I Loved a Rogue The Prince Catchers (15 page)

“What have you been doing for the past decade?” she demanded. “Robbing banks, for heaven’s sake? Don’t laugh at me! Answer me.”

He moved from the stall and she stood her ground. Good. The closer the better. When she stood close, her scent of honeysuckle and sage made him insane to touch her, an insanity he had deprived himself of for too long. Perhaps it was time to finally take what he wanted. Perhaps if he got some satisfaction from her, the deprivations of the past would no longer haunt him.

Or perhaps he should walk off a cliff now and save himself the certain misery to come.

Insane
. She made him insane. Insane to smell her, hear her, touch her. And the greatest insanity of all: he wanted her to like his house.

“Some years ago I found myself regularly lodging in public facilities.”

Her eyes clouded. “Public facilities?”

“Jails. After one such sojourn I had the good fortune of being allowed to defend myself against the charges against me.”

“Let me guess. Vagabondage? Roguery?”

“And theft. And before you ask, no, I hadn’t stolen anything.”

“I know that. I made the robbing banks remark facetiously.” Anger flared again in her eyes, as though she believed the best of him and expected him to understand that. Despite all.

“According to my accusers,” he began, but his tongue would not obey him. He had been wise to remain distant from her for years. She made him believe that people existed who trusted. That people were trustworthy. And she made him want to kiss her senseless, until she couldn’t argue or question or even speak, until she just stared up at him as she had after he’d kissed her so briefly on that hill, like he was a god. “According to my accusers I had disturbed the peace.”

“Had you?”

“If it’s disturbing the peace to walk along a high street in a surly humor, with a head heavy from drink the previous night”—and a heart filled with anger—“most certainly.”

“They threw you in jail for that?”

“I had been incarcerated for lesser offences.” And greater. “But on that occasion, I was brought before a lord magistrate for judgment. This was a new experience for me, and I swiftly understood the import of it.”

“What was it?”

“They intended to deport me.”

Her eyes flew wide, and her delectable pink lips parted. “Deport you?”

“The common cure for vagabondage in England. Send your vagabonds elsewhere and you will not find yourself bothered by them again.” Send them away. Far away. Send him away, and you will not have to worry for your daughter’s welfare again. Yet she stood before him now, every ivory and golden inch of her quivering in indignation for him.

He wanted to touch her now even more than he’d wanted his freedom then, with an ache so deep it bit at his bone.

“What happened?” she said.

“I quoted Saint Augustine to the magistrate.”

She blinked. “You quoted Augustine?”

“ ‘He that is good is free, though he is a slave; he that is evil is a slave, though he be a king.’ ”

Her lips curved. “How clever of you.”

“
Legem non habet necessitas
, however, convinced him.”

“Necessity knows no law.” Her pleasure now, each feature softened from anger, made him feel drunk. How clever of him indeed. How clever of him to read and memorize ancient texts for years, all for the purpose of impressing this girl. She had saved him that day. If not for what she had inspired him to accomplish, he would long since have rotted to death in jail.

“What did the magistrate do?” she asked.

“He exonerated me. But the municipal law refused to be placated. So the lord placed a ban on my entrance into that shire, and four more shires in which I had previously been jailed, for the duration of my miserable vagabond’s life.”

“What would happen if you entered those shires?”

“I would find myself on the ocean.”

“Exile?”

“They don’t use the word
exile
for Rom,
pirani
. That word is reserved for gentlemen.”

Her smile faded and Taliesin felt like he’d taken a punch to the belly.

“How did you come to be . . .” She chose her words. “A gentleman?”

“I am not a gentleman. I am a vagabond and a rogue, just as they believed. Just as I have always been.” Tied to no one. Bound to none. Unfettered and unbreakable, no matter what this house said of his life or what his thundering heart said to him now.

“You haven’t yet told me how you came by this house.”

“After my trial, I was set free. But the lord magistrate was not finished with me. He said that he had never before encountered a Gypsy with a classical education.”

“Are there any others?”

