Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 2

Two

T hey crossed the threshold and the door shut behind them and smoky warmth assaulted her. Bodies clung to every speck of leaning space, the smell of sweat bleeding from unwashed clothing, curious gazes turning to rest on the two latest arrivals.

Nelly and Logan had merged into the crowd, and Rosalyn couldn’t spot them. Nelly’s pleas, and nagging, and finally tears had driven them to this enterprise. The girl should be by her side.

Strong hands still gripped her, and, worse, she had leaned—no, melted—into the masculine strength holding her. Pushing at Cathmore, she scarcely had time to disentangle herself when a grizzled, bushy, bear of a man appeared.

“Welcome, milord, milady.” The words were courteous, but his growl was impatient.

And he thought she and Cathmore were a couple. She opened her mouth to correct him.

“Aye, Morgan, we are here,” Cathmore said.

Morgan? Her breath tightened. The room grew brighter, her vision more defined, her hearing more acute. So, this hulking, hairy, battle-axe of a man was Ned Morgan, the proprietor of the aptly named Strutting Stag, the vile, despicable, wretch of a husband who was preparing to auction his young wife, Mindy, and his own infant son. And the pernicious swindler who had, somehow, obtained possession of the Montagu signet ring.

Her ring. Her inheritance.

Thoughts of the ring brought back warmer times, and Papa, and her home at Brockton Manor. She could see the family crest in gold, the engraved family motto Fidus et Audax —Faithful and Bold.

Bold her father had been, and faithful, that too, to her and to her mother. The day he’d sent her off to the school for young ladies run by Cousin Abigail’s friend, Papa had slurred over the words of the family motto in the husky fog of his very good brandy, his green eyes, so like her own, sleepy and hooded. With no male heir he’d promised her the ring for her eighteenth birthday. It had brought Montagus luck all these many generations, and it would bring his beautiful daughter luck, too, he had said.

Morgan’s great hairy hands shifted in and out of his greasy apron, and her vision blurred.

Beads of sweat formed under her high collar. She had need of some luck now. Between Cathmore and Morgan, she was a mite.

A true gentleman might be persuaded to support a lady’s quest out of courtesy, but she didn’t know if Cathmore had a gentleman’s heart, and there would definitely be no gallantry in a man like Morgan. She had several bank notes tucked into her shoe, though, and perhaps he wouldn’t care if the highest bidder for his wife was a spinster willing to take in two extra mouths. Yes, for a man so mercenary, that would certainly be the case, and then she, Nelly, Mindy, and the babe might safely stay the night here and set out for London on the morrow.

“Ye are late,” Morgan said. “We thought to start without ye.”

Rosalyn’s heart thudded to her belly. Cathmore had some part in this? Head spinning, she tried to pull away from his grip.

“We’ve braved a blizzard.” Cathmore’s tone had firmed like the hands still steadying her, lordly and commanding. “Bring this lady and her maid a pot of hot tea, now. Brandy for me and Logan. And ready your private dining room.”

At the mention of Logan, Morgan’s scowl deepened, and he cast his gaze about the room searching for something, or someone, before shuffling off.

Cathmore released her and began working the ties on her cloak. “Off with this wet clothing.”

Rosalyn pushed at his hand. “You are too forward, sir.”

He stepped back an inch. “Forgive me, Miss Crompton. Where is your maid?” He scanned the room and beckoned Nelly.

Nelly had shed her wet outer garments and cinched in her sash so her full breasts perched higher. She cast Cathmore a smile which he didn’t appear to notice.

When he turned away and moved toward the fire, Nelly stepped after him.

“Help me, Nelly,” Rosalyn said.

The girl turned back, still smiling. “He’s clearing us seats near the hearth.” She fumbled with the cloak’s wet ties. “He’s a fine, handsome lord, he is.” She leaned closer, whispering. “A fine catch. Mr. Morgan, as well. More the fool, that Mindy. Come, miss.”

Too astonished to speak, and hard-pressed to keep up, Rosalyn wove her way through the crowded benches, following the impertinent wench to the table Cathmore had just cleared of curious locals.

She swiped at water dripping down her cheek. As a rule, she wouldn’t remove her bonnet in this sort of setting, but the snow she’d collected on the walk from the coach had turned the starched head-covering to a sodden, dripping serviette. She reached for the ties and hesitated, casting a gaze around the swarming, sordid taproom.

