All Men Are Rogues (4 page)

He dropped his hand.

“I have very broad, dry shoulders.”

“Father always said crying evidenced weak moral character.”

The delicate notes of a waltz drifted into the garden through the open French doors. She took a deep breath and pushed away the fears threatening to overcome her. She needed to be alone. To think. She looked around the empty gardens. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and the crickets chirped in time to the music. The world moved on and so would she.

He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “I am not a charming Spaniard, but I trust that my company does not bore you to tears.”

She looked up. “Did you say something, my lord?”

“You seem quite lost to another world. Will you share it?”

“I apologize, my lord. Let us return to the ball.”

She turned, and her foot brushed against a boulder lining the lane, rubbing her healing blisters. Searing pain pierced her ankle, and her step faltered. He caught her in his agile arms. All thought of her hurting foot fled as she suddenly found his silky lips pressed against hers. Her mind honed in on the contact of his mouth intimately caressing her lips, beguiling, intriguing. Heat coursed from his body to hers as he pressed closely against her. His hard form caused a wellspring of warmth to cascade deliciously from the top of her head to her toes, blanketing her body with sensual heat.

This was nothing like the ardent stolen kisses she’d shared the summer before with the brazen rogue Count Bryon. The wiry Frenchman had been all hands, grabbing, pressing and demanding. Until, that was, Sully had discovered them. Her dear Sully had turned into a bellowing giant, ready to hound Count Bryon all the way back to Paris. And he very nearly had. Since then, Sully had behaved like a mama bear with new cubs, she being the nursling.

Evelyn’s arms crept up Justin’s muscular shoulders, relishing the passion, the excitement, and his deliciously soft lips, just for a moment. Until the everhovering Sully would charge from nearby and pounce on the unsuspecting marquis. But wait, Sully was nowhere near, Father was dead…. A great ball of despair burrowed in her chest as the reality of her situation hit home; she was alone, truly alone for the first time in her life. She closed her eyes and pressed closer to Barclay’s warmth, trying to soak in his radiance, trying not to feel so awfully alone.

He wrapped his powerful arms more tightly around her, and delicious sensations chased all thoughts from her mind. The press of his lithe body and hard thighs against hers made her body melt like wax to flame. Everything seemed to loosen within her, and the horrors were driven away by his passionate embrace. She inhaled his musky, masculine scent, relishing the pleasure of being desired, of being free from her troubles. It was momentary pleasure, but she wished this moment would last forever.

“Have you no shame?” a female voice shrilled.

Barclay tensed and broke the kiss. Evelyn’s lips still tingled from his searing touch. The arms holding her squeezed tighter, then slowly released her. She looked over his shoulder. In the moonlit trees stood the dragon lady, staring angrily, and Lady Fontaine, waving her fan as if in desperate need of bucketfuls of air.

“Claire, no one saw. Do not make a scene…”

“Close your trap, Leonore. He is my son and I will not have him disgracing our family. If only George were here to set you to rights, Justin. Then you would not behave so appallingly.”

His body turned to stone.

Evelyn tried to be embarrassed but found herself incapable of the emotion. Unlike Count Bryon’s heavy-handed clinch, Justin’s embrace was an amazing thrill she was not about to regret. And she was unable to pretend she was sorry just to placate a venom-toothed harpy. Unwilling to let their intimacy dissolve just yet, she whispered, “Why do you allow her to speak to you so?”

He looked down at her, and bleakness filled his smoldering eyes. “She is my mother. She’s had a difficult life….”

“Remove yourself from that harlot this moment, Justin.”

He slowly stepped away from Evelyn and turned. “I will not have you insulting our cousin, Mother. She did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I made the improper advance. She is an innocent.”

Lady Fontaine advanced quickly, her shoes crunching in the sea of nuggets. She leaned forward, urging quietly, “A hasty retreat is in order, my dears.”

“What are you mumbling to them, Leonore?” Lady Barclay demanded shrilly. “Don’t you dare take that lightskirt’s side!”

