Best of Both Rogues (7 page)

Ben watched Sir Jonathan Hackberry through narrowed eyes as the man expounded on his most recent excavation along the Tigris prior to his return to England. His tales didn’t interest Ben as much as the feverish gleam in Hackberry’s eyes as he spoke. In Hackberry’s excitement, he clipped the rim of his wineglass, but he snatched it before it toppled and soaked Lisette’s table linens.

Ben was growing convinced the man’s passion was not vested in becoming Eve’s husband. He couldn’t accept that Eve would choose Hackberry.

“The man is a windbag,” Jake muttered.

Amelia, who sat between Ben and Jake, shushed him. “He will hear you,” she whispered.

“Over the sound of his own blathering? Doubtful.” Jake took his wife’s hand beneath the tablecloth, and she very nearly glowed when she smiled back at him.

Women in love were lit from within, and that was the essence of what was missing between Eve and Sir Windbag. The man didn’t make her glow.

Ben glanced around the table. Lisette’s hand rested lovingly on her stomach and a coy smile teased her lips when she met Daniel’s unwavering gaze at the opposite end of the table. Lana’s husband whispered in her ear and her eyes brightened. These unguarded moments between his siblings and their spouses strengthened Ben’s resolve to get rid of Hackberry. He wanted what his siblings had found, and he wanted it with Eve, even if he must do something unforgivable to achieve his desire.

Bugger
. Grabbing his glass, he drained it. The wine burned in his gut as Hackberry droned on, happily thinking he was an honored guest this evening. Ben tried to believe he was doing the man a favor by offering him a way out of his betrothal, or that Eve would be grateful for Ben’s interference someday, but he had never been good at lying to himself.

When the last course was cleared, Lisette rose and everyone around the table followed suit. “Ladies, shall we retire to the drawing room?”

The women—Ben’s sisters-in-law, his mother, his sister, and Lisette’s cousin, Mrs. Serafine Tucker—exited the drawing room. Daniel set to the task of pouring brandy for the men and invited them to take a cheroot from the carved ebony box sitting on the sideboard.

Ben sized up the room. Other than Mr. Isaac Tucker and Hackberry, allies surrounded Ben. Now would likely be the best time to approach Eve’s betrothed without gossip making the rounds tomorrow. He retrieved two cheroots, even though he’d never enjoyed them, and invited Hackberry to join him outside.

Margrave lifted his glass in a toast as Hackberry followed Ben to the glass doors leading to the terrace. Hackberry locked gazes with Ben’s friend for a split second, then cleared his throat nervously. Margrave’s brooding intensity could be intimidating to many, although Ben had known him too long to allow it to bother him.

Neither Ben nor Eve’s betrothed bothered to light their cheroots, which made the moment suddenly awkward as they stood outside staring at each other. Sounds from the town house carried on the air, but didn’t detract from the silence lurking on the terrace.

“Hmm…” Ben muttered, unsure how to begin.

Hackberry sat on the stone railing with his slender legs stretched out. “Yes, hmm…” He tucked the cheroot into his coat and crossed his arms. “Allow me to hazard a guess: this is about Eve.”

Ben’s nostrils flared at Hackberry’s casual use of her name. It was irrational to feel such animosity toward the gent, but Hackberry enjoyed an intimacy with Eve that once belonged to Ben alone. Did Hackberry also kiss her? Ben’s fingers coiled into a fist.

“She doesn’t belong with you,” he said with a dangerous growl to his voice.

Hackberry smiled gamely. “Yet she will be mine in a matter of weeks. How lucky am I to win the attentions of such a lovely young lady?”

Ben took a step forward, but Hackberry held up a hand, laughing. “No need to shed blood over the matter, Mr. Hillary. She might be promised to me, but her heart clearly belongs to someone else.”

Ben dropped his fist, his brow wrinkling. “What is this about her heart belonging to someone else? How do you know?”