A scent she recognized as Lord Cathmore’s hung in the air nearby, and the inquisitive glances of the motley crowd bounced from her to someone behind her and then quickly away, leaving her feeling unaccountably private and protected. She struggled with the wet ties, stripped off her gloves, and went back to the knot, finally slipping off the wet muslin.

“Lovely.” Cathmore’s whisper tickled her ear.

Warmth poured through her again, not the fire’s warmth, but that strange, strong ardor that streamed from him. Her last suitor’s lofty verses had never had the effect of his one spoken word.

Heart bursting, she eased in a breath. Steady, Rosalyn . Her red hair often drew comments, unfavorable as well as favorable. She must remember her cousin’s words.

The power of this sort of man, Rosalyn, is to make you feel yourself more than you really are, to make you reach beyond your place, to make you give yourself away, all for a game. Look him in the eye, and you will see the truth of it.

With Abigail whispering in her ear, she prepared to set Cathmore in his place. She firmed her mouth, lifted her chin, and…her breath left her.

He was, quite astonishingly, one of the handsomest men she’d ever beheld. He’d shed his greatcoat and removed his own wet head covering, revealing wide shoulders and a wealth of unkempt, too-long, dark hair.

When his gaze met hers, the smugness and the arrogance had vanished. His gaze reflected back the wonder she felt.

The wonder sparked for one bright moment and quickly shuttered. Lord Cathmore’s naturally sulky lips moved into a smooth smile. “It is a sin to cover hair like yours, Miss Rosalyn, no matter the conditions of the weather.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I shall find the guilt of it better than freezing to death, sir.”

“You are a pragmatic Christian, then?” A maid brought a tray with tea, a bottle of brandy, and two glasses and placed them on the table in front of them. Cathmore poured, and Logan appeared next to him.

“They’ll begin soon,” Mr. Logan said.

Rosalyn’s distracted heart pounded, but she seated herself on the bench and took the cup of tea Nelly handed her, while she tried to discipline her mind to work through all she had heard. Mr. Logan said they would start soon. Both men had some involvement here. Mr. Logan seemed such a gentleman, and Cathmore was a lord, perhaps a justice of the peace or a magistrate. Perhaps they planned to stop this sale.

But Morgan had been expecting Cathmore, not fearing his interference. We thought to start without you .

Oh heavens. Did Cathmore mean to buy Mindy?

Her mind ran wickedly through the possibilities. Rich men, especially the titled ones, did what they wanted. The most recent arrival at Miss Harris’s shelter had been left by a woman whose noble patron had kicked both her and the babe to the gutter.

A maid approached and bobbed a curtsy to Cathmore. “The private dining room is ready for the lady, milord.”

Anger spiked through her. She wasn’t a child to be coddled and spoken over. She was gently born—nobly born, and since leaving home, she’d not had a man’s protection, nor even a man’s interference. Cousin Abigail had provided for her, and the years living as the poor relation had bottled up her pride to the point of bursting. She was a woman dependent on no man.

She set down her cup and stood.

“I am staying here. But please, my lord , do not let me detain you from your private dinner.”

He swept her a shrewd, assessing look. “There is business afoot not suitable for a lady.”

Rosalyn bristled. “ Indeed. Business not suitable for a lady. Not suitable for a woman, or a child, not suitable for a human being.” Her voice shook and she reached for control. “ That business is my business, sir.”

Cathmore leaned closer, his face unreadable. He took Rosalyn’s hand. “Let us speak privately.”

Warmth flowed again, his strength magnetic but gentle, as he towed her along through a door at the side of the room into the inn’s private chamber.

“You are too forward, sir,” she hissed.

She dug in her heels, halting their progress just inside.

H amish Maxwell, newly minted Viscount Cathmore, turned the woman’s lithe body to face him. Since squeezing into the public coach, he’d been studying her. Her clothing was Quakerishly stark, her manner deliberately arch, but her face, her remarkable eyes, and that flaming hair…she was a beauty.

He leaned closer, crowding her. The room’s tall windows let in a shadowy, snow-lit glow, highlighting pink lips and the tendrils of copper-lit hair dancing over her forehead, and pale cheeks, and the elegant neck hidden under dark wool.

Beautiful was too weak a word for this lady, whatever her true name was.

He took her other hand and felt her shiver all the way to his wet boots. Concern flashed in her sea-green eyes, and a heavy undercurrent had just moved inside that pretty head.

“ Lord Cathmore .”

