Rogues to Riches (Books 1-6)

by Ridley, Erica

  The solicitor coughed. “Actually, ma’am…”

  Realization hit her.

  “Do his real children want the jewels back?” Of course they did. They were the important ones. The children who mattered. She tore open her reticule, shoved the necklace at Anthony, and the earrings.

  “Sell them back for as high a price as you can get,” she gasped, hated how, even now, relinquishing the jewels felt like carving off the most important part of her. “And keep the money. Those stones mean nothing. I can’t bear for them to touch my skin.”

  Anthony put his arm around her and held her close.

  The solicitor cleared his throat. “Ma’am, you needn’t surrender the rubies. At least, not yet. But your presence is required at the Courteland house in Mayfair one week from today for the reading of his will. Next Tuesday, at one o’clock sharp.”

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “For the… what?”

  “Until the bequests are read, I have no way to know if His Grace has settled a sum upon you, or a bit of land, or perhaps the other ruby pieces to complete the set. But as a named party in the will, I’d like to offer you my services to help manage any windfall you might receive.” He touched his lapel. “For a fee, of course.”

  She was too drained of all humor to laugh even halfheartedly at the solicitor’s blatant ruthlessness. The man had shown up out of nowhere, had given her more joy, more tangible reasons to believe in her future, than she’d ever had in her life—then immediately destroyed every hope he’d just helped to sow. Now he wanted part of whatever her father had left her?

  Or worse, what if he was lying?

  “How did you find me?” She didn’t bother to hide the suspicion from her voice.

  The solicitor had the grace to look somewhat abashed. “I glimpsed the rubies when you were dining at a posting house across the Scottish border and was convinced they were Courteland’s. But I had to be certain. I waited until I saw you only wear the earrings, not the necklace, and I sneaked into your chamber to confirm my suspicions.”

  “You broke into my chamber?” Fury exploded from her chest. “How dare you!”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I had to know for certain. What if they weren’t the same jewels? What if you weren’t his daughter?”

  “What if I had bashed in your head with a fire iron?” Anthony growled.

  “My duty is to His Grace’s dukedom.” The solicitor lifted his nose. “What if the family jewels had fallen into the hands of someone without Courteland blood?”

  “Heaven forbid,” she said sarcastically.

  Damn the pompous solicitor. Damn her father for not caring about his daughter until he was already in his grave.

  “Be advised that His Grace is unlikely to have left you anything substantive,” the solicitor warned her. “Illegitimate children are unseemly for a duke. But in the event he bequeathed you something of value… I am at your service.”

  For a fee. Charlotte’s fingernails dug into her palms. To the devil with the duke and his solicitor both. She didn’t even want whatever her father had left her. The only reason she was still listening was in case she could help Anthony. To get the best price for the rubies, they would have to go to London. And she would have to withstand the inevitable snubs and degradation that came with it.

  “Here’s the address.” The solicitor handed her an array of papers. “And a contract, should you desire my aid. You will see that your interests will be well protected from your family, from solicitors—perhaps even from your own husband, should you wish. You need only to sign the document and I will represent you.”

  “That will do,” Anthony snapped. He wrapped his arm about Charlotte’s shoulders. “I believe you’ve helped enough for one day.”

  Her chest wouldn’t stop pounding. She stumbled when she tried to walk away. Her mind was too full of regret and yearning. Too focused on the father she could have had… if she had but known his name years ago.

  The solicitor tipped his hat and turned away, then paused to glance back over his shoulder at Charlotte. “Oh, and ma’am… I’m sorry for your loss.”

  A half laugh, half sob ripped up from her heart and tangled in her throat. Such false words. No one was sorrier for her loss than Charlotte. The loss of her father. The loss of opportunity. The loss of her dreams.

  The loss of her belief that, if her father had only known she existed, he might have loved her enough to save her.

  Might have even saved them both.

  Chapter 14

  Anthony ushered Charlotte inside the posting house and away from Courteland’s solicitor. Keeping a close eye on his wife, Anthony commissioned a room and coordinated the delivery of their luggage in order to get her into the privacy of a bedchamber as quickly as possible.

  Charlotte stood woodenly by his side throughout. Not speaking, not making eye contact, not even changing expression. Walking where he led her. Remaining motionless when he did not. An empty shell.

  Someone who didn’t know her might assume her to be blind, deaf, and mute, so completely oblivious was she to everything around her.

  Anthony made no such assumptions. He knew it was true. Her mother’s so-called relaxation technique had become not just a defense mechanism, but Charlotte’s best weapon against the outside world.

  She had spent her life believing others didn’t think she mattered. Shutting them out was her way to show them they didn’t matter to her, either. She didn’t need their superiority, their insults, or their disgust. She didn’t need the blackguard father who couldn’t be bothered to spend a penny to clothe her or even spare a moment for a child he well knew he’d sired. She didn’t need the world at all.

  The problem was, Anthony was part of that world. By shutting out the grief and the pain and the longing, she had closed herself off from him, too. He wished he could be there with her, wherever she was. He wanted to help protect her. She didn’t have to do it all alone. She could count on him, too. At least for this moment.

