More Than a Rogue

by Sophie Barnes

  But her distance toward him had grown more pronounced in the last few days, and he found that he now missed more than just attempting to court her with seduction. He missed talking to her; the simple exchange of opinions, experiences, and recollections that they had begun to enjoy. He took another sip of his drink. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Perhaps he’d been too forward.

  This was certainly an angle worth considering. Because they’d agreed to be brutally honest, he’d thought she’d appreciate directness, even when it came to his advances. But he was starting to suspect he might be mistaken about that. Perhaps a more subtle approach would be better, or at least less likely to scare her off.

  And she was scared, though of what exactly he wasn’t quite sure. But he’d seen it in her eyes when she’d stepped away from him in the parlor and again when he’d passionately told her of his desire.

  He wasn’t sure why this would be the case unless she worried he’d move too fast or expect too much. So then, the way forward would be with increased subtlety and flirtation.

  And then?

  Griffin returned to his seat, set down his glass, and finished fixing the clock. He wound it with the key and was swiftly rewarded by its soft ticking. Whatever happened would be up to Miss Howard. All her life she’d been steered in one direction and told what to do. If there was one thing he could give her that he believed would mean more to her than anything else, it was being given the chance to choose.

  Of course he almost forgot all about this honorable intention of his that evening when it was time for them to leave for the Partridge residence. Griffin was waiting in the foyer when a glimpse of red at the top of the stairs caught his attention. He looked up, mesmerized by the shimmering silk now making its descent, and by the woman it encased.

  Dear merciful God, she was stunning and more than capable of bringing ten thousand men to their knees if she put her mind to it. Griffin could only stare as the part of the gown that covered Miss Howard’s legs came into view. It was followed by her hips, her waist, her breasts, and finally, when he managed to tear his gaze away from that particularly delectable part, her face.

  “You look,” he swallowed so she wouldn’t catch him drooling, “incredible.”

  The shy smile with which she responded only added to her allure. Innocence incarnate, even when she pretended sophistication. Griffin could scarcely breathe.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, the words softly spoken beneath her breath. She cleared her throat. “I must give Mama credit. Scarlett was her suggestion.”

  Griffin shifted his gaze to Mrs. Howard, who’d somehow materialized next to her daughter without him noticing.

  “Good choice.” He smiled politely and prayed his expression did not reveal the extent to which Miss Howard stirred his imagination. And other things.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Howard’s eyes brightened with appreciation, none the wiser. So Griffin opened the front door and escorted both women to the waiting carriage.

  “I feared the dress would be too bold,” Emily discreetly told Lord Griffin when they arrived at Partridge House. She’d spent the drive fidgeting with her skirt while he’d conversed with her mother from the opposite bench. Apparently, the two shared a fondness for Vermeer, music boxes, and Vivaldi.

  By the time they arrived at their destination, the Four Seasons in its entirety had been discussed with several favorite parts hummed in time to the tap of Georgina’s slipper.

  “In my opinion, it is perfect,” Lord Griffin assured her in an equally low whisper as they accompanied Emily’s mother up the front steps. His hand settled briefly against her lower back, the heat from it pressing possessively into her skin for the second it lasted.

  And then they were at the front door, being welcomed by the Partridge butler and ushered into a grand foyer where shawls were collected before they were led into the parlor to meet their hosts. Mr. David Partidge was the first to step forward and greet them, his attention going first to Emily’s mother and then to Emily herself.

  His eyes lit up when he stepped toward her, his lips curving with appreciation as he took her in. He reached for her hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles. “Exquisite,” he murmured. Straightening himself, he held her gaze, apparently for a beat too long since Lord Griffin cleared his throat, forcing Mr. Partridge to acknowledge him next.

  Mr. Partridge released Emily’s hand, though not without her noting the slide of his fingers against her own. She glanced at Lord Griffin and sucked in a breath. His expression was rigid, his jaw clenched tight as he stared at Mr. Partridge with flint in his eyes.

  Mr. Partridge did not seem to notice, or if he did, he failed to show it. Instead, he smiled and offered Lord Griffin his hand. “Mr. Crawford. It is such a pleasure to have you join us for dinner. If you please, allow me to introduce you to my parents, who have been very eager to make your acquaintance. You remember my sister of course, Miss Amanda Partridge.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Griffin muttered, his voice a clear indication that he did not like Mr. Partridge in the least.

  Emily steeled herself for what she feared might turn into an unpleasant evening and followed him and her mother over to where Mr. Partridge’s parents and sister stood waiting.

  “This is my father, Mr. George Partridge and my mother, Mrs. Lydia Partridge,” Mr. Partridge said with a warm smile.

  The older couple greeted Emily’s mother first, then Lord Griffin, and finally Emily. Deciding not to aggravate Lord Griffin any further, Emily struck up a conversation with Miss Partridge in an effort to avoid speaking with her brother. But Mr. David Partridge was apparently quite determined to gain her attention, for he extricated himself quite smoothly from the group comprising his parents, Georgina, and Lord Griffin, and came to join her and his sister instead.

