Undeniable Rogue (The Rogues Club Book One)

by Annette Blair

  She regarded her grandson with a raised brow, and Sabrina saw from whence he inherited his habit of doing so. “They will also realize that my grandson’s taste in women has finally, vastly, improved.”

  Gideon, in turn, looked insulted, sheepish, and proud.

  Grandmama wanted to introduce her granddaughter-in-law to Society and show one and all the refined beauty who had won Stanthorpe. “The minute they meet you, Sabrina,” she declared. “They will love you as we do. And they will know exactly why Gideon married you.”

  “Heaven help us all,” Sabrina said.

  “But everyone who is anyone is off to the country for Christmas,” Gideon pointed out.

  “Nonsense, I am here,” Grandmama snapped. “Yes, I know that town is quiet and thin of company at this time of year, but there are enough of the right people staying through Christmas to make for a comfortable squeeze. Soon enough after the ball, word will spread to the rest.”

  The day Grandmama came to pick Sabrina up for the final fitting of her ball gown, the poor old woman came upon her tough-as-nails grandson racing through the foyer, whinnying, Rafe on his back, charging him to go faster, Damon running behind.

  “I shall need a month in the country, at least, to recover from that sight,” she said.

  Juliana was nearly four weeks old by then and Sabrina was glad Gideon worked off his excess energy playing with the boys. Fast approaching was the day she would be well enough to consummate their marriage, and she was more skittish over that than she was at the thought of being introduced to the cream of London Society.

  Two days before Christmas, Gideon, Sabrina and the children climbed into two carriages for the move across town to Grandmama’s luxurious townhouse on St. James Square. Sabrina’s ball would take place there that night.

  “You must all move to my house,” Grandmama had said, several days earlier, beginning her argument. “Sabrina, you would be able to feed Juliana before the ball and return upstairs mid-way through, if needs be.” That pretty much won Sabrina over, Gideon thought. Damn, the old bird was good.

  “If the boys were there, I would allow them to peek into the ballroom from the musicians gallery, early in the evening,” she said. “They would be able to see you both in your finery, dancing together at a great ball.” Gideon knew that second argument won Rafe and Damon’s approval.

  “And since the day after the ball is Christmas Eve,” she added. “We can all settle in for our first family Christmas together.” This won him over, though he thought Sabrina and the boys looked less certain by then.

  “It all sounded so easy, so reasonable, when Grandmama suggested all of this,” Sabrina all but wailed in the carriage on their way to Basingstoke. “But I am nervous as a cat.”

  “Mincemeat is not nervous, are you fellow,” Rafe asked the cat purring in his lap.

  “Which reminds me,” Gideon said to Damon. “You did take Drizzle for his walk, as I asked, right before we left?”

  Damon petted his pup’s exposed belly. “He drizzled like he was s’pose to, didn’t you boy?”

  The boys had not taken to calling him Papa, Gideon mused, regarding them across the carriage with their pets. Neither did they call him Papa Gideon. Damon had, the day after their talk, called him Uncle Papa, for effect, Gideon suspected, then he had rolled on the floor giggling. But nothing more had come of the conversation.

  Not that it mattered.

  At Basingstoke, the children, including Juliana, were settled into the nursery. Sabrina and Gideon took the master suite that Grandmama had vacated the day she lost husband number two.

  The rest of the evening, he devoted to not dressing for the ball. It never took him as long to dress as his wife, so he bided his time before beginning, anxious as a boy at Christmas to see his wife in all her finery. Not in black, he thought with a smile.

  Suddenly he wondered what he was doing pacing, waiting to see Sabrina in her gown, when he had much rather see her out of it.

  By the time the thought was finished, he had crossed his dressing room to hers, where he found her soaking in a slipper bath before the fire, hair piled atop her head in glorious disarray, alabaster skin gleaming from the fire’s glow. “A dream come true,” he said.

  Sabrina squeaked and dropped her soap. “Goodness. You startled me.”

  “Why have I not caught you in your bath before?” Gideon shut the door between their dressing rooms, lest Bilbury enter on his side. “Forgive me. I could wait no longer to see you.”

