Along Came a Rogue

by Anna Harrington

  Her eyes flickered at that, making him think she was pleased at the way he challenged her. But whatever he’d seen on her face disappeared quickly. “All these years, I’ve kept watch on you, and not once did you try to learn the truth from me. The one person who would have known, the one person who knew everything that happened in Trovesbury Village…not the vicar, not the constable.”

  She reached into the pocket of her pelisse and withdrew two letters, then tossed them onto the floor between them. His eyes followed—the letters he’d written to the parish vicar and county constable inquiring about his birth. The hairs on his nape bristled.

  “You could have come to me at any time, Nathaniel, but you never did. Until tonight.”

  “It never mattered before,” he answered honestly.

  Her lips pulled into a slow, knowing smile. “So you’ve set your sights on Lady Emily, have you?”

  Despite the tightening of his gut, he stared at her stoically, years of gambling and spying teaching him to hide all emotion from his opponent. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I’m overreaching my station, being too ambitious for a former groom who mucked out your stables? For a soldier to dare aspire to marry a duke’s daughter?”

  She scoffed at that. “Of course not.”

  “Why not? Everyone else in your social circle would.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and fixed his gaze hard on her. “Yet you know I’m even worse than that, don’t you? You know I was an orphan. You’ve known from the moment I arrived at Henley Park.”

  “Yes.” Her gaze never wavered from his.

  “Yet you, a woman who shouldn’t have deigned to even glance in my direction, think so highly of me.” His eyes flickered as they studied her. “I could never figure out why you would pay any attention to me at all—the urchin for whom you arranged an education equal to that of your own grandsons, whom you got commissioned into the First Dragoons.”

  “You achieved success yourself, Nathaniel. I only made certain the right people noticed.”

  “Yet I was nothing to you.” He paused significantly. “Unless I wasn’t. Unless you knew something that held you in debt to me.” He leaned back in the chair and swirled the scotch in his glass. “Are you going to tell me now, or should I start guessing?”

  “Something tells me your first guess would be correct,” she murmured.

  Keeping his silence, and trying to ignore the sudden nervous pounding of his heart, he stared at her and waited. He knew. Something inside him had known for years but denied it, had known but never pressed for the truth. Because knowing the truth would not have made any difference.

  Until Emily.

  “Boys showed up all the time at Henley to ask for work in the stables or gardens.” She stared down into her glass, her voice distant and reaching far back into herself. “But there was one…The first time I spotted that boy, I knew who he was. I recognized my son Charles in him as clearly as if he were once again standing before me himself as a child. So I made certain the boy was given work in the stables, an education, and later, an army commission. It was the same career he would have gotten had he been publicly recognized as my grandson.”

  Grey felt the words swirl down his spine, as clearly as if she’d shouted it—Viscount Henley was his father.

  “But now,” she continued as she looked up at him, “that boy wants to marry the daughter of a duke, and all that he has accomplished is still not enough, is it?”

  “No,” he admitted quietly, setting the unwanted scotch aside. This fight with the dowager had been a long time in coming, but it was still far from over. “You know what I need from you,” he told her quietly. “Why I came here.”

  “I told you before, Nathaniel. I will do anything I can to make your way easier—I owe you that. But I will not let you nor anyone else hurt the Henley name.” She shook her head. “Your legitimacy will irrevocably damage the reputation of my family, and I cannot allow that.”

  “You’ve freely given me everything else.” A warning edged low in his voice. “Do you really want me to take this by force?”

  Her lips pressed together. “You have no proof.”

  “I don’t need proof. All I need is rumor, helped along by the fact that I look just enough like Charles Henley to fan the gossip.” He shrugged, hoping she understood that he was not bluffing in this. “I already possess the reputation of a rake. I have nothing to lose.”

  But she did. Her family’s reputation could be ruined by the scandal, and from the troubled frown on her wrinkled brow, she knew it, too.

  She stared at him, as if trying to determine if he would truly destroy her family if she refused, if he would take his pursuit of recognition as a Henley through blood and battle. But he could have saved her the trouble of wondering; he would certainly do just that, if necessary. Recognition of his legitimacy was all that now stood between him and complete happiness with Emily, and he refused to give up the fight.

  “I don’t want to disparage your family, Lady Henley, but I swear to you I will if I have to. You know the man I am.” He locked his gaze with hers. “You know I will do exactly that if left no other choice.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move. Then he saw her shoulders sag, and he knew he’d won.

  Nodding slowly as she exhaled a shaking sigh, she rose from her chair, and Grey stood, affording her the respect she deserved as a lady. And as his grandmother. Her old body was stiff and moved slowly as she crossed the room to the small desk beneath the window, but the woman was still formidable despite her age, still intimidating enough that few would dare defy her.

  She sat with a grace that hinted at the delicate beauty she had once possessed in her younger days and pulled open the drawer to reach for the pen set and paper within.

  “I have no idea who your mother was, and I am certain that even Charles did not know he’d gotten a child on the woman.” She scratched the quill across the paper, pausing in her missive to glance pointedly across the room at him. “My son may not be faithful, but he is always careful. I assume that in this situation with you he shall be no different. Be careful in turn with him, then, Nathaniel.”

