Claimed by the Rogue (10 page)

He slanted a skeptical look. “That true?”

Phoebe nodded. “Entirely and by the by, I am here to teach you, not trick you. Now take your seat, and in the future kindly preface your remarks with the raising of your hand.”

“Yes, miss.” He gifted her with a goofy grin and reeled away.

Feeling as though she’d just won a significant victory, she picked up her chalk stub and turned to face the board. “Sir Isaac’s experiment proves an important premise put forth centuries earlier by the Greek philosopher, Aristotle: ‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’” In big block letters, she wrote the sentence upon the board. “Now, who can tell me the meaning of
abhor
?”

Uncharacteristic quiet met the question. Phoebe turned about—and found her pupils riveted on the rear of the room, only this time the instigator wasn’t Billy.

It was Robert!

A capped floor matron ushered him in, and Phoebe’s heart caught in her throat. The bottle-green frock coat, starched lawn shirt and buff-colored breeches he wore must be borrowed—they were far too tasteful to satisfy his new flamboyance—and even the most nimble-fingered of tailors would require more than a mere three days to turn out such a splendid ensemble. Still, the clothing molded to his broad shoulders, trim torso and muscular thighs as though fashioned for him. A beaver hat replaced the previous evening’s extravagant plumage. The jaunty smile he flashed on catching her eye was, however, wholly his own.

Phoebe’s hand holding the chalk clenched, snapping the stick in twain. “Children, be seated,” she called out, though of course it was too late—hopeless, really.
 

They broke ranks, jolting to their feet like jack-in-the-boxes. Teddy danced on his toes like a performing bear at Astley’s. Fiona twirled like a top. Johnnie’s nose-picking ratcheted to a mining expedition. Only Billy kept to his seat, watching the newcomer’s approach in sullen silence. Apart from the hospital directors, gray-haired and dark-suited, adult males were almost an exotic species, and even in his sobered attire Robert stood out as more exotic than most.
 

She bit back an oath and crossed to the front of the desk, her pounding heart keeping time with his approaching steps.
 

Robert Bellamy, this puts you well and truly beyond the pale.
 

And yet her treacherous heart trilled at the sight of him, her mind awhirl with petty fancies. Had she bothered to smooth her hair after removing her bonnet that morning? She didn’t think so. And why oh why hadn’t she selected her gown with greater care? Belinda was likely right. The pale patterned taupe did nothing for her.

A sharp tug on her skirt drew her gaze downward. “A papa!” lisped five year-old Lulu, the baby of the group and newly brought to town from fostering the country.

Succumbing,
Phoebe bent and lifted Lulu into her arms. Though she shouldn’t show favoritism, in Lulu’s case she couldn’t help herself. That the child regarded any adult male as a potential father, a papa, wrenched her heart.
 

The matron ushered Robert up to her. Balancing Lulu upon her hip, Phoebe steeled herself. The other evening she’d been taken utterly surprise, but she couldn’t very well faint every time she faced him.
 

“How may I assist you, sir?” she inquired coolly as though they’d never before met.

“Lady Phoebe.” He followed the address with an overblown bow. Straightening, he turned to the matron. “Since my return from abroad, my sister has done little else but sing this teacher’s praises, so much so that I find myself impatient to witness all her good works with mine own eyes.”

Phoebe forced her gaze to his, any pretense to civility shrinking on par with her patience. “We are in the midst of a lesson.”

Gaze glinting, he glanced from her to the carafe and then back up. “How fortuitous I arrived in time to witness its enthralling conclusion.”

The matron cast Phoebe a pleading look. “What Lady Phoebe means to say is that she shall be delighted to take you about anon.” Phoebe opened her mouth to refuse again when the matron’s elbow found her side. “Potential donor,” she hissed beneath her breath. “Sister’s a viscountess.”

“Never fear, I am in no rush,” Robert said affably as though oblivious to the byplay. “I am prepared to wait all day if need be.” As if to prove it, he pivoted away and made for the benches at the very front.