  “You can never wait,” she said. “You are the kind of man who would want to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “Excuse me, but in our case I wanted to bed the bride before the wedding.”

  “You want to bed the bride every day.”

  “Every hour.” He knelt beside the tub, rolled up his sleeves and went on a search for the soap, except that he found all manner of interesting diversions. “How old is Juliana, now?”

  “Not old enough. Gideon!” She slapped the water, as she went for his hands, splashing them both.

  Gideon touched his forehead to hers. “I am going to expire for wanting you.”

  “You have me.”

  “Do I?” he asked, sober of a sudden. “Sometimes I am not so sure.”

  Her maid came in then, and it was all Sabrina could do not to send poor Alice packing.

  Gideon rose and left without another word, leaving Sabrina deflated and hurt by his words, despite the truth in them.

  Her husband was a powerfully, sexual being, she must remember. Even without consummation, she had experienced more fulfillment in her short time with him than she had in her four-year marriage to Brian.

  Then again, she could never compare the two men.

  Brian felt compelled toward brutality, in and out of bed.

  Gideon was a gentle man, in the true sense of the word. Yet the thought of full surrender to him still scared Sabrina witless. Not that he would hurt her. He never would. He would always put her first, whether his aim was her welfare, her wellbeing, or her sexual fulfillment.

  No, it was that she would be giving up the last vestige of herself left to her. But she simply did not know whether she could continue to withhold her heart from a man who demanded everything, in all ways, and who gave her as much, though he, too, seemed to guard his heart much of the time.

  She was beginning to fear, however, that she no longer wanted to withhold hers, not from Gideon, and that was the most frightening notion of all.

  Sabrina swallowed against tears of confusion and turned her attention to dressing.

  In his bedchamber, Gideon ached as he paced, while frustration, anger, and determination, coursed through him in turn.

  All he wanted was to seduce his own damned stubborn wife, by God. He ran a hand through his thick waves. How could he blame Sabrina for shying away from so final a commitment to a worthless rogue like him?

  In that moment, he felt somewhat the way he used to as he watched his parents absorption in each other, wishing that a place existed in their circle for him.

  Not much in life had changed for him, except that, perhaps now, to a degree, Damon must see something, some worth in him. Else, why the boy’s continued attention, his ease and comfort in his presence? Even Rafe sought him out more often than not.

  And Juliana, well, to her, he seemed to be...everything. Heady notion. Too bad she was too small to understand her dedication.

  Still, the children, the others, they all seemed to look up to him. “So where the bloody devil am I going wrong with my own damned, stubborn wife?” he shouted.

  “I am sure I do not know, your grace,” Bilbury said, coming into the room.

  Ten minutes before the receiving line was due to form, Bilbury checked his appearance one last time. That his meticulous valet regarded him as if he were a work of art, encouraged Gideon. Bilbury removed a spec from his black tailed-frock-coat here, straightened its stand-fall collar there.

  At the last, his fastidious valet wh
isked a brush down Gideon’s silver satin knee breeches, smoothed his white silk stockings and quick-buffed his black patent pumps. Within the pocket of Gideon’s white-embroidered satin waistcoat, his valet tucked his watch and fob, and last, but not least, he tied Gideon’s cravat in a perfect Oriental.

  “Shall I do, Bilbury?”

  His man held up a finger as if all that was required was one last touch, then he slipped Gideon’s diamond and ruby stickpin into his neck cloth and beamed. “Splendid, your grace.”

  Gideon nodded. “Thank you, Bilbury.” He grabbed a flat, square, velvet box and crossed the dressing rooms into his wife’s bedchamber. There he stopped, moving and breathing. The clock struck before he could speak, and even then, he could form only one word. “Stunning.”

  “But there is too little dress.” In panic, Sabrina turned before her cheval glass. “Grandmama insisted it would suit.”

  “It very much suits,” Gideon said, calming her. “The dress and the goddess within suit me very well. Gad, I cannot believe you are mine.”

