In Bed with a Rogue Read online

  Lady Prestwick raised a hand to bid the countess farewell. “I will call tomorrow and we will go shopping.”

  As the carriage rolled away, Lady Prestwick blew out a breath that lifted a curl lying on her forehead. She turned and startled when she saw him.

  “Lord Thorne, I thought you left an hour ago.”

  The tips of his ears began to burn. It wasn’t like him to spy on others. Perhaps the knock to his head had turned him batty. He grinned to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you kept such close watch on me.”

  She lowered her gaze and he was certain she blushed, though he couldn’t see pink in the dim light from the street lamp. “Yes, well, you are not exactly unnoticeable.”

  He offered his hand as her carriage arrived at the curb. Her footman narrowed his eyes when Sebastian led her to the stairs instead of turning her over to the servant’s care. Sebastian leaned into the carriage, waiting for her to settle on the bench. She adjusted her skirts and offered a terse thank-you.

  “You catch a man’s eye as well, Lady Prestwick,” he said with a wink.

  As he turned away, she mumbled something that sounded like “blasted handsome scoundrel.” He smirked in response to her footman’s scowl. “See the lady home safely, my good man.”

  He headed toward his carriage.

  “Home?” The footman’s voice carried on the air. “Aren’t we searching tonight?”

  The servant’s words slammed Sebastian like a fist to the jaw and his step faltered.

  Lady Prestwick hushed the man. “Of course I am going home,” she said with false brightness. “Ladies don’t traipse about London at night.”

  Oh, but at least one lady did. And Sebastian had discovered her identity.

  He stalked toward his carriage but halted before climbing inside. “Follow the berlin,” he said to his driver, “but keep your distance.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Four

  As Helena approached the front door of her rented town house, she looked back over her shoulder to Fergus and her driver. “After we change into more suitable clothing, we will reconvene in the foyer.”

  Fergus’s eyebrows pulled together. “But you said—”

  “I know what I said, and I’d thank you to be more careful of what you say in public.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Aye, lass. I wasna thinking.”

  Remorse flooded through her and her step faltered. She hovered on the edge of pretending she hadn’t been harsh with him and asking his forgiveness. Fergus was in London pretending to be a servant well below his high rank of land steward because he was the kindest man she knew. When she had told him that she wanted to find her sisters, his response had filled her with hope and gratitude.

  Blood ties shouldna be severed.

  Her husband had told her the opposite. He’d said to think about the future and what their children would need—those strapping sons he had wanted so badly.

  The past and future cannot exist side by side, Helena. Remember where you would be if I hadn’t taken you away and provided you with a home. Leave it behind you.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned toward the only man who had ever treated her as if what she wanted mattered. “Forgive me, Fergus. I don’t know why you tolerate me so.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up as he held a handkerchief out to her. “You are a mite surly at times, but I tolerate you well enough.”

  She dabbed at the tears before they spilled over. “Thank you. I mean that sincerely.”

  His toothy grin appeared. “Run along, lass. We could have a long night ahead of us.”

  She nodded and returned his handkerchief. “I will be back in a wink.” This was a frequent promise she’d made as a girl when Fergus agreed to take her and his sister fishing. Helena had been grateful for the moments she could forget about her lessons and earn a bit of freedom for a while.

  She rang for her maid as soon as she reached her room. Ismay arrived with her characteristic smile, despite her eyes still being cloudy from sleep. Ismay was Fergus’s younger sister, and Robert, the coachman, was his cousin. In fact, every servant at Aldmist Fell was some relation to him. Only Helena’s governess had been an outsider.

  When Wickie first brought Helena to the castle, he’d left her in the care of his servants. He rarely visited Aldmist Fell the first three years she had lived there, and when he did, their audiences were brief. He would demand an accounting of her progress from her governess, ask Helena if she needed anything, then dismiss them both.

  Wickie wasn’t unkind in their encounters, but his intensity had made her squirm. It was like he was inspecting her for flaws. She had been relieved to see his carriage driving away from the castle at the end of each visit.

  She had met Fergus about two weeks after her arrival. He worked as Wickie’s land steward and Fergus’s mother was the cook, which meant he took all his meals at Aldmist Fell.

  In the beginning, Helena dined alone in the drafty hall, but the day she screwed up her courage and made her way to the servants’ dining room, Fergus had welcomed her. Being the highest-ranking servant, he’d overruled his mother and her governess, filled a plate for Helena, and made a spot beside him at the table. She ate every meal with the staff from that moment until Wickie returned and made her the lady of Aldmist Fell.

  “Godspeed, milady,” Ismay said as she secured the last fastening on Helena’s boot.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  They shared a quick hug, then Helena rejoined the men. Tonight she and Fergus would be searching another brothel. More aptly, he would be searching while she waited close by biting her nails.

  Blast. She hated having to rely on a man, even if he was a good one. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t waltz into the brothel and demand information on her sister, or at least Fergus said she couldn’t.

  He assisted her into the carriage then climbed inside for the ride to Whitechapel as he always did when he wasn’t pretending to be her footman. His brows lowered over his dark green eyes. “You should wait with Robert tonight. It’s not safe. I promise to return with any information I learn about Lavinia at once.”