“I saw the evidence myself today. She has not been the same since your return. If anyone should be inclined to violence, it should be me.” Hackberry’s mouth twisted into a smile that gave Ben the impression he wasn’t completely happy despite his jovial tone.

Ben, on the other hand, experienced a lightening of his heart. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to take measures to get rid of Hackberry. Eve might toss over the man and remedy the situation for him. “Has she hinted she might cry off?”

“Good Lord, no. What reason would she give? I cannot imagine her jilting me because she does not love me. This is a matter of duty, and Eve is determined to fulfill her responsibilities to make a marriage match.”

How did Hackberry know what was important to Eve? He hadn’t known her a month yet.

“We have talked, Hillary.” Hackberry spoke with a droll quality to his tone, apparently reading his mind. “She has been refreshingly free with her thoughts up until now. She will become my wife even though I’m aware she prefers you, but I won’t hold a grudge or punish her for what her heart wants.” He dropped his arms to the railing beside him and shrugged his shoulders. “So tell me, what is it you wished to discuss with me?”

Ben’s jaw tightened. It seemed pointless to make his offer now when it was clear Hackberry wouldn’t be swayed. Ben had misjudged Eve’s betrothed. Yet that flicker of determination inside Ben couldn’t be snuffed. He squared his shoulders. “Five hundred pounds and the use of one of my ships bound for the destination of your choice. Take it or leave it.”

Hackberry’s mouth dropped open and a wheezy breath escaped.

The burn in Ben’s gut returned as if the wine had festered. His words replayed in his head. He sullied Eve by treating her as if she were a commodity to buy. Hell, he degraded
himself
, but he couldn’t retract his offer as long as there was a chance. “It is money to support your work, your studies. Intended as a philanthropic…” He trailed off when Hackberry’s lip curled in disgust.

“You expect money will entice me to step aside. How very arrogant, Mr. Hillary. Honor cannot be bought.”

“There is nothing honorable about holding a lady to a promise when you’ve said she prefers someone else. And what of your travels? Do you expect me to believe you are willing to give up your life’s pursuit to settle for a domesticated existence? Eve would hate being left alone while you traipse off to God knows where, and if you even considered dragging her with you—”

“I wouldn’t risk her welfare by taking her with me.” Hackberry grimaced. “But I hadn’t considered the dangers in leaving her alone either, not until this afternoon.”

Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why would you ask for her hand if you plan to leave her?”

Hackberry cocked an eyebrow. “Why did
you
?”

“I didn’t want to leave her. It—it was unavoidable.” Ben turned his back, refusing to discuss his problem with his opponent. “I never wanted to leave her.” Sadness lingered in his words, despite his determination to give nothing away.

Hackberry didn’t respond. The incessant trilling of a field cricket rang in Ben’s ears as the moment stretched out, becoming unbearably long.

“Neither do I,” Hackberry said quietly. “Want to leave her, that is. But I believe all parties would be best served by me accepting your offer.”

So much for the man’s honor not being for sale. Ben’s gut clenched and he feared losing his meal on the terrace. He pivoted on his heel, a part of him hoping the man was mocking him.

Hackberry came forward with his arms out at his sides. “This is sudden, I know, but I was recently approached about an archaeological dig in Egypt, and now that you are making it possible—”

“You are choosing a bloody dig over Eve? What the hell is wrong with you?” Even though Ben was getting what he wanted, he couldn’t fathom choosing anything over a lifetime with Eve.

Hackberry blew out an exasperated breath, lifting hair that had fallen forward on his forehead. “I know this sounds daft when I say it aloud, but I feel as if I have no choice in the matter. I am needed elsewhere. It is in Eve’s best interests to be freed from her promise.”

For a moment, Ben could focus on nothing else as Hackberry’s words circled in his mind.
Eve’s best interests.
Wasn’t this how Ben had justified leaving her too? Only it hadn’t been the right thing for Eve.

“You love her,” Hackberry stated.

Ben glared in response. Of course he loved her.