“That is indeed fortunate,” Phoebe called after him. “For you may have to.”
 

Subsiding onto the wooden seat, he waved a sun-bronzed hand in her vicinity. “Don’t mind me, carry on.”

She set Lulu down and wheeled about to the matron, scarcely caring whether or not her high whisper reached him. “Surely there is someone else, another instructor, available to lead a tour?”

Leaning in, the matron whispered, “He was most specific that his guide be none other than you.”

“I wish to see the institution through the dedicated eyes of its sole volunteer teacher,” Robert piped up from the bench, leaving no doubt that he’d overheard their every word. “She who reaps no reward save for commendation to Heaven.” As much as his prosing, his steady stare and smug smile assured Phoebe he didn’t intend to accept any answer save yes.

“Surely one of the senior students can mind the class whilst you show this fine gentleman about,” the matron added, giving Phoebe a nudge.

With no choice but to capitulate, Phoebe sought out the tall, solemn girl, the eldest of the group, and beckoned her over. “Mary, pray lead the class whilst I am showing our…visitor about. It is to be mathematics next. You may commence with simple sums.” She handed her the broken chalk.

“Yes, milady.” Mary took the stub and bobbed a promising imitation of the curtsey Phoebe was taking pains to teach her.

Apparently satisfied that the matter was settled, the matron excused herself to go.

Lulu raced to Robert. Wrapping chubby arms about his leg, she stared up at him with worshipful eyes. “Papa!”
 

Phoebe spotted the scarlet scoring his cheeks and surmised he must no longer care for children, yet another change in him for the worse. The Robert she’d known and loved had sworn he wanted a score of babes. The nursery, he’d assured her, would be the very first suite of rooms in his ramshackle estate he’d set to rights once they were wed.

In six months, a year at most…
 

Swallowing against her throat’s thickening, Phoebe hurried over to them. “This gentleman isn’t your papa, pet,” she said gently, taking Lulu by the hand and leading her away. “But if you are very good for Mary, I’ll read you a story before I leave tonight.”
 

Bottom lip trembling, Lulu sent Robert a last longing look before turning back to Phoebe. “
Dick Whittington and His Cat
?”

Phoebe settled her hand upon the child’s crown. Hospital policy forbade the keeping of pets by students, which Phoebe considered to be a great pity. The cook, however, kept a mouser, and Lulu and several others snuck away to visit it whenever they could contrive to do so.

“Whichever you fancy, poppet. For now, settle into your seat like a good child and mind Mary.” She handed Lulu over to the senior student and turned back to Robert. Despite having regained his earlier equanimity, his tanned cheeks still bore the telltale pinkish brand. Wishing it were her slap that had made it so, she leveled him a look. “Where do you wish to begin?”
 

Rising, he replied, “I rather think I shall leave our route entirely to you.”

“How refreshingly modern of you,” she shot back, a deliberate mock. If she had her druthers, she’d lead him directly to the latrines—and lock the door behind him.
 

“Lead the way, milady.”

Meeting his gloating gaze, she answered, “Very well, I shall.”
 

She turned on her heel and headed down the aisle toward the door, leaving him to follow. Stepping out into the hallway, she drew the door closed behind them. “How dare you sabotage my class! Passing yourself off as a potential donor to bamboozle your way inside, you should be ashamed.”

He had the audacity to pretend puzzlement. “I’ve bamboozled no one and for what it’s worth, I didn’t set out to sabotage you. The students bolting from their benches was utterly unforeseen.”

“If that is even half true, you obviously know nothing about children.”

His eyes dimmed. “Perhaps you can enlighten me. Why was that child so insistent that I must be her father?”

The question, though unexpected, struck her as genuine. Grudgingly she explained, “Not her father but
a
father. Other than the occasional visit by one of the directors, men are a rarity here. For most of these children, fathers are either violent ogres or, in Lulu’s case, a fairytale fiction.”
 

