, secret part of her had hoped he would fall desperately in love with her, just as she had with him. Evie dashed the tears from her cheeks, mad at herself for allowing those silly, childish fantasies to surface from the farthest reaches of her heart. But she was utterly shattered that there was no longer any chance she’d ever be with Jeremy. And she was outraged. Furious that someone had done this to such a vibrant, beautiful man. Everyone loved being near him. He could hold the attention of an entire room for hours at a time. His stories were interesting, amusing, and captivating. People adored him, imitated him, and wanted to be him.

  Tears stung her eyes as she straightened her spine. “I will find those thugs who did this to you, Jeremy, and I will make them pay,” she said softly.

  A sound in the far corner of the room caught her attention. Perhaps a servant held vigil and stirred from his slumber. With one last teary glance at Jeremy, Evie fled the room, hurried down the steps, then nearly knocked Amelia down.

  “Goodness, Evie. Are you all right?” Amelia shifted her heavy black bag from one hand to the other. “I just heard what happened and thought, perhaps, I could help. Julian went to tell the others, who will probably be here soon, if you’d like to wait.”

  Evie shook her head, unable to stay any longer. Grief suffocated her, and she had to get out of this house. “Sorry, Amelia. I have to go.” She raced back home as fast as her feet would carry her, knowing when Jeremy died, a part of her would die right along with him.

  With her heart beating so fast and hard, Evie almost missed Belle calling out to her. She turned from the stairs as her aunt came forward. “I thought you had left.”

  Belle pulled her into the drawing room and shut the door. Glancing around to make sure no servants overheard, she spoke softly. “Elder had Ghost intercept my carriage before I made it to Bond Street. They know about Rogue.” She moved closer. “It was a planned attack, not the work of thieves as everyone suspects.”

  “Planned?” Evie shook her head. “How do you know?”

  “Lady Crandall’s footman saw one of the men throw this card down before leaving with the others.” Reaching into her pocket, Belle pulled out a black calling card with the silver coiled snake insignia embossed on one side.

  Viper’s symbol.

  Evie’s breath caught. “Does this mean they know who Rogue is?”

  Belle pursed her lips and held out the card. “Take it. There is a message on the back.”

  Really, she didn’t want to touch the thing, but Evie reached for it anyway. She read the back and a shock went through her.

  If you survive, stay away from Lady Evie. She’s mine.

  Jeremy had been beaten near to death because of her? Evie’s stomach twisted. Belle was speaking and she struggled to pay attention.

  “I believe Viper’s men would have taken Rogue if they knew who he was. They would have taken him to the same place as Blade and Dragon to try and get information out of him.”

  Evie handed the card back to Belle, not wanting to touch the thing another second more.

  “Cherie.” Belle reached out and placed a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “Are you certain you can pull yourself together? The way you look right now…” Her hand slid away. “You may not be pleasing to Montague.”

  Taking a deep breath, Evie knew Belle was right. She had to pull herself toge
ther. Dragon and Blade had to be rescued. That was all she should consider for the next few days. Nothing else. No one else.

  Throwing her shoulders back, Evie nodded. “You are right. I promise, I will be ready when the time comes. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 10

  Montague’s country estate was something straight out of a gothic horror novel. Of course, it would be, Evie thought as the mountainous pile of gray stones came into view. Numerous slate roof peaks rose up to the heavy rain clouds, which continued to emit sporadic downpours followed by an irritating drizzle that slowed their progress to less than a crawl over the muddy road. The cold, damp air found its way beneath every layer of clothing, chilling her to the bone, and she could not stop thinking of Jeremy.

  Knowing in a few short minutes she would see the man responsible for hurting Jeremy brought a jab of pain to her heart, nearly making her head swim. But she would continue with the plan. For him. She would see Montague brought to justice for all his crimes, but most especially, for hurting Jeremy. That thought kept her focused on the job she had to do. It pushed aside all her nervousness and doubts, bringing about a strange sort of euphoric calm. She would do nothing less that succeed in this mission. Succeed or die. Those were her only options.