  She offered a bland smile. They had the same conversation every night. “If you find my sister and she’s reluctant to come with you, how do you propose to get her to the carriage without her sounding the alarm?”

  The man rubbed his whiskered jaw as he pondered her question. Eventually, his eyes lit. “I will bind her hands and stuff a handkerchief in her mouth. That oughta keep her quiet.”

  Helena wrinkled her nose at him. Fergus was teasing, of course. He might be a near giant, but he wouldn’t hurt a soul. Well, not a woman anyway. He was a Scot, and like most of his clansmen, he enjoyed a good brawl on occasion when he was deep in his cups.

  “I told you time and again, lass, I will invite her to come speak with her sister.”

  Helena rolled her eyes. She hadn’t known about the letter her husband had written to her family until he was gone, but her family thought she was dead.

  “I am sure that will be well-received.” She did her best imitation of a Scottish brogue and made her voice deep. “Your ghost of a sister willna go away until you speak with her, lass.”

  He chuckled. “I do no’ sound anything like that.”

  “Aye, you do.”

  When he crossed his arms over his barrel chest and jutted his chin, she laughed too.

  “I admit I never picked up the accent, but it’s not from a lack of trying.” She patted her thigh where she had strapped the dagger he had given her. “I am coming with you, and I will be fine.”

  His scowl deepened. “You may not have the brogue mastered, but you possess the Paterson women’s stubbornness.”

  Since she admired his kinswomen very much, she considered this a high compliment. She just wished it hadn’t taken so long for her stubborn streak to develop. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have allowed Prestwick to run roughshod over her during their marriage.


  Of course, she hadn’t been privy to his lies during their marriage. And even if she had learned the truth, she’d had no power to change things. But she could have been less accommodating.

  Robert stopped the carriage on the edge of Whitechapel. She and Fergus would walk the rest of the way.

  “Please stay with Robert, lass.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Fergus huffed in exasperation and mumbled something about stubborn women being God’s curse on men.

  As they moved deep into the belly of the rookery, foul odors took on a life of their own. The smell of urine and soured scent of rotted food seared her nostrils and throat. She covered her mouth and nose with her handkerchief and pressed on.

  At the entrance to a winding alley, a small fire burned. A man was slumped over before the fire, his mouth hanging slack. Orange flickers revealed deep valleys in his gaunt face. A child was curled into a ball at his side. Heaviness settled in her heart as their misery carried across the street in waves. Were her sisters hungry too? Did they sleep cuddled together on the street? The thought nearly overwhelmed her, and she stopped to catch her breath.

  “You canna wait in the alley this time,” Fergus said as he turned toward her. “No playing the angel tonight, lass. You’ve a good heart, but it is just as likely to be cut from your chest in this place. Leave the man and child be.”

  Even though she knew it was unwise to reveal herself to the poor and forgotten people of London, she couldn’t help wanting to take care of them. Every time she gave to someone else, she prayed someone was doing the same for her sisters. She nodded reluctantly.

  The light from the fire licked over the uneven cobblestones, and Helena’s and Fergus’s shadows stretched grotesquely on the brick walls of the tenements. No candles burned in the windows, but she knew the buildings were occupied. Angry voices rose in argument and a baby’s wail pierced the darkness.

  The sounds filled her with deep sorrow and shameful relief. She was but a visitor passing through the squalor. Tonight she would lay her head on a clean pillow and fall asleep secure in the knowledge she was safe. She might risk her life every time she ventured into the East End, but she wasn’t always in danger. Her sisters had no way of escaping this life without her assistance, so it was a risk she must take.

  “Just a bit farther,” Fergus said softly. “Then we’ll find a hiding place.”

  They fell into step together and headed in the direction of a dimly lit establishment. Delicate notes from a pianoforte drifted from the brothel. She was struck by the irony of the beautiful sound originating in such an ugly place.

  A scuff sounded behind them. She snapped her head around, but the dark hid everything. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and goose bumps chased down her arms and legs. Fergus didn’t stop walking. She strained to hear signs that someone was there as she crept along in his wake, but there was nothing more.

  Trying to shake the uneasy sense they were being followed, she focused on the brothel. Please, let us find Lavinia tonight.

  About a hundred yards from the establishment, Fergus stopped and deposited her in an arched doorway as deep as a wall niche. Her heart hammered as the uneasiness refused to go away.

  “Remember what I taught you, lass. If anyone gives you trouble, do no’ hesitate to bury the blade in him.”

  She wet her lips. “Please, be quick about it. I must know if we’ve found her.” She couldn’t admit she was frightened, or he might not leave her. Sometimes Helena felt as if they were chasing a specter. They never came any closer to the end of their hunt.

  She watched until he entered the brothel, then leaned back against the door to wait and listened some more. Her fear dissipated as she detected no more evidence anyone was stalking her. Time dragged, and when she tired of watching the brothel, she glanced toward the alley where the man and child were. The street was deserted and the only sounds were the ones she had grown accustomed to hearing in the rookery.