“I was just saying how late it grows and how Evelyn and I had best be off before my husband loses his shirt in the gaming room.” Lady Fontaine locked arms with Evelyn and steered her toward the ballroom, pointedly facing away from her sister-in-law.

Evelyn shot Justin a silent farewell over her shoulder, relieved to be escaping so lightly. She pitied the poor dove; he was left to deal with his witchy mother. How could anyone so amiable come from a mother that foul? She shook her head. We all had to live with the legacy of our parents. And suddenly Evelyn recalled that she needed to claim her own inheritance, or her future would be in dire straits indeed.

Justin watched them leave, not for the first time in his life thanking the heavens for his aunt’s benevolent intervention. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation with his mother. Since birth she had plagued him, hounded him, and yet, deep in her heart, had always loved him. But she had granted any affection in exchange for performing as she required. Love was not gratis in the Barclay family. It required fulfilling responsibilities to Mother, to the family, to Society, to anything she found worthy. Personal feelings carried no weight in her world. The scales were measured on how you had proven yourself,
lately
.

“The fault is mine, Mother. Do not try to punish Evelyn for my improper conduct.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Pray tell me you’re not dupe enough to think you actually care for her.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eye. “She is a fine person who has had a difficult time of it. You, of all people, should relate to losing a loved one—”

“Don’t you dare try to put me in the same class as that, that vulgar missy.”

“You just don’t like that she won’t let you walk all over her. Contrasting with most of the young ladies you deal with, she actually has a backbone.”

“She has no sense of propriety. She cavorts with foreigners—”

“Who else should she associate with? She’s not set foot in her homeland for over twelve years! Her father dragged her to the four corners of the globe in service of our king!” He ran his hand through his hair, exasperation edging into his voice. “How can you punish her for her father’s choices?” The irony of his charge struck him in the chest like a musket ball. That was exactly what he and the colonel were doing—penalizing Evelyn for her father’s crimes. He pushed aside his misgivings. If she was guiltless, his investigation would prove her such.

“She is horribly unsuitable as a wife.” Mother jabbed a bony finger into his shoulder. “And that’s where
your
responsibility lies. I should have a grandson at my knee, not be chasing harlots in the bushes.”

“Don’t get into this again, Mother. I am young yet—”

“Lord Solomon has four boys and he is two years your junior. I will not allow you to risk our future, our legacy, for some debaucher. You have no sense at all. She’s after our title, our money—”

Sarcasm permeated his tone. “There’s no way she could actually prefer my company—”

Her cat-shaped eyes mocked. “As I said,
no sense
. Women do not choose men for their fine conversation or their strapping form. Granted, you come from good stock and thus are well favored. But you are nothing without our title and our funds. I pray you are not foolish enough to believe she might be fond of you for anything else.”

She had said the words many times before, but somehow it hurt more this time. As if now it actually mattered that someone valued him for himself. Not for his birthright, or his money, or his tricks in foiling the French. Evelyn’s esteem seemed hard to come by, and claiming it would mean he was somehow worthy.

Mother stepped closer, trying for a conciliatory tone. “Certainly, if your brother George was still with us, you could dally as you wished. But life is not always as we would prefer it, and you have a duty to us. A duty to your family. To your heritage. To your sister and to me.” She squeezed his hand. “I know you will not disappoint us, Justin. I have had too much suffering in my life as it is. Pray do not break my heart completely, or I might not recover.”

How could he justify to her that he was doing his duty in associating with Evelyn? How could he explain to himself that he relished the lovely young lady’s company, admired her pluck, and, yes, had enjoyed that kiss. He let out a long breath. He should never have taken this assignment. Mixing his clandestine activities with his private life was a recipe for disaster. Now the stew was already in the pot, the ingredients boiling and the colonel hungry for results. But suddenly it was Justin feeling the heat of the flames. Danger, treachery, passion…heady spices indeed.

