My Lord Rogue (11 page)

He bent down on one knee beside her chaise longue,
lifted
her hand to his lips
,
and kissed
her gently, amazed by how fragile her hand had become, how slow her pulse throbbed in her veins
. “The crowd was given an unexpected delight,
my
lady
,
” he said, appalled by his innuendo.
Gillian had been a delightful surprise.

“Ah,” she said and then inhaled deeply
, her breath a raspy grasp onto life
. “You seek to protect m-my
f-fragile b-body
.
Surprise has a-always been a d-delight at D-Drury.
”

Simon blinked, confused. How did
the
woman always know when he was concealing the complete truth from her?
It was a damned horrible habit
,
an admirable one
.

She tried to laugh but choked, coughing deep. He held a hand to her brow, fearing she’d
taken to flux and fever
.
He drew a sigh of relief.
She felt
cool to the touch
.

“Our new m
-m
aid insists Admiral N-Nelson stole the spectacle away f-from H
-H
olcroft.”

New maid?
What the devil?
He hadn’t hired a new maid. Had
one of their own taken sick? Had Archer
gone above hi
s head
to
fire the one they had or
double
d
Edwina’s sickbed shifts
? The sound of firewood plunking in the fireplace took him by surprise. What
in Lucifer’s name was
wrong with him?
He’d never been this disarmed before.
Immediately
startled
, h
e spun
toward the sound
—
and froze.

“M
-M
ary
has been very k-kind, my
l
-
lord
.
”
Ed
wina paused to take a breath. “
She’s been s
h
-sharing
what she’s l
-l
earned from the k-kitchen.”

He
vaguely heard Edwina’s words, his
astonishment
was so great. He
’d
recognize
that profile anywhere.
Gillian!
But how the devil had she gotten
t
here?

In her guise as maid Mary, Gillian
stooped before the
fire, stoking the fiery furnace to a glowing orange-red blaze.
Dressed in a housemaid’s uniform, no different than any hired servant he’d ever seen in
his townhouse
,
or for that matter,
Throckmorton Manor, she peered
sideways
at him through thick black lashes, nodded
respectfully
,
and
rose
like a subtle breeze
.
He could almost feel her pity stroke his face as she
left the room
with agonizing quiet dignity
.

“Where is M-Margaret?” Edwina asked.

“
His youthful hose, well saved a world too wide

For his shrunk shank, and his manly voice,

Turning agai
n toward childish treble, pipes…”

~
William Shakespeare’s
All The World
’
s a Stage

Gillian left
Number
Seventeen
as quietly as she’d entered
it
, satisfied no one paid her particular attention
or noticed the tears streaming down her face
.

She’d finally met
Simon’s
wife.
Entered h
is
sacrosanct domain.
But at what cost?
Puzzled by the
blossoming
tenderness
and
twisted jealousy she felt
for the woman who wore Simon’s ring
, Gillian cut through Derb
y Street to Pitts Head Mews then
Carrington Mews
. Her
half-hearted
actions kept her
off the thoroughfare of Curzon
and suspicious prying eyes as she
set about returning
to
Number Eleven on Bolton Street
.
Goodayle had maneuvered her quick
ly
into Simon’s
realm
, helping her to beat him to Number Seventeen.
She’d
worked fast to carry out her plan, a quick surveillance
enabling
her to
understand the chink in Simon’s armor, to see for herself what she was getting into by agreeing to
work with him, to
join Nelson’s Tea
.
For the return trip
,
she’d
planned to hire a hack
.
But after
being spotted by Simon, she
’d
instantly
changed her mind
, needing
a brisk walk
more than anything
to calm her frayed nerves and settle her racing thoughts.

Lady
Edwina
Danbury’s condition had shocked and repulsed her. The poor woman
was a pathetic creature
, trapped indoors as she was
.
E
maciated
,
eager for news about society, especially her husband’s adventures
, the woman had practically begged her to reveal anything about the
ton
, specifically Admiral Nelson’s arrival
.
Had her husband looked sharp standing next to Nelson? Did the admiral pay her husband the proper respect?
Gillian
had
experienced no pleasure tricking the woman into believing she was a newly
hired servant. There had also been something entirely wrong about passing
along any
information
she’d experienced firsthand
. But she had, frightening
the poor woman, whose
eyes had widened horrifically when she’d explained that Admiral Nelson had
nearly been assassinated before her husband’s eyes
.
Would the shock prove too much for poor Lady Edwina?

Gillian hugged her cloak close about her.
D
id
Lady
Edwin
a know
how Simon earned his
living?

