The Rogue's Proposal (5 page)

“Sorry,” he said softly.

She looked at him in surprise. “About what?”

He shrugged. “Forcing you to relive it all. I can see it is painful for you.”

“Yes. Well,” she said, but she didn’t meet his eyes, instead seeming fascinated by
her food. They ate in silence for a long moment. Then she said, “Tell me about the
duchess. What happened to her?”

“Ah, my mother. Another dismal topic.”

Her lips twisted. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said. “It’s all right.” Silence reigned while he ate a savory bite of pigeon
pie. “What have you heard about what happened to my mother?”

“Not very much. Just that she went missing this past spring. I’ve heard recently that
the duke and his family have begun to fear the worst.”

Luke scowled down at his food. “Well, all that is true. And unfortunately, even after
all these months, we don’t have much information. All we have is Roger Morton.”

She leaned forward a bit. “How did you link him to her disappearance?”

“When my mother disappeared from Ironwood Park, she took two of her servants with
her. The maid—well, she died.” He still couldn’t banish the image of Binnie’s naked
body on that table—so cold and stiff and white and pale. He and his brother had caught
an anatomist in the midst of his lecture on the viscera just as he had been about
to cut Binnie open.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said.

He gave her a dismal look, not really knowing how to respond. “It took us months to
find the manservant, but when we finally did, he informed us that a man named Roger
Morton had taken my mother from Ironwood Park and brought her to Wales, where he kept
her at a house in Cardiff. After several weeks, my mother dismissed the servants,
so we know nothing more.”

Emma frowned, the skin between her eyebrows puckering. “Was Morton involved in a…liaison…with
your mother?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know for certain. But from the way the servant described
it, he deferred to her. As though he were a servant. Not the way my mother usually
behaves with her lovers.”

Her eyes widened.

“Yes, she has had many lovers,” he said dryly. “Although I must give her some credit.
I only ever saw a half dozen or so of them, though I know of more. She made an attempt
at discretion. A rather weak attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.”

“Goodness.” She seemed to not know what else to say. They ate in silence for a few
minutes. Then Emma asked him, “Did you search for them in Cardiff?”

“I did, but both Morton and my mother were long gone. No one could tell me whether
they left town together or separately. All I could find was a man in a pub who knew
someone by that name. Described him the same as my mother’s servant had—dark hair,
dark eyes, nondescript features. Said he used to live in Bristol and frequented the
taverns and hells and bawdy houses here. Said there was a good chance I’d find him
in Bristol.”

“So you came here.”

He took some apple tart, chewed, and swallowed the tangy, sweet bite. “So I came here.”

“And now…Scotland?” she asked him.

“And now I will find this Macmillan fellow in Scotland to see if he has any further
information on Morton’s whereabouts,” he agreed. Edinburgh was a hell of a long way
away—almost four hundred miles. It would take a great deal of time and energy for
them to get there. But he’d go. He’d no other choice—this “C. Macmillan” was currently
his only clue.

Emma looked down at her plate, poking her fork into a baked apple slice. “I have wanted
to go to Edinburgh ever since I found the letter—but I simply couldn’t find a way.”

Right. A woman, alone. Her husband dead. All her money gone—stolen. It would be nigh
impossible for someone like her to travel the distance alone.

Still, it seemed odd she’d turn to Luke—a single man and a complete stranger.

“Don’t you have family? Someone who could have helped you?”

“No. My father is ill, and my sister needs to stay to care for him. Other than that,
we’ve only an elderly grandmother who lives in Leeds.”

“Servants?”

“Only one left. She must stay as well.” She looked up at him with bleak amber eyes.
“Jane will need her help.”

“You know why I ask, don’t you? This will destroy your reputation.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I thought you said you wouldn’t give a second thought
to such matters.”

“I wouldn’t.” He shrugged. “But you might wish to.” He met her eyes levelly. “I’ve
been responsible for the ruination of a young woman before. It was highly unpleasant.”

“For you, or for the young woman?” she asked.

“For the young woman. I escaped unscathed.”

Emma’s lips twisted. “I’m sure you did. I must say, I am honored that you are showing
such concern, my lord—”

“Luke.”

