The Love of a Rogue (5 page)

She smiled. “Your sister’s idea.”

Once more he admired Imogen’s generous smile, noting the faintest dimple in her right cheek which transformed her from something ordinary into someone really quite…
extraordinary
. “If it is my sister’s idea, it is assuredly a bad one,” he said at last and wandered over to fetch his bottle of brandy and empty glass. Imogen stared and smiled with a woman’s cheek and yet blushed like a young girl just from the schoolroom.

If he was noticing Lady Imogen’s smile, he needed a drink. He filled his glass.

“Do you make it a habit of drinking at this early hour?”

He’d have to be deaf to fail to hear the trace of disapproval in that question. “Yes.” He took a long sip.

She pursed her lips. “Do you also make it a habit of drinking spirits in front of unwed, young ladies?”

God, the termagant was tenacious. He preferred her smiling. “No,” he said solemnly. He gave her a slow, seductive grin. “I make it a habit of avoiding unwed, young ladies altogether.”

She muttered something under her breath.

He would have wagered the allowance his brother now threatened him with that she’d said something about “those fortunate, young ladies”. And standing there alone with Lady Tart-mouth, it occurred to him the lady did not like him. Hmm. This was interesting, indeed. Of course, preferable, as he didn’t need innocents seeking his favor, but still interesting.

Alex propped his hip on the arm of the sofa. “You don’t like me much, do you, Imogen?”

“I don’t know you, Lord Alex.” He gave her a look. After all, she and Chloe had been inseparable through the years. “That is, I don’t
really
know you,” she added quickly. Too quickly. Imogen cast a hopeful looking glance toward the door, likely praying for his sister’s swift return.

He, on the other hand, wished Chloe all manner of delays in her quest for the scandal sheet he’d sent her in search of. “Come, Imogen we’ve known each other some years now.” The young lady had gone to finishing school with his youngest sister. He’d made a studious point of avoiding the giggling, chatting, young ladies over the years. Beyond Imogen’s scandal with Montrose, he knew nothing more about her.

“No.” She shook her head wildly, dislodging a burnt red tress. “I’ve known your sister for years. You, I know not at all.” Nor did she sound at all enthused about furthering an acquaintance. The stern rebuke underlining her words only roused his dawning interest in the lovely Lady Imogen with her sunset curls piled atop her head.

Alex shoved himself from a position of repose and wandered close. “We are, in the very least, family friends.” He stopped a hairsbreadth from her, until Imogen was forced to retreat or glance up. “Enough that you should call me by my Christian name,” he whispered, unknowing why he should find such interest in the disapproving minx.

She took several hasty steps backward and ran her palms over the front of her skirts. “I would not…it would not be appropriate.” The word appropriate had no place on a mouth such as hers.

The telltale tremble to her long fingers drew his attention and spoke to her awareness of him. Awareness from the bold widows he took his pleasure with was welcome. Awareness from the flush-faced, white-skirt wearing innocents was dangerous.

He set his glass down on the table and continued his advance. “It would only be appropriate considering you’ve given me leave to use your Christian name, Imogen.”

This time she remained rooted to the floor. She tossed her chin up. The movement dislodged another orange-red tress. “I did not give you leave to use my Christian name. You stole the use of it by tricking me.”

He caught the two strands and tucked one behind her ear. “Yes, yes I did.” The other silken lock he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger. If one could capture a sunset, this would be the feel. Hot and silken. Alex blinked several times and released her quickly. He stumbled over himself in his haste to be away from her.

“Is everything all right, Lord Alexander?” Concern filled her eyes, once more affirming the staggering, if humbling, truth. The chit was a good deal less aware of him than he’d believed.

“Alex,” he corrected.

Imogen hesitated. “Alex,” she said at last, the one word syllable utterance, his name seeming to be dragged from her. Still, for the caution there, her low, husky tone wrapped about him.

He jerked his chin toward the stacks of scandal sheets containing the lady’s name. “And what of this plan my sister spoke of? I gather it pertains to Montrose.” She really was no different than any other English lady captivated by a duke, longing for that coveted title.

Imogen blushed, dropping her gaze to the pages behind the sofa. “It’s really not polite of you to speak of—” She clamped her lips tight, leaving the thought unfinished.