  Evie’s pulse quickened as they rounded the circular drive and moved under the portico at the side of Frankenstein’s castle. Evie nearly smiled, for that was exactly what the monstrosity looked like. Perhaps the Shelley family had visited before? Then Montague moved out of the shadows. The monster. She closed her eyes a moment and inhaled slowly, deeply. A gentle touch made her look up.

  Belle had her brows drawn. “Your cheeks are pale, Cherie. Are they not, Jean Claude?”

  Evie glanced over to Belle’s faithful companion, still amazed at how Ghost had transformed himself from a powerful earl to a fussy Frenchman so easily. He smiled, his dark eyes twinkling with naughty delight, just as Jean Claude’s would. “I do believe her cheeks could use a bit of color, oui.”

  Ghost even sounded exactly like the man. So much so, Evie reached up and pinched her cheeks, having heard the same remarks many times before. Belle had the strange idea that cheeks and lips should be rosy at all times. It drew attention to the mouth, she claimed, instead of the eyes, where all truth could not be properly concealed.

  The door opened and Evie tensed. She just couldn’t help it. A footman assisted Belle to the ground, but Montague stepped forward to help Evie. It was as though he didn’t want anyone else touching her. A shiver of disquiet raced down her spine. She swallowed back her unease and slipped her jade green kid skin glove into his waiting palm.

  “Welcome to my home,” Montague said, then leaned down to speak softly into her ear. “I have been waiting most impatiently for your arrival.”

  Evie resisted the urge to pull away. Instead, she curled her lips up and purred, “Some things, my lord, are well worth the wait.”

  He gave her a smoldering glance of lust and promise before straightening and greeting the others, then he led them inside. “Dinner is at nine.” He turned to a short, stout bulldog looking fellow who kept adjusting his collar as though uncomfortable wearing the brown wool suit. “Lars will show you to your rooms and then retrieve you at first bell.”

  Giving a slight bow, allowing his gaze to linger on Evie’s bosom for an indecent four and a half seconds, he walked down the hall and into the farthest room on the left.

  Evie exchanged glances with Belle. They would investigate that room later, even though Montague just gave a subtle command to not wander about the house during their stay. And Lars would be their watchdog, there to make sure they did as his master just instructed. Having someone follow them about may complicate the assignment, but not for long. Surely, Montague would want to spend time alone with Evie, then she would have her chance to learn everything she needed.

  Turning to follow Lars up the main set of stairs, Evie glanced around to memorize the layout of the house. The inside held as much dark and oppressing charm as the outside. Heavy medieval furniture, tapestries, and suits of armor decorated the hall, most likely the original fixtures to the old estate. She wondered where to find the steps to the dungeon, then swallowed back a giggle at the thought. Until she remembered the ancient iron key she had lifted from Montague’s pocket. It would be about the right age.

  At the top of the stairs, they turned right and walked down a long hallway. After another right, Lars indicated Jean Claude would have the first room to the left. Belle would have the room directly across from his, and Evie would take the room beside Belle. A low burning lamp sat on a table between her and Belle’s rooms, along with a chair, confirming Evie’s suspicions they would be watched. Montague certainly was paranoid, but she supposed the leader of such an insidious organization would have to be.

  Nodding to Belle, Evie entered her room and found huge bouquets of flowers piled on tables, covering the mantle, and stuffed in floor vases along the walls. Roses, iris, lilies, foxglove, and orchids, all in varying colors and sizes were everywhere, and the smell overpowered all else. Glancing around, she found a set of doors leading out to a small step balcony and threw them open, hoping to air out the room a bit. To her left, the huge pale orange moon made a slow ascent from the rolling field up to the smattering of silvery-black clouds still lingering from the earlier storm. At least it had stopped raining, Evie thought, inhaling the fresh, cool air. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried not to think about Jeremy barely holding on to life. Amelia was there, she reminded herself, and the choking stab of grief eased from her chest. Evie knew no one would give him a better chance to survive than Amelia.

