Redeeming the Rogue (26 page)

“Never!” she challenged.

He ran his fingernails down the inside of her arm that covered the juncture of her legs. Even the Baron had not seen her thusly, preferring to do the deed in the dark and while she wore her nightgown. Her breath caught when his slow dragging finger touched the inside of her elbow.

“The night of the storm.” His eyelids lowered as he stroked the curve of her hip. “You wore a thin nightgown that was drenched with seawater. I could see right through it.”

She couldn’t slap his hand away without exposing herself, so she closed her eyes and suffered in silence.

“Eva would have given me full access,” he said.

“Eva would have given you a knife in your back as well,” she replied.

His fingers paused in their sensual exploration of her side. “That’s correct. While her ladyship prefers to aim straight for the heart.” He pulled his hand from the water and shook it dry, then placed her dressing gown within reach. “Get dressed,” he said. “Let’s see how well you negotiate.”

Her heart racing, Arianne patted herself dry as best she could, then slipped her arms into her thin dressing gown. Whatever had made her think he was anything more than a rogue?

She’d thought she’d have time to take a bath before he’d halt his work in the study. She wasn’t even certain he’d remember the need to dress for dinner. Her cheeks must glow with embarrassment. Even as she tied the sash and clasped the lapels under her chin, she could feel the silk sticking to missed moisture, molding the gown to her contours. Christopher! How was she to negotiate anything from this damp, unsupported, downright humiliating position? For that matter, what sort of negotiations was he referring to?

She tentatively poked her head around the screen. From the sound, she suspected he was using the water closet, which meant she hadn’t much time. Her dinner ensemble lay sprawled on the bed, right next to what appeared to be his discarded jacket. While she was tempted to grab her chemise, she would have to remove the dressing gown to put it on. Instead she tiptoed on the lush Persian carpet to the bed where she grabbed her drawers with the layered lace at the leg holes.

She hiked the dressing gown to her thigh, preparing to slip her foot in one leg, when his footsteps sounded in the closet hallway. She pushed down the gown and hid the drawers behind her.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin defiantly. “What exactly did you wish to negotiate?”

RAFFERTY PAUSED NEAR THE BED, HIS GAZE FLITTING over her form, lingering in the spots where the silk molded to her breasts, her hips. Lord, he wanted her. As much as he reminded himself that Lady Arianne was a thoroughbred while he was a draft horse strapped to the plow, he wanted her. Even though she’d rejected him—Christ, maybe because she rejected him—he wanted her. His hands slipped to unfasten the button at the top of his shirt. “There’s only one bed.”

Her gaze was locked on his fingers. He liked that. He unfastened the next two buttons. “There’s only one room.” He unfastened the next two buttons, then slipped off his braces. “We both need to change clothes, sleep . . . bathe.” Did her cheeks darken? Good. If he intimidated her enough, she would move into one of the other bedrooms, making his life less complicated. He pulled his shirt from his trousers and unbuttoned the final button, letting the shirt hang open. “How does her ladyship propose to do that?”

“I assumed that you, being a gentleman, would move to one of the smaller guest rooms.”

He laughed, slipped the shirt off his shoulders, and tossed it to land on his jacket. “We’ve already established that her ladyship’s presumptions are misplaced.” He crossed his arms in front of him and pulled off his cotton undervest. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t seen him like this before. He thought he should see some signs of alarm, but instead, all he saw was . . . appreciation? What was wrong with her? The door was right there.

He sat in a chair and worked on his boot. “Now the way I see it, Lord Henderson sent me to accomplish a mission and, by the grace of God, I plan to do just that.” The boot hit the floor with a thud. He crossed the other to his knee. “Your Ladyship decided to come along on this journey,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her, “for the thrill?” The second boot hit the floor. He stood and unfastened the button at his waistline. “By rights, I should have complete rights to the room, the bed, and the bath. But if her ladyship wants to exchange something—”

“Stop that,” she said, or was it commanded? Well, it was about time. He was running out of buttons.

