All Men Are Rogues (2 page)

E
velyn Amherst tilted her chin to the ocean’s blue sky and closed her eyes. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, warmed her face, and heated her body through the dark, thick layers of her mourning clothes. A drop of sweat trickled down her side under her chemise. All good things in moderation. Sighing, she opened her parasol, immediately creating a cool haven of shade on the busy dock. She wondered how much longer she would wait before venturing out on her own to find her cousins. She frowned. Cousins she knew no better than strangers. Well, they were kind enough to welcome a long-distant relative in need of sanctuary. Moreover, she had little choice in the matter, for now.

She inhaled the salty air, trying to relish the vast greatness of the sea before she left it behind for Town life. The quay reeked of the rancid odors of rotting fish and human refuse. It amazed her that everyone seemed to just step around the mounds of waste piled high and go about their business. One and all seemed to have a purpose, even the men shouting uproariously as they tossed dice against a large stack of wooden crates. Evelyn would have liked to watch the game more closely, but the unsavory appearance of the participants and the sour odor of unwashed bodies kept her close to her piles of luggage.

Shah, her Turkish maid, perched on one of her trunks, suspiciously watching the industrious movements of the seamen. She clutched her black bag to her thick middle as if it would guard her against the English infidels. Ismet, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the pandemonium around him. The brawny servant leaned casually against a wooden crate while picking at his darkened fingernails with a knife blade. But only a fool would take his careless pose for anything but the guarded wariness of a trained fighter.

As usual, Evelyn felt like a misfit. Even the most brutish men seemed to step around her and her baggage, respecting her haven of space amidst the chaos. Perhaps it was the severity of her ensemble that kept them away. Head to toe in mourning black. Yet she was comfortable in the severe clothing. It cloaked her with identity and, at the same time, anonymity. She was a young lady in mourning, not a woman on a mission to save her life.

So much depended on her visit here in London, her very future hung in the balance.

“Pardon me.” A young man in green-and-gold livery stood submissively beside her. “My lady, Miss Amherst?”

She nodded slowly.

“The marquis of Rawlings awaits you in his carriage. If you would follow me, please?”

“Rawlings?” She pursed her lips. “I am not acquainted with such a marquis.”

Ismet casually sidled closer.

“The marquis of Rawlings, earl of Hatteford.”

She shook her head.

“You are to stay at Belfont House with Lady Fontaine. The marquis is her nephew. Sent to collect you.”

Still she did not move.

He blew out an impatient gust of air. “He is the son of Lady Barclay, first cousin to Lady Fontaine, who is the third cousin to your mother, Mrs. Amherst.”

Mollified, she nodded. “But what of my possessions?” She was loath to leave the only things that tied her to any sense of family and home.

The young man turned and gestured to three men in similar livery standing nearby. “These men will conduct your things to Belfont House in a separate carriage.”

She nodded and lifted her reticule and parasol. “Ismet, Shah,
gelmek,
” she called them to follow.

Heaving a large duffel over his shoulder, the burly, dark-skinned Turk rushed to her side. Her wide, squat maid hopped from the trunk and followed suit, carrying her large black sack like a shield. Together they made about as un-English a trio as ever there was.

“If you would allow me?” The liveried servant motioned to Evelyn’s reticule.

“No, thank you.”

He frowned but turned and moved ahead toward the carriage.

The young man led them, single file, through the controlled pandemonium of the docks, circumventing the thick spiraled lines, assortments of cargo, boxes of squawking chickens, refuse, seamen, and other obstacles in their path. By the time they reached the waiting carriages bearing the marquis of Rawlings’s austere coat of arms, Evelyn was desperate to rest her stinging feet. Her new shoes pinched her left heel and rubbed against her ankle, raising small blisters. What she would have given for her dog-eared kid slippers. But Shah had insisted that looks were more important than practicality to the English nobility, so Evelyn had resigned herself to wearing the torture devices.