And then it occurred to him…“Never tell me you fancied yourself in love with the man,” he scoffed.

The lady met his gaze. A glimmer of pity shone from the depths of her blue eyes. “I’d not expect one of your reputation to understand.”

Annoyance stabbed at him. No man preferred to be the object of pity, particularly not where a fiery-haired beauty such as Lady Imogen Moore was concerned. “I understand a good deal more than you believe.”

“You do?” She fluttered a hand about her chest, momentarily bringing his attention to the generous swell of her décolletage. How had he not ever before appreciated those full breasts?

“Undoubtedly,” he managed to dredge up a response. “What lady doesn’t aspire to the title duchess?” Or really,
any
titled lord, but never that second son.

“Is that what you believe?” her question, a barely-there whisper, floated to him.

“Is there any other reason to desire a conceited fop like Montrose for one’s husband?” The glittering world of their Society had proven women faithless, fickle creatures who’d make the most advantageous match and then take their pleasures where they saw fit. Usually in his bed.

Fire lit her eyes and threatened to set him ablaze with the intensity of her stare. “That is hardly proper discourse for a lady and a gentleman, and one who is practically a stranger.”

“A family friend,” he reminded her. “And if you are this polite, it is no wonder that he—”

Imogen shot a hand out and cracked him on the cheek with her palm.

The force of her blow sent his head reeling to the side. He flexed his jaw. Well, the lady could deliver quite a blow, and if he were being truthful with himself, it was a well-deserved one.

Horror filled her face. “I… Oh my… I …” Usually such stammering and incoherence was reserved for behind chamber doors. Though he suspected he’d have more of a likelihood of rousing such sentiments in any one of the most staid matrons at Almack’s than this disapproving, young lady.

He waved a hand. “No apologies are necessary, my lady.” Imogen, with her proud indignation, rose in his estimation. “That was uncalled for on my part.” He’d not debate the veracity of his words with her on the merits of ladies of the
ton
who carefully guarded their reputations and, when they eventually married, sought out the spare to an heir.

“It was,” Imogen said unapologetically. “Rude of you, that is.” She clasped her hands together and studied the interlocked digits. “Still, it would not do to hit you, Lord…Alex,” she amended at his pointed look.

“I have it!”

Their gazes swung in unison to the door. Chloe brandished a copy of the scandal page, a triumphant glimmer in her eyes. Then her smile died. She looked back and forth between him and Imogen. “What is it?”

Alex sketched a low bow. “Imogen was merely saying how anxious she was to begin your plan.” Whatever cracked scheme his sister had concocted.

Imogen’s eyebrows shot up.

“Splendid,” Chloe said with a widening smile.

Alex winked at Imogen and took his leave. At last, he knew what could be a good deal worse than being tasked with the role of chaperone.

It would be serving as a chaperone to that tart-mouthed, fiery crimson-curled, young lady.

Chapter 4

T
he following afternoon, in the marble foyer of his brother’s home, Alex pulled out his watch fob and consulted the gold timepiece. She was late. Nearly thirty-minutes late, and he noted that particular detail not because he gave a jot about timeliness or any such nonsense, but rather, until he saw to his responsibility, then he was otherwise prevented from spending his day as he wished—at his faro tables with a delectable beauty his only desired company for the night.

With a silent curse, he glanced up the staircase for a hint of his sister, damning Gabriel to the devil for the thousandth time that day. Chaperone. On a trip to Bond Street. Alex shuddered. The devil was likely exacting his due for all the sinful deeds Alex had been guilty of through the years. Bedding widows and other lightskirts. The excessive wagering. Oh, he had little plan to cease his roguish ways, but he could appreciate that his brother sought to punish the badness out of him.

Hadn’t Gabriel realized their father had tried at that? Tried and failed. Alex gave his head a disgusted shake. He should be at Forbidden Pleasures, a crimson beauty with a lush mouth and blue eyes curled on his lap. The rapid flow of thoughts came to a jarring halt. “Where in hell did that come from?”

“Where did what come from, sir?” the old, grey-haired butler asked in nasal tones.

He spun about. “Bloody hell, Joseph, must you scare a man?”

The ghost of a smile played about the lips of the servant who’d been with their family since the old monster of a marquess had been alive and in power, beating his children and… “My apologies, sir.” He held out Alex’s cloak.

