Romancing the Rogue (40 page)

Lofton turned to
follow Lucy.

“I don’t think so.” Oliver grabbed Lofton’s arm and yanked him back.

“What do you think you’re about, Barrow? Get your filthy laborer hands off of me.” He pulled away and brushed off his coat, but he didn’t move to follow Lucy again.

“I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago.”

“And that is?”

“Keep you away from her.”

“Oh? And just how do you think you’re going to accomplish that? You’re no match for me. I’m an earl.”

“And I’m
ever so
pleased for you.”

Lofton scowled.

“I don’t give a rip whether you’re an earl, a pig… or a
cuckoo
.”

Lofton glanced around, as if the fact that the bird was mentioned might summon it. “You’ll show me respect, Barrow. After all, you’re a worthless piece of—”

Oliver stepped forward. His heart raced. Anger infused his entire body. “Watch your tongue.”

“I can have you arrested.”

“What for?”

“For… for being insolent to an earl.”

He shook his head slowly. “You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because of what I know about
you
.”

Lofton frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Does the name Proust ring any bells?”

Lofton paled. And since he was pale anyway, he now appeared snow white. “P-Proust?”

“That’s right.” Oliver crossed his arms.

“I’m not sure I… I’m not familiar with that name, I’m afraid.” He avoided eye contact, instead looking somewhere in the vicinity of Oliver’s chin.

“Oh, I beg to differ. From what I’ve gathered, you know quite a bit about the man.” Lucy’s father had been all too happy to confess all to Oliver and his father.

“Rubbish.”

“Is it?”

Lofton shrugged. “Besides, what would someone such as the likes of you know about anything?”

“More than you could ever imagine.”

Lofton straightened his hat. “While this is all very well and good, I’m afraid I must go.” He smiled. “Lucy, my
betrothed
, will be waiting for me.”

“She
isn’t
and you’re
not
.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The way she ran out of here, she wants nothing to do with you. It wouldn’t surprise me if she took off with the carriage and left you here to rot.”

“She would never…” His gaze strayed toward the Sanctuary gate and he frowned.

“And you’re not betrothed.”

“That’s preposterous. Of course I am. Just ask her father if you don’t believe me.”

“Already have.”

Lofton widened his eyes. “You most certainly have not! You wouldn’t dare set foot in such a house, much less speak to someone like Mr. Ashbrook.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken.”

“I do not have time to waste standing here with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll—”

Oliver grabbed his arm. “No. I won’t excuse you. We’re not finished discussing the matter.”

“But… but…” Lofton stumbled as Oliver tugged him further into the Sanctuary.

“With what I have to say next, we need complete privacy.” Oliver kept his hand on the other man’s arm as he propelled Lofton toward the work shed.

When they neared the small, shabby enclosure, the earl balked. “You don’t mean to… lock me in there, do you?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He turned his head and peered at Lofton. “I take it back. You already
are
absurd. But no, of course I’m not going to lock you in here. Too bad I hadn’t thought of it earlier…”

A gasp came from the earl’s lips. Oliver yanked the other man inside and shut the door behind them. Lofton looked around the room and swallowed. Yes, there was dirt and plant clippings and feathers. It was the Bird Sanctuary, after all. But to someone like the earl who couldn’t stand even the tiniest speck of lint on his person, the shed probably seemed a nightmare.

“Have a seat.” Oliver pushed him into a nearby wobbly wooden chair. Dust rose as soon as his backside made contact.

Lofton sneezed and his eyes watered. “What is this place?”

“It’s just a work shed.”

“But it’s so… so…”

“Dirty?”

He coughed. “Yes. It’s horrible.”

“Ignore the dust for a moment, will you? And I’ll try to conclude our business as quickly as I can.”

The earl glared but remained silent.

“So, we have a problem on our hands, you and I.”

“
You and I
have nothing in common of which could be a problem.”

“Yes we do. Lucy.”

“She’s none of your concern, Barrow, since she’s my betrothed.”

“She
was
your betrothed.”

“What are you prattling on about?”

Oliver walked to the door and leaned his shoulder against it. “You see, you found a way to get Lucy to marry you, even though she despises you."

Lofton shrugged. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that I love her and you don’t.”

