The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) (3 page)

“Can you climb down this tree?” he asked.

“Of course, I can, but where shall I go? You’ve seen what is taking place down there!”

She would argue that the day was night, he thought. “Then climb down, and let me worry about that.”

“Come into my parlor said the spider,” she muttered.

He chuckled again. She was no fool, his Juliet. “I have no designs on your virtue. Young, marriageable women terrify me, quite frankly. But I cannot allow you to sit here on this balcony and freeze to death either. And as your own chamber is currently occupied, we will simply have to find you another one.”

Michael watched her warring with the decision. After a moment, she stood and carefully tied her night rail about her knees before stepping over the rail and reaching for the branch. He would have assisted her but knew that she would not appreciate the gesture. Instead, he simply stayed close to her should she have problems.

With her night rail tied about her knees, her bottom was perfectly revealed to him, and he had to admit, it was an enticing image. He climbed down slowly, with her following, giving him a lovely view all the way to the ground, which did nothing to relieve the state that Lavinia had discovered with her unwanted attentions. Michael was almost grateful when they reached the ground. He helped her down and led her to a set of French doors. “What room is on the other side of these doors?”

“It’s the morning room, but Lavinia never uses it. She keeps it closed up most of the time… and these doors are kept locked!”

He produced a small leather case from his pocket and opened it to reveal several gleaming silver tools.

“You’re a housebreaker!” she gasped.

He smiled, “Yes, I am a housebreaker, amongst other things, but I am not a thief.”

“What other reason does one have to break into a house?” she demanded skeptically.

“Midnight trysts,” he replied. It was not an entirely truthful response, but it was a safe one.

The lock sprang with a quiet snick, and he opened the doors, ushering her inside. He crossed to the other entrance and made sure that the door was securely locked before turning to the more immediate need for warmth.

He made quick work of a laying a fire in the hearth, before turning to study her. It was a dangerous thing that every time he looked at her; she appeared lovelier than the last. “The next time you feel the need to hide on your balcony, please have the foresight to dress more warmly.”

She gave him a baleful stare. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Miss Barrows was a bit on the prickly side, but he rather liked that about her. He didn’t have to question whether or not she meant what she said.  “Do I not get a boon, fair Juliet, for coming to your assistance?”

“What sort of boon?” she asked and her expression was suitably dubious.

Her suspicions, he admitted, were well founded. He was quite tempted to breach the last defenses of propriety. But he would not. Instead, he made a more innocent request. “It’s simple enough. I wish to see your hair unbound.”

“That’s all?”

His request had obviously confused her. In that, she wasn’t alone. “That’s all I will ask, but if you wish to offer more, I would be only too happy to accept.”

Abbi was confounded by him. He was reputed to be the worst sort of libertine, and yet she sat in a room with him, unchaperoned, and the only touches that had passed between them had been completely chaste. Still, he was too charming by far, and she had little trust for charming men. With another baleful stare, she reached for the ribbon that bound the thick braid. Her fingers were still stiff from the cold, and horribly abused from her climb. She fumbled with the ribbon, not quite able to manage the simple task.

“Allow me,” he said, his large hands covering hers.

Abbi shivered as his callused fingers brushed the delicate skin of the backs of her hands. He did not have the hands of a nobleman. They were rough; the skin darkened by the sun. He was a study in contradictions, and every last one of them left her unsettled.

She marveled at the gentleness of his fingers as he deftly untied the ribbons and combed his fingers through her hair. She’d heard the compliments, of course. She knew that her hair was her best feature, and that was why she typically kept it pulled back so tightly. The dark strands settled over her shoulders, falling to her waist in thick waves. She could tell from the dark light in his eyes that he was enjoying the site of her. It warmed her far more than the fire.

He clasped a lock of her hair, the strands winding about and between his fingers as he tested the silken texture. “It is a crime to hide such beauty.”

The timber of his voice had changed, becoming deeper and with an added note that she could not fully identify. But she responded to it immediately. Her pulse quickened, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. The man was a menace; she thought. Was it any wonder that he was renowned for being a seducer of women?

“You must go,” she said. Her voice was free of censure but infused with panic. He unsettled her, and there was no point in trying to hide it. She could clearly see from the expression on his handsome face that he was well aware of her panic, and it seemed he shared some bit of it, as well. There was no protest from him. He stepped back, letting go of her hair with apparent reluctance.

“Of course. Thank you for a diverting evening, Juliet.”

“Abigail,” she corrected.

He chuckled, opening the door, “A rose by any other name, my dear.” Before he could walk out, a scream split the night.

Chapter Four

Michael went to the garden, where the scream had originated. Most of the other guests had arrived before him. They gathered around the fallen body of Lord Allerton. Michael knew immediately that his skill as a physician would not be required. Lord Allerton had been struck about the head repeatedly. Blood had already stopped flowing from the gashes, but enough of it was pooled beneath him to indicate that the loss was catastrophic.