E
velyn’s bottom was going numb. She shifted in the hard seat and stabbed her parasol in irritation against the wooden leg of the chair. The little man sitting across from her pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles up the ridge of his nose but pointedly ignored her and focused on the ledger on the desk before him.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the large oak door yawned open, and Evelyn quickly stood at attention. Her black skirts rustled as she discreetly shook out her cramped legs. A head peeked out, then disappeared, and the door shut with an abrupt bang.

She pressed her fists on her hips and glared at the little man behind the desk. “Enough is enough.”

He licked his reedy lips and patted the formerly white handkerchief across his shiny bald forehead for the thousandth time.

“Mr. Marlboro is a very busy man, Miss Amherst.” His eyes shifted away, and he pressed the cloth to his lips. “A very busy man.”

“Well, I am finished waiting on his convenience, Mr. Tuttle.”

“You did not have an appointment.”

She slammed her sturdy parasol on top of his desk. He jumped like a frightened rabbit.

“You can tell his eminence that I will sleep here if I must but I am not leaving until he speaks to me about my father’s estate.” She stepped closer and narrowed her eyes. “And unless Mr. Marlboro wishes to hurdle out his window to get home for dinner, he can and will see me.”

Mr. Tuttle nervously eyed her, then the closed door to the inner sanctum. He seemed to come to a decision. The law clerk was either more intimidated by the young lady before him, or hungrier for his dinner, than he was afraid of his superior.

He sidled from behind the little wooden desk, slowly opened the door a crack, and slid inside the next room. Evelyn could not hear a word of the discussion, but after a moment, a sweaty Mr. Tuttle peeked out.

“Mr. Marlboro will see you now, Miss Amherst.”

Evelyn squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, firm on establishing the appropriate rapport with the man who had kept her waiting until the sun was nigh into the west.

She stepped into a large office. It smelled of old papers, leather, and burned wax. Candles illuminated the musty room, exposing the piles of papers on every available surface, including the massive black desk behind which sat one of the heaviest men Evelyn had ever seen. She briefly wondered if the man had to pay triple for his suits, given his enormous bulk. Evelyn crossly reasoned it must have been his need for dinner that had finally driven him to acquiesce and see her. Otherwise, he probably would have remained hidden inside his cluttered cavern.

Laying hands the size of ham roasts atop his desk, he pushed himself up and nodded, jiggling his many chins. “Miss Amherst. I apologize for keeping you waiting. If you had had an appointment…” His voice was a thick, droning whine.

Her smile was brittle. “Ah, Mr. Marlboro, I would gladly have allowed any
clients
who actually had an appointment to come in before me, if,” she added in a steely sweet voice, “that is, there had been anyone to see you in the last three hours.”

He held open his hands with widened fingers that looked more like sausages than human flesh. “Papers, papers. Always need to do the filing.”

Evelyn glared disdainfully at the gross mess of the room. “It seems you are well behind.”

He pushed his large spectacles up his bulbous nose and picked his hat up off the rack. “Well, then. It is getting late and I must be on my way. Can’t keep the missus waiting, now can I?”

“But you can keep me waiting? Need I remind you that I am a client of your firm’s, Mr. Marlboro?”

“So what can I do for you?” he asked nervously while setting his hat upon his brown, curly-topped head.

She pulled her documents from her reticule and held them out. He did not step from behind his desk or remove them from her hand.

“I am here to collect on my father’s estate. I am his sole heir and the documentation is all in order. The assets listed in these accounts shall be transferred to the following list of banks as soon as they open in the morning.”

He swallowed. “Ah, matters such as these are quite delicate and take, ah, a certain amount of time to review and manage…. Papers, legal matters, and such.”

She lowered her chin and glared at the troublesome man. “Do not toy with me, Mr. Marlboro. I am well aware of the legal implications, the legalese, and other aspects of these simple financial transactions. It will take three days to process the appropriate papers and then two weeks to transfer all assets to the foreign establishments. The entire matter can be resolved by the end of the month.”