A carriage drew up alongside her
, h
orses’s hooves
echoing
on the thoroughfare
, the sound a clip
-
clop rhythm out of time with her erratic heartbeat
,
taking her back to the moment she’d discovered Simon had married another woman
…

~~~~

December
20
^th
,
1795

The powerful canter
of the horse beneath her eased the tension mounting in her breast. Simon hadn’t forgotten his promise. He’d come for her. Nothing else mattered but the
unusually warm
sun beating down,
and Simon’s
aristocratic
profile as they galloped in
Hyde Park.
The world was right in his presence. When she was with Simon,
Gillian
felt stronger, no longer the thoughtless,
dour-faced cheat
her father accused her of being when she didn’t pay his creditors or buy him more liquor.
She was Gillian, adventurous heroine, skilled at anything she attempted, loved by a man who made her feel like a woman.

“Whoa,” S
imon called out to halt
his
mount.

Breathless, desiring to be in the close confines o
f a carriage rather than on
horse
back
, Gillian
pulled back on the reins
and
waited for Simon to speak. His
message
had
mentioned their meeting was a matter of urgency. What was on
his
mind?
If he was going to avow his love
,
why had he chosen such a public venue? No, something was wrong, incredibly wrong. She felt it in her bones, feared it.

He turned his mount to face her
and cleared his throat. “You are probably wondering why I brought you here.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to keep her lower lip from trembling. He was
n’
t normally this aloof.

He gazed off to distant trees
then brought his attention back
to her
and stared
deeply into her eyes.
“There is so much you don’t know about me, Gillian.”

“I know enough.”

H
is laughter haunted her
. “No. You don’t.
And if you did, you wouldn’t be as devoted to me.
”

“Then tell me. What is
burdening you so
?”

“You will hate everything I stand for.”

“I could never hate you,” she said, chastising herself for allowing romantic notions to blind her from reality.
Her father was right.
Simon would never marry
a lowborn, poor woman
sullied by the consensus of critics who labeled actresses as prostitutes.
She wasn’t worth Simon’s love.

His eyes locked onto hers and a tick flicked in his jaw. “You say that now.”

“Simon
, don’
t prolong the inevitable.
Please
tell me what’s wrong.
”

“I’
m married, Gillian.”

She blinked wildly,
the t
ormenting words rifling through
every pore on her skin
. She fought back hysteria
.
“Married? I don’t understand.” She struggled to remain calm.
Ah, this
is
the reason for so public a ride.

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “How I wish it weren’t so.”

~~~~

November 5
^th
, 1801

Another
conveyance
moaned
as
it
passed
,
the creaking
sound mimicking the distasteful discourse
of her memories and
her empty stomach
.
S
he choked back a mournful sob
then gazed about frantically
.
Had she
spent too long in one place
?
Fouché
and
Barrere
were probably somewhere nearby, waiting for her to make a mistake and take advantage.
But
the memory of
Simon’s
reproachful stare
as he
’d
glanced over at her near the fire
had
threatened to undo her
, extracting memories she’d kept deeply buried
.
Simon’s wrath
would
come
.
She was sure of it.
The promise had been in his
eyes
.
He’d been absolutely appalled by her presence. And now she
,
too, felt the weight of her betrayal
just as deeply as she’d felt his
. She’d trespassed
,
pushed
herself
into his domain unannounced
and un
invited.
She’d witnessed an entirely too well-preserved
and guarded
moment between husband and wife.
Oh, she’d had good intentions.
Still, curiosity
getting the best of her, she’d broken Simon’s trust.

Minute after minute, street
after street, she mused over the night’s events. She’d come to London to warn Simon about Napoleon’s
gens d’arm
e
s
, bypassing an assassination squadron in order to spare England
the
horrific loss.
A
selfless sacrifice on her part
? Or an act of
desperation. She was
in danger.
Surely that more than made up for her lapse in good judgment.

I’ve
committed the ultimate sin where Simon is concerned.

A chill overtook her. She pulled the hood of her cloak higher, making sure the rough border dipped low enough to conceal
the upper
half of her face. Napoleon’s men were still out there
somewhere
. Where could she go now
that they wouldn’t find her
? If she didn’t stay with Simon,
didn’t agree to
become an intricate part of Nelson’s Tea, continuing to serve England with the skills Lucien had taught her, what then? She had wealth, a title, but that was inconsequential when any spy worth his salt could track her down. Or could they? Lucien had never used
the name Chauncey in his dealings with the French. Perhaps she could flee London without fear of being hunted down like a creature of the wood.

A fox outmaneuvered the hunter. Who better to lead a merry chase than a woman trying to save her
own
arse?
Inhaling
deeply
, Gillian made up her mind. S
he would leave early in the morning.
H
ire servants to transport her to Bath or Brighton, someplace
far from London, from Surrey, where
she’d be free to live without looking over her shoulder.
Odds were she’d have no trouble adjusting in a place people strove to go by the hundreds to
luxuriate and
forget.

And oh
,
how
she wanted to forget
the man who made her heart beat with
ruthless
abandon.

S
obered, Gillian
left Shepherds Market and
hastened toward Piccadilly, leaving White Horse Street behind. Two men shuffled past.
Their
laughter
and French banter
set her heart racing
. Alarmed, she gasped and, panting in terror,
put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Were these men the very same ones from box four?

“You are free… for now
,
”
came their haunting reminder.

