What a Rogue Desires

There comes a reckoning in every rogue’s life when he will be called upon to give up his vices, repent of his wild ways, and become a respectable man. It is a known truth that scoundrels do not long survive the passing of their youthful looks and charms, to say nothing of their fortunes. David Reece knew this, had accepted it, and even told himself he was prepared to embrace it. He was lucky enough to have survived this long, and had decided it was best to stop thumbing his nose at Dame Fortune.

He just hadn’t realized her vengeance would be quite so harsh.

“I’ve made all the arrangements with Adams,” Marcus said. “He’ll be ready to assist you in every matter, as will Mr. Crabbet, my banker, and Mr. Rathbone, my solicitor.”

“Excellent,” David said, adding under his breath, “thank heaven.” For the last hour he’d been listening to all he must attend to while his brother was abroad, and this was the first mention of any help. Surely Marcus knew he wasn’t ready to handle everything on his own. Surely Marcus wasn’t ready to
allow
him to handle everything on his own. David had been counting on that fact when he had agreed to see to Exeter business.

Marcus shot him a glance. “Yes, excellent. However…” He paused, straightening the many documents on his desk. “Adams is a fair secretary,” he said in a dry voice, which David immediately interpreted to mean Adams was a borderline fool. “He is young and inexperienced.” Another pause. “You mustn’t rely on him too much, as he is capable of following directions, but not giving them.”

Just bloody brilliant. David had been hoping Marcus’s secretary would know how everything ran, and do most of the running. “What about Father’s man?” he asked, remembering the highly efficient man who had worked for their father. “What was his name? Er…Holt?”

Marcus sighed. “Mr. Cole has been forced by his health to retire. If you can restore him and get him back to work, you would have my undying gratitude.”

David slumped a little. Blast. Just his luck, that the capable man who knew Exeter business up, down, and sideways would have recently retired. “But he’s passed on his, er, knowledge, to this Adams fellow, hasn’t he?”

Marcus’s dour look quashed that hope. “One would hope, but sadly, it seems not.” He got to his feet. “That is why I need you, David. There is no one else I trust.” David nodded, partly in acknowledgment, partly to conceal his continuing surprise that it did seem to be true. Not since they were young boys could he remember his brother expressing trust in him, and even then not on such an important matter. And after the events of the past spring, it was a bloody miracle his brother still spoke to him, let alone asked David to look after all his business affairs for three months. Yet more pressure that he must not make a mess of things now.

Resolutely he got to his own feet, watching his brother pack an alarming number of documents and books into a large leather case, which he then strapped closed and set upright on the edge of the desk nearest David. “These are the most current,” he said, deepening David’s gloom. “The rest will be in London, in my study. I suggest you work there, for convenience’s sake.”

David mustered a smile. There were more? How many more? “Right. I do like convenience.”

Marcus smiled back briefly, then came around the desk. “It is a great relief that you’re to manage for me,” he said, clapping David’s shoulder. “Otherwise I doubt I could be away for so long.” Barely a month ago, Marcus had married, and was now taking his bride on an extended wedding trip. For three months they would be traveling the continent, enjoying the finest entertainments money could buy, wallowing in love and happiness, while David would be, apparently, buried beneath a mountain of ledgers with only an incompetent secretary to advise him.

But that was fair. David pushed aside the urge to recant his offer of help and nodded, laying one hand on the leather case. He owed this to Marcus, this and much, much more. Sitting at a desk and reading papers was far better than what he deserved, so he would do his best. Nearly getting someone killed was a large debt to repay.

There was a soft noise at the door, just before it slowly creaked open. “Look,” said the little girl who entered. She was lugging a large basket that appeared far too heavy for her. “Look at my kitties!” She waddled across the room and set her basket down at Marcus’s feet, then pulled off the cover to reveal three small kittens of decidedly mongrel heritage.

David watched as his brother smiled and placed one hand gently on the little girl’s curly blond head. “How charming. Where is their mama, Molly?”