“Her ladyship speaks. What—”

“Stop calling me that.”

He hadn’t expected that. “Isn’t that what you want, Miss Lady-of-the-Manor, Lady Aristocrat, Lady Uppity?”

“I’d prefer it if you called me Anne, or Ari, or Arianne.” She pulled her fancy lacy drawers from behind her back, then rolled one leg into a fabric circle. Standing on one foot, she stepped through the hole.

“But aren’t you the daughter of a duke?” he asked. He’d seen women get dressed before, but not with this sort of graceful dance.

“Not really.” She stepped into the second leg, then bending forward, she pulled the material up behind her. “I am the sister of a duke, though.”

If any of those flies they’d seen on their way to the legation were buzzing in this room, his gaping jaw would have swallowed them for dinner. She turned her back to him and pulled the fancy things up in front. He fell into the chair he’d just vacated. “How can that be, woman? Is this a riddle? You are either . . . wait! . . . wait one minute.” He slapped his hand to his head. “You must be illegitimate! Don’t tell me you’re baseborn.”

She picked up a frilly slip of linen from the bed. “I spent my entire life believing my father was the old Duke of Bedford. I only learned recently that he could not sire children. He arranged for another to take his place.” She turned her back to him once again.

In short order, she removed the dressing gown. Her bare elegant back rose above her linen-encased buttocks. Desire slammed hard in his gut. She lifted her arms, offering the briefest glimpse of the sides of her breasts before white linen drifted down her back. She spun around to face him. Though her charms were hidden beneath the cloth, knowing there was just one layer between them had a tantalizing effect. They were the equals they’d been on the night of the storm.

“So you can see, I haven’t aristocratic blood flowing through my veins. I’m not some highly sought prize. So if we could just treat each other with respect, I think we can survive this forced intimacy.”

Rafferty stood. “You’re wrong.” He picked up the clothes she’d selected for him for the evening and tucked them under his arm. He headed for the door, but turned, his face as sober as a minister on Sunday. “You’re still a prize,” he said, “and a highly sought one at that.”

 

RAFFERTY STOOD IN THE PASSAGEWAY AND LOOKED AT the closed door. That hadn’t turned out quite the way he’d anticipated. Not that he hadn’t supposed he’d be the one sneaking down the hall late at night, but he thought he’d at least manage another of those passionate kisses for his sacrifice, especially after he’d glimpsed her in her bath. He’d hoped to reestablish that sense of intimacy they’d experienced the night of the storm. He hadn’t counted on gaining a piece of her soul.

Nor had he counted on her feelings of guilt when addressed as a lady. All this time he had felt less than her equal due to her aristocratic title, while she had felt less than an aristocrat because of her status.

One thing was certain; aristocrat or not, she would not approve of him standing bare-chested in the upstairs passageway. He looked down the hall. Now what? Phineas was behind one of these doors, Lady Weston behind another, both probably in some state of undress, much like himself. There were other doors as well, but who knew what awaited him there?

He heard women’s laughter and footsteps on the wide staircase. Lady’s maids, given the proximity of the dinner hour, most likely. He couldn’t be caught like this, even by the servants. He opened the first door on the left and prayed the shock wouldn’t jolt Lady Weston into an early reunion with her poor departed husband.

“Rafferty?” Phineas glanced to the door. “Even you know that a shirt is required at the dinner table. What are you doing?”

Rafferty explained that to maintain peace between he and Arianne, he’d agreed to dress in a room apart from her preparations.

“What about the sleeping arrangements?” Phineas asked. “Have you reached an agreement on that as well?”

Though he hadn’t actually discussed it with Arianne, Rafferty already knew the outcome. While buttoning his dinner shirt, Rafferty glanced over his shoulder at the double bed in this guest room, obviously designed for a married couple. He looked back at Phineas, eyebrow raised.