Planting herself against a wall, s
he waited breathlessly until their footsteps faded into the distance. Then, after several more agonizing seconds, Gillian moved, speeding past Half Moon and
Clarges Street
s before arrowing up Bolton toward the townhouse stoop of Number
Eleven
. Trembling
and fearful
, s
he looked over her shoulders, left then right, and raised her knuckle
s
to knock on the engraved wood, mimicking the rhythm
—
Tap
-
tap
.
Tap
-
tap
.
Tap
.
Tap
.
Tap
-
tap
.
—
Goodayle had instructed
her to use
on her return.

Silence.

Tap
-
tap
.
Tap.

T
he door opened. Goodayle nodded, extend
ing
his hand to wave her in, and then peered out the door slyly before shutting it behind her. “Did you find what you were looking for,
baroness
?”

“Yes,” she said,
trying to calm her
racing pulse
. She removed her hood
and
black gloves
,
handed
them to Goodayle,
and
then turned so he could help her with the black
woolen
cloak she used for outings such as this. “
Please ensure that my belongings are ready by morning.”

Goodayle cocked
his
brow. “
Have you told
Lord Danbury
your decision, my
lady
?”

Servants didn’t question their betters, but Gillian didn’t censure Goodayle.
This one
wasn’t a servant, not in the real sense. She could smell it. Her trained eye told her, he was the master’s right hand man
. His speech patterns, the obedient way he served Simon, the glimmer in his eyes that bespoke he’d follow
Simon
to hell and back
, indicated Goodayle
had known Simon since his days in the navy
. No tar
paulin
, he. But Simon
’s equal
in intelligence and breeding.
She had no idea why the man had chosen to pose as a butler, but understood the need to continue the farce.
If Lucien had taught her anything at all, it was recognizing sacrifices made for the cause. And Goodayle, whatever his real name was, exemplified the dedication, devotion, and determined air of a
gentle
man shirking all but duty, honor
—
country.

“I gave my word that I would give
Lord Danbury
my decision tomorrow,” she said as Goodayle removed her cloak. She turned to regard him one last time. “Has my bath been prepared?”

“As you requested.”
Goodayle nodded
and then dipped
his head low.

She thought it odd
he
refused to meet her eyes. He’d done so every other time before. Perhaps
the very nature of a bath and exposed
woman’s
flesh
proved
too
delicate
a conversation for
him
.

“I shall retire for the evening then.”

“As you wish,
baroness
.”
Goodayle handed Gillian a candle. The wick burned brightly as she
grabbed the pewter handle
and held
the light aloft
before her. Goodayle
bowed,
turned
,
and left her
to her own devices
.

Her hand shook. She reached up with her other hand to stabilize the wax.
Gooseflesh rose down the back of
Gillian’s
neck
and over her arms
.
Had the two men in the alley scared her that badly?
Why was she so jumpy?
Lifting the hem of her
plain wool
gown, she took the first step.

No. She
hadn’t risen from
squalor
to lose faith in herself now. She was
made of sterner stuff. Besides, s
he was in Simon’s
town
house. What kind of danger could she
find herself
in?
Danger of the heart
.
Goodayle’s footsteps were but a
distant tap on the wooden floor below.

She climbed
the
staircase past set
s
of unseeing eyes, officers, lords, ladies, members of court
, g
olden
paintings more intimate and seductive than
the gilded landscapes
on the previous floor. Light from her candle cast eerie shadows in the hallway as she
came to stand
before the
door
that led to her bed chamber.

A sense of dread filled her as she
grabbed
the knob with timorous fingers.
Get control of yourself. You survived.
You are safe.
Guilt swam over her. But what of Lucien?
There would be no rejoicing.

A moment’s panic assailed her as
she
opened the door
and closed
it silently behind her
.
Her
gaze fell instantly on the steamy bath
beckoning near the fireplace.

A
washstand had
been
placed near the tub
. Gillian
set down the candle and
sighed,
stretching
her aching shoulders
and back as if
the weight of the world
had hung
on them for
too long
.
It had.

A tear fell onto
her
cheek
. She
s
wiped it away with the back of her hand and began
stepping
out of her servant’s disguise, piece by practical piece
,
stockings,
stays
,
and
shift
,
weapon
by weapon
,
short blade here,
and small
pistol there
.
Why hadn’t Lucien listened
to her
? Now
that
she was in London, she’d been forced to see Simon, causing her love for him to be rekindled as if
mere hours had passed between them instead of
years.

Another tear fell.
Damn it!
I won’t
cry again
.
She’d fought too hard and come too far to lose herself now.

She stretched again
, this time
arching her arms over her
head
.
Her muscles strained with the effort and she moaned. She gazed down
with longing
at the glistening, steamy water and then
d
ipped her toe in
, testing
the temperature
before stepping inside
and
sliding down
into the tub
. With an audible sigh, she slipped
beneath the
water’s
surface, baptizing her body with
a
cleansing flood
of invigorating warmth
.
For a moment,
the world ceased to exist.
What seemed real was
the pulse pounding a steady rhythm in h
er neck, water
lapping against
her skin. Like a sea nymph, s
he
luxuriated
in the
ecstasy
before rising and
sucking in a deep invigorating
breath. She smoothed her hair away from her eyes and settled her head back on the rim, eyes closed
, breathing a contented sigh
.