Hackberry’s off-kilter grin reappeared. Something sad about it gave Ben pause. “I know you love her, Hillary. You will see that she is well cared for and protected, which is more than I can do.”

“Yes, always.”

The man scratched his ear and slowly nodded. “Very well, then the matter is settled. I will deliver the news I cannot marry her tomorrow.”

“No!” Ben’s outburst caused Hackberry to jump.

The man sputtered until he found his tongue. “No? But how am I to relinquish my claim unless I speak with her?”

“
You
can’t cry off. She must.” Ben’s blood began to simmer as he pictured the man jilting her—Eve’s humiliation at being told Hackberry didn’t want her. No, Ben would have no part in hurting her again. He jabbed a finger in Hackberry’s direction. “She must make the decision to end your betrothal. That is the only way.”

“I’ve already told you I have given her no reason.”

“Then
give
her a reason.” Ben spun away and stalked to the other side of the terrace lest he grab Hackberry and shake him senseless. He stood with his hands on his hips, dragging in deep breaths to calm his temper.

After a time, Hackberry cleared his throat. Ben still didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you have in mind, Hillary, but I will not be unfaithful.”

Ben snarled over his shoulder. “If you dared, I would run a blade through your heart.”

“Remember, there is no call for violence. I am at your service. Simply tell me what I must do and I will do it. For Eve’s sake.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. Everything I think might work makes me want to punch someone.”

Hackberry laughed, and Ben couldn’t help smiling when he considered his ungentlemanly threats. Eve had a way of making him uncivilized.

Ben faced his rival turned temporary ally, his temper cooling marginally. “Perhaps if you annoy her enough, she will come to our way of thinking. Most unhappy couples seem to annoy the hell out of one another.”

“That usually takes years. We haven’t much time before we are to wed.” Hackberry absently scratched his nose. “I cannot fathom Eve breaking her promise just because I annoy her. Besides, she has the patience of a saint.”

Ben nearly snorted. Rarely had he seen evidence of this rumored saintly patience. Patience implied restraint, and even when she was younger, she had been unable to stifle her enthusiasm in most things. Her sincerity made her stand out from her fellow debutantes. Instead of practiced shy smiles and mundane compliments, Eve’s responses had been genuine.

Hackberry was correct. Eve wouldn’t break her promise over something insignificant, but they might be able to create doubts about Hackberry’s suitability. Then Ben might have a chance.

“I’ve become a master at irritating the lady,” Ben said. “And I am happy to tutor you in the finer points. As you pointed out, however, we haven’t much time to spare. When will you see her next?”

“Tomorrow. I am to arrive for dance instruction in the afternoon.” Hackberry ducked his head, and Ben was certain the man blushed. “I am hopelessly clumsy on the ballroom floor.”

And off, Ben would say, given the report of his antics at the museum. “Splendid. I will collect you tomorrow afternoon, so we can arrive together. You will need to bring daisies.” Ben headed for the town house.

“Wait,” Hackberry called to him. “Wouldn’t presenting flowers to a lady be the opposite of annoying?”

Ben kept walking, a smile on his face. “You have much to learn, my naive apprentice.”

“Stop.” Ben held up a hand as Hackberry descended the stairs of his own town house the next morning. “What are you wearing?”

Hackberry halted at the foot of the stairs, held his arms out to his sides—a brass-knobbed walking stick clutched in his right hand—and looked down at his attire. His brows dropped low. “Is something wrong? Too casual for dance lessons?”

Ben scowled as his gaze traveled over Hackberry. If the points of his collar were any stiffer, someone might lose an eye, and his gray trousers were cut to display his calves to their best advantage. Not even a hair was out of place. “Too bloody perfect, Hackberry. What are you thinking?”

The baronet inclined his head toward his manservant. “Thank you, Wilhelm, you may go.”

“And that
waistcoat
.” Ben curled his lip in disgust as he eyed the dark green embroidered piece. There wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. Hackberry had been a rumpled mess the night of his and Eve’s betrothal ball, but now that he was trying to earn her disapproval… “You look like a blasted dandy.”