  She just had to let him in.

  He stoked the fire in the grate, then crossed to kneel before his wife. “Charlotte.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He took her hands. “I know it hurts. I shan’t tell you not to let some egotistic jackanapes wound your feelings from beyond the grave, because I have never been in your position and I might well feel the same pain you do. But do not give your father more importance than he deserves. He’s gone, Charlotte. I’m right here. He cannot hurt you anymore.”

  At least, Anthony hoped Courteland couldn’t hurt her anymore. There was no telling what the will reading might bring. What if the other family members were cruel to her? He couldn’t recall the Duke of Courteland having an heir apparent, but that wasn’t necessarily a boon. Distant cousins fighting for scraps could be even more vicious than a half-sibling might be.

  And while Anthony was here right now, holding her slender cold hands in his, would he still be there a week from now when she needed him? Dread washed over him. And fear. His debts were due prior to the reading of the will. By then, he might already be in Marshalsea.

  Hands shaking, he helped her into her night rail and carried her to bed. After taking off his heavy boots and greatcoat, he curled in beside her, determined never to let her go.

  Gently, he stroked her hair. He wasn’t certain whether being named in Courteland’s will would prove to be a blessing or a curse. After all this time, after never taking an interest in his daughter while he was still alive to do so, what the deuce would the blackguard have left her in his will? A bracelet? Land? A pittance?

  Money would solve all the problem with his debts. But even if it were enough money to right his wrongs, he yearned to be as dependable as Charlotte needed him to be. To be responsible for a change. To provide for her, to clean up his own scrapes, to fix his life without ruining hers. To be a better man than her father.

  Trepidation snaked down his spine. What if the creditors took whatever the old duke left Charlotte, and it sti
ll wasn’t enough to keep Anthony out of prison? He could never forgive himself if his past actions robbed her of her inheritance, after everything she’d already lost.

  He doubted Charlotte would ever forgive him either.

  Chapter 15

  Anthony awoke the following morning with Charlotte still cradled in his arms.

  Gently, he kissed her forehead. He was glad that he could do at least this much for her. To be there when she needed someone. More than that—to be the one that she needed.

  Even if he wasn’t yet certain he would always be there, he could swear to never let her down for as long as he was able. He hoped it was for a long time.

  It might be less than a week.

  “Good morning.” She opened her eyes and smiled up at him shyly. “Thank you for calming me last night. I feel much better.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good morning, yourself. Did you sleep well?”

  “How could I not?” Her cheeks turned pink. “I was in your arms.”

  He grinned. “We should do this again some time.”

  “Every time.” A shadow flickered across her face as if she too had just remembered they might not have much time left. “Today we head toward London?”

  “Toward, yes. We should rest for the night near Northampton.”

  She pushed a golden curl from her face. “I feel as if all we do is ride in carriages and rest for the night.”

  “That is all we do.” He stroked her cheek. “That, and I earn a bob or two sowing a few fields while you make twenty quid sipping tea with some wealthy old biddy.”

  She laughed and cuffed his chest. “Mrs. Rowden was a sweet lady.”

  “So sweet her own son didn’t want to speak to her?”

  “Do you speak to your parents?” she shot back.

  “Not as often as I should,” he admitted with a twinge. “I make certain to call every time the tables leave me flush, but Lady Fortune is not something one is capable of planning around.”

  “How delightful—blame the woman,” she murmured with an arch look. “Lady Fortune isn’t even real and she’s responsible for everything.”

  “Lady Fortune,” he informed her, “is right here in my arms.”

  “And much prefers the close view of pillow lines upon your face to the monotony of being in a carriage,” she assured him.

  He batted his eyelashes at her. “Your words… they’re like poetry.”

  She nodded. “‘Romantic poetess’ shall be my reserve profession, should the current stream of wealthy old biddies come to an end.”

  He clutched his heart dramatically. “Let us pray for indecisive old biddies to fall from the sky like… wealthy drops of rain.”

  “You… should perchance not become a poet, either.” She gave him a consoling pat. “I hope this does not crush your dreams.”

  “Not a chance. When I was young, I wanted to be a pirate.” He chuckled in remembrance. “Or a botanist. I had very eclectic tastes.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I imagine your parents had their own idea of suitable pursuits for a young man of your station.”

  He shrugged rather than respond. There was little to say. His parents never thought he’d be much of anything. They had never managed to match their income to their spending. Why would their son fare any better?

  Nonetheless, they were always pleased to see him. And their contentment made him happy. “What do you think about paying a call on them when we get to London?”

  Her lips parted in surprise. A flicker of fear marred her brow for a moment. Then a tentative smile curved her lips.

  “That sounds delightful,” she said shyly. Her eyes shone with hope. “I would love to meet your parents.”

  “I am certain they would be delighted to meet you, too,” he answered automatically. He realized his mistake the moment her happy expression wilted.

  “You know they won’t.” The shine in her eyes went dull. “They’ll be disappointed in me. They’ll be disappointed in you for marrying me.”