The servant opened the door to the carriage, and the most dashedly handsome gentleman hopped out, his shiny black Hessians snapping smartly on the wooden dock. Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat, and all thought of her aching feet flew from her mind.

He had clear, fair skin with a touch of peach accenting high, pronounced cheekbones. His straight, honeyed-wheat hair was cut short in the Greek manner, with lengthy sideburns. His long, aristocratic nose attractively offset his strong, angular jawline. All in all, his face would otherwise have seemed stunningly severe except for the boyish cleft in the middle of his chin. Devastating.

He bowed. The man moved with effortless grace that proclaimed his distinctive lineage. “Lord Barclay at your service, Miss Amherst.” He looked up, and his gaze met hers.

Dear Lord, his incredible grayish-green eyes were framed by glorious thick, dark lashes. Evelyn swallowed. Then, remembering herself, she curtseyed, bowing her head so he would not see the blush warming her cheeks.

Childish ninny!
she thought, staring at his shiny black boots.
You’d think I am fresh out of the nursery instead of a gently bred woman of two and twenty years!
She schooled her heart to slow and saliva to moisten her suddenly parched mouth. Since when had she become so shallow? Yes, he was attractive enough to dazzle any woman with blood flowing through her veins. But she was a woman who’d traveled the world and met men who could seduce queens into giving up the crown jewels!

She’d been too long away from her countrymen. That was it. It had been too many years around foreign strangers and snake-tongued diplomats. It was his very Englishness that made him stand out. She would look past his exterior and think of him as a…cousin. Exactly what he was—family, in a very extended sort of way. She needed to keep her mind on her business in London, not on her…ah…cousin.

“I say, Miss Amherst?”

She blinked, realizing he must have been speaking to her while she’d been woolgathering. “My lord.”

“Welcome home.”

Keeping her eyes trained on the lapel of his double-breasted gray coat, she rose. “Since I have not been on English soil for more than twelve years, it’s hard to imagine calling it home.”

“But it is your new home, cousin. And your family wishes to welcome your return. I trust your voyage was agreeable?”

Evelyn nodded. Pleasantries were part and parcel of a diplomat’s life, and she knew when the requisite exchanges were called for. “Perfectly fine, thank you. I appreciate you coming down to the docks to meet me.” Now that she was thinking of the Adonis as a relation, it was easier to ignore his appeal. She picked up her reticule from the ground where she had set it. “I’m surprised you bothered, given we are quite distant cousins, in fact,” she noted, waiting to see his reaction.

“All the more reason to get to know you, as we have yet to be acquainted.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. “Did you know my father?”

He blinked and stared her straight in the eye. “By reputation only. I understand he was well regarded as a diplomat in His Majesty’s service.”

She studied those silver-green eyes a moment longer. She could not tell if he knew the truth of her father’s activities. Probably not; it was unlikely a marquis would dirty his hands in her father’s world. She felt her inner walls inch higher, separating herself even more from this distant relation.

“Shall we?” He moved to take her bag, but she shied away.

“I can handle it myself, thank you.”

He shrugged and motioned toward the coach.

“My servants?”

He waved to the second carriage. “Will meet us at Belfont House. Your chaperone awaits you inside.”

Evelyn stepped up into the compartment and shuttered her eyes in the sudden gloom. The scent of the marquis’s musky cologne and the heady stench of carnations permeated the cabin. A lanky, hawk-nosed woman sitting stiffly on one of the benches was the source of the oppressive floral odor. From her clothing she appeared to be an upper servant.

Evelyn nodded to the woman and settled herself on the opposite bench, adjacent to the door. She placed her reticule under her feet and her parasol handily against her leg, just as she had been taught.

The marquis stepped inside the compartment. He adjusted his coattails and sat down beside her. “May I introduce Miss Myrtle, your new maid, compliments of Aunt Leonore.”

“I have a maid, thank you.”

“Ah, but Miss Myrtle is an English maid, specially selected to ease your return to Society.”