Musing about her had been his only entertainment for the grinding journey that had begun with his own London coach breaking down. Who was she? And who was she visiting in Glen Murray? And what did she look like under those layers of ugly wool? He’d worked himself into a strange bit of arousal. At first, he’d speculated—hoped—that she was a Waterloo widow. Not that he wished anyone that misfortune, but it would, perhaps, leave her interested in a mutually satisfactory exchange of condolences.

So many men had died. He would have been one of them if not for his man Logan’s loyalty and valor.

He forced those memories back into their dark hole and pulled himself into the present. He was home now, a paragon of success and pillar of the family tree, in a private room with a beautiful, gently bred woman who didn’t recognize the danger in this drunken crowd, and didn’t know she needed him.

He’d known from the bold little maid’s reaction, Rosalyn’s last name was a fraud, and the mystery delighted him. After he and Logan finished this illicit business, he’d discover what house she was visiting and continue his pursuit.

Only…apparently, this business was her business, as well, and right now it was making her tremble. Or maybe it was his presence frightening her.

He wanted to kiss away the fear on her face. Or—he peered closer and his body quickened—it wasn’t fear that was making her heat and glow.

He fought the urge to fall into the startled anticipation in those luminous eyes. He could kiss her. He could stoke the flames within the both of them. The temptation was all but overwhelming.

She narrowed her gaze, shutting down some of the light, and took a prudent step back until her arms were fully extended. “What are you about here, sir?”

Her words had been carefully composed and sensible. He let the distance between them slow the clanging of his heart and reminded himself that he’d never been one for passion that carried a man beyond reason.

This affaire de coeur of Logan’s had been beyond his understanding. He’d enjoyed his share of women, but he’d never lost his head.

Until, possibly, now .

The thought brought him fully to his senses and he frowned. “That is my question for you.”

She paused, assembling her answer, and he waited for the lie.

“It is a private matter.”

So, ambiguity instead of direct untruths. “As I have had to rescue you, it is no longer private.”

Her back stiffened. She yanked her hands back with enough force to show she’d not much minded him holding her before.

“You did not rescue me. You assisted me with a seat in your coach that was traveling this way anyway, and I offered to pay you for the transport.”

Loud clapping and guffawing erupted in the main room. Rosalyn twisted her hands in her skirts and glanced to the doorway. “They are about to begin.”

Hamish touched her shoulder. “You mean to witness this, Miss Crompton?”

“I mean to bid.”

His fingers firmed on her shoulder. “ What? Why?”

“I’d not see any woman pawed over and sold like a goat or a cow, and that woman is my maid’s cousin.” She shrugged off his hand. “And what of you, sir? Why are you here?”

He didn’t explain himself, not even to lovely women who begged carriage rides. “That is my business.”

A voice belted out an announcement. Rosalyn shoved him away hurried back to the main room.

Morgan had brought out his merchandise. The sight of the slack rope around the woman’s neck and the wide-eyed infant in her arms made Rosalyn want to weep. Mindy’s blond curls were uncovered, but she’d dressed warmly in what must be her very best frock and apron. She bounced the babe on her hip, her gaze searching the crowd.

Other than golden hair, she bore no resemblance to Nelly. Where Nelly was plump and petite, this woman was tall, like Rosalyn, and just as slender.

“Who will bid for this fine young woman, Mindy Morgan?” The auctioneer was a short, shriveled man with a voice out of proportion to his stature. “A good looker and a good breeder to warm your bed on a cold night like this,” he roared. Even the few women in the room guffawed.

“Tuppence,” a man shouted.

“Ye’ve a wife already, Harry,” someone said.

“Sixpence,” Rosalyn said.

“Tuppence for this fine woman?” The auctioneer scoffed. “Ned Morgan will not let her go for that amount.”

They hadn’t heard her. She stood on her tiptoes and called out her bid again, shouting at the top of her voice.

A hush fell upon the noisy inn. All eyes turned to her, including those of the sacrificial lamb. Mindy’s eyes were startled, curious, angry. And green.

Rosalyn’s heart stuttered.

“Here, what is this?”

Rosalyn recognized Ned Morgan’s angry shout, but Mindy’s stare held her. Nelly’s eyes were a plain brown but Mindy’s were green, and not just any shade of green.

A chill touched her heart again. She saw eyes that shade in her looking glass every morning and every night. The room began to sway. She barely felt the hand that steadied her.