He felt the weight of suspicious stares. It didn’t help that he’d been one of the last to arrive and that his disappearance from the drawing room had been noted. The local magistrate, Squire Blevins pointed an accusing finger at him. “You quarreled with this man prior to his death, Lord Ellersleigh. What have you to say for yourself?”

“I did not quarrel with him. He attempted to quarrel with me, and I walked away,” Michael said succinctly.

It was Lavinia who spoke next. Spite tainted her words, “You came here to the garden, Lord Ellersleigh, after he all but accused you of cheating. Perhaps he followed you in an attempt to force a confrontation. It would appear that he succeeded.”

That was more than enough for the squire. He puffed out his chest before turning back to face Michael. “If you cannot provide someone to account for your whereabouts, Viscount Ellersleigh, I will have no choice but to take you into custody,” the squire said, his tone quite firm.

A sick feeling settled into the pit of Michael’s stomach, along with a sneaking suspicion. Lavinia had been in the garden as well. He didn’t doubt that she possessed the necessary coldness to do murder, but did she physically possess the strength to bludgeon a man to death? Of course, it wouldn’t really matter who was guilty if the local constabulary had decided to see him hang for it. “Squire Blevins, there are any number of guests here with whom Lord Allerton was on less than harmonious terms.”

“Yes, and I was in the same room with the lot of them excepting yourself, my lord.”

“That is hardly a sound reason to convict a man, Squire.”

It was his Juliet’s voice that split the darkness. Michael turned to see Abby strolling into the garden. She had donned a heavy cape over her nightgown and wrapper. He could see the familiar lace hem beneath the cloak. Her hair had been hastily re-braided, and a few errant strands curled against her neck. She gave him a sidelong glance, and it spoke volumes. If he needed an alibi, she could provide it, but at what cost?

“Begging your pardon, Miss Barrows, but legal matters are a bit beyond your expertise,” the squire responded, his tone condescending.

Michael watched as she leveled the Squire with a look that made the man squirm. She lifted her chin and managed to look down her lovely nose at him though he stood inches above her. “Are you suggesting, Squire, that I lack the necessary intelligence to grasp that it requires more than that to convict a man of murder?”

The man stammered an apology, “Never meant to imply any such thing, Miss Barrows. I only meant to say that you hadn’t heard the whole conversation and might not have all the facts straightaway… Viscount Ellersleigh disappeared from the drawing room, and no one has laid eyes on him since. His clothes are mussed too, and that could well have happened in a struggle with poor Lord Allerton, here.”

Climbing a bloody tree would see him swinging from one, Michael thought. He looked back at Abby, and she gave the slightest of nods as she stepped forward to stand directly beside him.

With her tacit approval, he made a confession that would forever alter both their lives. “My clothing is mussed, Squire Blevins, because I climbed the tree beneath Miss Barrows’ window.”

There were gasps all around as everyone turned to her with accusing eyes. As married men and women, they could engage in all sorts of licentious behavior in full view of one another in the drawing room. Because she was unmarried, even admitting to being along with him was enough to see her ruined.

“Is this true, Miss Barrows? Have you engaged in lewd behavior with this man?” the Squire demanded.

Abby was embarrassed to her toes. She could deny it, but no one would believe her. “We were alone together at the time that Lord Allerton was so grievously injured, Squire. Surely that is all the information that you require.”

Lavinia stepped forward; her eyes were hot with anger and jealousy. “How dare you shame my husband and I this way! You will not remain in this house!”

Michael stepped between the two women. The hypocrisy of the situation galled him. “You will keep a civil tongue, Lady Lavinia, when you are addressing my future wife.”

Lavinia’s face became red with anger; her fingers curved into talon-like claws as she glared at them. “Rupert would never consent to such a union!”

“I am five and twenty, Lavinia. I do not require your husband’s consent,” Abby said mildly. This only served to spur Lavinia further into rage, and she leaped forward as if to attack. Two of the gentlemen present grabbed hold of her, hauling her back as she screamed and ranted.

The Squire stepped forward, “If I find that this engagement is a sham just to throw suspicion elsewhere—“

Michael nodded, taking Abbi by the arm and leading her away from the others. Over his shoulder, he said, “Rest assured, Squire Blevins, that Abigail and I will marry as soon as possible.”

Footmen were called to remove the body that would be sent on to Lord Allerton’s family. It was arranged for a messenger to ride ahead and warn his relatives. As the remaining guests dispersed, Michael whispered to Abby, “Get your things. You are not staying here tonight.”

“I can’t leave with you! Think of the scandal!” Abby protested.

