The Right Kind of Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  “It wasn’t—”

  “Wasn’t what?” Surely she would manage to muster a tear or two now. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye.

  “I never lied to you.” She sat up straighter and jerked her body away from him.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.” She lifted her chin and glared at him.

  “So you did want to marry Sir Winford? I was never your target?”

  Her gaze swung away from his. He hadn’t mistaken the guilt in them before she turned away. Her silence said it all. At least she was willing to admit to that lie. He pushed the strap of her gown off her shoulder. It would be so easy to take her. Not to make love to her, never that, but to shove her back on the bed and rut with her. Get about the business of making an heir. No doubt she’d be thrilled with it. That’s what she wanted, after all. She wanted children. It would be worse for her if he didn’t consummate their union. She’d remain in a state of doubt, insecurity. Of course there would be no children. At least none that he would claim. That was it. His mind was made up.

  Her voice shook again. “You won’t … hurt me, will you, Hart?”

  His laughter was cruel. “Not unless what I’ve already done has hurt you.”

  “What do you mean?” She shivered. Such a good actress.

  “I mean I intend to turn around and leave this room now. And I won’t be back.”

  “You … you don’t intend to bed me?” Her voice was quiet but filled with surprise.

  “I have no intention whatsoever of bedding you.”

  Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”

  The look of relief mixed with the confusion on her face served to steel his resolve.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her down the length of his nose. “My dear, you have what you think you wanted. A husband. A name. Money. A reason to stay in London and not have to go to the Continent. But I refuse to give you what you really want.”

  Confusion flitted across her features. “What I really want?”

  “Children. A family. You told me once that you wanted those things.”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “I have no intention of giving them to you.” He forced a humorless smile to his lips.

  She expelled her breath in a heated rush. “What are you talking about? You need an heir.”

  “The only thing that will make forgoing an heir palatable to me is knowing that you’re not going to get what you want. I can leave the estate and the title to Sarah and Berkeley’s children.”

  A hint of anger flashed across her face. “You cannot be serious.”

  He turned on his heel to walk away. “I’ve never been more serious.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The next morning at precisely half past ten, the Duchess of Claringdon’s coach pulled to a stop in front of Meg’s new home. Meg had spent the better part of the morning hiding in her room. Wedding gifts and congratulatory notes poured through the front door. Apparently everyone in the ton was eager to wish the new Lord and Lady Highgate well.

  Knowing Hart was locked in his study, Meg had ventured downstairs to walk past the tables full of gifts when she’d spotted a lovely bouquet of white azaleas. The accompanying note was from Sir Winford. The knight wished her well on her marriage and congratulated her lucky groom, wishing them both a lifetime of health and happiness. That had sent her straight to her room in tears.

  She’d been hiding in her bedchamber contemplating the rubbish heap she’d made of her life when one of the maids tentatively knocked and informed her that Hart had gone out to the club. Meg wiped away her tears and decided to venture forth to explore her new home. The housekeeper, Mrs. Grintley, was still proudly showing her around when the duchess arrived along with Sarah, Cass, and Jane. Lucy was crafty, Meg had to admit. If she’d come alone, Meg would have refused her, but bringing the other ladies guaranteed her admittance. Why had Sarah agreed to come with her, though?

  Meg received them in the light blue drawing room. It was the first time she’d been in the room. It was lovely in its subtle blues and white. The entire house was lovely. Much grander than anything she’d ever imagined living in. A far cry from the shabbiness her father’s town house had become. She didn’t deserve to live here.

  As soon as the butler left the ladies alone together, Meg turned to Lucy. “You have a great deal of nerve showing your face here, Your Grace.”

  Sarah interjected. “Please, Meggie, hear her out.”

  “What can she possibly say that will make this better?” Meg glared at Sarah.

  “That was my point, but no one listened to me, did they?” Jane pushed up her spectacles and glanced around at the others accusingly. “However, I was told there would be teacake.” She looked anxiously toward Meg.