“
Luke
. But, really, my reputation is my concern, not yours.”

“Of course,” he said mildly. He gave her a carefree grin that said the subject was
closed. But something inside him felt tangled and disconcerted. Worried on her behalf.

Really, he shouldn’t give a damn about her reputation. He’d never concerned himself
with society’s perception of the ladies he associated with, and he had no idea why
he would start now.

In any case, every bit of him was looking forward to tearing down Emma Curtis’s defenses…and
making her beg.

H
e’s joking,
Emma thought.

She stood on the curb in front of the inn, staring at a curricle. A
curricle
, not a chaise or a coach, which was what she had expected when Luke had gone off
in search of a vehicle that would transport them to Scotland.

Before he’d left, he’d ordered her to wait in the room at the inn. She had been tempted
to argue—she knew where to go in Bristol for the best prices on just about anything.
But she’d also understood the wisdom in not being seen in town with him. She knew
too many people here.

Still, it seemed Lord Lukas was more concerned about her reputation than he cared
to admit. That thought gave her a tiny, pleasant flicker inside. A warm, strange glow
she’d never felt before.

He gazed down at her from the perch where he held the ribbons. His black coat hugged
his shoulders in a way that made her breath quicken. He looked dashing and handsome.
Like a man-about-town. A dandy trying to catch the eyes of ladies—and succeeding at
it if the two tittering young women casting glances at him and giggling from the other
side of the road were any indication.

He looked like a carefree London gentleman. Not like a man who was about to depart
on an arduous four-hundred-mile journey across the country.

He grinned that mischievous grin of his, and his blue eyes sparkled in the noontime
sunlight. “What do you think?”

Other carriages—more acceptable modes of transportation—traversed the road behind
him. The street smelled of the city—Bristol had a salty tang to it, as if it could
never quite wash the ocean residue from its streets. People walked in and out of the
busy inn, their coats drawn tight like her own pelisse was.

When she didn’t answer Luke’s question, he stepped down and secured the horses, then
came to stand beside her.

“I obtained it for an excellent price.” Taking her elbow and steering her around to
the back of the spindly thing, he added, “This is a traveling curricle. You see—they
added a boot to the area where the tiger is meant to stand.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a chaise?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

He arched a cocky eyebrow at her. “No. Then I’d have to hire a driver.”

He was a duke’s brother. Surely he was in possession of the funds to hire a driver.
She frowned at him.

“I prefer to do the driving myself, Emma. If I’m not to ride my own horse across England,
then at least I can drive.”

She tried not to flinch at that. She knew her presence was an inconvenience to him,
knew that he’d ridden into town on a lone mount. He wouldn’t have needed to secure
a carriage at all if she hadn’t demanded to join him.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I understand. But…it seems…
frail
. I have my doubts as to whether it can endure traveling the length of England.”

She had visions of hitting a rock in the road and it crashing into splinters. Splinters
in the case of the carriage. A mass of bloody, broken limbs for her and Luke’s part,
as well as the poor horses’.

She looked at them—a slender and lithe gray and a stout black. A mismatched pair if
she’d ever seen one.

Luke’s blue eyes slid toward her, and he squeezed her elbow gently. “Are you afraid?”
he asked softly. “I don’t believe this will be a journey for the fearful.”

“I’m not afraid of the journey,” she said, her shoulders firming. “I’m afraid of this
carriage. Do you intend to kill us?”

“Not you,” he said.

What did that mean? She didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead she continued.
“And the weather is changing. What if it rains?”

“There is a hood.”

She turned to face him, her brows furrowed in a scowl, and she tried not to grind
her teeth too furiously. “Yes. I see the hood.” It was a tiny thing that would provide
less cover than a flimsy umbrella.

He gazed at her, one eyebrow quirked up, his eyes glowing with bemusement.

She gestured toward the back of the curricle, where the hood had been folded down.
“That will keep us dry in a ten-minute drizzle. On a day of hard travel through pouring
rain? We’ll be soaked through, then catch pneumonia, and”—she snapped her fingers—“just
like that we’ll be dead.”