  Her maid’s exasperated voice came from behind her, somewhere to the right. Evie stepped back into the room and found a thin strip of light coming from a cracked door that led to the dressing room. “Alice, what is it?”

  Shaking her head, Alice pulled a dress from the open trunk. “Someone has been rummaging around in here.” The middle-aged woman paused to frown down at the sapphire silk evening gown. “Just look at these wrinkles. I will be ironing all night.”

  Evie stepped forward and glanced inside the trunk. Instead of the neatly folded clothes Alice had packed, someone had obviously dumped the contents then carelessly threw the dresses back inside. Definitely paranoid. She wondered what they were looking for. Slowly, she brought her hand up to the small silk purse tied around her waist, hidden beneath her bottle green dress. Thankfully, she had listened to Belle and placed the vial and iron key there.

  “I am sorry, Alice. I will make certain you are compensated with two thick slices of rum cake when we return.”

  The maid glanced over, her scowl wavering. “With extra rum?”

  Evie smiled. “A whole dram, if you would like.”

  Alice’s lips split into a toothy grin in return. “You have yourself a happy maid again.” Then she gathered up three of the gowns. “I had better take these down to the laundry and see about having at least one done before dinner.” She straightened and wagged her thick brows. “But I don’t think Lord Montague would mind at all if you hadn’t a stitch to wear.”

  Evie closed her eyes and groaned at Alice’s joke, then she had a thought. Remembering Lars just outside, she kept her voice low. “Do me a favor, Alice. Try to remember everything you can about this old mansion. Describe the rooms you see and who you see in them.”

  The maid started to nod, but stopped short. “My lady?”

  Evie leaned forward and adjusted a lace hem from dragging the floor. “I know it sounds silly, but I promised the Duchess of Huntington I’d make notations of any interesting place I visit.” At Alice’s blank stare, Evie continued. “The duchess is writing a book, you see. A novel.”

  Alice’s brows shot up, then crashed together. “Why would a duchess want to write a novel?”

  Now, Evie wished she hadn’t given that reason. Why couldn’t she have thought of something else? With a sigh, she turned her maid toward the door. “We haven’t
the time to discuss this. Just please try and remember everything you can, but don’t be conspicuous,” she added softly as an afterthought. “We don’t want everyone thinking the duchess is…is odd for her wish to write.”

  Giving an uncertain glance over her shoulder, the maid shrugged. “I will do my best, my lady.”

  “That is good,” Evie answered, rocking back on her heels. “Because I was just considering whether or not to share with you that decanter of sherry just there.” She nodded toward a rectangular table with scrolled carvings, and on top of the gleaming wood lay an assortment of thirteen decanters with engraved nameplates on silver chains to identify each liquor within. Two silver trays with snifters, stemware, and assorted liquor glasses had been set out on either side of the decanters. A spray of pink and white roses jutting up from a pallet of fern fronds had been placed behind the beverage assembly.

  The maid turned fully around, her eyes as round as the moon outside. “I’ll tell you everything I see, even down to how many cracks are on the ceiling, if you want me to.”

  Evie wanted to roll her eyes. Alice could get carried away. “Just remember the rooms you enter or pass by that have open doors and also everyone inside.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward so the maid would know how serious she was. “Do not make it known what you are doing and that I asked you to do it. Understand?”

  Alice darted a glance at the liquor assortment then nodded vigorously.

  “Good, now hurry with one of those gowns. I do not want to be late for dinner.”

  As soon as her maid left, Evie pressed her ear to the thick oak door. If she held her breath, she could just make out Alice explaining to Lars that she needed to take the wrinkles out of the dresses. Lars made some sort of reply Evie could not hear, but an exasperated Alice made it clear her mistress would not be coming down for dinner if the dresses were not taken care of immediately.

  Evie swallowed back a giggle as she heard Alice’s footsteps march away. She drew in a slow, deep breath and listened closely. Obviously, Lars had decided not to follow.