The Right Kind of Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  If it was possible for the duchess’s fascinating eyes to get any wider, they surely did. For a few moments Lucy merely hovered there, her mouth opening and closing, no words emerging. Finally, she said, “My dear girl. You have done the impossible. You have rendered me speechless.”

  Meg pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Does this mean you cannot help me?”

  “On the contrary,” Lucy replied. “If the man has already defended you from what sounds like a hideous mother and kissed you, I’d say we’re off to a fine start indeed.”

  “No,” Meg said. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t know he was kissing me.”

  Lucy stood and dropped back down to sit beside Meg. “Yes, about that. I’m going to need to hear that story, dear. Immediately if you don’t mind.”

  Meg swallowed and took a deep breath. She smoothed two fingers over an eyebrow. “Very well, but I must ask you to keep it to yourself. I haven’t told this to anyone … including Sarah.”

  “Cross my heart,” Lucy replied, doing so and nodding, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  Meg settled back against the settee and readjusted her skirts. It was a pity the gown was so old and stained she’d been forced to dye it pink. Long ago it had been white and lovely. She shook her head. She’d never been one to dwell upon her reduced circumstances. “It all happened the night before Sarah’s wedding.”

  “Yes.” Lucy had turned to her. Her eyes were trained on Meg’s face in rapt attention.

  “I decided I needed to speak to Hart, to see if he thought we should do something to … stop the wedding or to try to convince Sarah not to marry the Marquess of Branford.”

  Lucy nodded. “Yes. I recall how desperate we all were that day. It was so obvious that Sarah and Berkeley were meant to be together instead.”

  Meg nodded. “It was awful. As each minute ticked by, I felt more helpless.”

  Lucy squeezed Meg’s hand. “Oh my dear, Berkeley and Sarah needed to come to that realization on their own.”

  Meg squeezed Lucy’s hand, too. “I know that now, of course, but at the time I felt as if my dearest friend was drowning and I was merely watching from the bank, doing nothing to help.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Lucy said, patting Meg’s hand. “Go on. So you decided to enlist Hart to help you?”

  Meg nodded. “Yes. Sarah wouldn’t listen to either of us individually, but I thought perhaps together we might convince her.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened even further. “Surely you didn’t go to his apartments?”

  Meg shook her head, and the pesky curls popped out again. She brushed them away once more. “No! Of course not. That would be a certain scandal.”

  Lucy’s face flooded with relief. “My point entirely, dear.” She placed a hand over her heart and expelled her breath. “Where did you meet then?”

  Meg’s cheeks heated. She’d been a complete fool that night, but she might as well out with it. Besides, the duchess had seen and heard plenty of scandalous things. Meg’s little story was probably not much in comparison. “I sent Hart a note. I asked him to meet me in the park next to Father’s house, after dark. I told my parents and my maid that my head ached and I intended to go to bed early. Instead I sneaked outside.”

  Lucy gasped and squeezed Meg’s wrist this time. “Dear, that’s horribly unsafe. You could have been accosted, robbed, murdered even.”

  Meg swallowed. “I know, but my parents live on the park and I asked Hart to meet me nearby. It truly wasn’t far, only next door, really. That’s why I thought…”

  Lucy’s brow furrowed. She eyed Meg warily. “Thought what, dear?”

  Meg closed her eyes and allowed the words to rush from her lips. “That’s why I thought he’d know who sent the note when I signed it only with my initials.”

  “MT?” Lucy expelled her breath and rubbed the tip of her nose with two fingers. “Oh.” A moment ticked by. “Dear.”

  “Oh yes,” Meg echoed. “I didn’t want to sign my name for fear someone would find the note and it would cause a scandal.”

  Lucy poked at her curls with her finger. “Yes, asking a bachelor to meet you in the park at night isn’t exactly prudent for one’s reputation. Not that I am judging.”

  Meg took a deep breath. “So there I was hiding in the dark, and…”

  The memory struck Meg then, captured her, and she was back in the park next to her father’s house with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the night breeze, the smell of jasmine and freshly chopped grass surrounding her. Even though it was summer, it had been unusually cold that evening and she’d left home without her pelisse. She would never forget a moment of it.