“In the stable,” said his stepdaughter blithely, scooping up one tiny kitten. “This one is my favorite. I named her Moon. She likes to ride in my basket.” The kitten was squirming against Molly’s hold as she spoke. “Stop it, Moon!” Molly ordered, pressing the wriggling animal to her chest. “Stop!”

David couldn’t hold back a chuckle as the two other kittens took advantage of her distraction to leap from the basket and scamper across the floor, one to play with the fringe on the rug and another to chase dust motes in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “They’re getting away,” he remarked.

Molly swung around to glare at him with suspicious brown eyes. David cocked his head and grinned at her. “Shall we collect the kittens?”

Molly turned, caught sight of her kittens scampering away, and squealed, “No, no, come back!” She ran after them, catching the gray kitten who was too busy playing with the fringe to run. “You come back here, Butter!” Butter, a yellowish kitten, had left the dust motes and was climbing the drapes. “Butter!” Her arms full of wiggling, meowing kittens, Molly turned to Marcus in appeal. “Catch them for me, Papa, please?”

David’s eyebrow quirked upward as he watched his somber, serious brother retrieve the kitten from his fine velvet draperies, unsnagging its tiny claws with great patience, then replace all the kittens in the basket and securely tie the cover down, all under the approving gaze of his stepdaughter. Molly clapped her hands. “Good, now they can go for a ride again!”

The door opened again. “Is Molly—oh, Molly.” There were equal parts laughter and fatigue in the woman’s voice. “We agreed the kittens would stay in the stable with their mama cat, Molly,” she said. “Why are they in here?”

The little girl’s chin sank. “I wanted to show my new papa,” she said, beginning to pout. Her mother’s lips parted in surprise, and she looked at Marcus. He merely shrugged, but the set of his mouth made David think he was enjoying being called Papa.

“You must still mind Betty,” said her mother in a softer tone. “Now take the kittens back to the stable, please.”

“Yes, Mama.” Dragging the basket after her, Molly trudged toward the door, head down. Her mother caught her up in a hug until the little girl shrieked with glee. “Put me down, Mama,” she cried, still giggling. “My kitties!”

Laughing, her mother put her down. “Go, then.” Molly toddled out the door, her high sweet voice rising as she was intercepted by her nursemaid, and then the door latched behind her.

David looked at his brother. “Papa?”

Marcus gazed back. “She asked if she might call me that,” he said. “I had no objection.” Then he ruined his appearance of calm by darting a questioning glance at his wife. They exchanged a look, and apparently an entire conversation passed between them as well. Marcus’s face relaxed again, and he gave a small smile. That look gave David an odd feeling. Marcus had never been one to care what others thought. And David couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Marcus smile so often.

“I suppose next she’ll come up with a name to call you, David,” said Hannah with a laugh as she came across the room to join them.

He groaned. “She already has. Liar, liar, she called me a month ago, and barely anything since.”

Again his brother and sister-in-law shared a glance. David wished they would stop that. It felt as though they were talking about him without his having any idea what was said.

“She’s a child,” said Hannah at the same moment Marcus murmured, “Observant child.” Hannah shot her husband a warning look. “She’ll forget,” she said kindly. “Would you care for tea, David? You’ve been locked in here an age.”

Tea was too weak. In fact, whiskey sounded too weak. David was tempted to drive straight to the nearest pub and stay there for a month. “Thank you, no,” he said, patting the leather case on the desk and trying to hide his rising apprehension behind a front of confidence and cheer. “I’ve quite a bit of studying to do, so I shall make for London.”

“Before luncheon?” she exclaimed. David paused, thinking of the excellent chef at Ainsley Park, but shook his head. The longer he stayed, the greater the odds that he would lose his nerve and back out. He would not back out. He would do this.

“I should make an early start, I think,” he said. “I don’t wish to make a fool of myself.”