“Not to my knowledge. Nor to Lord Baron’s. But he suspected that with assistance and reform my people could be made into responsible, hardworking subjects of Mother England.” Englishmen, even those with good intentions, understood little about Rom, that the vast majority of them would rather die than settle. “He decided to use me as an experiment. He owned a small property in the West Country. He never visited it but had reports that it was falling to ruin, both the house and grounds. He said it was on a parcel of grazing land and that the locals had taken to pasturing their sheep and cattle on it, and suggested that a wise man might make good use of such a place. He offered it to me for fifty pounds and two fine horses.”

Her eyes were wide. “Extraordinary.”

“Wasn’t it? Who knew that a fourth-century bishop still had such influence?”

For a moment her sweet lips twitched. “Papa always said Saint Augustine was infinitely wise. But that was when he was trying to teach us to be modest girls.”

“Trying?”

Her eyes glimmered, and he saw again in her the girl he had held in his arms, standing waist-deep in a pond. He wanted to take her into his arms and touch her now as he had then.

“Did you have fifty pounds and two fine horses?” she asked.

“Two years later I did.” Two years of exhausting work and blinding starvation. He had gone without food and sleep many days and nights to save the money.

“And his offer still stood?”

“We are standing on that land. This is the house.”

“It is a . . . a beautiful house. It is wonderfully comfortable inside.”

“In the rooms that have been renovated.”

“Fanny—that is, Mrs. Upchurch—quizzed me about you yesterday.” Her voice turned diffident. “She asked me if you would be a suitable candidate for her sister’s hand.”

“What did you tell her?” His heart beat too swiftly.

“I told her that I don’t know, that she should ask you. But it seems as though her brother is more interested in the answer now. What will you do?” The crease in her brow was deeper now than it had been as a girl, but just as expressive.

“What will I do?”

“Mr. Prince is right. When the scandalmongers take hold of this story, Henrietta’s prospects will be ruined.”

“You have lived in a hermitage your entire life. What do you know of scandalmongers?”

“Little from my own experience, it’s true. I haven’t the advantage of years of vagabondage to give me vast knowledge of the world not to mention arrogant confidence, like some.” Her eyes snapped. “But Arabella has known plenty of cruel gossip, and she has been hurt by it. Rumors that our mother was a woman of ill repute plague her, and it worries her for the sake of her child. Even a duke is not immune to cruelty. Don’t you see? It is the very reason she sent me on this foolish quest, the reason I accepted the charge—aside from your provoking willingness to do it, of course.”

He knew not whether to laugh or scowl.

Spots of agitation lit her cheeks. “Servants will talk, and the villagers too. Henrietta will find every door in London closed to her.”

“Eleanor, I have no intention of wedding Henrietta Prince.”

Her breaths seemed to stutter from her. “But— but a solution must be found. She is an innocent girl—”

He stepped forward and the space between them became inches, so close that he could taste her honeysuckle scent upon his lips. “That innocent girl paid the stable boy to follow me from Drearcliffe yesterday, and then to guide her here just as the storm broke. He proudly showed me the penny he earned for it, though he said that given how he and his pony had been soaked through, he thought he deserved an additional penny. So, you see, she is not quite as guileless as you would have her be.”

“Did . . .” Her throat jerked upon an awkward swallow. “Did you pay him the additional penny?”

“That would have made me complicit, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t insist that she is guileless,” she said. “I am barely acquainted with her.”

“You know nothing else yourself, I think, and so you expect it of others.” All the books in the world had not taught her that the world was full of manipulation and betrayal.

“She is like—like the Cropper twins.” Her lips were parted, revealing a glimpse of her rosy tongue, and his rational mind was going to hell again.

“The who?”

“Those girls in St. Petroc. The twins that followed you around for an entire winter, hoping you would notice them, until their father threatened to beat you for it.”

“You knew about that?”

“Everyone knew about it. The twins adored you so much that they denied themselves the sight of you to protect you from their father. I think they considered it a noble sacrifice on your behalf.” The pulse in her throat above the modest neckline of her gown beat swiftly. He needed to touch it, to feel with his hands how he affected her.

He laid his fingertips along the arc of her throat. She gasped softly and turned her head aside. But she did not retreat. He spread his fingers. Silken skin. The beat of her heart beneath his fingertips. Faster.

“No doubt you thought they were fools,” he heard himself say.

“I am guileless,” she whispered. “I wish I weren’t. I wish I knew how to secretly plot in order to get what I want. But I haven’t really the temperament for dissembling or the humor for effective teasing.”