Evelyn lifted the curtain and peeked out the window. The seamen must have been gutting fish at the edge of the nearest pier, as a flock of seagulls shrieked and hovered excitedly overhead. The sky darkened, and a few of the sailors lifted their heads to sniff the wind. Evelyn inhaled deeply but could smell nothing past the overpowering carnation perfume. Her stomach roiled, and she leaned her head closer to the window for some air.

“I’m so looking forward to being of service, ma’am.” The woman had an affected nasally voice to compliment her crushing perfume.

“Shah is perfectly capable of meeting my needs. She has been assisting me since I was twelve.”

The only indication of the marquis’s annoyance was his gloved fingers drumming busily on the head of his polished blackthorn cane. “Lady Fontaine has been quite generous in her consideration.”

“I will be certain to thank her.”

“I believe that she will insist.”

Evelyn turned and faced him. The dark green fabric covering the inside of the coach heightened the greenish hue of his eyes. It was growing easier to ignore his appeal; they were worlds apart, and he would never understand hers.

“It will be difficult enough for Shah, with her darker skin and foreign birth. I will not abandon her to the supercilious hierarchy belowstairs simply to placate your aunt.”

He straightened. “I can assure you neither she nor your man will be ill-treated.”

The driver barked orders to the footmen outside, and the carriage lurched into motion. She took one last look at the great ocean waters, feeling at once a sense of loss and of inevitability. She had little choice but to proceed with her course. Returning to England, albeit temporarily, was a necessity. The pier slowly shifted out of view as the carriage turned.

She faced the marquis. “Of course my people will not be mistreated, since Shah will be staying in my rooms and Ismet can take care of himself.”

“But your maid is not an appropriate chaperone when you go out in Society.”

“I am in mourning, my lord.”

“For only two months more. And under the circumstances, the rules will be somewhat relaxed.”

She fingered the soft folds of her black woolen skirt. “Did you know that in Spain a bride wears black on her wedding day?”

“No, I did not know that.” He frowned. “Have I missed something? Are you engaged to be married?”

She chuckled softly. “I think not.”

“You say it as if you do not intend to marry.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He shook his head. “I must confess, Miss Amherst, I am a bit befuddled. You are nothing like what I had imagined.”

“I assure you, my lord, you are not the first to find me so.”

She leaned her head against the cushioned wall, wanting some quiet. “I will close my eyes and rest a bit, if you do not mind. It’s been a long journey.” The last thing she saw was the marquis’s troubled frown. Good. Better to be an oddity than disdained. She sighed. Only a few short weeks and then she could finally escape her father’s world. A new life, a new home, and no more worries. As the carriage rocked and swayed, she prayed that she was not fooling herself.

O
ne week later Evelyn found herself sharing tea with her newly met relations. Relatives were just like all of the other strangers she’d encountered through the years of travel with her father, she decided. Some were kindhearted and welcoming, some distinctly were not.

“You must do something about your hair, my dear,” the haughty Lady Barclay chided from over the rim of her teacup. “It really is not a terrible shade of blond, and if curled properly, could be almost stylish.”

“I tried already, Claire,” added Lady Fontaine. “She has her mind set.”

“You ought to reconsider Miss Myrtle’s services as Justin arranged for you. I am absolutely certain that she can do better than your foreign woman.” She patted her hand against her ash blond coiffure. “Cannot trust dark-skinned people to do anything properly.”

Evelyn bit her inner cheek to keep from lashing out at the arrogant woman. Upon meeting Lord Barclay’s mother, she could not help but take the self-aggrandizing, pinch-faced Claire Barclay into instant dislike. She did not know which offended her most, the lady’s overbearing air or her habit of inserting an insult into every commentary.

Evelyn sipped from her teacup, relishing the bittersmooth Bohea. She studied the dark brown liquid swirling in her china cup. “This tea is divine.”

Lady Barclay scowled and sent an exasperated, caustic glare at her cousin. “Cheeky,” she muttered under her breath so that everyone could hear. “Doesn’t know when to accept the advice of her betters.”

