Jilted by a Rogue

by Cheryl Holt

  “You’re not a virgin anymore,” he told her.

  “I guessed that all on my own.”

  “What is your opinion? Was it anything like you imagined it would be?”

  “It was and it wasn’t. I realized it was physical conduct, but I didn’t realize just how physical.”

  “Are you sore in your womanly parts?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That means we can do it again.”

  He sighed with pleasure and snuggled her close. She fit beside him so well, as if she’d been created for that very purpose and no other.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We doze for awhile, then we’ll misbehave in other ways.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Two? Three?”

  “I can’t tarry,” she said. “I have to sneak out before Brinley returns, and I certainly need to be home before dawn.”

  “You can stay for a bit though, can’t you? I’m not ready for you to leave.”

  She nodded. “I can stay for a bit.”

  “I’m glad we did this.”

  “So am I—much to my astonishment—but when will the sky begin to lighten?”

  “Around five.”

  “Victoria will likely hear me stumble in, and I would hate to have to invent stories about where I’ve been. She’d never believe I danced until morning.”

  “She’s not your mother,” he pointed out. “Must you explain yourself to her?”

  “No, she’s not my mother, but she is my friend, and she warned me about you.”

  He smirked with amusement. “Apparently, you didn’t listen.”

  “No, I definitely didn’t listen. For some reason—that is a complete mystery to me—you overwhelm all my good intentions.”

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her over so she was draped across his chest, her ear directly over his heart. She fell asleep, but he didn’t. He stared at the ceiling, absorbing every detail, relishing the feel of her, the smell of her.

  Ultimately, he noticed a change in the night breeze. A silence settled in outside, indicating dawn was about to break.

  He murmured, “Amelia.”

  She was confused, and she leapt up on an elbow and glanced about, trying to figure out where she was. But she relaxed swiftly enough and hunkered down.

  “I’m still naked,” she said. “What is wrong with me? Have I no shame?”

  “I like you like this.”

  “I’ve been thoroughly debauched. What will become of me?”

  “I have many grand ideas about that.”

  “I bet you do. I don’t suppose any of them include a marriage proposal.”

  “Not at the moment,” he said, skating over her pertinent comment. It wasn’t a discussion he planned to have with her. Not ever. “We have to get you home, and we probably ought to hurry.”

  “Yes, we probably should.” Yet she didn’t move, and she laughed a tad hysterically. “I think you’ve paralyzed me with passion. My body won’t obey a single command.”

  He snorted and slid off the bed, straightened his trousers, and donned his clothes. Then he lifted her to a sitting position, balancing her on the edge of the mattress, her feet on the floor. He dressed her as if she were a child who couldn’t manage it on her own. It was the most precious interval he’d ever passed with a female, and he was shocked at how much he enjoyed it.

  He couldn’t fix her hair though, so he tied it with a ribbon, and he could only hope Victoria didn’t meet her at the door and wonder what had happened to yank out all the pins and combs.

  Once she was presentable, he stood her on her feet, and even though the place was still empty, they tiptoed down the stairs. She lived a few blocks away, so they arrived much sooner than he wanted to.

  He stole one last kiss, and as she scooted out of his arms, he was quite distraught. He nearly suggested they return to his house, that they never leave it again, but that was madness in the extreme.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Stop by to see me later today,” she said. “Will you promise? If you don’t, I’ll die from missing you.”

  At the request, his pulse raced with elation. He reached for her, but she rushed off and crept inside without a backward glance.

  He dawdled in the street like a fool, like a man who was all alone in the world, like a man who had nowhere else to go. He kept waiting for her, expecting she’d sneak back out or that she’d pop up in the window and share a final look, but she didn’t.

  He spun away and headed home, but after he was there, the notion of entering—without her being there too—was too depressing. He went the other way, to the stables to check on his horses.

  They would fill the void she’d left. He was sure of it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Amelia stood in the grand foyer of Conte Corpetto’s villa. She’d provided her name to a servant and had asked to see him. She figured—if she was granted an audience—he wasn’t Holden Cartwright, but if he was her old beau, how would he dare talk to her?

  She wasn’t sure why she’d climbed the hill to visit him. She’d promised James she wouldn’t, but she’d come anyway. No matter what—whether he was Mr. Cartwright or Conte Corpetto—he shouldn’t be within a thousand miles of Brinley Hastings. If Amelia could bring about no other result, she would try to save Brinley from the inappropriate relationship.

  The servant scurried back, claiming the Conte was indisposed, and she couldn’t decide if she was irked or relieved.

  What with the sudden escalation of her affair with James, she had enough to keep her fretting. It was the real reason she’d hoped to speak to Corpetto. She’d been pacing the floor in her parlor, feeling claustrophobic, as if she were choking on all her secrets.

  She was anxious to confide in Victoria, but at the same juncture, she couldn’t imagine telling her. How could she tell anyone? She’d behaved like a trollop, and she wasn’t sorry.

  Since their initial tryst, she’d dallied with him on three other occasions. Their illicit passion was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She was desperately in love with him now, and while she wasn’t so idiotic that she’d assume he loved her in return, he certainly possessed significant affection.