  “I was wondering if you could give us an update on how the children you care for are doing,” he said. “If memory serves, there are five?”

  “That is correct,” Emily said, a little impressed that he would remember. “Two boys and three girls. They’re in London at the moment with Lady Cassandra.”

  “Clearview must seem empty without them there,” Miss Partridge said.

  “There’s certainly less noise,” Emily confessed.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” Mr. Partridge told her with a chuckle. He studied her a moment before quietly asking, “Do you miss it?”

  “I miss them,” Emily said and for some reason that answer seemed to please him, judging from the increased brightness in his eyes.

  “You have a good heart,” he said as if thinking out loud.

  “The same could be said of you,” Emily replied. “There are many who would donate to charitable causes but only a few who would actually get involved. The fact that you visit the orphanages you help in order to ensure that the children there are properly cared for is very impressive.”

  “You flatter me, Miss Howard.”

  “I speak the truth,” she told him honestly.

  “My brother can’t bear to see children suffer,” Miss Partridge added. “It would seem the two of you have that in common.”

  Emily dipped her head in silent agreement. When she looked up, her gaze met Lord Griffin’s from across the room, the anger she saw there unnerving her more than she cared to admit.

  A nerve ticked at the edge of his jaw, and for a second she feared he might storm across the room, pick her up, and carry her out of the house. But then his attention was broken by something Mr. George Partridge said, and Emily expelled a breath she had not even realized she had been holding.

  “May I escort you?” Mr. David Partridge asked her when the butler announced it was time to go in for dinner. He held his arm up and Emily carefully placed her hand upon it. To do otherwise would have been rude. And besides, Lord Griffin did not own her. He had no right to oppose Mr. David Partridge’s attentions or to let them bother him.

  Bolstered by this knowledge, Emily straightened her spine and de
cided to enjoy her host’s company. After all, Mr. Partridge was not only handsome but very likeable. “When do you plan on returning to Dorset?” she asked him once the first course was underway and she’d grown accustomed to Lord Griffin’s glower from across the table.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Mr. Partridge informed her. “I must get back, loathe as I am to part with this particular area of England.” He turned his gaze toward her as he said it, leaving no doubt in Emily’s mind that Lord Griffin had been correct. Mr. Partridge did have intentions toward her, and they included the prospect of courtship and marriage.

  She glanced at Lord Griffin and caught herself swallowing. His gaze was so intense it seemed to burn straight through her. Her cheeks grew warm and her hands a bit clammy. She reached for her glass, desperate for something with which to distract herself from both of these men. This wasn’t what she was used to. She’d been a wallflower all her life and did not have the necessary skill or experience to tackle a territorial fight carried out by two dominant males.

  Mr. Partridge smiled and in that smile she saw hope and determination. He shifted it toward Lord Griffin, took a sip of his wine, and asked, “How is your wife faring, Mr. Crawford?”

  The emphasis on wife was not lost on Emily. Hands trembling, she set the glass to her lips and took a big gulp. Apparently, the battle had already begun, and with Mr. Partridge reminding Lord Griffin, whom he thought was Caleb, that his aversion to his interest in Emily was inappropriate and misplaced.

  Heaven help her.

  Lord Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “Perfectly well,” he clipped and stuck a piece of pheasant in his mouth. When he spoke again, his expression had eased and his voice had become suspiciously pleasant. “I daresay she misses not only myself but Miss Howard as well. The two are, as you well know, longtime friends. Practically sisters, in fact.” He picked up his glass and swirled his wine slowly about before saying, “As such, Miss Howard is not only under her parents’ protection, but under mine as well.”

  Dear God.

  Emily had to clamp her mouth shut to keep it from falling open. Had Lord Griffin really just told Mr. Partridge that he would have to go through him in order to get to Emily? He might as well have tossed a glove in the man’s face for all the difference it made.

  Mrs. Lydia Partridge coughed, alleviating only a fraction of the tension now filling the dining room. “I must say, your concern for a family friend’s well-being is admirable, Mr. Crawford.”

  “Unusually so,” Mr. Partridge said dryly, his eyes no longer shining with pleasure but rather glaring at Lord Griffin with severe irritation. He frowned even as the conversation was redirected toward the subject of a new play that was due to open in London - one that his sister was very keen to see.

  “Perhaps we can go together,” Miss Partridge suggested several minutes later when everyone had been informed of the general plot.

  “An excellent idea,” Emily agreed, the smile she pasted on her face pulling painfully at her cheeks. Whatever Lord Griffin’s reaction might have been to her answer, she failed to see it on account of the very deliberate effort she made to ignore him. And because she was irked by his behavior, she even decided to add, “I plan on visiting my parents again at the end of May, and since I have only a few friends in London, your added company along with your brother’s would be most welcome indeed.”

  “I am so very pleased to hear you say that,” Mr. Partridge murmured a little too smugly for her liking.

  Emily forced a smile and gave her attention to her food. She didn’t dare look at Lord Griffin for the remainder of the meal and was happy to avoid him completely when he and the other men went to enjoy their after-dinner drinks in the library.