Lady Fontaine sent Evelyn an apologetic grimace. Evelyn liked the honey-brown shade of the older woman’s eyes, which were webbed by rays of fine lines. With her pleasant countenance, heavy breasts, and broad hips, she was the personification of ancient earth mother statues. Her four children seemed to adore her. The oldest, Madeline, who favored her mother, was coming out this Season in the hopes of landing a husband. Lord Barclay had a sister coming out as well. According to Lady Fontaine, Audrey was a sweet child with a pleasant demeanor like her brother’s.

Lady Fontaine was quite effusive where her nephew was concerned. She ascribed the attributes of charm, intelligence, keen wit, and consideration to the young marquis. Evelyn had managed to keep her business in Town foremost in her mind and likewise to categorize the young marquis as “cousin.” Thus, she’d avoided reacting like a ninny when the striking man came to call, as he frequently did. He’d been quite attentive since escorting her from the docks. Thoughtful, yet not intrusive. Since he seemed impervious to his own appeal, it made it all the easier to treat him as anything other than devastatingly handsome. She had no idea how he’d remained unattached for so long, but that was none of her business. None whatsoever. Perhaps it was the prospect of such a snake-tongued mother-in-law that frightened the marriageable young ladies away.

“You’d think she’d show more appreciation, living on the goodwill of others,” Lady Barclay said as she nodded at Evelyn. “I understand you have
no one else in the world.
”

Evelyn did not need Lady Barclay’s vile tongue to remind her of how precarious her situation was. “I am quite grateful to Lord and Lady Fontaine for their kindness. Indeed, in my travels, I have found that graciousness, like all the finer arts, is enhanced with application.” She locked eyes with the dragon lady. “And when one does not exercise such good graces, one runs the risk of becoming unbearably cantankerous.”

Lady Barclay’s eyes narrowed.

Evelyn smiled sweetly, ready to slay the dragon in her lair.

Lady Fontaine set down her cup with a loud rattle. “Claire! Ah, we have the most wonderful news. Ah, Evelyn has achieved the impossible for us, and we are quite indebted to her.”

Lady Barclay studied Evelyn over her teacup with her sharp green gaze, apparently deciding to pretend she had not been insulted. “Really, the impossible, you say?”

“She somehow managed to get Jane to stop biting her nails.”

“I never could understand how you allowed Jane to develop such a nasty habit, Leonore.” Apparently Lady Barclay had found a new target. “It bespeaks terrible failing as a mother.”

“But she does it no longer,” Lady Fontaine replied triumphantly. “I have no idea how Evelyn managed it, given we have tried everything under the sun to get her to stop, but Jane is cured.” She turned to Evelyn. “We are so very grateful, my dear.”

“It was Jane who chose to change her behavior, my lady,” she stated evenly. “No one can force another to break a lifelong habit.”

“Nonsense,” insisted the pinch-faced matron. “Such behavior would never have continued in my house. I can get my Justin or Audrey to do whatever I tell them. Leonore was just too soft on Jane. Instead of coddling the chit, she should have beaten the girl every time she touched her hand to her face. That would have nipped the matter in the bud.”

“I am sorry, Claire, but you cannot beat a child for something they cannot help but do,” Lady Fontaine chided gently.

Lady Barclay harrumphed.

Sighing, Lady Fontaine slipped a plum cake off the tray and took a delicate bite.

“Your cook makes the most decadent sweets, Leonore,” the snide matron droned. “No wonder you cannot keep your waistline slim.” She blinked her green, cat-shaped eyes. “I have the opposite trouble. I had to take my gown for tonight’s ball to Madame Vivian once again for alterations. The woman swears I am disappearing.”

Lady Fontaine’s cheeks colored pink, and she lowered the remainder of her cake from her mouth and dropped it on her plate. “So what will Audrey be wearing this evening?”