A laugh burst from Hackberry. “You are one to talk. Look at you, dressed as if you have an audience with Prinny.”

“I am not the one trying to repel Miss Thorne.” Ben had taken extra care with his appearance that morning, approving of his valet’s choice of a cream silk waistcoat and black trousers. Now he wondered if he would appear too bland beside Hackberry in his colorful ensemble. For that matter, everything about Eve’s betrothed was colorful, especially his unusual hobby.

Eve would view Hackberry’s expeditions to exotic locations as grand adventures. Ben could just imagine her listening to Hackberry’s tales, spellbound. She would lean forward, her eyes like polished rosewood, with her small yet prominent chin resting on her hand.

“I am dressed no different than usual,” Hackberry said.

“Come here.” Ben motioned to his rival with an impatient jerk of his hand. “There is nothing annoying about your appearance.”

“And yet you seem put out with it.” Hackberry’s smile widened.

Ben clamped his mouth shut and refused to comment on Hackberry’s observation. Once the man stood in front of him, Ben requested the cane and Hackberry surrendered it. “Now, unfasten your waistcoat, then misalign the buttons as you secure it again.”

Hackberry shrugged and complied. “And this will repel Miss Thorne, misaligned buttons?”

“Perhaps.” Eve had always shown a tendency toward needing to set everything back to rights: a crooked painting on the wall, a stray hair on Ben’s coat, a smear of chocolate at the corner of his lips. His body tensed in memory of her touching him, her own lips parted while she concentrated on the task of pressing her lacy handkerchief to his mouth, her body lightly leaned against his for balance as she lifted to her toes.

Ben cleared his throat. “On second thought, align them again.”

Hackberry rolled his eyes and snatched the walking stick from Ben. “We haven’t the time for you to act like my mother. We will be late unless we leave now.” He stalked out the front door.

When Ben joined him on the walkway, they moved at a decent clip toward Covent Garden. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional delivery cart traveling the narrow street, the incessant clack of Hackberry’s walking stick striking the ground, and the grating call of a starling from the window ledge of a town house they passed. Neither Ben nor his companion spoke until they turned the corner onto Floral Street.

“Miss Thorne’s brother isn’t fond of you, you know,” Hackberry said, slowing his pace.

Ben smiled wryly. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“It’s no secret. Everyone talks about your duel with gloves. I hear it was quite the spectacle and Thorne outsmarted—”

“Do you have a point?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I do. Thorne will not welcome you into his home, so how do you suppose you will be part of today’s dance instruction?”

Sebastian Thorne was the least of Ben’s troubles. “He is a slave to his duties. It is a rare occurrence when he misses a meeting with the Lords.” Ben was more concerned with Eve barring him from Thorne Place. After their encounter in the foundling hospital nursery, she had refused to look at, much less speak with him the remainder of the day. A real possibility existed that she would turn him away. “I need you to convince Miss Thorne you and I have become friendly, and that you requested my assistance.”

Hackberry scoffed. “And why would I request assistance from her former beau? Even I cannot pretend to be that lamebrained.”

“I am certain you are capable of rising to the occasion.”

“God’s blood,” the man grumbled and shook his head as if questioning Ben’s sanity.

Not that Ben blamed Hackberry. Ben hadn’t considered how they would convince Eve to let him stay. He only knew he must be there, because the thought of Hackberry and Eve alone together left Ben’s insides twisted in knots.

When Covent Garden came into view, they headed toward the crowd of vendors selling goods in the square. The first flowermonger they reached had a basket of white daisies with cheerful yellow centers.

“I will take a dozen,” Hackberry said as he pulled a coin from his pocket.

After the exchange, the girl—no older than eleven, if that—performed an awkward curtsy and bid them a good day.

Ben arched his eyebrow at Hackberry. “May I?” The man passed him the daisies with a puzzled frown. Plucking one from the bouquet, Ben returned it to the girl. “For you, miss.”

