A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  “I look forward to experiencing them.” Too late, she realized the possible risqué innuendo to her statement.

  Thomas latched onto it immediately based on his wolfish grin, though he quickly hid it. “Miss Gold, I would remind you that ours is a business relationship. I hate to think you referred to anything other than that.” The teasing glint in his green eyes was nearly as unsettling as his dimples.

  “I didn’t—” She stopped herself before she fell into even deeper embarrassment by trying to explain what she hadn’t meant. “Returning to the purpose of my visit, you’ll consider the advertisement?”

  “Some research is in order.” He smoothed the torn advert on his desk. “I have an acquaintance at The Times. I’ll make inquiries as to whether it would be effective.”

  “That would be helpful.” She cleared her throat in an effort to force herself to ask the next question. “Have you given further thought to printing more of the first book?”

  “I have.” He sifted through several papers on his desk and pulled forth one to slide toward her. “These numbers are fairly conservative.”

  Her heart gave a little leap as she stared at the number of books. “But this is more than the first printing.”

  “Yes, but demand continues. We’ll have to be aggressive with sales, of course. Perhaps spreading the news that another book will soon be out will kindle interest. No one likes to feel left out.” He studied the numbers on the sheet. “I’m still considering a few ideas, and I’ll certainly add adverts to my list. Allow me to work on those. You stay focused on the writing.”

  She decided against telling him how difficult that was when she worried about what he was doing. But she’d already agreed to work with him. Signing the second contract herself had been monumental, as had seeing her name beside his.

  Now she needed to trust the instincts that had prompted her to agree to that contract. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep an eye on his actions. This was her career after all. She refused to place her dream in any man’s hands, even a man with irresistible dimples.

  ~*~

  Thomas enjoyed supper at his flat, a modest meal of cold meat and cheese as well as bread and wine served by his long-time valet, Belfort.

  Though in his fifth decade, Belfort was in fine form and had the energy of a young lad. He had little regard for the current fashion of men wearing their hair more naturally. His dark hair was always ruthlessly tamed with pomade and long sideburns slimmed his round face. He rarely kept his opinion to himself and, most of the time, Thomas appreciated that.

  “Will you be venturing out this evening?” Belfort asked as he cleared the table, a note of disapproval in his tone.

  The idea of waking with another headache didn’t appeal in the least. And he weary of the company found in the gaming hells. The men who appeared there every night weren’t the sort with whom one formed long-term friendships. Nor was he in the mood to seek female companionship—not when all he could see was a pair of brown eyes the color of warm chocolate.

  “No. I’m staying in this evening.” His time would be better spent re-reading the three volumes written by A. Golden. It would behoove him to make notes on the various characters to make certain the next story was consistent. He also wanted to take a closer look at the way the first two volumes of the three-decker ended and compare them to other novels he’d read that had been published in the same format.

  “Very well. I will light the fire in the sitting room,” Belfort offered. “I left The Times on your desk since you didn’t have time to read it this morning.” Belfort kindly held back from mentioning the reason was because of his usual aching head rather than due to a lack of time.

  “Thank you.” He hoped Belfort knew how much he appreciated all he did. Reading the fine print in a broadsheet was never appealing when he’d overindulged the previous evening.

  Thomas stood after finishing his wine and made his way to the sitting room where he kept a desk along with several comfortable chairs. As promised, the fire burned brightly, taking the chill off the room. Annabelle’s three volumes, or should he say A. Golden’s, sat on the corner of the small desk he kept there. It would be interesting to read the story again now that he knew who had written them.

  He had no doubt his father wouldn’t be pleased with the agreement he’d made with Annabelle since the earl preferred to keep control over everything in his life, including his sons. But Thomas liked the idea of partnering with the authors he published. They were both taking a gamble on each book released.

  He glanced over the headlines, pausing when one in particular caught his eye. A body had been found near the River Thames. Nothing unusual about that, unfortunately. But the fact that the victim had been murdered interested him, perhaps because he had murder on his mind thanks to the books. The victim appeared to be a gentleman based on his clothing. The authorities were still in the process of identifying the person so relatives could be notified. Anyone with information on the case was to contact the constable at The Thames River Police as noted. The few details shared were disturbing. The man’s skull had been severely battered on one side, and he appeared to have been stabbed with a pair of scissors, which were found nearby.

  Poor chap. It was all well and good to be entertained when reading a murder mystery in a book but a different thing entirely to encounter a true murder.

  Thomas read over the rest of the headlines then paged to the back to review the adverts. Did people pay them any mind? More importantly, did people who read books see them? Perhaps it would be worth running an advert or two to test the waters.

  He set aside the broadsheet and reached for the first volume of A Murder Most Unusual then settled into one of the more comfortable chairs by the fire with a glass of claret. Much as before, the story hooked him from the start. The protagonist was a former Navy captain who stumbled upon a murder victim and was forced to defend himself when a night watchman found him examining the body.

