Page 3 of Rogue's Lady

Bonaparte had just made his break from Elba, sending Rob racing to Belgium to coordinate the gathering of Wellington’s forces, when Sapphira began her assault on his father’s sensibilities, so Rob had never met the late Lord Lynton’s young bride. What would he make of his new “mama”? Allegra wondered.

Send her to the rightabout immediately, pouty pink lips, gilded hair, jutting bosom and all, Allegra devoutly hoped. But though Rob wasn’t elderly or grieving for a beloved wife’s touch, he was a man. She couldn’t be certain he would prove any more immune than Uncle Robert to Sapphira’s charms.

She should go forward with her plans to find employment elsewhere, Allegra concluded as she finished her chocolate, firmly banishing the stubborn relics of her old romantic dream. Though she would stay and see Rob established here as Lord Lynton before she embarked on a new life, the nauseating possibility that Sapphira might succeed in cozening Rob as successfully as she had beguiled his father made Allegra determined to have alternative plans for her future in place by the time Rob returned.

With one last sigh over the handsome countenance she so vividly remembered even after all these years, Allegra set aside her cup, took up her pen and went back to her list.

CHAPTER TWO

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN, a knock at the door of his Chelsea parlor distracted William Tavener from his reading. Glancing up as the door swung open, he discovered his cousin Lucilla, Lady Domcaster, standing on the threshold, hands on hips as she surveyed the small, untidy space. In her elegant ruby pelisse and bonnet, she looked as out of place in his shabby sitting room as her expression of distaste proclaimed her to feel.

Covering his shock—and a surge of gladness—at seeing his favorite childhood cousin after a gap of two years, he rose from his chair and drawled, “Lucilla, my dear, what a surprise! Not a wise move coming here, you know. Leave immediately and I shall swear I never saw you.”

With a sniff, Lady Domcaster advanced into the room. “Oh, rubbish, Will. And you may save that forbidding look to intimidate your boxing opponents. You know it won’t frighten me. Gracious, what a dingy set of rooms!”

Realizing with perhaps too great a sense of relief that Lucilla wasn’t going to allow him to scare her off, he gave an affected sigh and gestured languidly to the sofa. “Come in then, if you must. My apologies that the accommodations aren’t up to your standards. Though I’d still advise you to reconsider this call.”

“If you’d answered either of my two notes,” Lucilla replied as she seated herself, “I wouldn’t have to do something as scandalous as visiting my bachelor cousin in his rooms.”

Will brought one hand up over his heart. “Dear me! My wicked reputation. Is Domcaster likely to call me out?”

“Oh, I can handle my lord husband,” Lucilla assured him, a sparkle in her eye. “Besides, the on-dit says you only seduce married ladies in their own boudoirs or in love nests of their providing. Now, since I’ve already committed the impropriety of coming here, you might as well offer me refreshment—if there’s any to be had?”

“Give me a moment and I’ll see if Barrows can scare up some wine.” After delivering her a courtly bow, which she waved off with a grin, he entered his chamber to hail his valet, friend and man-of-all-work.

Barrows stepped back so abruptly, Will knew he must have been listening at the door. “Quite an astounding development!” Barrows said in an undertone. “Shall I fetch wine or stay to play chaperone?”

“Wine,” Will replied softly. “The better to send her on her way more quickly.”

“Excellent point,” Barrows replied and headed toward the back exit.

The errand gave Will a moment to trap the joy his cousin’s unexpected visit had surprised from him and bottle it back under the urbane, bored demeanor he affected.

“Wine is forthcoming,” he announced as he walked back in. “So, to what do I owe the honor of this highly irregular visit?”

“Did you not even read the notes I sent?” Lucilla asked with a touch of exasperation.

As if he would not have immediately devoured the contents of the first correspondence he’d received from any relation in nearly two years. But afraid, if he called upon her as she’d bid, he might not be strong enough to resist the temptation to renew the friendship they’d shared in their youth—a liaison that would now reflect no credit upon an otherwise respectable matron—he’d chosen not to go to North Audley Street.