“Of course you shan’t,” said Hannah staunchly. “Mr. Adams will be there to assist you.”

“Before I forget,” Marcus said, going back around his desk and opening a drawer. “I’ve had something made for you, David. It will make things easier.” He handed David a small jeweler’s box, which turned out to contain a copy of the signet ring Marcus wore on his own hand.

David slid it on his finger, flexing his hand and taken aback by the weight of it. With this ring, he might as well
be
the duke of Exeter, he thought, vaguely alarmed at the thought. David had never envied his brother the title. It had suited him much better to be the younger son, never expected to do much beyond cut a dashing figure. He was a rogue by nature, he always told himself, and while it was very convenient to have Marcus step in and right his ship from time to time, David was quite content to sail where the wind took him.

But now he wore a copy of the Exeter signet on his hand, and the responsibility for the Exeter affairs rested heavily on his shoulders. He summoned another careless smile, saying a quick prayer that his sister-in-law would return from her wedding trip expecting the first of three or four sons, to obliterate any possibility of inheriting the title himself.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” he said with a hearty—and completely false—grin. “A very safe and happy trip to you, Marcus, Hannah.”

Marcus shook his hand, and Hannah kissed his cheek. Still grinning determinedly, David lifted the leather case, and made his escape before anyone noticed he was sweating, and before he opened his mouth and wormed his way out of this. Responsible, sober, and dependable, he repeated to himself.

Hannah watched her tall brother-in-law stride from the room, his shoulders back, his spine ramrod-straight. He looked like a man marching to his doom. “He’ll be all right,” she said.

Her husband sighed. “No doubt. The question is, will my affairs?”

She turned and gave him a reproachful look. “Now, you promised…”

He smiled, his expression softening dramatically. “Yes, yes. I will have made him a useless man if I do not trust him and give him a chance to redeem himself. He will never become competent if I do everything for him. I was quite awake during that lecture, I assure you.”

She quirked her brow. “I never said you must put him in charge of everything. A single estate, perhaps.”

Now there was a positively roguish twinkle in his eye. He glanced at the door, securely closed behind his brother, then pulled her into his arms. “Sadly…” He kissed her nose. “Events have conspired against me.” He kissed her right eyelid, as Hannah let her head fall back and slid her hands up his arms and around his neck. “I cannot leave Adams in charge for so long. He would bankrupt me within a fortnight.” He kissed her left eyelid as she laughed. “Someone must watch him, and someone must watch David, so I give them each other.” He kissed her forehead. “Perhaps between the two of them, there will be enough of Exeter for us to return home to. Because I intend to see that you enjoy every moment of your wedding trip.” He kissed her mouth, long and deep.

Hannah smiled mistily. “Mmm, do you?”

His lips brushed her temple, stopping to nip her earlobe. “It is my mission in life.”

“David will do well,” she said again, as he came to that sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Well enough, I hope,” Marcus muttered.

“And you—oh!” She shivered as his lips continued their assault. “You’re already doing well.”

“And we’ve not even left the house yet,” he replied.

And that was the end of the conversation.

David was halfway to London when he knew something was wrong. One of his fine new chestnut horses had developed an odd lilt to her stride and, despite slowing to a more cautious pace, David realized she needed attention. He turned into the next carriage yard before a bustling inn and pulled his team to a halt.

“Need help, sir?” called a young stable hand as David jumped down.

“My mare. She may have gone lame.” The boy trotted over and checked the mare, running his hands gently down the horse’s legs and murmuring to her as he did. After a moment he glanced up.

“Not lame, sir, not quite. She’s got a stone in her hoof here. With a bit of rest and care, she’ll be fine.”

David frowned. “Can she make it to London with the stone removed?” But he knew the answer, confirmed with a shake of the boy’s head.