  The man and child seemed so alone, forgotten. Their sadness called to her. She glanced back at the brothel. No one was coming from that direction. If she hurried, she could slip the man a few coins and return without anyone being the wiser. She hesitated a moment, but then made up her mind and pushed away from the building to head for the alley.

  ***

  Sebastian ducked into a dark doorway when he heard light footsteps quickly approaching. A figure passed him without detecting his presence, and when it crossed the street and entered the ring of light created by the fire, he could see it was Lady Prestwick. A halo lit her hair and surrounded her lithe figure. Her manservant was mysteriously missing.

  As she neared the man and child, the outline of her body showed through the thin muslin dress. Sebastian smiled, appreciating her form. He wished his sister had been right about his association with the lady. He would have liked to share Lady Prestwick’s bed, but alas, she had only saved his life.

  She spoke briefly with the man before bending over and providing Sebastian with a better view of her behind. The man thanked her profusely for whatever it was she handed him, then she turned to make her way back down the lane. She barely made it two steps before another man shot out of the alley in pursuit.

  Sebastian sprang from his hiding place, which was too far away to reach her first. “Look sharply, Lady Prestwick.”

  Her cry of surprise pierced the air. The lanky form lunged for her, but before Sebastian knew what was happening, she grabbed the man’s ears and her knee slammed into his groin. He crumpled to the cobblestones, groaning in agony. She lifted the hem of her skirts and dashed away.

  “Mo chroi, where are you?” a man called.

  “Fergus! I am here.” It was her servant looking for her. Their voices faded as they hurried away in the opposite direction.

  Sebastian crossed the road and nodded to the wide-eyed man and child. “Good evening.”

  When the footpad began to stir, Sebastian pulled his firearm from his jacket and cocked the hammer. “Stay where you are.”

  He held the man at gunpoint until he was certain Lady Prestwick and her servant had escaped.

  The Scot had called her mo chroi. My heart. What exactly was the nature of her relationship with the man? An irrational surge of jealousy raced through him, and he turned it on the thief.

  “Do you have a pair of Hessians that don’t belong to you?”

  The man responded with a confused grunt.

  “Consider yourself fortunate.” Sebastian nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Stand up and take your leave before I finish what the lady started.”

  He struggled to his feet and limped away, disappearing into the alley again. Sebastian turned his attention to the man before the fire and the young boy.

  The boy held out his palm to reveal a coin. “The angel gave it to me, sir. I didn’t take it.”

  Sebastian grinned. So she was out performing good deeds. “Well, you should tuck it away where it will be safe. Don’t mind me. I am just here to protect the angel.” On second thought, he could do his own good deed. He pulled out a pound note and gave it to the man. “You both could benefit from a good meal and a place to sleep.”

  The man took it reluctantly at first, then shoved it into his pocket. “God’s blessings, sir.”

  Five

  Someone had recognized Helena last night. It seemed impossible anyone would know her identity, much less see her in the dark, and yet it had happened. Someone had called her name in time to save her from being accosted. Her attacker had been a menacing shadow pouncing when she’d spun around and reacted. Fergus’s training had saved her skin, but now she faced a new danger.

  Someone had followed her to Whitechapel.

  Despite the grittiness of her eyes, her body refused to stay abed. She rushed through her toilette without bothering Ismay and made her way down the corridor. Her movements were graceful and controlled as she descended the staircase. The morning newssheet was folded neatly on the heavy walnut table just inside the entry
where it always awaited her, along with copies of The Informer, The London Observer, A Lady’s Companion, and The Talebearer. Her heart slammed against her breastbone as she forced herself not to run.

  Picking up the stack of gossip sheets Fergus had purchased that morning and tucking them under her arm, she glided toward the breakfast room as if it were any other day. If there was mention of her encounter last night, she didn’t know what she would do.

  Once she was seated at the small, round table, she muttered a desperate prayer. Please don’t let me see my name. Please don’t let me see my name. When she couldn’t ignore the distasteful task any longer, she slowly opened The Informer and scanned the columns for mention of Lady P. and late-night excursions to the rookeries. Her pulse raced as she dragged her finger over the words, but each inch she covered without seeing anything remotely connected to her eased the tightness in her chest. She quickly opened the next paper. And the next. After reading all four, she melted against the seatback.

  There was nothing. Not a hint of her late-night activities. She released a pent-up breath and chuckled, relieved. She couldn’t believe her luck.

  In a better frame of mind, she paid closer attention to the victims who hadn’t been so lucky to escape having their reputations sullied. The second to the last tidbit caught her eye.

  Lord Thorne was seen leaving the theatre in a rush after an encounter with a certain paragon of Society last night. Could it be the lady gave the baron the proper set-down he richly deserved for making her daughter so unhappy that she had no choice but to run away?

  Helena closed the paper with a disgusted huff. Really, couldn’t Lord Thorne make an appearance anywhere without exciting the gossips? And how terrible to imply the Dowager Duchess of Foxhaven had been anything less than kind to the baron or to remind everyone his betrothed had eloped with another man.

  Hardly a day passed without hearing some salacious tidbit about Lord Thorne. She considered the sources and frowned. Perhaps he was partly responsible, although he was clearly the wronged party.