With a murmured “thanks”, Alex shrugged into it. He shot another look up the staircase just as his sister appeared. “I’m so very glad you are able to join me.”

Joseph grinned, coughing into his hand to hide the expression of amusement.

Either ignoring or failing to hear his droll words, his sister bounded down the steps with a lack of ladylike decorum that would have shocked their mother. Alex had ceased being shocked by anyone and anything when he’d been a child who’d felt the fury of his father’s fists.

“Alex,” she greeted with a smile, as a footman rushed over with her cloak. “I hope you were not waiting long.”

“I was.” For a shopping trip that he wanted nothing to do with. The only shops he visited were to select fine baubles for well-sated mistresses, not wherever it is unwed innocents like his sister visited.

Joseph pulled the door open.

As though she’d not heard the dry reproach in his words, Chloe sailed outside and made her way to the waiting carriage. “I’m quite looking forward to our trip shopping.”

“You’ve never enjoyed a trip to Bond Street,” he mumbled. Not as a small girl when he’d thought to do a brotherly good deed and take her to the Bond Street Bazaar and not when she’d been a lady who’d made her Come Out and he’d escorted her one last time for a bonnet. Or had it been a ribbon?

Chloe beamed and tugged on her gloves. “No, that is true.” With that odd statement, she continued on, prattling about their plans for the afternoon, and then the evening, and then tomorrow evening and…God help him. They reached the front of the carriage and she gave a set of directions to the driver. She resumed her blurred ramblings. “…First we shall collect Imogen and…”

He blinked. “What?” Alex shot a hand out and blocked his sister’s ascent into the black lacquer conveyance.

“We’re to visit Bond Street.” Her lips formed a small moue of displeasure. “Do you listen to nothing I say?” With a beleaguered sigh, she slipped under his arm and scrambled into the carriage
sans
assistance.

With a silent curse, he climbed in after her. “Not that particular detail, Chloe. The other part.” About the tart-mouthed, crimson-curled beauty.

Chloe wrinkled her brow. “Do you refer to Imogen? Yes. We are to collect her.” A beleaguered sigh she’d likely learned at their mama’s knee, escaped her. “Really, Alex, I swear you listen to nothing I say.”

“I’m fairly certain you’d not mentioned this particular detail,” he said impatiently. This, this he would remember. Particularly after their volatile exchange yesterday morning.

“I didn’t?”

“You did not.”

A footman closed the door behind them and then the driver snapped the reins. The carriage lurched forward.

Chloe lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Regardless, even you realize we simply cannot leave her to her family. That wouldn’t be at all something a friend would do.”

That is hardly proper discourse for a lady and a gentleman, and one who is practically a stranger.
Considering the lady’s words and the fact that his skin still stung from her slap, there were no feelings of friendship on either of their parts. “No.” He’d been charged with chaperoning his sister. He’d not be tasked with the Lady Imogen and her disapproving eyes or frowning lips.

They are not always frowning. Sometimes they turn up in a seductive, enticing pull…

Chloe folded her arms mutinously across her chest. “Yes.”

He opened his mouth to call orders for the carriage to continue on directly to Bond Street, but an uncharacteristic somberness in his sister’s eyes stifled the words.

“Please, Alex. She cannot be alone. She is quite looking forward to this outing.” Of course. The trip to the shops at the famed shopping district had nothing to do with his pragmatic sister and everything to do with the young woman who’d snared and then lost a duke. “Surely you see she requires all the support she can find.”

You sir, are no friend…you are a stranger…

“It really is all rather tragic.” His sister’s lower lip trembled, hinting at the sadness she carried.

He shifted on the bench and resisted the urge to direct his eyes to the ceiling. “Tragic?”

“Her heart has been broken, Alex. She loved him.”

He snorted. “She loved his title.”

Chloe recoiled as though slapped. “How can you say that?”

“Rather easily,” he said with a bluntness that made her flinch. Guilt stirred, but he shoved it back. His sister’s naiveté and innocence would be the ruin of her if he weren’t careful. Perhaps he was the better chaperone for her, after all. His stodgy, stiff brother would fail to see the perils abounding throughout London for one such as Chloe.