“A woman cannot buy a wife,” someone said. “’Tis unnatural.”

Rosalyn rallied herself. “What is unnatural is selling a human being,” she shouted. “What is a travesty is to celebrate our Lord’s birthday by selling a mother and child to God knows what fate.”

The crowd rumbled. Mindy spoke, but her words didn’t carry, and a hard look from Ned Morgan silenced his property. Mindy gazed down at her feet until he turned away, then returned to her bold appraisal of the crowd.

“I’ll bid in your behalf,” Cathmore murmured. “Do you agree?”

Heart pounding, she nodded.

“What is your limit?”

Her limit? Surely the notes in her boot were more than enough to outbid this lot. She would hope to not go that high; it would mean an entire year of leanness, not just for her, but for the children she helped care for. And yet, a woman shouldn’t be sold, even if it meant no sweets for the children and Rosalyn’s own sacrifices.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Very well.” He stood tall. “You may disregard the lady’s bid.”

“Then get on with it,” Ned Morgan shouted.

The wizened auctioneer rapped the bar again and called for bids.

“Tuppence, I said.” The bid came again from the bar.

“A half-crown.” Mr. Logan’s strong tenor resonated with determination. He exchanged a look and a nod with Cathmore, and smiled at Mindy, who sent him a glowing smile in reply.

Ned Morgan’s big fist came down on the bar, rattling glasses. “It’s not enough, Logan,” he shouted. “Not for what ye done.”

Her stomach twisted and she tasted bile. They all knew each other. Cathmore, Logan, Morgan.

“Bid three shillings,” she hissed.

He called out her bid and sent Logan the smallest of shrugs. Logan countered, Morgan pounded, and Rosalyn looked for Nelly.

What is she doing? Nelly had moved closer to Ned Morgan, her eyes glittering with excitement.

Hot anger spiked in her. Nelly had pushed for this journey to rescue her cousin. That she ignored the baby was no surprise—Nelly didn’t like children—but she appeared to have no interest in Mindy either.

Nelly was focused on the innkeeper, Ned Morgan.

A commotion at the center of the room drew everyone’s attention. Two men had squared off, their jaws moving, their fists poised. Morgan shouted at the auctioneer, the men, and the crowd, and sent angry glares at Logan and Cathmore. His gaze landed on Rosalyn and he bellowed louder.

Bids bounced, back and forth at a dizzying pace. She lost track of all but Cathmore’s rumble and the auctioneer’s shouts, and Logan’s voice, melodic and determined.

Cathmore called out a bid, pence, or shillings, or something more, she couldn’t discern. She touched his arm to get his attention. “What is the bid?”

Behind them, another melee flared. The auctioneer pounded on the counter, men shouted, and a hard shove pushed her at Cathmore.

She turned and saw more fighting. “What the?—”

Cathmore swept her close and half-carried her into the side chamber.

She struggled to breathe, his scent filling her.

“Cathmore. The bidding. What was the b?—”

His lips touched hers, swallowing her words.

“What—”

“Shhh.”

He tugged her closer and kissed her again, pressing a hand to the back of her head.

This was wrong. And yet… Fire sparked and blazed and spread through her heart, to her center.

She’d been kissed before, but never like this.

On their own power, her hands crept up his back and over his collar, tangling in the surprisingly soft hair there. The warmth, the reckless sweetness made her dizzy. She opened her lips and pressed closer, melting with the intoxicating, unfamiliar joy.

The roar next door increased, and Cathmore drew back, shook off a dazed look, and stepped away to listen.

No …

She hugged herself, dropped her hands and took in a long breath. Good God, Rosalyn . She was in a disreputable inn, kissing a man she’d only just met, a man who’d dropped his notice of her and stepped away in a heartbeat.

Cousin Abigail was right. This was a game to him, a game of seduction.

“Wait here.” Face grim, he kissed her forehead and hurried off.

Cathmore was a terribly handsome, terribly sensuous, terrible man, and she’d fallen right into his trap.

She’d bollocksed this mission entirely. Not only had the plan to save Mindy failed, she herself had come a hair’s breadth from ruin.

Oh, Hades, by Cousin Abigail’s standards, she had been ruined. She was naught but a bloody fool.

She hugged herself again and fought rising tears. No . She’d come for a good purpose, for Nelly’s sake, for Mindy’s, and…the ring.

Had Morgan been wearing it ?

She dashed out the door and into the main room.