Michael’s grip on her arm was forceful but gentle as he steered her away from the house. “It may have escaped your notice, but the only other person who was in this garden tonight was your stepsister! Given the viciousness of her temper, I do not doubt for a minute that she is more than capable of murder.”

Abby looked over her shoulder and saw that Lavinia was still spewing venom. She didn’t doubt it either. “I’ll meet you at the stables,” she said.

Michael’s expression hardened, his lips firming. “No, we’re leaving now…I’ll have a maid gather your things and send them to Blagdon Hall. It is too dangerous for you to go in alone. You cannot afford to trust anyone here. At present, I am the only person you can be sure isn’t a murderer.”

He was right, of course. Given how quickly the squire had moved to point the finger at him, there could be no question that it was what Lavinia wanted everyone to believe. Squire Blevins didn’t sneeze unless her sister gave him leave to do so.

Abby watched as he delivered instructions to a footman, and then returned to lead her to the stables. In her bare feet, the damp grass was chilly, but she didn’t complain. Thinking of Lord Allerton, she realized she had very little to complain about.

~*~*~

By midnight, Abby was once again in her velvet draped bed at Blagdon Hall. The return trip atop Lord Ellersleigh’s mount had been an eye opening experience for her. She’d never before been so close to any man, unless one counted her near misses in Rupert’s clutches.

Thinking of Lord Ellergsleigh, and the ease with which he’d mounted the horse and then hauled her up before him as if she weighed nothing more than a feather, left her breathless. Given that many had previously referred to her as being full-figured, or good country stock, that was a bit of a revelation. For the nearly half hour journey on the road between Whitby House and Blagdon Hall, she’d been seated before him on his horse, cradled between his strong thighs with his arms wrapped about her. Pine and sandalwood would ever remind her of him.

As she prepared for bed, she was painfully aware that he was just down the hall. Only a few doors separated her from a man who was an inveterate rogue. She was also far from immune to him, and he knew it. And they were engaged to be married, for possibly the worst reason ever. If they didn’t wed, he would be hanged for a murder he didn’t commit. If on the off chance Lord Allerton’s true murderer was discovered, she would be ruined if they didn’t go through with it. They were well and truly stuck, and she knew nothing about him.

Glancing around at the familiar walls, she sat down heavily on the bed and tried to calm her racing nerves. “This is a fine fix,” she said aloud. Weary, she extinguished the candles and climbed into bed, knowing that sleep would not come.

~*~*~

Michael didn’t even attempt to sleep. He was too disturbed by the night’s events and the impact those events were having on his future. He’d left London to end his entanglement with one woman, and within a matter of days, he found himself on the verge of marriage to another one. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Deciding that brandy was a necessity, he made his way to the small library. It was where he had first encountered Abigail, shrieking at a misbehaving feline with her bottom on luscious display. She’d painted a charming picture that day, just as she had at dinner, and later in the small morning room. The memory of her in her prim night clothes with her dark hair cascading about her would haunt him. 

She had hair like a gypsy, a mass of wild, dark curls that tumbled over her shoulders and breasts in glorious disarray. He could easily picture her dancing around a fire in flowing skirts with gold coins winking from her ears and wrists. Of course, those thoughts did little to ease his restlessness.

He poured the brandy and drained the glass. Under normal circumstances, he would have savored the slow burn of the liquid. He had discovered that the brandy on hand at Blagdon Hall was not the sort one savored but the sort one prayed to survive. If it would give him a peaceful night’s sleep, he didn’t care.

He refilled his glass and carried it with him as he headed for the stairs. He was halfway up the narrow, curving staircase when he felt an all too familiar sensation. His skin prickled and the hair at the nape of his neck rose alarmingly. His breath puffed out in front of him, misting in the newly chilled air.

His eyes rose of their own volition. She stood at the top of the stairs. Her hair was dark like Abigail’s, but straight. It hung to her waist in a thick sheet, framing a face that was both lovely and frightening. She didn’t speak; she merely pointed. She raised her arm slowly, the belled sleeve of her medieval gown falling away from a delicate wrist as she pointed to the window.

It lasted only seconds, and then she was gone. She had simply disappeared. He walked past the spot where she had stood, unease snaking through him. He peered out the narrow window, looking in the direction she’d pointed. I

In the woods between Bladgon Hall and Whitby House, he could see strange flickering lights. Torches, he thought, and a great number of them to boot. They flickered and moved through the woods, almost as if in a dance. It was like some pagan ritual. What was happening? What sort of madness had he stumbled into?

Michael turned, heading towards his own room, but unable to stop himself; he paused outside Abbi’s door. He listened for a moment, but no sound came from inside. He supposed it was a blessing to know that his new bride did not snore. He downed the last of the brandy and strode towards his own room, and a bed that would offer no solace.