Silence met that assertion. Vulnerability washed over his chiseled features, affording her a fleeting glimpse of the softhearted boy she’d once so madly loved. Gaze raw, he finally said, “Chelsea and I lost our parents when we were young. That was hard, damnably hard, and yet I count myself fortunate to have had them for as long as we did. Neither of us ever had the slightest doubt that we’d been born wanted—loved. I cannot fathom being motherless and fatherless from one’s very first memory.”

It was an inordinately feeling thing to say, a sentiment utterly at odds with the selfish, callused adventurer she’d made him out to be. For her sanity’s sake, she needed to still see him as that man—that pirate—who’d broken her heart and stolen her life, or at least the last six years of it.
 

Resolved not to weaken, she lifted her gaze to his. “Why have you come?”
 

Inscrutable mask back in place, he shrugged. “I am given to understand this institution was begun by a charity-minded sea captain by the surname of Coram. Who knows, mayhap I am cut from the same philanthropic sailcloth.”

The late Captain Thomas Coram was second to a saint for Phoebe. Hearing Robert speak of himself in the same breath, even in sport, boiled her blood. “I’m sure this will be difficult if not impossible for you to comprehend, but my work here brings me great peace, even joy. I won’t stand for anyone making mock of that, especially you.”
 

He scowled as though she were the one of them in the wrong. “Must you paint me so black? I am a man of considerable means. I may well allot a measure of those means to this institution—provided I see firsthand how the funds are spent.” He paused, locking his gaze on hers. “Would a donation of say…one hundred pounds a day make up for any disturbance to the peace?”

One hundred pounds. A day. Her mouth fell open. “But that’s a bloody fortune. And bribery!”

“Correct on both counts.”
 

“Are you quite certain you wish to go to such lengths for the privilege of following about another man’s betrothed?”

His smile froze. “You scarcely behaved as a betrothed woman the other night.”

Just like a rogue to taunt her with her lapse. “I had been…drinking.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’re referring to that sip of spirit I poured you, you are reaching far indeed.” Bending to her ear, he added, “By the by, you’re flushed, not only your face but your lovely throat as well.”

“Of course I’m flushed,” she snapped. “I’m that angry.”

He hoisted a black brow. “Are you certain anger is the only cause?”
 

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Very well, I shan’t. Only answer me this—do we have a bargain or not?”

Feeling as though she were poised to make a pact with the Devil himself, she paused. “What precisely do you want in return? Know this—I shan’t go to bed with you for it.”

His crack of laughter had her ears burning. “Methinks milady holds a very low opinion of me—and a mighty high one of herself.”

Mortified, Phoebe found herself wishing the floor might swallow her whole. “I didn’t mean…I only thought…after the other night—”

“I have never paid for fornication, and I don’t intend to begin with you. When you come to me, and come to me you shall, you shall do so of your own accord and wholly free of all commerce and custom.”
 

He ran his gaze over her, a slow, thorough perusal that gnawed at her nerves and chipped away at her resistance. It didn’t require a great deal of imagination to see what he was about, mentally stripping away her clothes layer by layer, her gown and petticoat, stays and shift, until she was as bare as the day she’d been born. Not that he need rely on imagination entirely. Six years ago she’d granted liberties beyond the handholding and kissing that a betrothed man might claim as his right. Recalling one night in particular, their last night together before his leaving, she looked sharply away.
 

“I couldn’t help but notice that little Lulu looked to be in need of new shoes. I expect she’s outgrown her current ones. I’ll wager they pinch her toes fiercely. And Mary’s smock looked a bit threadbare.”

Phoebe swung her head back to him. Her hands curled into fists. Never had she wanted to throttle someone as she did now. “You, Robert Bellamy, are a rogue of the first order, a shiftless scamp, an unconscionable cad.”

He grinned. “And those are my better qualities. Shall I assume we’ve come to terms?”