  The gruesome details included were part of the reason Thomas had assumed the author was male. Few ladies would write about such things, but the way Annabelle described them was vivid as if he were viewing the scene over the protagonist’s shoulder. How did one research those specifics? Had she witnessed such a scene? Interestingly enough, the reports Artemis Press had received from the various lending libraries that offered the book suggested it was popular with women as well as men.

  To his surprise, the tale was as engaging as it had been the first time, perhaps because he could better enjoy the clever turn of phrase and characters as he wasn’t rushing through the pages to discover what happened next. Annabelle Gold was a talented author.

  Well over an hour had passed when Thomas heard voices in the entrance. He looked up to see Hugh in the doorway.

  “Staying in this evening?” his brother asked as he walked forward. “I looked for you at the club without success.”

  “I decided to do a little reading this evening.” Thomas lifted the volume, a finger holding his place. Though it was on the tip of his tongue to tell his brother exactly who had written the book, he held back. He knew how important it was to Annabelle to keep her identity a secret. He trusted his brother, but the fewer people who discovered the truth the better. Yet it felt odd to not share the information with Hugh.

  He and Hugh formed a bond in childhood that continued to this day. They’d shared their father’s wrath on more than one occasion. Much like Graham, Hugh had been a protective older brother and often did whatever he could to save Thomas from the earl’s anger.

  Hugh tended to be the peacekeeper of the family, good at calming troubled waters despite his cynicism. Their father had forbidden all three of his sons from joining the military and refused to buy them a commission. He insisted there was work to be done at home. Thomas didn’t have a particular urge to go to war, but he knew Hugh had resented his father’s order.

  “Care for a drink?” Thomas asked as he set aside the volume.

  “Certainly.”
Hugh moved to stand before the fire, holding his hands closer to its warmth as Thomas moved to the sideboard where an array of crystal decanters stood. “A bit chilly out there tonight.”

  “All the more reason to stay in.” Thomas poured his brother a generous glass of claret and handed it to him. They sat in the wingback chairs before the fire.

  “What are you reading?” Hugh reached for the book. “You’ve always liked to read far more than I do.”

  “A murder mystery by A. Golden. Have you read any of the author’s work?”

  “Isn’t that the same author who has the serial in the broadsheet?”

  “Yes. He has a book out as well.” Thomas hesitated. He’d already almost slipped and said “she” instead of “he.” Not that such a misstep would give away Annabelle’s identity but why risk it? He needed to practice keeping her name hidden when he spoke of the books.

  “I didn’t know that.” Hugh paged to the first chapter and read several sentences. “That is an excellent beginning. Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

  “Certainly.”

  He frowned as he turned several pages back to look at the copyright. “Is this one Father published?”

  “Yes. It’s the only book he released that is making a tidy profit. I’ve been doing what I can to help spread the word to increase sales. It truly is a good book.”

  “I wonder if you could convince the editor that publishes the serial to mention it at the end of the next chapter.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. The author suggested placing an advertisement to me just this morning. Putting it at the end of the chapter would be an even better way to gain more attention.” Thomas frowned at his brother. “I told Graham you’d be better at this job than me.”

  “Nonsense. I’m not as much of a reader as you are. I would have no idea how to decide which stories to publish.”

  Thomas ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not certain I do either. But to my good fortune, this author has another book nearly ready, so we’ll be releasing that one for certain. Graham insists I do all I can to make Artemis Press profitable. Do you truly think funds are that tight?”

  “Based on what little I know, yes. Graham has been whispering in my ear about marrying a lady with a substantial fortune.” He shook his head. “I’m not even certain I want to get married, but I suppose I shall consider it.”

  Thomas felt much the same way. He wasn’t in any hurry to marry nor did he have a title or wealth to attract anyone. Hugh didn’t either, but Thomas had no doubt Hugh would marry well if and when he chose to do so. Women adored him.

  Hugh handed him the book. “I heard the strangest thing last night at the club.”

  “Oh?” The odd look on his brother’s face had Thomas listening closer.

  “Someone told me you danced with Miss Gold at the Stannus ball the other evening.”

  “What of it?”

  “I thought you had sworn off ladies like her as you had no intention of marrying any time soon. And I wanted to make certain you aren’t falling victim to either of the two L’s. Is there something I should know?” Hugh had sworn never to fall victim to love or lust—the two L’s—ingredients that he swore ruined their parents’ lives.

  Thomas shifted in his chair despite the teasing glint clearly visible in his brother’s eyes. “Good heavens, no. The lady was standing alone, and I asked her to dance.”

  “I don’t think Annabelle Gold needs anyone’s sympathy. She’s quite popular from what I know.”

  “Yes, well, she’s attractive and capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation. That’s reason enough to dance with her, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so. You’re rather defensive on the topic.”

  “There is nothing between Miss Gold and me. You’ll be the first to know if that changes.”

  “Promise?”

  Thomas chuckled as his brother had meant him to. No one could get under his skin better than Hugh. He always knew exactly the right thing to say to vex Thomas. Despite knowing that, he still allowed Hugh to do it. Such was the relationship between brothers, he supposed.