Warmed as he was by her persistence in seeking him out, it would still be best for her if he rebuffed any attempts to renew that connection. Not correcting her mistaken impression of his indolence, he gave her instead a lazy grin. “Refresh my memory.”

“After being buried in the country producing offspring for years, now that Maria and Sarah are old enough to acquire a bit of town bronze and with Mark reading for Oxford, Domcaster agreed to my having the Season in London he’s long promised.”

“Your many friends must be ecstatic. Why contact me?”

Lucilla shook her head. “Don’t try to cozen me. When I walked in, before you put your mask-face back on, I could tell you were as pleased to see me as I am to see you. I’ve missed you, Will!”

Before he could divine her intent, she came over and seized him in a hug. Shocked anew, he allowed himself just a moment to fiercely return the pressure of her arms before setting her gently aside. “Lucilla, you unman me.”

“Oh, do drop that irritating manner and let us speak frankly. I expect you believe that my being seen with you can do my reputation no good, but what I propose will change all that. Fortunately, there is still time for you to make a recover before you succeed in isolating yourself permanently from good society.”

He’d suspected she wanted to quietly resume their friendship, interrupted by both their coming of age and her marriage. Surprised once again, he said, “That sounds foreboding. I tremble to think what you intend.”

“I intend to put a period to your career as a sometime gambler and full-time beguiler of ladies no better than they should be! Though I might have been buried in Hertfortshire raising a family, my dear friend Lydia here in London has kept me fully informed. Domcaster said one must expect a young man to sow some wild oats, but really, my dear, you’re nearing thirty now. ’Tis past time you settled to something more useful than fleecing lambs at whist and seducing other men’s wives.”

“They were not all of them wives,” he pointed out, amused. “’Twas a fair number of widows sprinkled in.”

“A good thing for your health. I understand some not-so-amenable husbands of several of your paramours almost insisted on grass for breakfast.”

“Since I was always able to persuade the injured party to swords rather than pistols, there wasn’t much danger. You know how good I am with a blade. Honor upheld, no one hurt.”

“Heavens, Will!” Lucilla exclaimed, laughing. “Trust you to leave both the lady and her husband satisfied.”

Will reached down to pick a speck of lint off the sleeve of his best jacket. “One must have a little excitement in one’s life, Lucilla.”

“Indeed.” Lucilla shook her head. “Although I should think your bouts at Gentleman Jackson’s—yes, Lydia has kept us informed about your boxing career!—would satisfy that desire! You’ve always been such a scrapper. I never understood why Uncle Harold refused to purchase you a commission. You could have been decimating the ranks of French cuirassiers instead of setting your lance at every loose-moraled woman in London.”

A vivid memory flashed into mind…his uncle impatiently dismissing Will’s plea to buy a set of colors, replying he had no intention of wasting his blunt sending Will where he’d only get his worthless carcass skewered by some Polish lancer. Though Will should have expected that, even with a war on, Uncle Harold would not consider the army in dire enough straits to require the dubious services of his late sister’s troublesome orphan.

“Someone must care for the poor unloved ladies,” he said after a moment.

Something like pity flickered briefly on Lucilla’s face. “You would know about the unloved part! I still think it atrocious the way Aunt Millicent—”

Will put a finger to her lips before she ventured into territory he’d rather not examine. “Enough!” He smiled, letting his affection show through this time. “You were ever my champion, even when we were quite young. Though what you saw in a grubby urchin who was always spoiling for a fight, I do not know.”

“Courage. Dignity. A keen sense of fair play,” she answered softly. “Or maybe,” she added with a grin before he could act on the compulsion to defuse her praise with some witticism, “it was just that, unlike Uncle Harold’s obnoxious son, you did not believe yourself above riding and rousting about with a mere girl.”

“What a pair we were!” Will chuckled. “You, at least, overcame your wild youth. I do appreciate your loyalty, you know.”

A knock indicated the return of Barrows, who entered to serve the wine before quietly bowing himself out again.

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