“That has nothing to do with me marrying her. Nothing at all.” He waved a hand in the air.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Are we about finished here? I have things to do, and they don’t involve breathing in this putrid, filthy air.”

“Very well. Let me spell it out for you. I am going to marry Lucy and you’re not.”

“But—”

“You are going to stop blackmailing Lucy’s father.”

“I—”

“And you’re going to do it immediately.”

Lofton stood. “You can’t speak to me in this fashion. Even if I were… blackmailing someone, and I’m not saying I am, there isn’t any way you could ever do anything about it.”

Oliver stepped toward him. The earl took a step back, nearly toppling the old chair. Reaching into his pocket, Oliver brought out a handkerchief and opened it. “I have a very strong feeling that what I have here will change your mind.”

Lofton stared, eyes wide. “Where did you obtain all of that money? There must be a
fortune
there.”

“I didn’t
obtain
the money. It’s mine.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“You’re just a Sanctuary laborer.”

“It’s true that I work here, but that’s not all that I am.”

Lofton’s eyes never left the money in Oliver’s hand. He licked his lips. His eyes held a gleam that hadn’t been there before.

Oliver cleared his throat, gaining the other man’s attention. “Have you heard the name Shipley?”

“Of course, who hasn’t? One of the richest families in London. Although no one seems to really know the son. He doesn’t socialize with the
ton
. Why do you ask?” As if someone had lit a candle in the dim interior of the shed, Lofton appeared to understand.

“Now you’re getting it.”

“No. It’s impossible. You can’t be…”

“Look at the money, Lofton. I didn’t steal it. It’s my family’s money. Shipley money. And it can be yours if—”

The earl snapped his gaze from the money back to Oliver. “If…?”

“Stop blackmailing Ashbrook for Lucy’s inheritance and his dealings with Proust.”

“Is that it?”

“No. One more thing. The most important thing.”

“Which is?”

“Never see Lucy again.”

“That’s all? You’re going to give me all of that money and all I have to do is not see Lucy and stop…” Although he didn’t admit to the blackmail, neither did he deny it.

“That’s it. And you’ll do it today. Now. Do we have a deal?”

Lofton blinked. “Yes. We have a deal.”

“Good.”

He reached out to grab the money, but Oliver snatched it back.

“What are you—?”

“I’ll hand you the money once we reach the gate. I want to make sure you leave, and leave for good this time. Walk with me there and you’ll get it.”

“Very well.”

Oliver opened the door and squinted against the bright sunlight. Without another word, the men walked side by side to the gate. Their steps plodded on the path until they reached the entrance of the Sanctuary.

“Pardon me.”

Oliver turned and nodded toward a pretty redhead. He eyed Lofton, who stared at her. Did he know her?

The woman smiled and nodded before moving through the gate to her carriage.

Oliver tilted his head in her direction. “Someone you know?”

Lofton nodded slowly. “Amelia Talbot.”

“You seem taken with her.”

As if snapped out of a trance, Lofton turned his head back toward Oliver. “That’s neither here nor there.”

Oliver shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I plan to.” The earl held out his hand.

Oliver placed the wrapped money into his greedy paw and stepped back.

“Enjoy Lucy. You two deserve each other.”

Lucy sat on
the garden bench. Her cat purred as she stroked his back. A lone tear fell from her eye and traveled down her cheek to land silently on his fur. Today was for endings. Today was for saying good-bye. Good-bye to any happiness she’d ever dreamed would be hers. The future seemed bleak at best when she would become Lady Lucy Lofton.

An odd sensation, something akin to numbness, settled in, surrounded her heart. Would she always feel this way? Cold? Alone?

A rustle came from the other side of the path. Someone was coming. Conrad? Of course he’d know to look for her there. Her first thoughts when she’d run away from the Sanctuary had been to just keep going, to walk until she fell, exhausted. But what then?

She cared not. Because as soon as she wed him, her life was over, anyway.

Lucy wiped the wetness from her cheek and squared her shoulders. She might have to face Conrad, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Lucy.”

She stiffened. Her heart skipped a beat. Not Conrad’s voice.

She glanced up. Her breath caught in her throat. “Oliver?”

He walked toward her, never taking his gaze from her face. What was he doing there? What if Conrad came and saw them—

Without another word, Oliver sat next to her on the bench and removed his hat and gloves. He glanced down at the cat and smiled.