  “Oh Gideon.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she stepped into Gideon’s arms and he closed them hard around her. They held each other for a time then they kissed before stepping apart. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel better now.”

  “So do I.” He regarded her dress again. “What do you call the style? It is very different, yet very much de rigueur.”

  “Madame Suzette calls it a pseudo-Greek classical, Empire-style gown, over a slip of taffeta. I call it amaranthus gown with scandalous decolletage.”

  He stroked her breast along the edge of it, until her eyes seemed as warm as he felt. “I always enjoy anything scandalous and I applaud the decolletage.” Dangerous, he thought, and lowered his hands to his sides. “I also like the train, the way it sweeps the ground behind you as you walk.”

  “The color is so bright after wearing black for so long.”

  Too long, Gideon thought, for the likes of Brian Whitcomb. “It is a pinkish sort of purple so you could perhaps think of it as half-mourning, if you must. The dress does suit you, Sabrina. You look a positive confection with your breasts pushed up by the gown’s high waist in that way.” Gideon lifted her breasts in his hands, just to test his theory, winning himself a sample of his wife’s tinkling laughter.

  “You, Sabrina St. Goddard, are every inch the confection I would most like to feast upon, but before I do, there is the small matter of Grandmama’s ball.”

  He offered her the flat velvet box. “For my Duchess. Open it.”

  “What is it?” Sabrina asked, as if she were afraid to accept it.

  “Something to compliment your gown, not that you do not enhance it gloriously without jewels.” He pulled the box’s lid back for her viewing pleasure.

  Gideon feared for a moment that she would faint, so pale did she become when she saw the triple strand necklace of diamonds and rubies. “It matches your stickpin,” she said.

  “They are both St. Goddard family heirlooms. This necklace was to be passed to my bride. Later, our eldest son—providing we ever consummate our marriage….” Gideon softened his comment with a wink. “And we will. Our son will someday present this very necklace to his Duchess, as I am now presenting it to mine. Turn around, so I may fasten it.”

  Sabrina’s hands were shaking a minute later when she touched the ornate circlet, as if she could not believe it rested there, against her very own skin. “Oh, Gideon, I am afraid I will lose it.”

  “You will not.” He fished in his pocket, opened her hand and placed something more inside. “Matching ear bobs,” he said, watching her in her mirror as she fastened them.

  “I will be the envy of every man present,” he said, coming to stand behind her.

  Their eyes met in the full-length mirror.

  “And you, my dragon rogue will flutter all female hearts. If you were not mine, every unmarried lady at the ball would pursue you.”

  Gideon raised an arrogant brow.

  Sabrina raised her own. “And every married one as well, I suppose?”

  Gideon grinned. “Naturally.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I feel as if we will grow roots, if we stand in this receiving line much longer,” Sabrina whispered an hour later. “I have met so many Lords and Ladies that I will never keep them all straight.”

  “So many boring Lords and Ladies, you mean,” Gideon said. “And I do feel the distinct sprouting of a taproot.”

  “That will be enough, you two.” Gideon’s grandmother tapped his shoulder with her fan. “Behave yourselves.”

  “Grandmama, if we were not behaving ourselves, we would be in b— Good evening Lady Digby, Lord Digby. May I present my Duchess?”

  When the receiving line broke up, Gideon led Sabrina behind Grandmama to the top of the stairs. As the announcer intoned, ‘The Duke and Duchess of Stanthorpe,” Gideon covered Sabrina’s hand on his arm and squeezed it. “Chin up, Beautiful,” he said as they descended the long graceful stairway into the ballroom.

  The entire assemblage—hundreds of them—stopped talking. Some even appeared to stop breathing, simply to watch them descend. Sabrina’s heart quickened. “Everyone is staring.”

  “They are savoring the sight of the most exquisite woman in England,” Gideon replied. “Flash your smile, Sabrina, and a dozen men will swoon as their ladies turn green. Gad, I am proud to have you on my arm.”

  They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, where Gideon requested a waltz from the orchestra for the first dance, and the musicians obliged.

  He bowed. “May I have the honor, your grace?”

  Sabrina curtseyed. “I would be delighted.”