  “Are you there?” Hart’s familiar deep voice sounded through the hedge, a voice she’d memorized, a voice that never failed to send gooseflesh skittering up her arms.

  “I’m here,” she’d breathed and for a moment, one heart-stoppingly wonderful moment, she’d pretended he was coming to meet her because they were lovers, affianced and unable to stay away from each other, eager to be in the other’s arms. So it had shocked her beyond measure when Hart had stepped behind the hedge where she was waiting, pulled her straight into his strong, warm, muscled arms, and lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss lasted for only a few moments but it might as well have been an hour. Hart’s firm lips molded hers to his and his tongue boldly pushed its way inside her mouth.

  It must have been the tiny squeak of surprise or perhaps her taste, perhaps her height, but he soon knew his mistake. He pulled away. Setting her a respectable distance from him he said, “I beg your pardon.” His breathing sounded ragged.

  “Hart?” she’d murmured, knowing full well it was him. She knew him from his stance, his scent, his voice. Simultaneously, her heart sank as she realized he had thought he was meeting a lover. Just not her. Dear God, who did he think MT was? Jealousy flooded through her, but she didn’t have time to dwell upon the feeling because Hart immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her out under a beam of moonlight where he promptly exclaimed, “Meg!”

  “Yes?”

  He dropped her hand.

  She rubbed her wrist where his fingers had been, longing for his touch again. “Who did you think I—?” She hated how small her voice sounded.

  His eyes were wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and Meg swallowed. “I sent you a note.”

  “You sent—” He rubbed his palm across his forehead, mussing his black hair. His emerald eyes glowed in the moonlight. This was decidedly not how she’d envisioned her first kiss, but ah, it had been with Hart as she’d always dreamed it would be. For goodness’ sake, if she’d known sending him an ambiguous note would result in a rendezvous in the park and a scorching kiss, she would have sent the note ages ago.

  “Miss Timmons, I sincerely apologize for my untoward behavior. I didn’t know it was you.” Hart seemed nervous, which meant he was probably calculating the likelihood of her telling anyone about what had just happened, and his being dragged unceremoniously to the altar. Just like the Annabelle Cardiff disaster. Meg wanted him, of course, but not that way.

  “Don’t worry,” she hastened to assure him. “It’s my fault. I should have signed the note with my entire name.”

  “Why did you send me a note in the first place?” His voice still had an edge to it.

  “Because…” Suddenly she felt utterly silly. Suddenly she had no idea whether Hart would even agree with her that Sarah and Branford were an awful match. Suddenly Meg wished she’d never sent that note. Suddenly tears stung her eyes again.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Her voice was embarrassingly high and tight. Oh, why did she always have to act like such a ninny in his presence? Why couldn’t she be calm, collected, sophisticated?

  “It’s all right,” Hart replied. He stepped forward and rubbed her shoulders. The gooseflesh spread like wildfire. “You’re freezing.�
�� He stepped back, pulled off his coat in one fluid motion, and slipped it around her shoulders. It was large, warm, and smelled like him. She sniffed it longingly, never wanting to let it go.

  “Calm down,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s Sarah.” Meg pulled the coat even tighter.

  Hart’s eyes went wide with alarm. He searched Meg’s face. “What is it? Is Sarah all right?”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course.” Meg nodded, clutching the coat around her shoulders and rubbing her cheek against the expensive fabric. “She’s fine. I mean to say, she will be fine. I hope. It’s just … Lord Branford. She doesn’t love him. She cannot marry him. She loves Lord Berkeley. I know it.”

  Hart continued to stroke Meg’s arms, which was ever so distracting, even with the fabric of the coat between them. He sighed and looked at the ground. His jaw was tight. “I agree with you, but—”

  Meg forced herself to forget the scent of Hart’s coat enveloping her and to concentrate on why she’d come. “I think Sarah is ruining her life to make your parents happy.”