“Ought not to, sir. That might make her lame, it might. But a night in the stable, we’ll soak her hoof, and she’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

Even if he left early, he wouldn’t make it to town before dinner, especially not with a horse with a tender hoof. This pair had cost him a pretty penny, and it would serve nothing to abuse them. Resigned, he handed over the reins and told the boy to take the team to the stable and see to the mare’s foot. Perhaps he could hire another team and be only an hour behind.

That idea died as well, with a firm shake of the stable master’s head. “No, sir, I’ve not got a one, not even a pair of mules.” David slapped his gloves into his palm, eying the stalls of horses behind him. Not nearly in the class as his chestnuts, but there were a few sturdy-looking beasts all the same. And he only needed one for a single day’s journey.

“Surely you’ve got something; a single horse. I cannot afford a delay. I’ll pay well for your trouble.” The stable master cast him an assessing glance. David cocked his head and lowered his voice a tone. “Very well, indeed.”

The man hesitated, then shook his head again, reluctantly. “Your pardon, m’lord, but I can’t oblige. I haven’t got the horses to hire. These are spoken for, and I cannot let them go.” This time David did swear. It was utterly unacceptable that his good intentions be upset so easily and so soon. But what could he do, if the man wouldn’t listen to money?

“Then I shall have to take my custom elsewhere, I see. Where might I hire a carriage?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over a burst of shouts and a rumble of wheels.

A stagecoach was just turning in, and with a flurry of activity the stable boys rushed to stand ready. The stable master turned from David, saying quickly over his shoulder, “The Golden Bear, two miles distant, might be able to assist you, sir.”

David watched him go, simmering in silence. He was quite sure the man wouldn’t have turned Marcus away like that. But then, Marcus would have left early, and most likely his horse wouldn’t have picked up a stone in the first place. Between the two of them, David was quite sure his brother had gotten more than his fair share of luck. And then, of course, made the most of it with his methodical, calculating nature.

Swearing again under his breath, he turned on his heel and strode into the inn, just barely avoiding running down a stable boy behind him. The passengers from the coach were climbing down, and David had no desire to wait and watch them all be served ahead of him. He flung open the door, a little too roughly, and hailed the innkeeper.

“Yes, sir? Will you be wanting a room for the night?” The man’s eyes ran over him in a split second, and he bowed, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’ve got my best room still.”

No doubt all his rooms were his best, if they were unoccupied. “I suppose, since it appears your stable master is unable to oblige me,” David said coolly. “I must say, I’ve found this establishment rather lacking thus far, so perhaps I should examine the room before I take it.”

The man puffed up obsequiously. “My stable master? Why, if he didn’t oblige you, sir, he must not be able to. If he simply hasn’t got the horses, he hasn’t got them. But my rooms are fine, and I vow, if you’re—”

“No doubt.” David glanced around the room as if he found the entire inn rather lacking, although to tell the truth, it looked like many a tavern David had spent time in. He simply didn’t want to spend time in this one. “But I don’t require a room. I require a horse, for I must return to London this day, and now, due to your stable master, I shan’t be able to.”

The innkeeper abandoned his defense of the stable master. “And I’ll speak to him about it, depend upon it, sir. He’ll have a horse for you by first light, if I have anything to say about it. But in the meantime—”

“I don’t want another answer, in the meantime,” said David testily. The man’s mouth, still open in mid-sentence, snapped closed.

“The only other thing I can suggest, sir, is the stage to London, just arrived and soon to depart again. Will you take a place?”

David almost said no; he almost snapped back at the man that he would not ride the public stage like a common farmer. But he caught himself in time, realizing the innkeeper was no longer looking at him with respect and deference, but with weary impatience and even veiled contempt. Because he was behaving like a spoiled child.

There were two choices open to him: ride the stage and reach London today, or stay the night and reach it tomorrow. If he left tomorrow, he would either be driving a strange team or a team with a tender-footed mare who couldn’t travel at any decent speed. The second choice admitted little to no chance of making his appointments. The first choice, however unpleasant at the moment, would reap benefits tomorrow.

David sighed. “A place on the stage, then.”