  “I will.” He took the warning to heart, not imagining that the viscount would take well a forced recognition of his bastard son nearly thirty years after the fact. But the man would simply have to learn to live with it.

  “I suppose I put off this moment as long as I did because it never would have made a difference before,” she admitted grudgingly, “except to hurt the family. And there will be scandal and gossip, be assured of that. All I can do is help control the damage.”

  “Be assured that I never wanted to hurt your family.”

  Her only acknowledgment of his comment was a small nod of her head and a tight pursing of her lips. It would cause scandal for the Henleys, yet illegitimate children were common among the ton. The news would be replaced by some other juicy scandal by year’s end, and by then, everyone would have stopped caring about his connection to them.

  And God willing, by then, Emily would finally be his wife.

  She carefully blotted her signature, then folded the letter and held it out to him. “There—my statement of legitimacy, officially recognizing you as my grandson.”

  Giving her the courtesy of not reading it, he slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

  Her tired eyes met his with an air of inevitability, as if she’d been expecting this moment for a very long time. And truly, he’d noticed that she’d not struggled with a single word in her written statement, most likely having rehearsed it in her mind for years.

  “To avoid as much scandal as possible,” she explained, “we will take the initiative. Charles will quietly recognize you as his son within the next fortnight.”

  “How can you be certain of that?”

  “I shall make certain of it. If he wants to inherit my dower when I die, then he’ll have no choice.” She looked at him incredulously, as if he were mad to ever doubt her ability to obtain exact
ly what she wanted. In this life or the next. “I regret the circumstances of tonight and wish there had been another way. But I do not regret helping you become the man you are. You have done well for yourself, Nathaniel, as successfully as if you had been recognized from the beginning. Better than his other sons, in fact.” She paused, and in the dim light, he thought he could see her eyes glistening. “I wish you and Lady Emily well.”

  Standing regally, she reached to take his hand, and he let her. A very small but first step in reconciliation and forgiveness, for both of them.

  * * *

  Emily sat back in her bed, propped up by half a dozen pillows piled behind her, and held her sleeping son in her arms. The love and happiness swelling inside her nearly overwhelmed her.

  A baby…she had a baby now, and she could barely believe it. A little wriggling mass of pink flesh and a dusting of dark hair, a tiny upturned nose and full lips beneath long lashes closed in sleep. Blue eyes, like hers. Ten fingers, ten toes—she knew because she’d counted them at least a dozen times since the midwife first placed him in her arms. He was a tiny miracle, and she lowered her lips to gently kiss his forehead and breathe in deep the sweet scent of him. She supposed she should put him back into the bassinet drawn up beside her bed so both of them could get a few hours of sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of him. Not yet. They had been through too much together to part so quickly, even just to lay him down for a nap.

  Beyond her bedroom windows, dawn arrived over the city, the dark night fading away into muted blues and pinks beneath the growing light as the sun inched higher. She couldn’t help but feel as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the new day to break, and that a new part of her life was dawning along with the morning.

  A knock sounded softly at her door, but her gaze never left her baby’s sleeping face. She smiled as he stirred in his sleep, his little fist lifting to his mouth to suck on his fingers.

  “Emily.” Heat swirled down her spine at the sound of her name, spoken in a deep, reverent tone.

  She glanced up to find Grey standing in the doorway, his chocolate eyes warm as he took in the sight of her and the baby in the morning light.

  “Dear God,” he breathed hoarsely, a softly stricken expression on his handsome face, “you are so lovely.”

  She knew she looked a fright, wearing only her dressing gown and a fresh night rail she’d tugged on after her bath, with her hair pulled back into a loose chignon at her neck to keep it out of her way. And she was certain her face appeared just as tired as she felt.

  “I’m a mess,” she corrected, flushing with embarrassment.

  “Not to me. To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Her throat tightened with emotion. Smiling at him, her eyes gleaming, she lifted the sleeping bundle in her arms. “Look what I have,” she teased, wonder audible in her voice. “It’s a baby.”

  His lips tugged upward. “So I heard.”

  “Would you like to meet him?”

  His eyes flickered warmly over the baby as he stared at the little bundle in her arms. “Very much.”

  Slowly, Grey came forward and sat on the edge of her bed. She turned slightly to bring her son between them. Carefully, he pulled down the baby’s soft blanket with his forefinger and stared in astonishment.

  “So small, yet so perfect,” he whispered. He drew his fingertip along the curve of the baby’s chin. When he touched the pink lips, the baby opened his mouth and instinctively tried to suckle his finger.

  She heard him catch his breath, saw the mix of love, pride, and utter amazement flash across his face. Her heart melted with overwhelming love, that something this small, this helpless and vulnerable, could stir such emotion in him.

  He blinked hard and cleared his throat. “Have you given him a name?”

  “Stephen.”

  “Stephen,” he repeated quietly. “Edward Westover had an older brother named Stephen.”

  “Kate told me. Do you think Edward will mind?”