  Hart nodded. “I agree.”

  “She’s going to be miserable,” Meg continued.

  Hart’s jaw was tight, as if set in stone. “I agree.”

  It faintly pierced Meg’s consciousness that Hart was agreeing with her, but he didn’t appear ready to spring into action. “What are we going to do?” she asked, searching his face.

  Hart’s hands dropped from her shoulders. He clenched his long fingers into fists and put them on his hips. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Meg shook her head. She must have heard him incorrectly. “Nothing?”

  “That’s right.” He stood there in the moonlight, his feet braced apart, a determined look on his handsome face.

  Meg started toward him and then forced herself to stop. “What? Why? You just agreed with me.”

  Hart nodded slowly. “And I’ll continue to agree with you, but I’ve already spoken to Sarah and her mind is made up.”

  “Oh.” Meg bit her lip. “But don’t you think, if we both—”

  “No.” His voice was calm, resolute, echoing through the still night air.

  “Why?” she asked quietly. She had to ask. It hadn’t occurred to her that Hart wouldn’t want to interfere.

  Hart paced away from her and slid his hands inside his pockets. He looked out across the hedgerows behind them. “Because I know my sister and you do, too. She’s stubborn. I think she’s less likely to listen to us if we push harder.”

  Meg shivered and nodded. He had a point. “You told her what you thought?”

  “Yes, and I suspect you already have, too.”

  “Yes,” Meg admitted. Hart was right. Sarah didn’t like to be told what to do. The more they tried to convince her she was wrong, the more stubborn she would become.

  Hart turned back to face her. “Don’t you see? That’s all we can do. All that’s left is to hope for the best.”

  “Do you really think so?” Meg shamelessly wanted to prolong her time in his company.

  “I know so,” Hart replied. “Now let me get you home.”

  Hart had escorted her back to the ivy-covered wooden door that led from the park to her father’s property, and while they’d shared an awkward moment in Hart’s father’s coach the next day after Sarah had fled her wedding, they’d managed to avoid each other for months.

  Meg finished recounting the entire tale.

  “Hmm,” Lucy said. “Now that is something. I’d say it’s entirely promising.”

  Meg blinked. “How is it promising?”

  “Mostly the part about him avoiding you afterward,” Lucy replied brightly, pouring herself another cup of tea and reaching for the sugar bowl.

  Meg’s brow remained tightly furrowed. “I don’t see how that’s promising.”

  Lucy stirred the small silver spoon around and around the cup. “Of course it’s promising. If it hadn’t affected him, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.”

  Meg had no time to reply to that ludicrous pronouncement before Lucy said, “Now let’s get to business. Please say you’ll allow me to give you a gown for the Hodges’ ball tomorrow night.” The Hodges were hosting the first ball of the Season, and Meg intended to attend with Lucy and Sarah as her chaperones.

  “You know I won’t.” Meg stared at her slippers to avoid Lucy’s gaze.

  “I know you say you don’t want to take any—as you call it—charity.” Lucy rolled her eyes.

  “Precisely,” Meg replied with a resolute nod, her hands folded in her lap. She’d never once accepted a handout from anyone and she was exceedingly proud of that. She refused to pretend she was anything other than what she was: a penniless wallflower. If she was going to be mocked by members of the ton, it would be because of what she truly was, not because she was using her well-to-do friends for favors and putting on airs.

  “But it would make me so happy to have a gown fitted for you,” Lucy prodded. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Because it would make me decidedly unhappy.” Meg couldn’t fathom it. It wasn’t about being too proud to take charity. Her worst fear was being pitied. One of the reasons she loved Sarah so dearly was because Sarah didn’t pity her. Sarah never mentioned the vast difference in their stations. Meg knew Lucy didn’t intend to make her feel bad, but pointing out the inadequacy of her wardrobe wouldn’t change Meg’s mind. “Hart is well aware of my circumstances,” Meg said. “Dressing me in fancy clothing won’t make a difference.”