A single lock of gold lay against her neck. He twined it around his finger, stroking her skin. A fantasy he’d had forever. “At one time you teased me plenty simply by walking into a room.”

She turned her face to him. “I didn’t intend that. I never intended that.” The jewels of her eyes seemed uncertain. Then, lashes shrouding her gaze, she reached up and laid her palm on his chest.

God’s blood
. He dropped his hand. “Eleanor—”

“Acting directly is more rational,” she said. “Like those medieval heroes who set out on quests to achieve what they desired.”

Her touch scalded, a branding that had long since scarred over, he’d thought, fool that he was.

“Reason had nothing to do with it. Faith drove those knights,” he uttered, warning, threatening. He wanted her. He had always wanted her. Only hurt would come of it. Years ago he had imagined that hurting her would heal his wounds. But when he had believed that, her hand hadn’t been on his chest.
This
. Now. All had changed. He could have her and find the satisfaction he ached for. “Most of them failed,” he said.

“I don’t intend to fail.” Her voice was soft and pebbly, yet laughing, at once playful and quivering with intention. She tilted up her chin and her fingertips pressed into his chest. “Gypsy Lord, I challenge you.”

Chapter 13

The Fire

H
er lips, pink and ripe, were a breath away. He wanted them beneath his. He wanted her entirely beneath him and his name upon those lips. He wanted her pleasure in his hands.

“Eleanor, you are playing with fire.” He grasped her wrist and held her palm tight against his chest. “I am not a boy of seventeen anymore. It won’t be like that kiss the other day on the hill. Not for long. Don’t start this unless you are willing to get burned.”

“Actually¸ you started it. Or do you touch women like you just touched me in the regular course of things? Perhaps only in stables?”

“Nowhere.” No one else. Only her.

“Are you— Could you be
afraid
?” A single brow rose. “Am I to win this challenge with so little effort?”

Yes. If they began this battle he would lose it. And when he left her again it wouldn’t require a decade to wipe her from his senses, but a lifetime.

But a man could endure only so much temptation. He needed her hand to remain on him. He needed her hands all over him.

“I haven’t been afraid a day in my life,
pirani
.” Not for himself. Only for her.

She met his gaze squarely. “Then touch me again.”

Gripping her waist, he dragged her against him. Their thighs met, and hips. A soft moan escaped through her parted lips. One breath—two—three—her breasts pressing at her gown with each sharp inhalation. Startled, but not reluctant.

Her hand upon his chest traveled upward, to his face, her fingers strafing his jaw, tentative at first. Then exploring. Her fingertips stole over his lips, the light kiss of her curiosity and desire tearing him apart inside. Her eyes opened wide.

“Eleanor? Mr. Wolfe?”

Eleanor stepped back, out of his hands, swallowing over the heartbeats thumping in her throat. She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Fire,” she whispered.

Light footsteps came toward the stable. “Eleanor?”

Taliesin turned away and walked the length of the stable, passing through the stripes of sunlight slanting through stall windows, his broad shoulders rigid, his boot steps firm. He could walk perfectly upright, with an even stride, while for her standing in place was like battling a cyclone.

What had she done?
She’d seen his house—all sprawling golden brown Elizabethan elegance gracefully set into a hill overlooking a velvety valley, horses in the pasture and pheasants poking their heads from the long grass—and upon hearing Mr. Prince’s demand that he wed Henrietta, desperation had consumed her. It made her follow him to this stable. It made her challenge him. Boldly. Brazenly. But to
what
?

He knew. He knew so much more of the world, of real men and women, than she did. More than stories in books. He had always seemed to know more.

Except about her. He’d never known that she had watched him just like the Cropper twins, that she had waited for him to come to the vicarage each day with her nerves in a twist, that she didn’t understand him and hated his teasing, but that he compelled her like no one else did. And he had no idea that for every single day for eleven years she had wondered where he was, if he was alive, well, and why he had never returned. He had no idea that when he left she hadn’t wished to live, that she hid her grief in books and studying; that since he had appeared in her sister’s house less than a fortnight ago, her heart had not ceased its hard beat; and that she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into adventure and suffer the consequences, even if it meant getting burned.

That this was all much easier to admit to herself since she’d spent a night believing he would marry Henrietta Prince made her want to tear her hair out.