“Oliver I…”

He placed his finger on her lips to quiet her. With his other hand, he reached around and ran his fingers down the back of her neck. Shivers ran through her.

She clutched tightly to the cat. What was Oliver doing? Why was he there? Now?

Oliver placed both hands on the sides of her face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them, his dark eyes peered into hers, as if he could see her, really see her, even into her very soul.

He leaned forward and lightly, gently, pressed his lips to hers. Warm. So warm. His fingers ran in lazy circles on her cheeks. He pulled away and placed tiny, delicate kisses across her forehead, cheeks, and down her neck.

Lucy’s heart slowed. A languid laziness, almost a drugged feeling, took hold of her. Suddenly it seemed she could float away. Drift along on a cloud while Oliver kissed every inch of her.

He sat back and took her hand. “Lucy, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Wait!
What was she doing? Conrad might show up any moment. She was betrothed for heaven’s sake!

“Oliver, I can’t—”

He shook his head. “I have some things to tell you. Very important things.”

A sigh escaped from her lips. She couldn’t imagine why he was there. Or what he wanted to tell her that would make any difference to her situation. But since she might never see him again, hear his soothing voice, she’d listen now. Listen to whatever it was he had to say, before… before he left and never returned.

“Very well. What do you need to tell me?”

His hands enveloped hers. The warmth of his skin comforted her.

“Do you know of a family by the name of Shipley?”

Lucy frowned and then nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ve heard my father speak of them. They’re quite wealthy, from what I hear. Father has said more than once that he wished to have their fortune.”

“And have you ever met them? This Shipley family?”

“No, I haven’t. They don’t seem to make appearances at any events where I’ve been. Not even the son. Which seems strange, since he would still be quite young. At an age where most men like to congregate with other young men. And women.”

“And why do you suppose that would be? That this young Shipley fellow wouldn’t associate with his peers?”

“I haven’t a clue.” She frowned. “Oliver, why all these questions about the Shipleys? I don’t even know them. Do you?”

He smiled. “Oh, yes. I’m acquainted with them quite well.”

“Then surely you know the answer to your own question better than I.”

Oliver nodded. “Indeed, I do.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Then perhaps you could tell me why a young, wealthy man might choose to distance himself from his peerage?”

“I will do just that.” He folded his arms over his chest. “The way I understand him, this Shipley fellow, he has very strong reasons for keeping to himself.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

“You see, he doesn’t put much importance on parties and dances.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Oh, no. He’d rather use his time to pursue activities that bring him joy. And purpose.”

“And what might those activities be?”

“Lucy, I know you’ve never met this Shipley man, but, do you happen to know what his Christian name is?”

“No. I don’t.”
Why is he rattling on about this family? It makes no sense.

“Oliver.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s his name.”

Lucy tilted her head. “You and he share the same name?”

“In a way.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“What’s that?”

“Talking in riddles.” As much as she was enjoying their banter, surely Conrad would come for her soon. And she had no wish to waste precious minutes with Oliver discussing that Shipley fellow. A glance over her shoulder showed them to still be alone. But it couldn’t be long before…

“He’ll not be coming.”

She turned back. “How can you be sure? He’s the greediest man I know and won’t let anything stand in his way of getting his hands on—” She looked down at her lap.

“You. And your inheritance?”

She nodded.

“Lucy, if I may ask, how do you feel about your betrothed?”

“As I would feel about a snake that slithers into the room, frightening everyone away with his disgusting—” She gasped and her eyes widened as she stared at him. “Oh! That sounded—”

“Honest.”

“Still, I shouldn’t speak of him… of my intended in such a fashion.”

“How should you speak of your intended?”

“If I loved him, which I don’t, I’d love to talk about him. His pleasant manner, the way he held my hand…” She glanced down and pulled hers from Oliver’s.

“I see. But you don’t love Lofton.”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you marrying him?”

She shrugged. “I’m not being given a choice.” Tears burned at the back of her eyes, threatening to emerge any moment.

“And why is that?”

“In a word, Father. He wants me to marry above our station so
he
can benefit the most from it.”

“And what if there were someone who wanted to marry you who had even more wealth than Lofton?”

“I’m sure there are many who have more assets than Conrad, but none so far who have asked for my hand.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.” His voice came out as nearly a whisper.

