A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  She drew back and looked into Thomas’s green eyes to find them filled with a need that caught her breath.

  “How soon can we wed?” he asked with a slow smile.

  She hid her surprise. Was that what they both wanted? In the back of her mind, she’d held hope that after a long betrothal, they could go their separate ways. In a few months, no one would remember they’d been caught in Sir Alexander’s library. But the feelings she had for this man made her question that hope.

  What did he feel for her? That was what she truly needed to know before she could answer his question.

  “What do you think of doing so in two weeks?” he asked, the seriousness of his expression nearly making her heart stop.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thomas whistled as he left the modest townhouse a short distance from Portman Square. It was perfect as far as he was concerned, and he owed Graham a debt of gratitude for having suggested it. The place would make an ideal home for a newly married couple, and that made Thomas happy.

  In fact, Annabelle made him happy. He hadn’t looked forward to his future this much before, and she was to thank for it. He couldn’t wait to show the home to Annabelle.

  Graham approved of his impending marriage and had offered to sell a finely matched pair of horses to place a deposit on the house if Thomas wished it. He’d also reminded Thomas that he’d receive a modest inheritance from his mother’s estate upon his marriage, something he’d forgotten about.

  The rent would take much of Thomas’s meager income from his share of the Artemis Press profit, but he had every intention of improving the company’s financial success for both his own and his brothers’ benefit. Now he had Annabelle to think of as well.

  He'd proposed the idea of establishing a lending library to Graham a few days ago as a way to increase their income. Few people had the pocket money to purchase books, but a lending library allowed potential readers to pay a subscription fee and enjoy reading titles of their choosing and then return them. He intended to make plenty of Artemis Press books available for borrowers. He still needed to determine projections for the cost and potential profit before they proceeded, but Graham had been intrigued by the idea. A portion of the profits from the second printing of Annabelle’s first book should give them the money they needed to start it, but that was on hold until the murderer was caught.

  While Graham was in favor of and supported Thomas’s sudden change from rogue to a soon-to-be husband, Hugh seemed puzzled by it. Though aware that Thomas had little choice but to offer Annabelle marriage, he acted as if he was waiting for Thomas to revert to his previous activities despite his betrothed status.

  Hugh would soon realize Thomas truly had changed.

  He hadn’t explained to either of his brothers how much he was coming to care for Annabelle. Or that the prospect of spending time with her far outweighed the appeal of indulging in his usual vices. Those activities no longer had any appeal. How could he when he didn’t understand it himself?

  Love had never been in his vocabulary, not after watching his parents’ marriage. But lust certainly didn’t fit what he felt for Annabelle. It was far more as if their betrothal had forced a hidden part of himself to the surface—one that had hope. He shook his head at his fanciful thoughts.

  The day was a fine one with the sun chasing away the morning fog, and he decided to walk part of the way to the office as it would provide time to think, and walking often made that easier. The townhome had been a nice distraction and allowed him to ponder something other than the murders and the East India Company, but now he needed to decide the next course of action in the investigation.

  Though Pickford provided a few answers, what he’d told them had also created questions. Thomas had more than enough of those already. Attempting to uncover the convoluted motivations of East India seemed impossible. The Company had become a complicated enterprise that acted more like its own country than merely a business. Determining a way to stop them, let alone bring anyone involved to justice, was a daunting task.

  Yet he couldn’t let it rest.

  Frustration filled him. He should be spending his time at the publishing company, especially now that he had an even better reason to make it a success—Annabelle. And he should focus on convincing her that their marriage would also be a success. She acted less than certain in that regard, although she responded favorably enough when she was in his arms.

  He was grateful for the passion they found together, and despite the temptation to take advantage of the privacy they’d had the previous day at Aberland’s, he’d resisted. He intended to start their marriage on the proper footing. Their wedding night would arrive soon enough, and he wanted it to be special.

  Deciding he’d lingered overlong, he caught a hackney to take him to Artemis Press. East India and all the rest would have to wait for one more day. He intended to take today for his own and that meant working at the office.

  Within a quarter of an hour, he was at his desk, drawing a pile of waiting manuscripts closer. He’d already completed the edits on Annabelle’s second book and was both excited and nervous to share his thoughts with her. That conversation would be a true test of their relationship. While his suggestions were modest, he hoped she’d see how pleased he was with the story and would take them not as criticism but as a way to make the book even stronger.

  In the meantime, he needed to find another story with the potential for profit. A Gothic tale caught his interest. Most were too far-fetched to be taken seriously, but the author had done a fine job of weaving a young lady in dire straits into an uncomfortable but mysterious position. He made a note to have Bing request more information from the author.

  As if reading Thomas’s mind, Bing appeared in the doorway, eyes wide.

  “What is it?” Thomas asked, concern creeping up his spine.

  “Someone to see you, sir.”

  Before Thomas had the chance to respond, Sir Alexander Bolton strode into his office, a grim look upon his face.

  Thomas stood slowly even as his stomach sank. Apparently, he wouldn’t have the day to focus on what he wanted after all.