  She’d been glad to flee the stifling cottage, to breathe some fresh air and clear her mind. Her dour mood had led her directly to the villa where she’d been determined to achieve a resolution with the Conte.

  Apparently, no resolution would occur, and she stomped out. As she marched down the bricked driveway, she stopped and glanced back. To her surprise, he was in an upstairs window, watching her depart. They stared forever, then a slow grin spread across his face, and he winked at her. That wink was so shocking that she staggered and nearly fell.

  Mr. Cartwright had often winked at her just that way—when their companions were being silly, when an absurd conversation was swirling, when he was teasing her.

  It was him! It really, truly was, and she was so flabbergasted by his brazenness that she was dizzy with affront. Obviously, he wanted her to recognize him. Did he view his current situation as another lark or jest? Was he apprising her that she was in on the joke?

  She bristled with disgust, then she stormed inside. The servant was still there, but he was loafing in the corner, not paying attention as she rushed in and flitted up the stairs.

  “Miss Boyle!” he shouted. “Miss Boyle! What are you doing?”

  She had too much of a head start, so he couldn’t catch her. At the top, she dashed down an open hall that looked down on the garden where the ball had been held a few nights earlier. In the light of day, it wasn’t as big or as fancy as it had seemed in the dark when there had been colored lanterns hanging everywhere and jewel-bedecked guests had been drinking champagne and dancing under the stars.

  There was a porch at the end, and he was sitting at a table, enjoying a glass of
wine. He was alone and wearing casual clothes, any hint of his Italian military uniform tucked away. She raced in and skidded to a halt, the servant hot on her heels.

  “My apologies, Conte Corpetto,” the man said. “I told her you wouldn’t see her, but she just blustered in!”

  Mr. Cartwright waved him away, and he slinked out. Then they froze, Amelia glowering, Mr. Cartwright appearing bored and blasé.

  “Hello, Amelia.” His Italian accent had vanished.

  “Mr. Cartwright? It’s you, isn’t it? I knew it!”

  “Won’t you join me?”

  He gestured for her to approach, and as she walked over, she was practically tiptoeing. She felt as if she was sneaking up on a venomous snake. One wrong move and he’d deliver a deadly bite.

  She sat as he’d requested, but she was balanced on the edge of her chair, ready to leap up and escape. As it was, her heart was beating so fast, her pulse thundering in her ears so loudly, that she could barely hear anything.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked. “It’s a delicious vintage. The Spaniards can definitely run a winery.”

  “No, thank you,” she forced out.

  “I must admit that I’m stunned to stumble on you in Gibraltar.”

  “I could say the same.”

  “When you attended my ball, I couldn’t believe it. I’m sorry that we didn’t have a chance to chat.”

  “Why are you here, Mr. Cartwright?”

  “I’m reveling in the beautiful weather.”

  “Is that your story? You’re reveling in the weather?”

  “Yes. How about you?”

  He was aware of how distressed she’d been after her mother’s death. It was why he’d been able to coerce her so easily. She’d been distracted by despondency. He’d also been aware that Evan was posted to the Mediterranean and based out of Gibraltar, but his question indicated that he’d forgotten those details about her and her paltry life.

  It was a galling realization. Since that terrible day when he’d jilted her, she hadn’t ceased pondering him, but to him, she’d been so irrelevant that he probably hadn’t thought about her again.

  “I live here now,” was all she said.

  “As do I. How fortunate for both of us that we could journey to such a lovely spot on the globe.”

  She gaped at him, thinking there were a thousand topics they had to address, but then again, there was naught that truly had to be discussed. She tried to recall what it had been about him that had lured her into such rash conduct. All these months later, she simply couldn’t remember.

  “The morning we planned to elope,” she said, “you never came to get me. Why?”

  “After significant reflection, I didn’t suppose I should.”

  “I expected you to arrive.”

  “Really?”

  He studied her meticulously, as if he’d figured out everything about her, as if he’d known what she needed when she hadn’t known at all.

  “Why propose to me?” she asked. “If you didn’t intend to follow through, what possessed you?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “But afterward? Such as the day we were to leave, what was your opinion then?”

  “I’m not the marrying kind.”

  It was pointless to inquire, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Do you ever think about it? Do you ever regret hurting me?”

  “You were hurt?” He chuckled. “I doubt you were. Can you actually picture yourself being wed to me?”

  “No, I absolutely can’t.”

  “Weren’t you glad when I didn’t show up? Be honest. Didn’t you breathe a sigh of relief?”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being correct. “How long will you remain in Gibraltar?”

  “Not long,” he enigmatically claimed.

  “Why exactly are you here?”

  “I told you: for the weather.”

  “You’re not an Italian count. I could go to the authorities and report you.”

  “Citing what reason? I’m not bothering anyone, and it’s not against the law to pretend to be someone else. If it was, every actor on Earth would be in prison.”

  She couldn’t guess if his mischief was legal or not, but she was certain there were shady, dubious antics occurring. She didn’t believe for a single second that he was simply playing at being a nobleman.