Thrusting her quivering hands into the folds of her skirt, she turned to the doorway.

“There you are!” Fanny paused on the threshold to squint into the shadows, then came forward. She had dressed stunningly today, in a gown that clung to her petite figure and dipped over her rounded bosom so that it was just on the edge of modesty. The colorful ribbons of her straw hat enhanced the twinkle in her eyes. She was the perfect combination of elegance and carefree ease, and she had been married. She would know exactly what a man meant when he warned her that she was playing with fire.

“Where is Mr. Wolfe? Did you find him? Oh! There.” She smiled as he came toward them. “I am so happy you haven’t gone off somewhere, though I would not blame you a bit for it. My brother was boorish, and I’m sorry.”

Taliesin said nothing. Not even a muscle flexed in his jaw. Strong and silent, indeed.

Eleanor’s mouth was dry, but Fanny seemed to expect a response. She looked between them eagerly.

“Your brother said only what he believes is right,” Eleanor said.

“Perhaps,” Fanny said. “But I think Henrietta has been even more ill-behaved than Robin. Vastly more. And I apologize for it, Mr. Wolfe. I am to blame. I have been negligent in her upbringing since our mother died. But I have now had a stern conversation with her and I believe she is aware of the trouble she has caused you, and chastened.”

“I have suffered no trouble,” he said.

“Oh, but I am terribly afraid that you will. Henrietta tells me that your servants hold you in the highest esteem, and that the vicar’s wife condemned her for being a fool. But others could easily see it differently.” She moved toward him, the swish of her skirts on the stable floor mingling with the music of the delicate glass bracelets tinkling on her wrist. “I should be devastated were my sister’s girlish misstep to cast any doubt upon your character in the neighborhood, and you so recently arrived. If anyone should take uncharitably to you because of this incident, I would never forgive myself or Henrietta.”

Fanny did not say aloud that already he faced a battle to gain the respect of the local families simply because of who he was.

“I have no concern on that account,” he replied.

“On the contrary, you must,” Fanny insisted. “But I have had the most marvelous idea that should silence all gossip and turn this mistake into a triumph. We will throw a party at Kitharan. Rather, Mr. Wolfe will throw the party, and you and I, Eleanor, will help. We will invite everybody in the county and it will be a grand celebration to welcome you to the neighborhood. Kitharan has been closed up for ages and everybody will come to see it again and to meet its new master. Isn’t it the most wonderful idea?”

“A fine idea,” Mr. Prince said as he walked into the stable. “Welcoming a new neighbor by demanding that he host a party. No one will suspect anything amiss about it.”

“Well, we cannot have it at Grandfather’s house. He would scold all the guests. And anyway, the purpose is to show everybody that we think the world of Mr. Wolfe.” She swung back around to face Taliesin. “You have acted gallantly and mustn’t be punished for it. I beg you to agree to this plan. Miss Caulfield and Mrs. Samuel and I will make all the arrangements.”

“You need only open your wallet and pay for it all, Wolfe,” her brother said, but the twinkle had returned to his eyes and he seemed again in his usual good humor. He offered Eleanor a warm smile.

“And while the preparations are going along, we can continue to search for clues to Eleanor’s shipwreck in my Grandfather’s collection. Please, Mr. Wolfe. Do say yes.”

He only nodded.

But it was enough to send Fanny into transports of delight. Grabbing her brother’s arm, she declared, “Come, everyone. We will make up a guest list and then Eleanor and I will meet with Mrs. Samuel to determine what needs to be done to prepare the house. Oh, I do adore a party, and I haven’t thrown a truly grand party in years. This will be such fun.”

Eleanor watched them go, aware with each of her senses of the man standing silently behind her. Finally he moved past her and into the light.

“Have you ever thrown a grand party?” she called after him.

He paused and looked at her. “What do you think?”

Meeting his shadowed gaze was falling into confusion. “I don’t know. Until two hours ago I didn’t know that you owned a grand country house. So how am I to imagine I know anything about you now?”

“You will help me with this, as she said.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about hosting a big party either. I’ve been living in a hermitage my entire life, recall. And I have another project to see to, for which I came here in the first place.”