  “Sir Alexander.” He nodded at Bing to close the door. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “We have some unfinished business.” He sat in the chair before the desk and gestured for Thomas to do the same.

  “What might that be?” Thomas asked as he complied, a feeling of dread creeping over him.

  “You continue to insert yourself into matters that don’t pertain to you. Therefore, I’ve come to explain the situation so you understand what’s expected.”

  Thomas’s temper rose at the man’s condescending tone.

  “I intend to ruin Sir Reginald Gold. The bastard stole a contract from me, which cost me a fortune—the same contract that gained him his knighthood. The loss of it nearly destroyed my family.” Bitterness laced the man’s tone. “Sir Reginald will feel the same pain my family and I did when he’s forced to sell for next to nothing.”

  “That must’ve happened years ago.” Yet Thomas could see by the look in his eyes that time hadn’t eased the supposed insult.

  “I’d nearly succeeded in making him sell for almost nothing before Aberland stuck his nose in the business and managed to turn things around,” Sir Alexander continued as if Thomas hadn’t spoken. “That forced me to adjust my plans, which is where you come into play. Learning the identity of A. Golden was a stroke of luck tossed into my lap. Such signs from fate are impossible to ignore.”

  “Why would you think one of our authors has anything to do with Sir Reginald?” How could Sir Alexander have discovered Annabelle’s pen name?

  “I believe you’re acquainted with Mr. Jonesby, a former editor who worked for your father,” Sir Alexander said, a knowing look in his eye. “He is my wife’s cousin and was rather angry at your treatment of him when you took over the publishing company. Jonesby talked on and on about A Murder Most Unusual and how it was only with his h
elp that the book became a modest success. He made me read the damned thing and told us how he worked closely with Miss Gold during the editing process.”

  Thomas had reviewed the notes back and forth between Jonesby and Annabelle and ‘argued’ would’ve been a more apt description. His heavy-handed methods had been why Thomas had fired him. Yet the realization that Thomas had played any part in this affair was a punch to his stomach, far worse than the pain the thugs who accosted him a few days ago had delivered.

  “Miss Gold has nothing to do with her father’s business,” Thomas insisted. “What purpose would be served by revealing her identity?”

  “To force Sir Reginald to agree to sell for a ridiculously low price,” the man said with a satisfied smile. “The threat of his daughter facing ruination will cause him anguish, and he’ll sell for a tenth of what his dock is worth.”

  Did Sir Alexander realize how Sir Reginald’s memory was failing? That wasn’t Thomas’s secret to share, nor did he think it would change the his determination to ruin his old rival.

  “I have no doubt Sir Reginald is less than pleased that she writes such rubbish.” Sir Alexander’s thin lip curled with distaste. “I wouldn’t want my daughter to. Some things are best reserved for men, and writing books is one of them.”

  Thomas clenched his jaw to keep from vehemently disagreeing. Annabelle’s talents surpassed most writers, regardless of gender, and he’d thought that before knowing her identity.

  “Now then, you will cancel your contract with Miss Gold and no longer be her publisher,” Sir Alexander ordered. “You will not print or distribute any more of her books from this day forward. If you do, her identity as author A. Golden will be revealed in the same broadsheet that prints her serial chapters and the world will know who she is, effectively ruining her. The article would also share the terrible details of the recent murders that are obviously connected to her book.”

  He stared at the man in disbelief. If he was so determined to ruin Sir Reginald, why didn’t he threaten to reveal A. Golden’s identity? Sir Reginald and the family would surely agree to sell the shipping business for any amount to protect Annabelle from ruin.

  Sir Alexander nodded as he met Thomas’s gaze. “I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps you’re more intelligent than I thought. Yes, I could simply advise Sir Reginald that if he doesn’t sell for the price I want, I will unmask the fact that his daughter is Golden, but I will not stoop to using a lady in that manner. However, any income she receives as author serves as a crutch to Sir Reginald and must end. I want him to suffer as I did.”

  Thomas didn’t pretend to understand the man’s reasoning. Nor did he think rationalizing with a mad man would make a difference. But learning more might. “Why take an innocent person’s life simply to copy those murder scenes?”

  “Smead was not so innocent. He was causing all sorts of problems by interfering in Company business. His questions regarding our trading policies were bringing unwanted attention. He had to go when he was discovered at the wrong place at the wrong time. He would’ve shared what he saw with his brother, the earl. I couldn’t allow that.” Sir Alexander folded his arms over his chest. “I thought for certain when I had one of our men use some of the ridiculous details from the book that the authorities would look at the author. Especially after the second murder. But alas, apparently they hadn’t read the book.”

  Thomas couldn’t believe the audacity of the man, nor did he understand why the knight was telling him so much. Was he so intent on bragging that he didn’t realize all he’d said? Then again, Thomas wasn’t in any position to take action against him. He needed evidence to be certain of the outcome.

  “The Earl of Aberland’s recent involvement in the dock has been a concern,” Sir Alexander added, as if thinking to himself, “but that will soon be addressed.”

  “How so?” Thomas pressed, hoping the knight would share more.