“What are you about, Oliver? Why all this talk, when it can lead to nothing but my own sadness and heartache?”

“Lucy, do you remember the day you entered your father’s study and I was there?”

“Yes, of course. And I’ve long pondered the reason you were there.” She flicked a glance at his coat. “And why you were dressed much as you are now.”

“I was there to discuss a matter of great importance with your father.”

“Was it about employment?”

He smiled. “No. Something much more important than that.”

“But what could you possibly have had to discuss with my father?”

“You.”

“You were there to discuss me? But why?”

He swallowed and looked down at his hands, which rested in his lap. “I was there to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Ahh!” Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a second gasp. “But…”

He edged closer to her and reached up to remove her hand from her face. He clasped it and instead rested her palm against his own cheek. He closed his eyes and then opened them. “Lucy. I love you. I want to marry you.”

“Oh
, Oliver
.” Tears now hovered just on the edges of her lashes. He did love her! He did! “But I’m sure my father said no.”

“That’s correct.”

Her shoulders slumped, even though it was the answer she knew she would hear.

He took her hand away from his cheek and pressed his lips to her palm.

“Oh, my. Um. Oliver, we shouldn’t be—”

“Let me finish, all right?”

She nodded. But what could he possibly say now? Her father had declined his offer of marriage to her.

“Lucy, I have loved you since that first day I saw you sketching the nuthatch.”

A smile touched her lips. “In the cutaway coat?”

“Yes. Do you… have you any feelings… for me?”

“Oh, yes.
Yes.
”

“And what might those be?”

She swallowed. “I… have loved you since the first… as well.”

A heavy sigh, as if from somewhere deep inside, came from his lips. “I’d hoped as much, but I’m glad to hear the words, just the same.”

“But my father…”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“But I must.” Was Oliver going to ask her to elope? She would, of course. But then they would be nearly destitute, wouldn’t they? He had no money, and if she eloped, she wouldn’t either.

“While it’s true that your father said no to my offer… my original offer, his answer for my second was quite different.”

“You mean he…?”

“After a long discussion, yes he accepted.”

“Oh!” She jumped up and landed on his lap.

“Oof! Lucy! Have a care!” He glanced downward.

Heat suffused her whole person. “Oh dear. I’m…” She stood and moved away. But he grabbed her hand. “Just because I don’t want you jumping on that particular uh, part of me at present, doesn’t mean I don’t desire you to be close.” He wrapped her in his arms and pressed her head against his chest.

“But how did you get Father to agree? He’s so… greedy, and you have no…”

“That’s where my story gets interesting.”

“It does?”

“Remember when I mentioned that the young Mr. Shipley and I have the same name?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to meet him.”

“Who?”

“Oliver Shipley?”

“But why would I?”

“Because he and I are one and the same.”

She pulled away and stared at him. “What? Oliver. You mean you’re—?”

“Yes. Wealthy and then some.”

“So that’s why my father—?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Oh my. This is all so… unexpected.”

He tilted his head. “But a good surprise, I hope.”

“The best. The best
possible
surprise.”

“You know, you haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t believe I remember hearing one.”

“That you haven’t.” His smiled widened. “Lucy Ashbrook, will you marry me?”

“Yes, Oliver Shipley, I would
love
nothing better than to be your wife.”

He pulled her onto his lap, this time gently. Fitting her tightly against him with one arm, he caressed her face with his other hand. He peered into her eyes and pulled his lips upward in a smile. And again, two dimples appeared, Lucy sighed. It was all so perfect, so right. Her gaze fell to his lips, after he glanced at hers. She was ready. Oh so ready.

His breath was warm and inviting, feathering across her cheek before he touched his lips to hers. And then, his lips, so soft and warm, pressed against hers. First only lightly. Then with more pressure. Heat shot downward, all the way to her toes. She placed both hands on the side of his head and tugged him closer. She wanted more. Much, much more.

Alas, he broke contact and drew back. Lucy sighed. “I can’t believe we’re going to be together. Married. It’s my dream come true.”

“I can’t believe it either. May I kiss you again, my little dove?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow “Little dove?” She smiled. “At least you didn’t call me a little cuckoo.”

If Oliver's laugh was any indication, Lucy would have a joyful life. She smiled. Yes, a joyful life indeed.

The End