  “Perhaps,” Lucy replied. “But he may notice you a bit more and so might other gentlemen, dear. Which might make Hart take even more notice. I’ve said it before and I’ll repeat it, men adore competition, whether it be over horses, cards, or—sorry to say it—ladies.”

  Meg plucked at the strings of her reticule. The one she’d already had to patch on more than one occasion. She and Lucy would never agree. Meg needed to change the subject. “We’re not even certain Hart will be at the Hodges’ ball. He doesn’t usually attend such events.”

  “Nonsense,” Lucy retorted, taking a sip of her tea. “He’s looking for a wife this Season. Dull as they may be, ton balls are the only sensible place for a man of Hart’s station to find a suitable wife.”

  Meg bit her lip. “What if he already has someone in mind?”

  Lucy flourished her free hand in the air. “We’ll have to change his mind.”

  “What if he doesn’t look twice at me?” Meg breathed.

  “We’ll have to force him to notice you.” Lucy winked at her.

  Meg worried the reticule string. “What if he notices and isn’t interested?”

  Lucy nodded sagely. “We’ll have to make you exceedingly interesting.”

  Meg couldn’t help the small smile that popped to her lips. “Do you have an answer for everything, Lucy?”

  “Yes,” Lucy retorted without hesitating, taking another sip of tea.

  The butler arrived then and announced Lady Sarah Berkeley. After he left to fetch the lady in question, Meg turned to Lucy with wide eyes. “Sarah’s here?”

  “Yes,” Lucy replied. “I invited her because I suspected I’d need reinforcements in this argument with you about the clothing. Sarah and I have been plotting for days to get you to change your mind and allow us to help you with your wardrobe.”

  Meg’s heart hammered in her chest. “You cannot mention any of this to her. About Hart I mean.”

  “Of course I won’t,” Lucy answered, her smallest finger in the air. “You swore me to secrecy, did you not? But Sarah knows you’re looking for a husband, even if she doesn’t know you’re specifically looking toward Hart. Rest assured. I don’t tell secrets, I devise plots, and speaking of plots, we must get to planning yours, dear.”

  Moments later, the door to the drawing room opened and Sarah came floating through it. The brunette viscountess with green eyes so like her brother’s made her way to the settee where Meg sat. “So good to se
e you both,” Sarah said brightly, plucking off her gloves.

  “There you are, Lady Berkeley,” Lucy said. “Thank you for joining us. I was just telling our Meg, here, that to attract a proper husband this Season she must allow us to help her with her clothing. Don’t you agree?”

  Sarah sank to the settee next to Meg. “I’d love it if Meggie would allow me to purchase some new gowns for her, but I understand if she doesn’t want to accept our help.”

  “It’s charity,” Meg groaned.

  “It’s not charity, it’s fun,” Lucy replied, a disgruntled look on her pretty face.

  “I don’t see how I could possibly have fun if I felt indebted to either of you,” Meg replied, glancing between the two ladies.

  Lucy tapped her finger along her cheek. “My dear, you have been wearing the same gowns for the last three years now, correct?”

  “Yes,” Meg said, blushing slightly.

  “What if I told you the new gowns are only a loan?” Lucy asked. “You may pay me back one day when you’re happily married and have all the money you could ever want.”

  Meg opened her mouth to retort, but Lucy continued. “How in heaven’s name do you expect anything to change this Season? If you want different results, you must do things differently.”

  Meg opened her mouth yet again, and Lucy interrupted again. “Just try it once. One gown. One time. One ball. See if anything is different. I promise you, your circumstances will change.”

  The duchess was making sense. A loan wouldn’t be so horrible. Meg’s resolution began to crumble. How perfectly lovely it would be to wear a new gown. She eyed Sarah. “What do you think?”

  Sarah squeezed Meg’s hand. “I think you’ve got nothing to lose by trying. Let us make you into a princess, Meggie. You’re certain to attract a gentleman’s attention.”

  Behind Sarah’s head, Lucy gave Meg a knowing smile. “Hopefully, the right gentleman.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Keep your eye on the receiving line. Your future wife may appear at any moment.”