The innkeeper bowed his head. “I’ll see to it at once, sir.”

He reached for his purse. “See that my baggage is transferred as well, if you would. I’ll send a man for the horses in a day or two. See they are well tended.” The man took the generous sum David counted out, bowed a trifle more respectfully, and hurried off. David took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and trying to let go of his irritation. Normally he wouldn’t have minded the delay so much; the taproom, and perhaps a barmaid or two, would have consoled him for his inconvenience. David was well used to consoling himself in pubs and taverns, and it was extremely tempting to do so again.

But he had made a promise. It would be appalling if he broke it not even six hours after making it.

Straightening his shoulders, he turned away from the taproom, ducking through the low doorway into the afternoon sunshine. The ostlers were changing the horses while men tossed trunks and bags off the top of the coach and secured others thrown up. Passengers, hot and dusty, brushed past David in search of a drink in the taproom or a bit of exercise in the shade. David eyed the coach with resignation. Instead of bowling along in his comfortable, well-sprung phaeton, he’d be packed in with half a dozen other souls, covered in dust kicked up by the team of six, bounced this way and that by every lurch of the heavy coach. He calculated the time until they would reach London and sighed. Being responsible was proving to be extremely burdensome.

He caught a passing boy and gave him a coin to fetch a mug of ale. He would stand out here and drink it, to avoid temptation as much as to stretch his legs in anticipation of being jammed inside the coach for the next few hours. The boy returned with the mug, and David retreated into the shade of a tree to nurse his pint and study his soon-to-be fellow passengers.

A widow in unrelieved black sat on a small trunk, her bonnet concealing her face. A tall man who was taking care to flash his shiny pocket watch was ordering the post-boys about, or trying to. A middle-aged couple in sturdy clothing was sharing a basket of food on a patch of grass. A portly man lounged on a bench near the inn, yawning and scratching himself. David tipped his mug to his mouth. Lord, there was always one. He made a mental note to avoid sitting by that man, who would no doubt smell of onions and pass gas the entire trip.

When the call went up that the coach was departing, David went, still not at all happy. The inside of the coach looked stuffy and dusty and just as cramped as he had expected, and his mood did not improve when the middle-aged couple took their seats first and beckoned to the widow to join them. Clutching a small reticule, she came forward slowly, hesitantly. The stable boys were tossing her trunk to the top of the stage, and she seemed worried about it, stopping twice to peer up at it. At the step of the stage, she paused again, gathering her black skirts in her hands. She was a small woman, and the high step appeared difficult for her. David stepped forward and offered his hand, anxious to get this trip begun as soon as possible, all the quicker to end it. “Allow me.”

She turned her face to him, beaming as she thanked him, although he didn’t hear a word she said. David had never seen such a face in his life. It was the face of an angel, a perfect heart shape with skin like fine china. Her eyes were a soft clear blue, her lips full and pink, and even her nose was simply perfect. Thoughts both reverent and wicked blossomed in his mind. Struck dumb, it was all David could do to nod and hand her into the coach. He climbed in after her and took a seat opposite her, all but staring.

“Right on time, right on time!” The portly man plumped himself next to David, taking up half the seat. Distastefully David moved over as far as he could, but when the last passenger climbed aboard, he was promptly squashed again.

The coach was off with a lurch a moment later, and David leaned his face nearer the window, only to recoil in disgust as a cloud of dust blew at him. “Best close the window, sir,” said the older lady. “Mr. Fletcher and I have been on the coach since Coombe Underwood, and the roads are very dusty, sir, very dusty. We’ll all be dust-covered.”

And now we’ll all be suffocated
, he thought grimly, tying the shade down. The man beside him moved, squishing from side to side, and David caught a whiff of, indeed, onions. He angled himself a little more in the corner, trying to find a more comfortable position, and winced as the coach hit a rut and bounced him backward. The seat was too narrow; he felt perched on the edge. But his legs were too long, and he couldn’t stretch them out to brace himself. He had to draw up his knees to avoid kicking the woman opposite him.