“It is the most divine muslin gown of lily white. Perfect for exemplifying her purity and virtue.”

“In early biblical times, blue, not white, represented purity,” Evelyn interjected innocently. “In fact, it was Anne of Brittany who made the white wedding dress popular. But it represented joy, not chastity.”

Lady Fontaine smiled brightly. “How wonderful. My Madeline is wearing blue tonight.”

Lady Barclay stuck up her left shoulder, a gesture Evelyn recognized she made whenever she was irritated with someone. She had raised it numerous times thus far in their limited acquaintance. “My, aren’t you a little fount of knowledge? What of your dowry? Did your father leave you anything to assist you in your hunt for a husband? Even with our connections, you are quite the ape leader and will need all of the help you can get.”

Lord Barclay swept into the room. “Mother, Aunt Leonore, Miss Amherst. May I take tea with you, or is this a chatter-broth for ladies only?”

Dear Lord, did he have to arrive just as his mother was harping on her spinsterly state? Evelyn ignored the pit of embarrassment in her belly and tried instead to focus on the pleasant view.

Today the handsome marquis wore somber navy blue, accentuating the smoky gray of his eyes. He strode across the room with infinite grace and leaned over to kiss his mother. The lady turned her cheek. He acted as if she had not moved and lightly brushed his lips on her ash blond hair.

He was so pleasantly appealing. How on earth the dragon lady had begot him had to be one of the great mysteries of the universe. His gaze alighted on Evelyn and she smiled, trying to pretend her cheeks weren’t burning to cinder.

“Justin, my dear. So glad you could call. We were just discussing tonight’s ball.” His aunt beamed up at him and extended her hand. He squeezed it gently. The apparent affection between them added several degrees of warmth to the chilly drawing room.

Sitting down on the blue chintz sofa beside his aunt, he commented lightly, “Ah, the finer points of what gowns your daughters will be wearing. You must forgive them, Miss Amherst. The chase is on and Madeline and Audrey simply must make some poor fellows come up to scratch, even if it means shamelessly flaunting their virtue.”

“By wearing white.” Lady Barclay pressed her thin lips together.

“Or blue,” chimed in Lady Fontaine.

“White is the color of purity,” insisted the dagger-toothed dragon lady.

Barclay shrugged as he accepted a cup of tea from his aunt. “Historically it was blue, but where’s the matter?”

Evelyn looked down into her teacup to hide her pleased smile.

Oblivious, Barclay reached over and selected a tart off the tray. “I wish our pastry-cook was half as talented as yours, aunt.”

“Cook really has a gift.” The matron pointedly ignored her sister-in-law and picked up her cake.

The dragon lady lifted her left shoulder and glared at the pastries, as if they had insulted her. Evelyn wondered if they would shrivel up and melt under the heat of her searing gaze. She reached for a berry tart.

“Justin, please convince Miss Amherst to join us this evening,” implored Lady Fontaine. “She insists that being in mourning disallows her from partaking in any balls.”

“We cannot have you rattling around all alone in this great house,” he stated. “Of course you will be joining us. In fact, I am here to offer my services as your escort.”

Lady Barclay inhaled a sharp breath.

Lady Fontaine set down her teacup so hard it chipped. “Oh, my.”

“You never escort anyone, anywhere,” his mother sputtered. “We have to practically drag you to fulfill your social obligations.”

He sipped his tea. “Miss Amherst’s companionship tempts me to be more sociable.”

“It will give the wrong impression.”

He shrugged, not meeting his mother’s eye.

The dragon lady stood, her hands fisting at her sides. “I forbid you to allow anyone to believe that you are courting her.”

“Why?”

“Well, she is in mourning.”

“Second mourning. It has been over four months since her father passed.”

“It does not matter, since I do not wish to be courted and am not entertaining offers,” Evelyn interjected. No matter how handsome the man was, she was in no position to be socializing. Nor did she want to be perceived as hunting for a husband. She might actually catch one, heaven forbid.