  Remembering her manners, Meg rang for tea (and cake) before settling back to glare at Lucy. To her credit, Lucy did look sufficiently chagrined.

  “Where is Hart?” Sarah asked.

  “He went to the club,” Meg replied.

  “And did you … have a pleasant evening?” Sarah asked, her voice tentative.

  “My husband hates me, what do you think?” Meg kept her arms crossed over her chest.

  “May I speak now, pleeeease?” Lucy clasped her hands together in front of her and stared at Sarah.

  “Very well.” Sarah nodded stiffly. “Go ahead.”

  “You managed to keep her from speaking?” Meg asked, blinking.

  “It was a condition of my coming with her,” Sarah replied.

  “Really?” Meg asked. “What were the other conditions?”

  “One was that she didn’t make anything worse,” Jane pointed out.

  “Oh, Meg, dear,” Cass finally said. “Do hear Lucy out. She wants to make things better for you.”

  Meg crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Lucy. “How do you intend to do that? I’m quite through with your scheming. I believe I was entirely clear on the multiple occasions I told you that I never wanted Hart forced into marriage.”

  Lucy cleared her throat and sat up straight. She glanced at Sarah as if to confirm her permission. Sarah nodded. “First, I would like to point out that you are married to the man of your dreams as a result of my scheming.”

  Meg opened her mouth to retort.

  “Lucy … you promised!” Sarah nearly shouted.

  “I know. I know. But I think it’s a relevant fact that should not be entirely overlooked,” Lucy said.

  “And?” Sarah prompted, eyeing Lucy warily.

  Lucy turned back to face Meg. “Delilah has a great deal of potential as a plotter, but I’m afraid she’s still a bit rough around the edges. I would like to apologize for the method in which I carried out my plot. It was poorly done of me.” Lucy finished by folding her hands in her lap.

  “An apology?” Jane asked, scratching the tip of her nose with a finger. “I honestly didn’t think Lucy had it in her.”

  “Of course I do.” Lucy sniffed and lifted her nose in the air. “I know when I’ve made a mistake and I can admit it.”

  “Really?” Jane looked skeptical. “When was the last time you were wrong?”

  Lucy’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “Well, I…” She tapped her finger against her cheek. “I…”

  “I’ll wait,” Jane replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Lucy.

  Lucy tilted her head to the side. “I’m certain there have been other times. I simply cannot remember any at the moment.”

  “Please ladies, can we return to the matter at hand?” Cass asked. “Lucy was apologizing to Meg.”

  “Yes,” Sarah added, nodding to Lucy again. “Go ahead, Lucy.”

  Lucy straightened her shoulders. “As I said, I’m ever so sorry for the way in which I bungled things and I would like to offer my assistance in making everything right.”

  Meg smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Thank you for the apology, Lucy, but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can d
o to make it right. I will, however, repay you for the expenses you incurred on my behalf for the gowns and—”

  Lucy clenched her fists. “I don’t give a damn about the money for the gowns,” she nearly shouted.

  All four ladies gasped. Lucy traced one brow with a fingertip and took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is, there must be something I can do. Tell me what Hart said to you last night and I’ll think of something to help.”

  “He called me a liar,” Meg replied sweetly. She’d love to see Lucy Hunt talk her way out of this circumstance.

  “No!” Sarah gasped.

  Lucy winced. “And?”

  Meg took a deep breath. “And he accused me of orchestrating the entire charade in the garden along with you, Lucy.”

  “No!” Cass said this time.

  “But you must have … made up before you … you know?” Sarah’s face turned pink.

  Meg’s cheeks burned, too.

  “What? What is it, Meggie?” Sarah leaned forward and patted Meg’s knee.

  “I can’t. I just can’t say.” Meg’s face was on fire.

  “You can tell us, dear,” Cass said encouragingly. “We’re all married ladies here. You needn’t be embarrassed.”