  “Not at all. Stephen was a good man, and he deserves to be remembered. It’s a fine name…Hello, Stephen.”

  The baby’s tiny hand clasped around Grey’s finger, and he made a soft mewling sound in his sleep.

  Grey chuckled. “I think he likes it.”

  “Good.” She nodded, adjusting a tiny bootie on the baby’s foot. “Family is important.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed in a soft murmur, an odd tone to his voice she couldn’t quite place.

  “He has Thomas for an uncle, and I would like Edward and Kate Westover to be his godparents.”

  “They’ll be honored,” he assured her.

  She paused in her fussing with the bootie to flick her gaze up to his for only a beat before returning to her son. “When I said surrounded by family, I did not necessarily mean my parents, you understand.”

  He laughed and shifted to slip his arm behind her, finding a way to hold both of them in his arms. He placed a soft kiss at her temple.

  “As for the baptism, I’m certain my mother will insist it be held in St. Paul’s, but I know she won’t understand when the bishop calls out Stephen’s name. Family is important,” she repeated for emphasis, “and so he is being named after his family.” She whispered, finally raising her eyes to his. “Stephen Nathaniel Crenshaw.”

  His lips parted in stunned surprise. “Emily—”

  “I thought that I could let you go, that letting you go to Spain was the best choice for you,” she rushed out quickly, “but I was wrong. When I asked for you last night after the baby was born and you weren’t here—I couldn’t bear it, Grey.” She reached for his hand as it rested on the mattress beside her, her trembling fingers lacing through his. “I need you, Stephen needs you…and you need us.”

  She leaned forward to touch her lips to his, closing her eyes as she willed with every ounce of strength left inside her for him to realize how much she loved him, how much she and her son needed him. How she couldn’t tolerate the thought that the sun might rise tomorrow to find him far away from her.

  For a moment, he didn’t move, and then his lips began to gently caress hers. His mouth slid along her jaw to her ear before he shifted away from her.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you last night.” He looked down at the baby and ran his hand over Stephen’s smooth head. “I wanted to be here, but there was a woman I had to find.”

  “Oh.” A woman. A hollow pain panged in her chest. She gave a soft sniff and tried to hide the jealousy that flashed white-hot through her.

  He grinned. “My grandmother.”

  Her heart skipped, not understanding. “Grandmother?”

  With a firm nod, he withdrew a folded paper from his jacket pocket and held it out to her.

  She stared at the note, barely able to breathe from the stunned surprise cascading through her in waves. “What is that?” she whispered.

  “A birthday gift for you and Stephen.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Read it.”

  With trembling fingers, sensing the enormity of the moment, she took the note and read the elegant handwriting. A single sentence with a signature beneath…A gasp tore from her throat. This was impossible!

  Her eyes flew up to his, her fingers tightening against the note so hard she wrinkled the paper. She fixed her gaze on his face, on trying to find sense in what he was showing her.

  “Viscount Henley?” she breathed.

  “Yes.”

  “No!” With a fierce shake of her head, she shoved the note back at him. “I love you, Grey. I don’t care who your family is or is not—it holds no importance for me. I don’t need that declaration to build a future with you.”

  “I know,” he told her softly. “But it will make that future easier, if you still want me.”

  Tears gathered on her lashes as she admitted, “I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen, from the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  He reached into his pocket again, this time to withdraw th
e engagement ring he’d offered her three months ago. The tiny ring of diamonds and sapphires shined in the morning sunlight as he tenderly slipped it onto her left hand and raised it to his lips to kiss it.

  “I love you,” she whispered past the knot of emotion in her throat.

  “You’d better.” With a wolfish grin, he murmured, “Because now that I’ve got you, I am never letting you go.”

  Smiling through her tears, she lifted the baby toward him. “Hold your son, Nathaniel.”

  As she placed Stephen into his arms, his chocolate-brown eyes found hers. In their warm depths she saw their future stretching out across all the years before them. Together. “I love you, Emily.”

  “You’d better,” she purred his words back to him, leaning in to kiss him over their sleeping son, “because I am never letting you go.”

  Thomas Matteson vows to capture the highwayman who has been lifting the ton’s purses. But when the thief turns out to be the most beautiful, fascinating woman he has ever seen, Thomas may be the one in danger of having his heart stolen…

  Please see the next page for a preview of

  HOW I MARRIED A MARQUESS.

  Chapter One

  Mayfair, London

  October 1817

  Lord Chesney?” Jensen’s voice cut through the midmorning stillness of the stables behind Chatham House. “Are you here, sir?”

  Inside the end stall box, Thomas Matteson, Marquess of Chesney, stilled, hoping the butler would simply leave and not interrupt his morning. The same morning he’d so carefully arranged by giving the grooms time off to attend Tattersall’s. He let the silence of the stables answer for him, interrupted only by the restless shifting of horses in their stalls and a pawing of hooves. One of them snorted in reply.

  But Jensen persisted in ruining his morning. “Sir?”

  Stifling a curse, Thomas stepped into the aisle and closed the door firmly behind him. He brushed the straw from the sleeves of his maroon riding jacket. “What is it, Jensen?”