The Rogue's Proposal

by Jennifer Haymore

  He raised a brow. “She’s not a ruthless social climber, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No,” she said softly, “I never believed that, despite what the scandal sheets have to say about it. If she were such an ambitious sort, I’m sure the duke would have seen through the act.”

  Something bitter and painful shot through him, but it didn’t take long for him to recognize what it was. Jealousy. Everyone would always grant Trent the benefit of the doubt. Even Emma.

  He blew out a breath through his teeth. They were in Worcester now, turning into High Street and passing the cathedral on their left, an impressive Norman stone structure with a tall central tower and spires.

  “I like Sarah,” he told Emma. “I have always liked her. She is a good match for Trent, despite what the world may say.” Sarah might be the only person in the world who could pull the stick out of Trent’s arse, in any case.

  She nodded, seemingly content with his answer. “Tell me about your other brothers. And you have a sister, too, correct?”

  He glanced at her. She thought she was asking him simple questions, but hell if he knew how to answer them anymore.

  He began carefully. With a sibling who was a blood sibling, someone he’d been raised with and who shared his surname. “Samson—Sam is the oldest. He’s my half brother on my mother’s side.”

  “I didn’t know you had another older brother.”

  “Yes. He’s the product of my mother’s liaison with…someone before her marriage to the Duke of Trent. She has never said who.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Sam is…” He frowned. How to describe Sam? He was a quiet beast of a man, and it was almost unnerving the way his dark eyes took everything in but how rarely he bothered to voice his opinion. “Taciturn. He has had endured quite a lot. I doubt if he enjoyed growing up in a house in which everyone knew him as the bastard child. The duke ignored him.”

  The duke had ignored Sam, but had he hated Sam as much as he’d hated Luke? Luke didn’t think so.

  She flinched. “That sounds difficult indeed. Awful, actually.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Luke said. “As an adult, he hasn’t had it any easier. He was a lieutenant in the army, and a few years ago, he was shot in battle and almost died. He’s been married twice, but he lost both of his wives—the first in childbed along with their newborn son, and the second on the field with him on the Continent.”

  Emma wrapped her cloak tighter around her and looked at him with glassy eyes. “Oh, that is awful. The poor man.”

  Luke nodded. Sam never asked for his pity and Luke never gave it, but still, something inside him burned whenever he thought of all Sam had been through.

  They rode in silence for a moment. Then she said, “And the others? Your sister?”

  “Esme.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “What is she like?”

  “Quiet.”

  Luke realized his answers had begun to degenerate to one word. Discussing his family was enough to clench his heart into stone. Even the one-word answers were becoming difficult to spit out. Still, Emma deserved more than this. He took a breath and tried again.

  “Esme is quiet. She doesn’t do very well in large groups, though my mother and Trent seem to enjoy pushing her into awkward social situations. She’s always scribbling away in her journal. My guess is that those pages are the only things in the world that know her true thoughts.”

  “I imagine it would be difficult, growing up with five older brothers.”

  Luke smirked. “No doubt. And having a wild mother didn’t help her much, either.”

  They had turned into Broad Street, and he finally reined the horses to a stop in front of the Crown and Unicorn Inn, grateful to be saved from answering any more questions.

  He secured a room for them and led Emma upstairs, two servants following behind them with their luggage.

  “Well if it ain’t my good friend Hawkins,” a voice called out from the top of the stairs.

  Luke glanced up to see Rupert Smallshaw, one of his carousing partners from London.

  Bloody hell.

  He plastered a smile on his face. “Small. What a surprise.”

  Small rolled his eyes heavenward. “I know. Godforsaken place, ain’t it, out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Small was a true man of Town. He despised leaving London, where it was easy to find all those decadent pleasures he sought on a daily basis.

  Luke reached the top of the stairs, well aware of Emma standing just behind him.

  His brain felt scrambled as he attempted to come up with a decent reason to be here with her, heading up to the same room. There was no way for her to escape this with her reputation intact.

  “What are you doing so far from Town?” he asked Small as his brain continued to work furiously. Coming up with no decent explanation, panic began to rise in him, a hot, boiling flood.

  Calm the hell down, man. She knew this might happen. So did you.

  Small shrugged and gave him a look of utmost boredom. “Riding out to Bromyard to check in on the ancestral pile.”

  Luke raised his brows. “How unlike you.”

  “I know. Perhaps I’m becoming responsible at last, eh?”

  And then Small’s gaze lit on Emma. His brown eyes perused her from top to bottom, hovering obviously on her well-endowed bosom.

  Luke ground his teeth and stepped in front of her the best he could on the small landing.

  “Perhaps I will see you later,” he said to Small.

  Small’s lips curled. “Of course.” His gaze, very deliberately, returned to Emma. “I was wondering why you would come to Worcester instead of Ironwood Park. And now I see…” He hesitated, obviously waiting for introductions.

  “Small, this is Mrs. Curtis.” Immediately, Luke flinched. Why had he given the man her real name?