  “Only a wastrel like you would expect me to be stupid enough to share such details.” Sir Alexander shook his head. “Your father never hesitated to tell anyone who would listen what he thought of you. Your recent efforts to press for the truth, including your search of my library, are amusing. Especially coming from you. But that must end.”

  “What makes you think I will comply with anything you’ve said?” Sir Alexander’s confidence made Thomas worry about what else he might have in mind.

  “A plan is already in place for the next murder, although the victim is yet to be determined. However, it will be someone for whom you care. And it will be done just as described in A. Golden’s book. It might be your brother, Hugh. Perhaps Aberland or his wife. It could be the author herself, your betrothed.” Sir Alexander gave a careless shrug. “Who is to say? An opportunity will arise for one of them to die if you tell anyone about our conversation or fail to comply with my demands.”

  “You would murder another innocent person simply to avenge a deed that happened years ago?” Thomas shook his head, refusing to allow the man to see the depth of the cold fear that spread through him.

  “Haven’t you heard? Delayed vengeance is more satisfying. One has more time to savor the results. Having the East India Company’s resources at my disposal has eased my path and now is the perfect time to make Sir Reginald pay.”

  “His dock is no threat to you or the Company,” Thomas argued.

  “You’re right. It isn’t. But each time I travel past it on the way to the East India Company’s office, I am reminded of my failure. No more. I’ve convinced the Company that we need the dock, which fits nicely with my plan.”

  “The atrocities you’re committing in the name of vengeance will eat at your soul.” Thomas detested the helpless anger that filled him, but it was better than helpless fear.

  Sir Alexander chuckled. “How kind of you to worry about my soul. Trust me, it’s in good hands with the East India Company.” He rose from the chair. “Now then, I have no doubt I can count on your discretion in this matter, as well as your ability to carry out my requests.” The man leaned forward. “If you wish to keep those you care about free from harm, then simply do as I say. That shouldn’t be too hard, even for a worthless rake. We’ll be watching closely.”

  ~*~

  Annabelle walked alongside Margaret through the Hadleys’ extensive garden, now filled with guests, all there to enjoy the fine afternoon, beautiful scenery, and some refreshments.

  Their home was near Hyde Park and boasted several unusual varieties of roses, lilacs, snowdrops, and daffodils as well as boxwood hedges trimmed into neat rows, creating low walls around the many flower beds. A wrought-iron arch spanned one of the paths, softened by a climbing plant with blue blossoms. There were tall shrubs, rounded ones, and others trimmed into unusual geometric patterns. Somewhere amidst the garden was a fountain that boasted water faeries playing, but they hadn’t yet come across it.

  “These are amazing.” Margaret stopped to admire a flower with red and white-striped petals. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have something like this in our garden?”

  “Might I point out that you are rarely in our garden?” Annabelle raised a brow. Her sister spent much of her day sewing, drawing gowns, or reading about the latest fashions.

  Margaret offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Perhaps I would if our garden looked like this.”

  “It is delightful,” Annabelle admitted as she took in their surroundings.

  Dozens of guests wandered about the garden’s paths to enjoy the flowers, the ladies’ gowns adding to the colorful view. A refreshment table stood under an awning where liveried footmen offered glasses of lemonade and champagne.

  Lady Gold had remained home with their father, but Annabelle wished she’d come. Her mother enjoyed flowers even more than she and Margaret did, and the setting was truly delightful.

  “Is Mr. Raybourne coming this afternoon?” Margaret asked.

  “I believe so, though he didn’t say for certain.” Annabelle’s stomach fluttered at the thought. She told he
rself that she hoped to see him because she wanted an update on the mystery, but she knew that wasn’t completely true. In fact, it wasn’t true at all. She liked spending time with him.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to wear for the ceremony?”

  “Ceremony?” Annabelle forced her thoughts to return to the conversation as they continued along the path.

  Margaret paused mid-stride to stare at her in disbelief. “Your wedding ceremony.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Her heart thumped alarmingly. She’d been so caught up in the murders and all that went with them, she hadn’t thought about the details surrounding the actual marriage. And perhaps it was too unsettling to think about. Did Thomas truly care for her? Would they be happy together? Would he support her desire to continue writing?

  Her sister’s dark eyes, so like her own, narrowed with suspicion. “What will you wear?” As if her answer—or lack thereof—indicated whether she was prepared to wed.

  Annabelle quickly considered her options. “I was thinking of the primrose gown with the white ribbons.”

  “The neckline is too high.” Margaret started forward again, and Annabelle did as well. “What about the green one? The color does wonders for your skin.”

  “That might work, though it’s rather plain.” Annabelle drew a breath of relief that her sister believed her. “Oh. Of course. I’ll wear the pink one you just gave me.” A frisson of excitement filled her at the thought. She’d been saving it for a special occasion. Little had she known just how special it would be.

  “How perfect. Why don’t I make some small flowers out of ribbon to place along the waist as well as a few more for your hair?”

  “Thank you, Margaret. I’d like that.”

  “I still don’t think you’re acting like a woman about to be married,” Margaret whispered as they paused to admire a delicate yellow rose.

  “Then how am I acting?” Guilt slid through her as she knew Margaret was right.