He licked his flabby lips. “It really is not quite as simple as all that.”

“Do you represent my family’s interests or not? Or shall I bring your ineptitude to the attention of the bar?”

He straightened. “There is no need to become difficult, Miss Amherst. Yes, I was your father’s solicitor—”

“Was?”

“Things have changed somewhat. Given his unusual activities.”

The butterfly in her belly suddenly broke free of its cage and hammered against her ribs to escape. “My father is deceased. His legal documents, all prepared by you, designate that all of his assets fall to his sole surviving heir, me.”

“It has come into question whether these assets…” He began wringing his chubby hands, and Evelyn had to stifle the desire to scream
Spit it out!
“…well, whether they were ill-gotten gains…” His nasally drone trailed off.

She pushed down the nervous bile that had risen in her throat and lifted her chin. “Ill-gotten gains? What does that mean?”

“Certain matters have come to my attention which need bearing out before we can proceed.”

“Who challenged my rights?” she demanded.

“Now see here, Miss Amherst, I represented your father for a very long time.”

“Obviously not very well, or there could be no question as to the rights of his designated heir.”

He let out a long breath. “My hands are tied.”

“Who’s challenged my rights, Mr. Marlboro?”

He grimaced at her sharp tone but did not answer.

This was becoming an exercise in futility. Someone had intimidated Mr. Marlboro, and nothing she could say would make a dent in his stonewalling.

“This is not the last of the matter, I assure you.” She turned on her heel and stormed out the door. She did not deign to acknowledge Mr. Tuttle as she pushed past the swinging wooden panel and out into the corridor, where she stood quaking furiously from head to toe. She clutched her parasol and her reticule tightly, to stop her hands from shaking; her heart was hammering so loudly that she wondered if all of London could witness her anger. And her fear. Trepidation tasted bitter on her tongue as she marched down the passageway. She barely saw the dark and vacant offices as she blindly headed outside…to escape from the answers she had waited for, dreaded, and now confirmed.

She made her way down the shadowed, dusty stairwell, her gloved hands skimming against the narrow walls. At the bottom of the stairwell, in the enclosed threshold, she stopped and pressed her forehead against the thick, wood-grain panels of the external door. She breathed deeply, trying to ignore the dank odors of the passage while attempting to slow the racing of her heart. The tremors had left her feeling depleted and alone. Something wet slid down her cheek, and she realized that she was crying. Crying! God in heaven! That that spectacle of a man could bring her to tears! She angrily brushed them aside and sniffed. Without that money, she would lose her freedom, her independence. She swallowed. Her future. She squared her shoulders and pushed away from the wall. This was simply an obstacle to be removed. A rut in the road to be overcome. But the words sounded hollow in her heart.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the large wooden door. It squeaked loudly into the darkening twilight. She stepped out into the fresh air, inhaling the scents of evening, trying to pull herself together.

Ismet advanced from the shadows. Another man followed by his side. Where Ismet glided with the sleekness of a snake, this man moved with the lazy grace of a lion. The king of the jungle.

“Lord Barclay? What are you doing here?”

The memory of his heated embrace flashed through her mind, exorcising her troubles for an instant. She raised her gloved hand to her lips, and then dropped it. She had too much to worry about to dwell on a stolen kiss that probably meant nothing to him.

“We were concerned for you. The butler overheard your direction to the hackney driver, and I came to ensure that all was well.”

She prayed that the darkness would conceal her eyes, which were likely rimmed with red. She cleared her throat. “Why would it not be?”

“Your man is not exactly the perfect escort. Why, he barely speaks English.”

Ismet gave no indication that he understood. Approval swelled within her. Ismet was the keenest of men. If he did not appear to understand the language, he could not answer questions.

“How long have you been here?”

He nonchalantly swung his cane. “Oh, quite some time.”

“Why did you not come up?”