  Meanwhile, she did her best to focus on the conversations taking place in the parlor where she and the ladies were served sherry, but doing so was impossible when her thoughts kept straying to Lord Griffin. He had no right to act like a jealous fiancé, not to mention the fact that he risked revealing the truth. If the Partridges discovered he wasn’t really Caleb and they’d been lied to, it was more than her reputation and his that risked being ruined. Her mother’s was now at stake as well. So for him to allow whatever irritation he felt to show was completely unacceptable and very much deserving of her ire.

  The more she thought on this, the more she believed it, and by the time she said good night to the Partridges, she’d convinced herself that Lord Griffin deserved to be put in his place. She had to remind him of the risk he’d taken by letting himself be ruled by emotion. So she took her seat stiffly in the carriage and waited for it to take off.

  But before she got out one word, her mother said, “Well, that went rather well.”

  Emily spun her head sideways to look at the woman who’d brought her into this world. “If having an unpleasant evening was the aim, then yes, it most certainly did.”

  Lord Griffin grumbled something from the opposite side of the carriage and stubbornly turned to look out the window, even though there was nothing but darkness to see.

  “I fail to see your point,” Georgina said with the same degree of cluelessness she’d shown when she’d chosen to plump up her daughter and dress her in orange. “We have all agreed to meet again in London, so whatever you felt went wrong has not deterred the Partridges from wanting to further their acquaintance with us.” She patted Emily’s hand. “And Mr. David Partridge was so attentive toward you too. There can be no doubt about his interest. So if you and Lord Griffin don’t wish to marry, perhaps you could entertain the idea of marrying him instead?”

  Emily dropped her gaze to the floor of the carriage. Perhaps she could find an escape hatch there? A low growl reminded her why she was eager to flee, and it was because she would sooner or later have to deal with a man whose desire for her was just as terrifying as her desire for him.

  Forgetting himself completely, Griffin muttered a hasty, “Good night,” before stalking into the Clearview dining room and shutting the door behind him. It wasn’t until he’d poured himself his second glass of brandy that he was levelheaded enough to reflect on the fact that he should have waited for Miss Howard and her mother to head upstairs before quitting their company.

  He was just so bloody furious he could scarcely see straight, and he had been so for several hours now. So he’d snatched the first chance he’d gotten to escape the woman who’d caused his blood to run hot through his veins all evening. First, on account of the gown she’d worn and then, by enjoying the attention of Mr. Damnhimtohell David Partridge.

  His gaze had lingered on her as if she’d been a delectable feast he was hoping to one day devour. He had paid particular attention to the swell of her breasts when he’d bowed over her hand, pretending gentlemanly politeness when Griffin had practically been able to see every sordid fantasy he hoped to play out with her painted in the air.

  Christ almighty!

  Griffin raked his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut while pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d never experienced jealousy before, certainly not this all-consuming variety and never because of a woman. It had made him almost barbaric, his need to conquer and claim her and put her off limits to all other men so intense, he’d completely lost focus of what truly mattered. Her reputation and her mother’s as well.

  Damn, if he hadn’t made a muck of things, but it couldn’t be helped. Not when she’d chosen to bat her eyelashes at the foppish bastard and serve him encouraging smiles. Hell, she’d even issued him a direct invitation to meet with her in London.

  Griffin tightened his grip on his glass. Perhaps he should leave her to it. Leave in the morning and go back to Vienna. Put as much distance between himself and Miss Emily Howard as possible. Before he lost his mind completely. Before she reduced him to a fool.

  Hell.

  She’d already done so. His unacceptable behavior this evening was proof enough. And it had to be stopped.

  He took another deep swallow of brandy just as the dining room door eased
open. The snick of the handle drew his attention. His head turned sideways, and his eyes settled perfectly on the woman whose presence he’d grown so fond of.

  Yes, damn it. He more than wanted and desired her. He needed her in a way that he’d never needed anyone else before. Even though she had the power to turn him into a raving lunatic. She was still wearing the red gown, and the only thing he could think of as she stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her was what it might be like to pull her neckline down over her shoulders. Would she sigh with pleasure or push him away when he pressed his mouth to her skin?

  The steel in her eyes suggested that she wasn’t looking to be seduced but rather to have some choice words. His muscles tightened with anticipation. An argument would be equally welcome as a means by which to alleviate some of the tension straining his body.

  “You behaved badly tonight,” she began.

  Her back was straight, her chin slightly raised, and her face a perfect display of severe displeasure.

  Griffin set his glass aside and flexed his fingers. The way she said that… Heaven have mercy on his sordid mind but her scolding manner did not have the humbling effect he believed she hoped for. Rather, he found it to be unexpectedly arousing.

  Oblivious, she moved toward him, closing the distance. “Your attempt to dissuade Mr. David Partridge from giving his attentions to me was not only rude but—”

  “Are you interested in him?”

  Miss Howard’s eyes widened and he realized belatedly that he had practically barked the question, the name David Partridge igniting a fury inside him that made him wish the man would materialize before him for the sole purpose of being punched in the face. But rather than burst into tears or flee the room, she raised her chin higher. “No. But that is not the point.”