“I was afraid of that.” Phineas sighed.

“I can’t very well go someplace else,” Rafferty said. “The servants would know. The essence of a secret is that as few people are aware of the situation as possible.” He replaced his trousers with a black pair and pulled the braces over his shoulders.

“It’s a good thing I know you well, my friend.” Phineas slapped him on the shoulder. “Just make certain to leave the room in the morning before the servants arrive, old chap. There are other sorts of rumors I’d like to avoid.”

Rafferty smiled. “Agreed.” He worked the silk neck cloth around the collar. “Did you discover anything today?”

“I found the shipping office,” Phineas replied. “I don’t think you want to put Barings and Eva on the same liner as Lady Weston. That one is sailing out of New York in a few days. The SS
Germanic
is due in Baltimore Harbor in two days. It’ll stay in port for another three to unload the cargo, restock, and prepare for the trip back. That one might be the best bet for dispensing with Miss St. Claire.”

“I knew the
Irish Rose
could beat the
Germanic
given our head start,” Rafferty crowed.

“Maybe it would be best to keep Miss St. Claire here for a while,” Phineas said. “Without someone to watch over her, she could bugger the works if she tells anyone what we’re about.”

“That’s true,” Rafferty said, considering. The two hadn’t married yet, though they’d announced that was their intention. “Let’s leave her on the
Irish Rose
for the time being. Briggs is taking the
Rose
up the coast for some repairs. Barings can stay on board with her if he likes.” He checked the fit of his jacket in the mahogany-framed mirror. “So, what do you think? Will I meet Lady Arianne’s lofty standards?”

“If those standards only concern appearance, I imagine you’ll do.” Phineas smiled. “Don’t bungle the silverware, though.”

Rafferty overlooked the implication that he failed in other areas. A wry smile twisted his lips. Arianne herself had made that quite clear. Rafferty glanced at Phineas. “Did I ever thank you for that quick course on silverware you gave me before Lady Arianne’s eleven-course feast? I seem to recall I was in a foul mood that evening.”

“That you were.” Phineas’s tone softened, perhaps to match Rafferty’s own contemplative one. “But you’ve returned the favor on numerous occasions. Shall we join the ladies downstairs? I hope the legation has a superior cook. I could manage one of Lady Arianne’s eleven-course meals.”

Rafferty paused. “You go ahead. There’s something I should do first.”

“Don’t take long, or I’ll be testing Lady Arianne’s theory on edible flowers.” As if to confirm his appetite, Phineas’s stomach growled. He was just about to leave the room when he turned. “I should have asked. Did you learn anything in the examination of the office?”

“I did,” Rafferty said. “We’ll discuss that later.”

 

ARIANNE GRIPPED THE TALL BEDPOST WHILE HER MAID fastened the back of the rose pink satin bodice. “How are you getting on with the other servants?” she asked Kathleen.

“Just fine, ma’am.” Kathleen tightened the fabric lacing so that the long cuirasse bodice would mold seamlessly to her mistress’s corseted silhouette. “So many of the girls are from Ireland, it’s like being back home.”

Arianne remembered Mr. Barings’s observation on the
Irish Rose
about Ireland’s chief export. Whole families of immigrants had traveled the Atlantic in worse conditions than they had experienced on the
Rose
. The thought made her shudder.

“I’ve been assigned a room upstairs with another girl from Limerick. Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper, seems fair enough—a bit gruff, but I’ve heard of worse.”

Lady Weston had introduced Mrs. Watson when they made their house tour. The woman hadn’t seemed gruff then, but the iron fist of most housekeepers was sheathed in a velvet glove when the mistress of the residence appeared.

“There aren’t as many on the service staff as at the Duke’s residence.” Kathleen tied the lacing and hid the ends, then checked the drape of the satin flounce over the bustle. “They were anxious about you, ma’am. I told them you were as kind an employer as they’d ever have.”