  Gideon swept his bride into his arms and waltzed her onto the floor, the two of them dancing alone in the huge gilt and crystal ballroom.

  Captive to her husband’s hot, hunter green gaze, Sabrina felt as if they waltzed alone in the center of the universe.

  Her bubble burst, however, when the highest echelon of London Society, along the periphery of the ballroom, broke into spontaneous applause.

  A few minutes later, Sabrina gazed about her. “Why is no one else dancing? I expected everyone to join us.”

  “They are affording us the honor of the first dance.”

  “I feel conspicuous.”

  “That’s what comes of being a Duchess.”

  “Why did you ask Lady Jersey in the receiving line if I could waltz? Should you not have asked me?”

  “There are rules in London Society, which I will teach you in time, though none are quite as strict for a married woman. In this case, however, because of Veronica’s venomous rumors, I thought it prudent to stroke society’s haughtiest feathers, beginning at the top. Sally Jersey, you will soon discover, is as close to the top as you can get, without tripping over Prinny.”

  “Prinny?”

  “The Prince Regent, someday to become King George the Fourth?”

  “I see.”

  “If we can position ourselves on Sally Jersey’s good side,” Gideon said. “We are on our way to full acceptance.”

  “If you care so much to be on society’s good side, why did you marry me?”

  “I have often wondered that myself,” her husband dared reply.

  Offense stiffened Sabrina’s spine, until Gideon leaned near, stroking her ear with his warm breath. “Perhaps because, the moment I saw you, I knew that I wanted you in my bed.”

  Sabrina raised her chin. “I am certain you have wanted to bed any number of women at first sight.”

  “I have. But they were, none of them, in a delicate condition at the time, believe me. Neither did I consider marriage, even for a minute, to any of them.”

  “Do not mock my intelligence. You married me to honor your promise to Hawksworth.”

  “I could have honored it as well, I believe, by buying you a house and settling a more-than comfortable competence on you. I considered it, before I met you. Of course, back then, I did not know that settlements would be
required for each of the boys, as would a dowry for Sweetpea.”

  His words lightened her heart. “We gave our daughter a beautiful name. Why do you call her Sweetpea?”

  “Well, she is sweet and she is always p—”

  “Gideon.”

  The outrageous twinkle in his eyes made Sabrina laugh outright.

  “Do not look now,” he said. But you have just earned the adoration of another score of admirers.

  Sabrina scanned the crowd watching them and scoffed.

  “Believe it or not, in stroking Society’s plumes, I am thinking ahead to the eventual acceptance of Damon, Rafferty and...Sweetpea.”

  “Why do you not have pet names for the boys?”

  “First she chides me about one pet name and now she requires more. But, I can think of none that suit our boys better than their own names.”

  “Hawksworth used to call them Demon and Rapscallion.”

  Gideon barked a laugh. “That sounds like him, but I do not believe either boy deserves so negative a monogram.”

  For better or worse, another piece of Sabrina’s heart fell to her husband.

  She barely made peace with the fact before she noticed, on the sidelines, the figure of a squat little man she could not place being introduced to Lady Veronica. Much as he reminded her of Lowick, she knew that one such as he would never be accepted in this exalted company.

  Something in the scene dimmed Sabrina’s joy, but since she could not seem to wrap her mind around the reason for her inner tremor, she relegated the odd fancy to the back of her mind.

  “We are being watched again,” she said, to make conversation and turn her thoughts.

  Gideon chuckled. “I daresay. Like me, none of them can keep their gazes off you.”

  “Are the jewels too much, do you think?”

  “For the Duchess of Stanthorpe, the most breathtaking woman in the room? I think not. Besides, you are not conspicuous in your jewels, Sabrina, but in the beauty you radiate.”

  “Oh, Gideon.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I see that Lady Veronica and her rude escort are joining us on the dance-floor.” Gideon raised a particularly mischievous brow. “The rogue my grandmother names me prompts me to teach the Lady, and I use the term loosely, a lesson.” He laughed at his double entendre, slowed and skewered his wife with a heated gaze. “Shall we?”