He chuckled. “In days of heavy rain, then, I propose that we stay ensconced in the
warm, dry comfort of the nearest inn. In bed, of course.”

Emma gave him a narrow-eyed look, but there was nothing she could do. Beggars couldn’t
be choosers, and she certainly didn’t have the means to obtain a more comfortable
mode of transportation herself.

“Very well,” she said, sighing. “I shall just pray you’re not leading us to our deaths.”

Two hours later, they had left the city of Bristol behind and were heading north on
the Bristol Road under a cool, watery blue sky. They would not travel far today, because
it was already midafternoon and it grew dark early this time of year.

Consulting one of the books of the two-volume
Paterson’s British Itinerary
Luke had laid on the seat, Emma had determined they should stop at a place called
the Cambridge Inn near the village of Slimbridge.

“Good,” Luke had said. “We will continue on this route to Worcester. We should arrive
there tomorrow night, and then we’ll stay there an extra day and night before continuing
northward.”

“Why?” she’d asked him, frowning. Now that they were on their way, the thought of
any delay made her squirm. She wished she could simply close her eyes and transport
them both to Edinburgh in an instant.

“I’ve some business to attend to there. Trust me, I’m as eager to find Morton as you
are, but this is something I must do.”

And that was the only explanation he’d offered. Emma folded her hands in her lap and
said nothing. She was wildly curious. But whatever he needed to do in Worcester was
technically none of her concern.

She settled back in her seat and watched him. In an instant, he went from being easygoing
and relaxed to firm and commanding. His eyes would flash with bright humor and then
simmer in darkness.

He was a complicated man. He confused her. Unsettled her. He was nothing like she’d
expected him to be. But now she realized her expectations hadn’t been fair. He was
the Duke of Trent’s brother, and she’d pictured him as the embodiment of his brother’s
stellar reputation. Probably even the Duke of Trent himself wasn’t the embodiment
of his own reputation.

Ultimately, she was glad Luke wasn’t anything like she’d expected. If he had been,
he’d never have allowed her to come with him.

And…this man was far more fascinating than she ever could have imagined.

He glanced at her, his blue eyes catching a gleam from the fading sunlight. Something
inside her clenched hard. He was so handsome—that was one thing about him she’d predicted.
But her reaction to his beauty was far, far more intense than she’d expected.

“You’re staring at me,” he observed mildly.

“Sorry.” She jerked her head away and stared out over the horses’ heads. “Does it
make you uncomfortable?”

He laughed, that quicksilver joy shining through before it evaporated just as rapidly.
“No, Emma.” His voice was husky. “Look all you like.”

“Very well, I shall.” She was feeling mulish and twitchy inside her skin. And it was
growing colder, the wind biting through not only her pelisse and dress and undergarments
but the blanket on her lap as well. It would probably snow at some point on their
journey—and then he’d see what little good that silly hood would do.

She pulled the woolen blanket he’d bought tighter over her lap and shivered. She wished
she’d brought a heavier coat—she hadn’t predicted she’d be journeying outdoors on
an open seat.

Maybe she should stop having expectations at all when it came to this man.

Do you like to be bound, Mrs. Curtis?

She shivered again.

“Are you cold?” he said.

“No,” she lied.

“I see.” He slanted a glance down at her. “Pull up the blanket to cover your shoulders,”
he ordered.

She bristled at the rather high-handed command, but she did as she was told, wrapping
the blanket over her chest and tucking it behind her shoulders.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He turned the horses around a sharp bend in the road. Emma hung on for dear life;
every time they turned, it felt like the curricle would flip them to their deaths.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” he said, clearly amused.

She glared at him. “This carriage is meant to shoot about on London’s perfect roads,
not to traverse the ruts and rocks of England’s country lanes.”

“Ah. I see you’ve never been to London.”

“I
have
been to London,” she retorted. “I had two Seasons there.”

“Is that where you met your husband?”

“It was. Not at any of the Season’s events, mind. I met him in London during my second
Season.”

“How long was your courtship?”

“Almost a year. When the Season ended, I returned to Bristol with my father and Jane.
Henry and I began a correspondence.”