Now there was the only attractive thing about this ride. Wedged between the window and the fat man, dust drifting between the window frame and the curtain to cover his coat, unable to move or sleep, David took full advantage of the opportunity to admire the young widow. He had seen pretty girls before, and more than a few beautiful women. Women in artfully designed gowns that showed off their figures, women with cosmetics that emphasized their good features and covered their flaws, women who used flowers and jewels and perfume to enhance their appearance. He couldn’t recall seeing someone dressed so shabbily and primly who looked so breathtaking.

It might be her eyes. As blue as the summer sky, he thought, amused at his own poetical turn. It might be the soft pink color that bloomed in her cheeks as she talked with the older woman beside her. The shy smile that followed showed a trace of dimple in her cheek, and lifted her mouth into a perfect curve. A hideous bonnet covered most of her hair, but the bit that peeped out around her temples was a light brown. If she wore perfume he couldn’t smell it, although she might have bathed in it and he wouldn’t know, thanks to his neighbor. Every other inch of the woman was covered in black, from the scuffed toes of her boots peeping out from under her skirts to the black lace mitts on her hands.

He slouched lower in his seat, his eyes sliding over. Her traveling cloak had fallen open, and he was quite sure she had a nice figure. Her bosom was nicely rounded, under the high-necked dress, and his imagination filled in other nice curves: the gentle flare of a waist, the rounding of a hip, the slim line of a leg. And that exquisite mouth. He could imagine quite a bit about that mouth, and what he might teach her to do with it that could make this trip pass much, much more enjoyably.

She caught him looking at her then, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she looked away. She wasn’t afraid, he thought, but on guard. So she’d be a challenge to seduce; David rather liked the prospect. He felt the beginnings of a lazy smile on his face before he remembered himself.

Good God, he was nothing more than a tomcat if he could sit here and imagine seducing a woman he didn’t know anything about, had never seen before, and probably would never see again. They were strangers on a stagecoach, crammed in with four other people, and he was thinking of having her naked.

What kind of man was he, precisely? Whatever was left of his smile vanished at the question. Had he learned nothing in the last few months? This was not responsible, respectable behavior; this was not part of his vow to reform himself. Was he to be the sort of man who grew old alone, reduced to ogling women’s ankles with his quizzing glass as they laughed behind their fans at him? The lecherous old man, they’d whisper. It was bad enough what they whispered about him now.

He pushed back further into his corner, turning his gaze away from her. She was safe from him. No matter which sensual direction his imagination ran, he would not act on it.

They rattled onward for some time. David made good on his vow not to stare at the pretty widow, but only by closing his eyes and pretending to rest. From time to time he would take a quick look out the window, and usually also stole a quick glance at her, catching the smooth pale curve of her cheek as she chatted with the other woman, the flash of her smile. That much he was helpless to resist. He told himself he could just as easily be stealing glances at the other woman, although why anyone would do that, he couldn’t imagine.

He heard bits of their conversation, too, over the rumbling of the wheels. The older woman introduced herself as Mrs. Fletcher, and seemed to take great delight in drawing out the quiet young widow. Her voice was often too low to hear, but what David heard was soft and gentle. She had the accent of gentry, and he pieced together a tale of genteel near-poverty, then her husband’s death. She must be on her way to relatives, he thought, wishing he had anything else to do but think about her. He was behaving himself, but it would be easier if the other men were of a sporting inclination. Or if he hadn’t so recently vowed to become an upright model of respectability; he and his friend Percy had once taken the reins of a coach and driven it on a mad race for a smashing good run. There was no time to think about women while careening along atop a coach. Percy and the other rogues David kept company with would roar with laughter to see him wedged respectably, boringly, inside the coach, opposite a luscious young widow and not doing a blessed thing to seduce or even flirt with her. Even though he had imposed it on himself, David was beginning to think his penance was extraordinarily harsh.