  “Mrs. Curtis, how lovely.” Small gave her a gallant bow. “You are the reason Lord Luke felt compelled to visit Worcester. I cannot say I blame him. You’re the prettiest bit o’ muslin I’ve seen in some time.” His smile turned lascivious. “Do let me know if you’d be willing to accommodate another, love.” He winked broadly at Emma. “Perhaps after you’re finished with his lordship?”

  Luke lunged, his fists clenched. Before he knew it, pain shot up his right arm, and Small crumpled to his knees on the wood floor.

  “Luke!” Emma shouted. “Oh, God.”

  Her hand was on his shoulder, dragging him back as he went for Small again.

  “Luke!”

  He stopped short. He glanced at Emma, who seemed unscathed, but her eyes were round golden pools. “Stop!” she gasped.

  He looked down at Small, who had risen on one elbow and was rubbing his jaw, gazing at Luke with astonishment. “What the devil, Hawkins?”

  “I…you…never…don’t ever…” His voice emerged as a warbled growl. He couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think.

  “Come,” Emma said in his ear. “Let’s go to the room.”

  She led him down the corridor. He stumbled after her, but he barely paid attention to where they were going, instead looking back at Small and hating him. Wanting to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and squeeze the life out of his worthless body.

  But why? The man was his equal in debauchery. No more, no less. They had shared women before. Small’s statement was nothing out of the ordinary.

  But it had been directed at Emma.

  They stopped at the door. The servants were still back with Small, helping him up, so they waited, since one of them had the key to the door.

  Luke took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Emma gave him a sideways look. “Are you all right?”

  “Are you?” he asked gruffly.

  She gave him a tight smile. “Just fine,” she said, “but I’d not be fine at all if you were convicted of assault.”

  One of the servants approached and opened the door. Emma pushed
Luke gently into the room, then followed behind the second servant carrying his trunk. When their luggage had been placed inside and the two servants had left, Luke sank into a chair, bending forward with his elbows on his knees and pushing his fingers over his forehead and into his hair.

  She came to him, kneeling before him and taking his right hand in her own, studying it and then rubbing it gently in her hands. “You hit him hard.”

  “Hurt like hell,” he mumbled.

  “It probably hurt him more than it hurt you.”

  “Hope so.”

  Suddenly, she brought his hand to her mouth, closed her eyes, and pressed her lips to his knuckles. She gazed up at him, her eyes bright. “You defended my honor. No one has ever done that for me before. Thank you.”

  He scowled at her. Why had no one defended her before?

  “Are you angry with me?” she whispered.

  “No.” He wiped the scowl from his face, forcibly relaxing his features. She was still grasping his right hand, so with his left he tenderly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “No, Emma. I’m not angry.”

  She looked up at him, her lips spreading into a wide smile.

  Luke stared at her, his gut clenching hard. This woman, on her knees before him, smiling up at him with shining eyes, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  Chapter Five

  Dearest Jane,

  I hope all is well with you and Papa. Please send all correspondence to Cameron’s Hotel in Edinburgh, because although we haven’t arrived in Scotland yet, we’ll be lodging there.

  We are currently in Worcester. The travel has been uneventful, and Lord L____s is behaving the gentleman we knew he’d be. He is so much more than I thought he’d be…

  Good Lord, thought Emma. Why had she written that? She sighed and stared at the letter for long moments. She couldn’t scratch it out—she’d have to start the letter over, and she didn’t have another sheet of paper. Chewing on her lip, she continued.

  …he has such an interesting past and is involved in such interesting pursuits as well.

  She chuckled a little at that. Interesting pursuits, indeed. Pursuits of the most rakish variety, for certain. But hopefully that would pacify Jane, who surely wouldn’t think of those kinds of pursuits. She continued.

  The travel has been so lovely; driving up through the Cotswolds, we have seen many of the wonders of the English autumn. I pray that the weather will continue to be as fine as it has been to this point.

  She hesitated, wondering whether she should tell Jane about the curricle. No, she decided, definitely not. Emma had no intention of adding to her sister’s worries.

  We have remained in Worcester for an extra day, for Lord L_____s has some business to attend to…

  He’d refrained from sharing any further information about his “business.” She’d tried to pry it out of him once more this morning, but he resisted her attempts, just telling her that it had nothing to do with Ironwood Park or Trent or his other family members who resided there.

  Her curiosity threatened to run away with her, however. Why would a nobleman rake like Luke feel the need to take care of any kind of business in a place like Worcester—and he said the business would take place outside the city. All sorts of scenarios had run through her mind, but she kept returning to one: It must have something to do with a woman. And perhaps an illegitimate child.

  It would make sense, in a place a distance away but still within a few hours’ travel from his onetime home, where he could make infrequent visits whenever he was in the area. It would make sense, given his roguish reputation.

  The thought of him seeing a woman depressed Emma. Even though she knew she had no right to feel any proprietary feelings over him, she had spent three nights with him now. Two of those nights enclosed in his arms.

  Last night had been different from the first. He’d been sober, as she’d asked him—well, if she was honest with herself, she’d begged him—not to go down to the tavern for his dinner. Not only did she not want him to get drunk again, but she also didn’t want him to risk encountering that awful Mr. Small again.