He walked to her. “This is not a request. You will help me with this.” There were endless dark nights in his eyes. Countless sufferings. Eleanor didn’t know why she was seeing this now, and her heart ached. Where had he been in all these years? What had those jails done to him?

“Why must I?” she whispered.

“Come, you two!” Fanny called from the drive. “We mustn’t waste a minute.”

“Consider it the next challenge.” The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, cracking her heart open.

“You haven’t met the previous challenge yet.” She didn’t know where she found the courage to say it.

Taking the step that brought her close again, he bent his head. His words brushed her ear. “Take care what you wish for,
pirani
. Not every wish is fulfilled in the manner one hopes.” He moved away before she could speak. But she hadn’t words anyway, or even coherent thoughts, only gelatinous knees and a heart saturated with desire.

FOR A SINGLE
day Fanny Upchurch cheerfully combed through a room full of objects that Sir Wilkie had found on beaches. But her conversation was all about the party plans at Kitharan. She had urged Taliesin to remain at his house so that he could give all his attention to preparing it, assuring him that Eleanor would be well cared for at Drearcliffe in his absence. Eleanor could find no reason to object—none that she could say aloud. Without discussion he removed entirely to Kitharan.

Fanny seemed especially satisfied with the arrangement; Henrietta was less likely to throw herself at him if separated by miles, she said.

But Eleanor suspected he hadn’t left Drearcliffe because of Henrietta. She had thrown herself at him and he rejected her. That his rejection had included a warning should not heat her in excruciating places each time she thought of it, except that she was a sheltered spinster—raised in a hermitage—only now learning the true meaning of adventure and freedom, and not yet accomplished at managing either.

“Fanny departed for Kitharan nearly as soon as the sun rose this morning,” Mr. Prince informed her at breakfast. “She is anxious to ensure that the party will go off smoothly. She has tasked me with aiding you in your search, and I am eager to assist. Dispose of me as you will.” He bowed handsomely.

Eleanor wanted to like him. She
did
like him. She couldn’t help but admire his manners and his kindness to his sisters.

Now as he turned from her to the sideboard she noticed the breadth of his shoulders and curl of gold hair over his ears. A frisson of warmth stirred in her belly.

Then she thought of Taliesin, his legs when he sat astride a horse, muscular, taut, and the scratch of whiskers on his jaw that her fingertips had explored, his perfect lips that made her sigh, and his hands—
his
hands
. And her entire body went weak and loose with heat.

“Thank you, Mr. Prince.” Taliesin didn’t want her. Not as she wished. “You are kind.” And attentive. Interested in her. “The blacksmith’s son who told us of your grandfather’s collection mentioned a box sealed in lead. Might that box and its contents still be here?”

“Certainly. I was the errand boy that saw to the task of having it opened, in fact. I know precisely where it is to be found now, unless my grandfather has moved it since then, of course.”

They soon discovered that Sir Wilkie had indeed moved it. The refurbishment of his library had upended several rooms at Drearcliffe, including the room in which Mr. Prince had stored the small casket and its contents.

“They were nothing remarkable, I think,” Mr. Prince said with a downcast air. “At the time they seemed to me old documents of no particular interest.”

“And yet your grandfather sent all the way to Piskey to have that casket opened. Why?”

“He is peculiar that way. He cannot bear to have anything he’s taken out of the sea not studied thoroughly. Perhaps he hopes to find a pirate treasure.” He smiled, but his face sobered again swiftly. “I am sorry the papers have gone missing.”

“Are there other such boxes in the house?”

“I don’t recall. Shall we ask him?”

“I would like that.”

His face lightened, the distress falling away from his features. “You are so refreshingly sensible, Miss Caulfield.”

Not always. Not lately. Not concerning one man.

“Am I?” she said distractedly.

“I admire that in you.” Mr. Prince’s voice had grown warm. “But not only that.”

She blinked.

“You mustn’t doubt that I admire you, Miss Caulfield.” He paused before the door to the dungeon. “Quite a lot. Is it too soon to say such a thing? I realize we’ve only been acquainted a few days, yet your character speaks so strongly to me. I cannot be mistaken in it. And . . . forgive me for expressing myself so frankly, but not only your character inspires my admiration.” His appreciative gaze passed over her hair. Betsy had taken special care arranging it that morning. Betsy liked Mr. Prince.