“Escorting Miss Amherst does not necessarily indicate Justin’s intentions,” added Lady Fontaine tentatively.

“Good. Because my son needs a bit more seasoning before making any rash decisions.”

Barclay tried to appear nonchalant, but Evelyn watched the small muscle jump in his jaw. “I thought you were agitated about my advancing years and my unfulfilled duty to the title, Mother.”

“Do not be impudent, Justin.” She resumed her seat, loudly rustling her green muslin skirts. “My George would never have conducted himself so objectionably.”

His hand on the teacup was steady, but the knuckles were blanched white. Evelyn’s dislike of the dragon lady flared into a seething anger. The poor man had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival, and she sympathized with anyone raised by such a vile, miserable woman. Evelyn set her tea down quietly and rose. Although she had no intention of being courted by the marquis, she could help him thorn his mother a bit.

“I am off for a stroll in the park.”

He jumped from his seat. “I will join you.”

“You have only just arrived,” charged the dragon lady. “A servant can attend her well enough.”

“Do not worry about appearances, Mother, Miss Myrtle will chaperone.”

Evelyn was not happy about sharing Miss Myrtle’s company, but she was looking forward to getting out of the stifling atmosphere. Moreover, it would allow Shah to continue her rest uninterrupted upstairs.

It seemed the young marquis was as enthusiastic as she about leaving. “I will wait for you in the front hall,” he said, already out the door.

The trees lining the lane were lush with the buds of spring and the rich promise of summer. Brown little puff-bellied birds flew overhead, chirping merrily in the golden afternoon sun.

“To have such a lovely haven in the midst of the city is quite splendid,” Evelyn commented appreciatively as they strolled alongside a quaint little pond. They stopped to observe the ducks squawking and lapping themselves in the dark green waters.

“London offers a sundry of activities for any adventurous enough to venture forth. I would gladly show you the amusements as you accustom yourself to Town.”

“Are you certain you are willing to withstand your mother’s wrath? She does not like me.”

“Nonsense, Mother is just…well…”

“A dragon?”

A small laugh burst forth from his throat, and he quickly coughed into his gloved hand. He peeked over his shoulder at Miss Myrtle, who was walking at least ten paces behind with a burly uniformed footman.

“She is my mother,” he chided halfheartedly.

“Are you going to call me out for my impertinence? Pistols at dawn and then off to the Continent?”

He missed a step but recovered quickly, accidentally brushing against her hip. She ignored the flutter in her middle, reminding herself once again that he was her “cousin.”

To ease the tension, she decided to make light. “Come, my lord, I cannot be the first to have stated it plainly.”

“As a matter of fact, you are.”

She grimaced. “Father always said I was a bit too free with my opinions.”

He furrowed his brow. “Do you miss him?”

She watched a robin perch in the uppermost limb of a tree. The fragile branch shifted and swayed under the weight, but the tiny bird did not fly off. “How did you feel when your father passed?” she asked instead.

“He was our patriarch. Everything revolved around him. When he was gone, everything shifted, changed.” He froze for a moment, staring off. Abruptly he turned to her and shrugged. “But it was not unexpected.”

They continued on. Evelyn liked the way he strolled, with an inherent grace that was smooth but unaffected. Allowing her to set the pace, he effortlessly matched her steps, despite his longer stride. He really was quite agreeable company.

Pine needles scraped under her shoes. She inhaled deeply; she had always loved the scent of pine.

“Was your father ill for long before he passed?” he asked quietly.

She blinked. Ill? The vibrant man had barely been gone an hour before returning battered and bloody, with his life seeping out through a hole in his side. She could almost hear his raspy breathing as he lay dying in her arms. Although she had pressed her hand against the bandage, the warm, dark blood had continued gushing forth, creating a puddle of death. The bitter metallic stench had filled her nostrils. He had shuddered and wheezed. His eyes had glazed over and then stared off into space. The memory made her shudder as if an icy wind had run through her.