  Meg took three deep breaths. All morning she’d been contemplating the awfulness of what had—or, more correctly what hadn’t—happened last night. Nothing she could think of could make it less horrible. Would telling these ladies make it more shameful or would she feel better if she admitted it to someone?

  “Go ahead, Meg,” Sarah prompted.

  “Very well, but you all must solemnly swear not to tell another soul.”

  Each lady in turn crossed their fingers over their heart.

  Meg closed her eyes and counted three before blurting, “Hart didn’t touch me last night.”

  Sarah gasped. “What?”

  Cass gasped. “What?”

  Jane cupped a hand behind her ear. “Pardon?”

  “It’s true.” Meg felt more ashamed with each passing moment. “He didn’t touch me and he vowed he never would.”

  “Oh my God. He’s an idiot!” Sarah declared, tossing her hands in the air.

  “It’s certainly surprising,” Cass offered, her pretty face scrunching into a decided frown.

  “I wonder what’s keeping the teacakes,” Jane murmured, looking about.

  “Jane!” Cass scolded. “This is hardly the time to discuss teacakes.”

  “Very well, I agree. It is quite surprising,” Jane added.

  “It’s humiliating,” Meg replied, covering her face with her hands. “My own husband won’t touch me. Our marriage is not legal.”

  Finally Lucy spoke. “Is that all?” She pushed a dark curl behind her ear.

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly,” Meg replied, pulling her hands away from her face and narrowing her eyes on the duchess. “My husband refuses to touch me.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “I heard you and I asked if that was the worst that happened.”

  Meg wanted to shake Lucy. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is.” She planted both fists on her hips.

  “Good, then, because I hardly see that as an issue at all. The easiest thing in the world is to convince a young, healthy man to take a young, beautiful woman to bed,” Lucy said.

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, Lucy, what are you talking about?” Meg added.

  “It’s quite simple,” Lucy replied with a sigh. “All you have to do is seduce your husband.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Seduce your husband. Seduce your husband. The words chased themselves in Meg’s mind that night as she waited in her bedchamber. Would Hart come to her? He’d had all day to think. Perhaps he’d changed his mind. Perhaps he’d realized that not consummating their marriage was madness. Perhaps he still hated her and blamed her for his being forced into an unwanted marriage.

  He’d told her how much he detested scheming women. Annabelle had tried to snare him into marriage in the exact same way. No wonder he was angry with her. Meg hadn’t even been able to deny it when he’d asked her outright.

  In her own way, however, she’d tried to tell him the truth, to explain how she’d come to be in the garden waiting for him. The man was stubborn as a mule. Not just any mule. An elderly, recalcitrant mule. He wouldn’t listen and he certainly wouldn’t believe her. She wasn’t about to beg him to hear her out. She wasn’t about to try to convince him she’d planned to tell him she loved him that night. There was no possible way he’d believe that now. She had to think of another way to get through to him.

  This morning the other ladies had all seemed to agree. Seduction was a fine idea. They all also seemed to think it would be a simple task.

  “Let him know you’re willing. Show a bit of décolletage and voilà,” Lucy had said.

  “But he hates me,” Meg had countered.

  “Décolletage works wonders.” Lucy had winked at her.

  The other ladies nodded and agreed with Lucy. “Men really are quite simple when it comes down to it,” Jane said, finally taking a bite of her coveted teacake.

  “I must admit, there’s some truth to that,” Sarah said, biting her lip.

  “Décolletage has worked for me in the past,” Cass added, shrugging.

  It was unanimous, but now that Meg was sitting alone in her bedchamber with plenty of décolletage visible, she realized she’d failed to ask the ladies what to do if he didn’t even speak to her. Should she knock on his bedchamber door and show him her décolletage? That seemed exceedingly awkward. As the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of him, she began to wonder if she would have to march into his bedchamber after all.