“I see. Where did he hail from?” Luke’s voice was flat, modulated, so was she imagining
the edge to it? But then again, why would he be anything but curious about her murdered
husband?

“London.”

“So you maintained a correspondence. How did this lead to marriage?”

“He proposed marriage via a letter to my father that winter.”

“And your father said yes. You did, too.”

She squirmed a little. What a naïve, stupid little girl she’d been. So taken with
the handsome and dashing Henry Curtis. He had a curricle like this one, but smaller
and even more dangerous. Riding in it had made her feel so reckless and wild, so brazen.
The first time he’d taken her riding in Hyde Park and kissed her behind an elm tree,
she’d been so breathless and excited she’d nearly swooned.

She wasn’t that girl anymore.

“We both said yes,” she told Luke now. “We wrote our acceptances in a letter, first
my father and then me.”

She’d been so certain she was in love, but now she wasn’t so sure. She was in love
with the attention he’d given her. She was in love with the way he’d made her laugh.
With the way he’d sneaked into her room on a warm London summer evening and kissed
her until she couldn’t breathe.

She’d been more fascinated by him than by any of the aristocratic gentlemen she’d
danced with at the Season’s assemblies and soirees. Henry hadn’t been a nobleman or
an aristocrat, but he was a moneyed gentleman. He’d told her that his parents and
sister lived in Yorkshire. When she’d tried to contact them after his death, her letters
had been returned unopened.

“Why did you marry him?” Luke asked her now. “Did you love him?”

She stiffened. “That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

“Yes. So?”

She stared straight ahead, debating whether to answer.

It came down to the fact that Luke had agreed to bring her with him, and she owed
him for that. “I loved him,” she said in a clipped voice. But then she felt compelled
to add, “In some respects.”

“I see.” He looked at her, his blue eyes serious, a slight crease between his brows.
“Did he love you?”

Something inside her recoiled. If she’d thought the last question was too personal,
this one surely surpassed all bounds of decency.

They rattled over a rut in the road, giving her a reason to grip the edge of her seat.

She didn’t answer for a long while. He didn’t press her.

Finally, she said, in a very low, very miserable voice, “I don’t think so.”

A week after the wedding, she’d started to worry. A month after the wedding, she’d
begun to panic. Because as the days went by, it became increasingly clear that Henry
possessed no interest in her as a wife, even as another human being. He’d married
her for her father’s money. He’d married her because she was an heiress with a very
generous dowry.

It had had nothing to do with her.

No, he
hadn’t
loved her. He’d seduced her and wooed her with everything he had, but once the dowry
was in his hands and his future secured with the promise of much more, he’d showed
his true colors.

Perhaps he’d even actively disliked her the whole time he’d been telling her how lovely
and sweet she was. Perhaps he’d shivered with revulsion when he’d whispered how he
wanted nothing more than to take her to his bed.

All the money was gone now. It was her fault. If she hadn’t married Henry, he’d have
never become involved with Roger Morton. Papa’s fortune would still be safe.

Guilt swamped her—a feeling she was accustomed to now. She’d made a foolish choice,
and her family had paid dearly for it.

Luke seemed not to have heard her. He was concentrating on negotiating the horses
over the bumps and curves in the road.

She was glad he hadn’t heard. She didn’t want Lord Lukas Hawkins’s pity. She just
wanted him to help her find Roger Morton so she could get her money back, make Papa
well, and see Jane married to someone as good and honest as she was.

She glanced at Luke to find him looking ahead, scowling. “What’s wrong?” she asked
him.

He was quiet for a long moment, still staring straight ahead, then he said, “I think
one of the horses is limping.”

She studied the horses. “Which one?”

“The gray.”

She stared at the gray mare. “I can’t see it.”

He stopped the horses, still not looking at her. “I’ll check. Wait here.” He pressed
the reins into her hands.

She held the horses, sitting with the blanket wrapped around her as he stepped off
the curricle and then went to check the horse’s hooves and legs, running his hand
through the dirty-white fur, feeling for injuries in the legs, then coaxing the hooves
off the ground one at a time and meticulously inspecting each one. Finally, he returned.
She kept her eyes on the gray. “Did you find anything?”