  “Were you looking for me at the club just to inquire about my intentions toward Miss Gold?” Thomas asked, hoping to change the subject.

  Hugh set his glass on the small table between them. “Unfortunately, I come bearing bad news. Do you remember Joseph Smead?”

  Thomas searched his mind for the familiar name. “Wasn’t he the younger brother of the Earl of Arlingwood?”

  “Yes, he was between you and me at Eton I think.” Hugh shook his head. “They found his body on the bank of the Thames. He was murdered.”

  “Was that the one mentioned in The Times this morning?”

  “Yes. From what little I heard they have few clues as to who might’ve done it.”

  “That’s terrible.” Concern rolled through him. “Why would anyone want him dead?”

  Hugh shook his head. “It’s quite the mystery.” He tapped the cover of the book. “Perhaps your A. Golden could determine who was behind it.”

  The idea of Annabelle involved in anything close to a real murder gave him chills. Thank heavens that was something he’d never have to worry over.

  Chapter Four

  The following morning, Annabelle settled at the desk in her room with the previous day’s broadsheet. The paper stayed in her father’s office for a day before her mother replaced it with the latest one. Annabelle didn’t know if he actually read it but keeping to a routine seemed to help lessen his confusion.

  She enjoyed looking over the articles as it often spurred new ideas for stories. Writing both a new book and continuing the serial in the broadsheet was a challenge. Before she could do more than lift the paper, her bedchamber door opened and Margaret peered inside.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all. I was just about to get started.”

  Margaret entered, carrying a gown. She paused and held it before her. “How does this look?”

  Her younger sister had spent the past two years giving new life to their gowns each season. With money tight, ordering new ones hadn’t been possible. But her clever skills made that lack a well-kept secret. She took lace and ribbons and other embellishments from one and put them on another. Some she’d dyed to change the color. Several times, she’d modified a waistline to keep up with the latest fashion. She had a good eye for what styles suited them and thoroughly enjoyed developing designs, often sketching her ideas before bringing them to life.

  “It’s lovely,” Annabelle said. Margaret had woven narrow strips of pink and white satin into a figure eight design and sewn them in strips onto the bodice then lined them with decorative pearls. “Truly gorgeous.”

  “It’s for you.” Margaret drew closer and held it out with a smile.

  “Me?”

  “This was Caroline’s gown, but she doesn’t need it anymore. That leaves you. This pale pink will be wonderful on you. I like to think the new bodice adds a certain level of sophistication to the gown.”

  “It does indeed.” Thrilled, Annabelle rose to take the gown and hold it against her as she looked in the mirror. “I love it. Thank you, Margaret. Your talent never fails to amaze me.”

  “If you’d like, I can sew a few seed pearls on your pink slippers so they match the gown.”

  “Perfect. I’ll get them for you.” She laid the gown on her bed with care then moved to her wardrobe to retrieve the slippers. After she handed them over, she hugged Margaret. “I absolutely adore it. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Perhaps it will catch the eye of someone special.”

  Funny that Thomas Raybourne immediately came to mind. “I think I’ll stay focused on my writing for now.” Annabelle hadn’t told anyone of her intention to avoid marriage as she knew none of her family would support it.

  “As special as you are, I doubt that will be possible for long.” Margaret smiled. “A handsome man will ask you to dance then steal your heart.”

>   That was the last thing Annabelle wanted. She’d seen the unfortunate effects love could have on a woman’s independence. But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone, not even Margaret, how she felt.

  “I can’t wait to see what you design next.”

  Margaret clapped her hands in excitement. “I already have another gown sketched out for you, but I want to surprise you with it. How is the writing coming along?”

  “Quite well. The next book is nearly finished.”

  “I think it’s cruel of you to make us wait to read it.” Margaret’s scowl only made Annabelle smile.

  “It’s not so different from you preferring not to show us your design until it’s complete.”

  “I suppose not. Very well. I will leave you to your work so you’ll finish sooner, and therefore we can read it sooner.”

  “Thank you again. You have such a gift.”

  As Margaret closed the door, leaving her in peace, Annabelle returned to the bed to study the gown. It truly was beautiful. One of the most elegant she’d ever had. Butterflies flooded her at the thought of wearing it and dancing with Thomas again.

  How was she going to keep her feelings for him professional when they also met socially? She released a frustrated breath as she admitted the truth. If he smiled at her she nearly forgot her name, let alone any book matter she wished to discuss. Luckily for her, he rarely attended balls anymore. Surely she wouldn’t run into him often, which would help her to keep her attraction to him locked away.

  With a sigh, she returned to her desk. She started with The Times, reading the articles that caught her attention. The report of a murder immediately drew her eye. She quickly read the article only to read it again more slowly, her heart pounding.

  Though the description was rather vague, she couldn’t help but notice how closely it matched the first murder in her first published book, A Murder Most Unusual. She pulled the volume from her drawer and paged to the chapter where the protagonist discovered the body. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she compared the two. She rose to pace the room, wondering if it was as close as she thought. There was only one person she wanted to speak to about this—Thomas.