  So they’d slept, but he’d been restless, and she knew he hadn’t slept well. In the early morning hours, he’d gasped and sat up straight in the bed, waking her. She’d opened her eyes dazedly and blinked at the sheen of sweat on his brow. It struck her as very odd—it wasn’t a warm night.

  “What is it?” she’d murmured. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  He’d turned to her, clearly shaken and upset. “It’s nothing,” he’d said in a rasping voice. “Go back to sleep.”

  He left the bed and sat at the table with his head in his hands while she’d lain there, wondering what to do. Wanting to go to him and comfort him but not knowing how. She’d finally slipped out of bed and gone to him. He looked up, startled, when she put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Come back to bed?”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  He looked away from her, closing his eyes. “Because I made you a promise. And if I return to that bed right now, that promise will be broken.” His bleak gaze met hers. He reached up and stroked her cheek with one knuckle. Then her chin. Then, ever so slowly, he trailed his fingertip over her bottom lip, and a deep shudder resonated through her. “I’ve broken so many promises, Emma. I don’t want to break this one.”

  Confused, aroused, still clawing through the shroud of sleep that he’d dragged her from with his nightmare, she nodded. “All right,” she’d murmured. “Please…come back to bed when you can.”

  “I will.”

  She’d stumbled back to the bed and had fallen asleep faster than she’d thought possible, with him still sitting at the table, his head in his hands.

  With a sigh, Emma looked back down at her letter to her sister. She dipped her pen into the ink and began to write again.

  Tomorrow, we will continue on our journey to Edinburgh. We hope to arrive there in five or six days’ time if the weather holds. I pray that it does. I am so eager to come to a resolution with R.M.

  I will keep you and Papa in my prayers. My thoughts turn to you constantly. Please write when you can. I so hope I shall find a letter awaiting me in Edinburgh.

  Your loving sister,

  Emma

  Emma folded the letter, then donned her pelisse and buttoned the worn Chinese buttons down the front. She glanced at the silk cloak hanging on a peg by the door, and a smile tugged at her lips as it did every time she laid eyes on Luke’s gift, but she would probably be too warm if she wore it.

  She tucked the letter into her reticule along with a few coins, then went out of the room, locking the door behind her.

  She hurried downstairs and encountered an employee of the inn, a fresh-faced girl whom she asked about the mail to Bristol.

  “It goes out at half-eight from the Star and Garter, ma’am.”

  Good, then her letter to Jane would be on its way tonight. “Where’s the Star and Garter?”

  “Not far at all.” The girl gave her a bright smile. “I’ll be happy to deliver it for you, if you’d like.”

  “No thank you. If it’s not far, I’d like to walk. I could use a bit of fresh air.” That was the truth. She’d been cooped up inside the room all day.

  “Of course, ma’am.” The girl directed her to the Star and Garter, and Emma stepped out into the busy street.

  “Mrs. Curtis!”

  That voice was familiar. Dread curling in her stomach, she turned to see that Small had followed her out of the inn. He was quite the fop, with his black hair shiny with oil and an exact match to his gleaming black shoes and snug buff pantaloons, his dark purple velvet coat and carved walking stick.

  She stood tall, trying to look down her nose at him, though he was taller than her.

  “Mr. Small.”

  He chuckled. “It’s Mr. Smallshaw, love. Small’s just a nickname.”

  “My apologies,” she said icily. She noticed, with no small measure of
satisfaction, that the right side of his jaw had turned quite an ugly shade of green.

  “May I accompany you to your destination?”

  “No thank you.”

  She turned and commenced to walk, but the blasted man kept pace beside her. She walked faster, and he sped up, too.

  “So, tell me how you became acquainted with Lord Lukas.”

  She made a scoffing noise and stared straight ahead, as though it took all her focus to negotiate the treacherous terrain of the street. “Not likely.”

  “No, really, I am ever so curious. You see, Hawkins and I are close friends. Very close.”

  She pretended to ignore him.

  “He’s never been so protective of a woman before. In fact, he’s always been most generous when I’ve asked him to share. And now he’s punching me in the face at the mere suggestion. As I am certain you can imagine, this is a mystery I am most eager to solve.”

  Emma’s steps ground to a halt. She gazed up at this man—at his round face with angelic features under all that curly, oily hair—and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Please, Mr. Smallshaw, please leave me alone.”

  “Aw, come now. I’m just trying to be friendly, Mrs. Curtis. I’m quite harmless, really.”

  She did not like his wheedling tone or his attempting-to-be-disarming grin. In fact, she liked nothing about him.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, “I’d prefer you to go away.”

  His brows rose and his lips firmed, his attempt to be friendly evaporating. She’d known it had been false anyhow. “A set-down from a lightskirt. Now that’s a rare thing for a man such as myself.”

  “A man such as yourself?” she asked. “Meaning a man with neither scruples nor morality?”

  “Ah, right,” he said, matching her sarcasm tone for tone, “and pray, what sort of man do you believe you’re sleeping with? Please refrain from standing there with that high-handed manner, madam, saying that I lack scruples and morality.”

  With a huff, he turned on his heel and strode down the street toward the Crown and Unicorn, his walking stick tapping on the cobbles, not deigning to look back at her.