Her face puckered in bewilderment, and she hesitantly accepted the flower when Ben continued to hold it out to her. She tried to return a penny, but he and Hackberry insisted she keep it.

Ben smiled at her. “That one is for you, miss.”

A bright blush swept over her face as she placed the flower in her basket, then scurried to a spot several feet away.

“Now the bouquet looks”—Hackberry slanted his head to the side—“
lopsided
.”

“Exactly.” Ben thrust the flowers back into his hands.

Hackberry scratched his head and didn’t press him for an answer. Ben was beginning to like that quality about him. Perhaps under different circumstances, they might become chums.

“Come this way. We have one more purchase to make.” Ben headed toward a vegetable cart without waiting to see if Hackberry followed. He searched through the carrots, potatoes, and cabbages until he found what he wanted, then handed the old man a coin. Ben presented his offering to Hackberry. “Eat it.”

Ben’s companion balked. “An onion? I politely decline.”

“I question your commitment to the cause, Hackberry.” He held the white bulb higher, noting he’d probably chosen an unnecessarily large one.

Hackberry’s eyes narrowed. “Very well, but you will owe me. This goes beyond the call of duty.” He snatched the onion from Ben’s hand and shoved the flowers against his chest. “Hold these.”

After peeling off the outer skin, Hackberry grimaced then sank his teeth into the onion. Juice dribbled down his chin. The fumes from the onion formed tears in Hackberry’s eyes. “Damnation, you really owe me, Hillary.”

“Stop crying, you overgrown baby. I’m already paying you handsomely and tossing a ship into the pot.”

The vendor cackled under his breath as they walked away. Hackberry only finished half the onion before he tossed it in the gutter. “Let me have those fla-howers,” he said, purposefully breathing in Ben’s face, then ducked to the side when Ben playfully swung at him.

Ben handed over the bouquet with a chuckle. He hated to admit it, but he could better understand the reason Eve would enjoy Hackberry’s company. Hackberry seemed like a good-natured gent not afraid to laugh at himself.

As they continued their stroll to Savile Row, Hackberry buried his face in the flowers and inhaled. “They are a fragile little thing, but they haven’t much scent.”

“Unlike you,” Ben drawled.

Hackberry ignored him. “Do you think this is the reason Miss Thorne doesn’t like daisies?”

“I can’t say.” Eve had been adamant that there be no daisies in her wedding bouquet, and Ben hadn’t questioned her. Their mothers had been under instruction to allow Eve whatever she wanted. The cost wasn’t to be a deterrent. Perhaps another young lady would have taken advantage of his wealth, but Eve had always been sensible about those things.

Reaching Thorne Place at last, Hackberry grabbed for the knocker before Ben and rapped on the door. “Allow me to explain to Eve,” Hackberry said. “Bringing you to our lesson might be just the thing to upset the apple cart.”

“But I don’t want to upset—” The door eased open, and Ben swallowed the rest of his reply. Upsetting Eve was not his goal, although now he feared that was exactly what his presence would do.

Thorne’s butler stood at the threshold, his posture rigid and proper. The only sign of surprise was the slight widening of his eyes. “Sir Jonathan. Mr. Hillary. Miss Thorne did not inform me to expect both of you.”

“Shh…” Hackberry flashed a dotty grin. “It is a surprise.”

* * *

Eve heard Jonathan’s voice in the foyer and a trill of pleasure passed through her. She hadn’t been confident he would come, for he had sent around several excuses lately bowing out of their plans. Nevertheless, today he was here, and Eve was willing to overlook his past inattentiveness so long as it didn’t continue.

She was anxious to teach him the waltz. It was her favorite dance. Ben had introduced her to the joys of gliding around the ballroom as if clouds cushioned each step. It would be foolish to expect the same amount of grace from Jonathan. Yet she didn’t wish to give up the dance entirely just because he had been traveling the world when the waltz came to London.