  “When we met at Vauxhall, you honed in on me immediately. Why?”

  “You were pretty and lonely. Why wouldn’t I have flirted with you?”

  “I thought you liked me.”

  “I did. I do.”

  “I thought you wanted to marry me. I thought you were serious.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  He voiced the words so casually, so flippantly, that she wondered if he had a conscience. Could he feel sympathy for other people? Could he understand, in even the slightest way, how he’d humiliated her?

  “I was crushed when you didn’t come,” she said.

  He tsked with exasperation. “No, you weren’t. We’ve already agreed that you couldn’t possibly have been. You dodged a bullet, being shed of me.”

  “I see that now.”

  He sipped his wine, and she stared at the garden, at the harbor down below, the ships bobbing in the water. It was such a beautiful, bucolic sight, and if she lived to be a hundred, she’d never grow tired of it.

  Her mind was whirring with questions, with snotty comments and scathing accusations, but any remark she uttered would sound bitter and ridiculous. Why continue the conversation? What had she been hoping to achieve?

  “Why are you friendly with Brinley Hastings?” she asked.

  “She’s a lovely girl. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Have you proposed to her? Has she been tricked into thinking she’s about to wed an Italian count?”

  He laughed. “Brinley is much too smart to fall for any of my schemes.”

  Which meant he’d viewed Amelia as a gullible idiot, but hadn’t she been just that in her dealings with him? Stupid and gullible?

  “You still haven’t explained why you’re friends with her.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He downed his wine and refilled his glass, and he gazed at her over the rim. “Her brother is quite a dashing fellow. The two of you were the handsomest couple at my party.”

  “I’m so delighted that you noticed,” she sarcastically said.

  “Has he proposed? Will there be wedding bells in your future?”

  “Me? And Captain Hastings?”

  “Yes. He’d be a terrific catch for you, wouldn’t he? With him being Lord Denby, well! I’d be happy to hear you wound up with someone so splendid.”

  It was infuriating for him to mention James and marriage in the same sentence! She was so incensed that she was trembling.

  She pushed back her chair and stood.

  “Goodbye,” she fumed. “I will work hard to ensure we don’t cross paths.”

  “I wouldn’t be upset to see you again, Amelia. I’ve always enjoyed your company. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

  “Be silent, Mr. Cartwright!”

  “You seem angry with me. How have I distressed you?”

  “I don’t care about your wretched villa or your fake persona. I don’t care about the games you’re playing in Gibraltar, but I do care about Brinley Hastings, and I demand you sever your relationship with her.”

  “She might have a different opinion about it.”

  “After I flee your despicable presence, I’m going straight to her brother. I’ll inform him of what kind of fiend you are.”

  “No, you won’t. Why would you embarrass yourself that way? It would only reveal how imprudent you can be. You can’t want him to learn you have such a character flaw. If you’re overly candid, how will you entice him into matrimony?”

  “Captain Hastings is dangerous when he’s riled,” she said. “When are you depa
rting Gibraltar? What should I tell him so he doesn’t murder you?”

  “You may tell him I will be gone very, very soon.”

  “Marvelous. That last night in London, when you had supper in my home, did you steal my mother’s pearls?”

  He scoffed. “First off, I had no idea your mother had any pearls, and second, when and how would I have committed a theft?”

  She whipped away and stormed out, and as she descended the stairs into the foyer, Brinley was arriving. She looked striking as ever, her auburn hair curled and styled, her gown expensive and alluring. It was cut low in the front, with little cap sleeves, so she was showing an enormous amount of bare skin.

  “Miss Boyle,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been conferring with Mr. Cartwright.”

  Brinley didn’t react to Amelia’s use of his real name. She flashed an innocent grin. “Who is Mr. Cartwright? Does the Conte have a guest?”

  “Would you leave with me, Miss Hastings?” Amelia asked. “I’d like us to speak with your brother about you and the Conte.”

  “Why would I let James ruin a perfect afternoon?”

  “I’m acquainted with Conte Corpetto. From before—in London.”

  “I don’t think so, Miss Boyle. He’s never been to England.”

  “Don’t tarry with him. Come with me. Please?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll talk to your brother without you then. He has to be apprised about this liaison you’re pursuing. He’ll put an end to it. Best prepare yourself.”

  Brinley blew out a heavy breath, as if Amelia was a great burden. “Miss Boyle, if you suppose James gives two figs about me, you are sadly mistaken. Feel free to tattle to him. You’ll find out what he’s like.”

  “He won’t allow this to continue. I guarantee it.”

  “Weren’t you listening, Miss Boyle? James is a typical Hastings male. I’ve been dealing with them all my life. He won’t bestir himself, and I suggest you mind your own business.”

  She sauntered off, and Amelia was desperate to stop her. She couldn’t imagine what was occurring between the pair. Was Brinley assuming she was engaged to Holden Cartwright? He’d insisted not, but he was a liar. Might Brinley expect she was about to elope—only to have her fiancé fail to appear? Or might they traipse off together where she’d be abandoned out on the road?