  “They will not be disappointed,” he assured her. “Why should they? Have you not considered they mightn’t have the slightest inkling of your past?”

  “Have you not considered that they might?” An anguished expression filled her eyes. “What if your father takes one look at me and asks if I’m the daughter of Judith Devon, the courtesan? Perhaps they shared an ‘understanding’ a decade or two ago. Perhaps they still do. What then?”

  He winced. That would be… awkward, at best.

  “Even if all of that happens…” He cupped her cheek and forced her to meet his eyes. “I don’t care if you came from the wrong side of the blanket or if you fell from the sky. Just focus on me, and what I like.”

  “Hmm.” Her features softened. “What do you like?”

  He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. “I like this brilliant brain of yours, and I love how even perfect strangers are drawn to your compassion and logic.” He kissed her forehead. “I like how they automatically respect your opinions, and I love how proud I am of you.”

  Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “My opinions mean nothing. It’s just common sense.”

  He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. “I like these gorgeous blue eyes because they can see which henwits have misplaced their common sense so you can try to help them. These eyes are also remarkably perceptive at a gaming table. If a gentleman doesn’t mind his step, he might find himself losing more than his purse.”

  “Like when you offered me your ‘purity?’” Her tone was dry, but her eyes twinkled.

  “A selfless sacrifice,” he assured her. “To prove I was a gentleman.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Was there any doubt?”

  His heart warmed as the sparkle returned to her eyes. He leaned forward to kiss each corner of her mouth, then pressed a long kiss to the center of her lips. “I like this mouth because it hides a rapier wit. Perhaps ‘hides’ is the wrong term. I like this mouth because of the deep, grievous wounds each word makes as it cuts across my fragile ego like a—”

  She burst out laughing. “I couldn’t dent your fragile ego with an anvil.”

  “Fortuitously, we do not possess such an instrument, so we are spared the experiment.” He lowered his head and gave her delicious mouth a kiss heated with sensual promise. He touched his lips to the soft line of her jaw, behind the lobe of her ear, down the curve of her neck. “I love your beautiful neck because even when you try to hide your interest in my kisses, the pulse at the base of your throat gives you away… as it’s doing right now.”

  Her heartbeat fluttered against his lips, sending his blood racing. She was breathtaking. He tried to control his body’s natural response. There would be other opportunities to indulge in his own release. This morning, he wanted to keep the focus on her. To give her pleasure.

  She deserved no less.

  Charlotte had been raised by a woman who had spent her life pleasing men. She had perhaps never been treated with respect and consideration. Her most likely future had always been to follow her mother’s path. But that was no longer necessary. Now she had him.

  He gave her a long, sweet kiss. This was a new life. She needed to know that her wants and desires not only mattered—for him, they came first. She came first. In the bedchamber and out of it.

  He began a torturously slow series of soft, teasing kisses along the delicate line of her collarbone, across her chest, then up the plump curve of her breast above the bodice of her night rail. Heart pounding, he paused at the neckline and touched the tip of his tongue to her bare flesh.

  Desire surged through him. He tried his best to tamp it down. His finances were nowhere near stable enough to consider making love. But there were other ways to bring her pleasure. He could at least offer that much.

  Her nipples strained against the thin lawn of her night rail. He ached to dispense with the slow, tantalizing game and take her breast in his mouth. He had wanted her for so long.

  Slowly, he allowed his
parted lips to graze one of her taut nipples.

  She gasped and arched into him. The delicious contact made the exquisite yearning for a deeper physical connection that much stronger. Flames of desire licked through his veins. He reminded himself to push back his own need and focus solely on hers. If nothing else, he could at least give her one perfect memory.

  He hooked the tip of his finger beneath the bodice of her night rail. “May I?”

  She nodded wordlessly, her eyes dark with passion. Did she no longer think it necessary to refrain from consummating their marriage? Or was she no longer thinking at all?

  Anthony pushed away his doubt. This might be a terrible idea—but he needed to do it. To prove to her how important she had become to him. He wasn’t going to take her choices away. He was going to give her pleasure.

  She deserved it.

  He tugged the hem of her night rail off her shoulders and below her breasts. His blood raced at the sight. She was beautiful. If she wanted him to stop, he would. But until then… Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her bare skin, reveling in the taste of each dip and curve, in her gasp as he suckled her nipple, in the gooseflesh on her skin as her body arched to meet him.

  His breath caught. He loved how responsive she was. Her body was made for pleasure. His pulse thrummed as he slid his hand from the curve of her breasts down her flat stomach to her parted legs. He was consumed with the desire to possess her. Yet this moment was not for him, but for her. She was the center of his thoughts. Here, he could prove it.

  Breathing ragged, he pushed the hem of her night rail up to her thighs and slid his hand beneath it.

  She grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

  He blinked. “Isn’t it obvious what we’re doing?”

  “Why would it be obvious?” she stammered, then flushed as she took his meaning.

  Realization dawned on him at the same moment. Dear God. He had handled the moment all wrong. “You’re a virgin?”

  “You thought I was a whore?” Her eyes filled with shame and fury.