She hopped up from her perch on the settee in the drawing room to go greet her betrothed. Sweeping into the foyer, she stopped so abruptly it must have appeared she slammed into an invisible wall.

Ben
. What in the blazes was he doing here? Her breathing became shallow and choppy. And with Jonathan?

“Ah, Miss Thorne. How exquisite you look today.” Jonathan came forward, gushing with more compliments on her gown, her hair, and her healthy complexion. Her face burned at the extravagance of his flattery. This behavior was quite unlike him, although he’d never begrudged her a kind word.

He swooped down to kiss both of her cheeks one after the other, a horrible stench making her nose wrinkle before she could hide her reaction. He covered his mouth, muffling his sheepish chuckle. “Cook served onions earlier. I couldn’t resist.”

“Oh.” He urged the bouquet into her hands. “Uh, th-thank—” Her nose tingled and she flicked her knuckle over it. “Thank you.”

“Have you met Mr. Hillary?” Jonathan asked.

Eve blinked, bewildered by his short memory, then nodded.

“Oh, that is right. How could I have forgotten? You and he…and then he— Well, you both know what happened.” Jonathan’s smiled stretched across his face. “But it is all water under the bridge now, isn’t it?” How casually he shrugged off his arriving with Eve’s former betrothed, the man Jonathan knew had jilted her.

She puckered her lips in displeasure, but since her nose tingled again, she wiggled her lips side to side in an attempt to ease the itch.

Oblivious to her changing mood, Jonathan prattled on about crossing paths with Ben that morning and what an abysmal dancer Jonathan was. He spoke in rapid sentences she could barely follow, and he gestured wildly with his hands.

Her gaze locked on Ben’s penetrating blue stare. His eyes, fringed with dark wispy lashes, conveyed an odd mixture of emotions. She thought she read hope and despair in their depths, but it could be nothing more than her fanciful imagination. And there was
longing
. She knew that look.
But
is
it
for
me?
Her heart ricocheted off her breastbone.

“Why, just the other day Lady Norwick was telling me how I needed to improve my footwork and suggested I learn to imitate the Hillary men, who are reportedly all fine dancers.” Jonathan was still talking and she tried to focus on the sound of his voice to bring her back to him. “Apparently the ladies are very eager to attract Mr. Hillary’s attention now that he has returned to London.”

She jolted out of her trance. “Pardon?” She blinked again to ease the prickly burn invading her eyes. And her nose was itching like the dickens now.

Jonathan tossed a look back over his shoulder at Ben. “I figured I could do better than imitate Mr. Hillary. I asked for his help providing instruction.”

“But I was planning to—achoo!”

“God bless you,” Jonathan offered.

“Thank you. As I was saying—” She sneezed again.

“Bless you.”

Then she sneezed twice more. Jonathan continued to bless her with each violent convulsing of her body before continuing his constant stream of chatter.

Ben came forward with a furrowed brow, handed her his handkerchief, and took the flowers. She looked at them for the first time.
Daisies?
Oh, for heaven’s sake
. No wonder her eyes and nose were running. She probably looked like a glowing red-nosed mess now.

Ben stalked over to Milo. “Take these away.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler abandoned his normally dignified pace to remove the offending flowers from the room.

She dabbed at her nose and smiled with gratitude at Ben. She couldn’t very well ask him to leave now, could she? How had he known the daisies were the source of her sneezing? Worse, how had Jonathan failed to notice?

Her betrothed’s smile was positively gleeful when she looked up at him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asked.

She offered a half smile of her own. When he bubbled with enthusiasm, he reminded her of an eager puppy. How was she to remain irritated with a puppy without feeling like an ogre?

“If you will follow me, gentlemen. The servants have pushed the furniture to the outer edges of the drawing room so we have ample space to move.”

When Ben offered his arm, she was beyond tempted to accept his escort. Instead, she linked arms with Jonathan, offering an apologetic smile to Ben. He inclined his head in acceptance, then followed her and Jonathan to the drawing room.