  Hart hadn’t come home for dinner. She’d eaten alone at the huge dining table with the servants giving her varying degrees of pitying looks. She heard two of the maids whispering about Hart, and the word rogue had definitely been discernible. The consensus among the staff was that they’d always expected their master to take a wife and ignore her. His reputation preceded him. This was why Sarah hadn’t encouraged their match. Oh, why hadn’t Meg listened to Sarah?

  Meg looked down at herself. Was she enticing? Was she desirable? According to her mother she never would be, but Lucy proclaimed there was no way her husband could ignore her if she wore the right garment. Of course Lucy had ensured she had the right garment. Meg contemplated the lovely lacy shift Lucy had had made for her as a (albeit inappropriate) wedding gift.

  Meg had picked out a soft light-blue gown and matching robe, and ensured her décolletage was on full display, before she sat on the bed, attempting to read, and waiting to hear her husband come home.

  As minutes turned into an hour, she had doubts he’d ever return, but before midnight she heard noises in his bedchamber and the unmistakable sound of him dismissing his valet. Confound it, the timbre of his voice still gave her gooseflesh. The man was being a complete ass but she loved him madly. Did it even matter anymore, why? Her heart belonged to a man who hated her, and she was about to stoop to trying to seduce her own husband.

  After another quarter hour passed, she suspected he wasn’t going to come into her room. Very well, she’d go to him. Courage, Lucy had said. Be bold. This would take every drop of boldness she had.

  She stood, set her book on the nightstand, smoothed her hands down the front of her diaphanous gown, and took a deep breath. She considered wearing her dressing gown over the skimpy concoction, but decided against it. If seduction was her goal, she might as well get right to it.

  She made her way across the wide expanse between her bed and the door that led to Hart’s bedchamber. Blood pounded in her ears with each step.

  When she came to the door, she took another deep breath before rapping twice and pushing open the handle with her sweating hand.

  She took a tentative step inside her husband’s bedchamber. He stood next to the bed, his shirt and boots off, wearing only his breeches. The firelight glanced off
his muscled abdomen and Meg swallowed. Oh, this was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. What if he refused her?

  He turned to face her. “What are you doing here?” His voice was harsh, accusing.

  “I came to … I wanted to…” She couldn’t force the words past her dry lips. All she could do was stare, fascinated, at his naked torso and the six muscles that stood out in sharp relief on his abdomen.

  His eyes flared, possibly because of what was visible under her flimsy gown. She could only hope.

  “Wanted to what?” His voice was still harsh.

  “I thought perhaps…” No. She still couldn’t say it and she was turning red under her blue gown. That couldn’t possibly be an attractive combination. She needed to retreat.

  “Perhaps what?” His voice bit through the silence.

  She clung to the last bit of courage she possessed. “Perhaps we might…”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you think I’ve changed my mind?”

  She met his gaze. “Have you?”

  He made his way toward her and stopped a pace in front of her. His eyes moved up and down her body. “Where did you get that gown?” he asked, the edge lingering in his voice.

  “Lucy gave it—”

  The flare in his eyes burned out. “Ah, Lucy. Of course, Lucy. Your partner in scheming. Still trying to help you, I see.”

  She shouldn’t have mentioned Lucy. “You don’t like it?” Meg countered, lifting her chin even higher.

  “On the contrary, what husband wouldn’t?”

  She swallowed. “A husband who wants to punish his wife for something she didn’t do.” Meg had no idea where this defiance was coming from, but she would not allow him to control the situation. If he refused her, so be it.

  “Unfortunately, I know of no such husband.”

  “You cannot ignore me forever, Hart.” She knew it was the wrong thing to say even before the words came out, but anger burned in her chest and she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Really?” he drawled. “Try me.” He lifted one brow, taunting her.

  Courage. Courage. Boldness. Courage. The words rang inside her head. She’d already used nearly every drop of both, but the words try me presented a challenge she couldn’t refuse.