“I saw the address. You are here on personal business. I did not wish to disturb you.” He clicked open the gold watch hanging from the red fob at his waist. “It certainly took some time. I am glad that I did not delay you further.” He snapped it closed and studied her. “All is well, I presume?”

“Fine. We should be heading back.”

The wooden door behind them swung open, and the heavyset Mr. Marlboro stepped through the threshold. He raised his hammy hand to his hat. “Ahh, excuse me, Miss Amherst…” He stiffened. “Ahh, my lord Barclay.”

Barclay nodded curtly.

Evelyn turned her head and gave the offensive man the cut direct. After a pregnant pause, he hastily turned and waddled down the street.

She turned to Barclay. “Do you know him, my lord?”

“Only by reputation. I use another firm housed in this building.” He looked toward the darkening trees. “Might I suggest we move on? My carriage awaits around the next corner.”

“Certainly. I do not wish to worry your aunt further.” And there was nothing useful to be accomplished here.

Once again ensconced in the marquis’s plush coach, Evelyn couldn’t keep Mr. Marlboro’s words from running through her mind.
“Ill-gotten gains.”
That could mean only one thing; someone was trying to prove her father was a traitor and confiscate her wealth. But what type of evidence would they procure? Or manufacture? There were no charges against her father—he was dead. Moreover, the government could not declare him a traitor without it becoming known that he had been in intelligence. Governments were loath to claim anything except for the inoffensively neutral. So how was the matter legally proceeding? Was she simply to be swept under the rug? Or worse yet, ignored completely? She was not about to stand by and have her father’s name besmirched and her fortune stolen. If necessary, she would march into the House of Commons and declare her father’s innocence to the rooftops, if it would do any good. But it would not. She sighed. Which way to turn now?

“You are brooding, Miss Amherst. I pray our last encounter does not make you ill at ease in my company.”

She was ripped back to reality. “Oh, that, well…no.” Her cheeks warmed, but she resisted the urge to touch her lips. “Not at all.”

“I confess I got a bit carried away.” He smiled. “But I cannot claim to regret it. It was very…
special
.”

She tilted her head, interested. “Really? How so?”

“Well, I…” He rubbed his chin. “If I were a lady it would be my turn to blush.” Pursing his lips, he stated, “Well, to be frank, I have had the opportunity to kiss a few ladies in my time. And your kiss, well, it was…better than any I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Really?” It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one affected by that searing embrace. “It certainly banished all troubles from my mind.”

“Troubles?”

She blinked. Had she said that aloud? She wanted to kick herself for having such loose lips, in more ways than one.

Silence filled the cabin.

“Has this something to do with the solicitor Mr. Marlboro?” he asked.

She hated to lie to him but could not dare tell the truth. What would she say?
I’m trying to follow my father’s dying instructions so I have a future and am not murdered too?

He broke the quiet. “On second thought, I apologize for intruding. It is your personal business and none of my affair.” He raised his hand to the curtain and pulled it aside, allowing moonlight to filter into the plush cabin.

There was a novelty, someone not trying to interfere in her life. She studied his profile in the pale light. His strong nose added a touch of haughtiness to his features, but even in shadow the man was stunning. It was growing all the more difficult to categorize him as “cousin,” and she wondered if she really wanted to keep him at bay.

Heavens! What was she thinking? She had no time to dally with a dashing marquis; her very future was in jeopardy! Father would be mad as hops at her for losing sight of her target. She needed to stay focused and not allow herself to be distracted. She needed to keep her head clear and her business in the fore. And finding a way to access her fortune was the first of her tasks.

“Please do not interpret my silence as anything but what it is—woolgathering, my lord. I am simply ruminating on some of the legal issues pertaining to my father’s estate. As a matter of fact, if I may ask, which solicitors do you use?”

“The Troutman Jones firm. They are quite good.”

She filed the name away for later use. She might be needing new legal representation. But how was she to pay them? She bit her lip.

“They are on retainer and are available to any in the family with legal issues.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so kind?”

He straightened. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you always trying to be of service to me?”