The Last Rogue

For the life of him, Raleigh could never determine what he had done to earn her displeasure. Indeed, it was a shock to learn that anyone—besides his relatives—viewed him less than amiably. He was accounted a good friend, an amusing companion and generally decent fellow. Lud, he had no enemies. Yet a slip of a girl had given him the cut direct.

And she had grown into a woman whose opinion of him seemed little better. Although Raleigh could detect no lingering animosity in his Plain Jane, her contempt was prodigious enough to make up for it. “Hmm.” Not exactly what one looked for in a wife, Raleigh decided. Never one to stand in judgment himself, he wondered what gave this simple little vicar’s daughter such arrogance as to disdain him.

She was not much to look at, he thought, defiantly studying her as she slept. She had pillowed her cheek on one palm, an oddly disarming gesture that made her seem vulnerable. Ha! Raleigh choked back a laugh. The haughty chit was as unfeeling as a rock and about as much fun.

Her spectacles had slipped, revealing thick lashes that he had not suspected, and Raleigh realized that he had no idea what color her eyes were, only that they could not be the same unusual spring green of Charlotte’s or he would have noted it. Charlotte, of course, was a goddess, while Jane was more like one of those half-female monsters in the myths Wycliffe loved so well.

Actually, with her glasses and slender figure, she resembled her father, Raleigh admitted, but even though he held that kind, intelligent man in respect, Raleigh did not care to marry him. At least she wasn’t balding, he thought ruefully. Then he started forward in sudden alarm, his feet dropping to the floor as he wondered if she might be losing her hair, for she seemed to keep it covered with a nearly religious fervor. But no, he had glimpsed her braid, thick and full, down her straight back the morning of the wedding.

Raleigh sighed, relieved that Jane was in full possession of her locks, even if he rarely saw them. Inching toward the edge of his seat, he sought to determine her hair’s color, and found, to his delight, that a single, stray strand had escaped imprisonment to fall across one cheek. The fugitive revealed itself to be a rich, dark golden tone that gleamed when struck by the light.

Raleigh jerked back in surprise. Certainly it wasn’t the same daffodil yellow as her sister’s, nor did it curl in that cloudlike manner that Charlotte’s did, but it was not quite as dull as he had supposed.

Leaning forward once more, Raleigh wondered if he had misjudged her proportions also. His mother, horrified at his wife’s attire, had thrust one of his sister’s reworked gowns upon her, and he had to admit that the change was rather startling. Perhaps it was the garment, a mulberry traveling suit, that gave her hair sudden life. It was such a vivid change from the somber browns and grays Jane seemed to inhabit that she looked like a different person.

On the outside. She had exhibited her usual stubbornness when confronted with her new clothing, but since his mother had already instructed the maid to pack her other garments, Jane had had no choice but to comply. Raleigh grinned. Sometimes, one simply had to stand back and admire the countess’s methods—especially when one was not on the receiving end of them!

A soft sigh escaped her at that moment, and inexplicably, Raleigh was drawn toward it, his attention focused on her dainty mouth. Her lips, gently parted, were for once not pulled down in disapproval. They, too, seemed to reflect the color of her costume, becoming flush with life’s blood, soft and inviting.

Clearing his throat, Raleigh followed the line of her body lower. She had fashioned a scarf around her neck, but it had shifted during her sleep and he could see the pale gleam of skin. He sucked in a harsh breath. Somehow, just a glimpse of Jane’s usually covered flesh was shockingly enticing, probably because she hid so much of it. These days, when the fashions called for low-cut bodices and spilling breasts, Jane was an anomaly.

Adjusting his position, Raleigh tried to discern the curve of her bosom beneath the arm that rested across it. If his breath came a little quickly and his cheeks reddened like a schoolboy’s, it was only because Jane would probably do him murder if she discovered him looking at her body. She was his wife and more than discreetly clothed, but Raleigh knew full well she would view his perusal as a violation of her privacy.

Perhaps it was the flavor of the forbidden that lent his task such urgency, but Raleigh found himself drawing in a deep breath and leaning forward as far as he could. Unfortunately, his ill luck continued to run true, for at that exact moment, the road dipped, one wheel of the couch dropped suddenly, and Raleigh was jolted out of his seat to fall into the sleeping body of his bride.

When she awoke, breathless and sputtering, Raleigh sprawled back across the cushions opposite her with a pained expression. “Demned roads!” he cried indignantly. “A man can’t get a bit of rest!”

Groggy with sleep, Jane nonetheless shot him a suspicious glance that made him bite back a grin. Innocently laying his head back, Raleigh closed his eyes, but his thoughts were not quite as pure as he pretended, for he had discovered one thing when thrust forcefully into the arms of his wife.

She was a lot softer than she looked.

Jane trudged into the small parlor at the inn. She could not remember ever having felt so tired. Although the room was clean and cozy, the air redolent with the smell of good food, she could barely work up the energy to sit straight upon one of the chairs drawn before a small, worn oak table.

She realized, with a heavy heart, that the boys would have been thrilled to be on the road, but they, along with Charlotte and Carrie and Kit were the adventurous sort. She and dear, solid Sarah seemed to be the lone members of the family who craved hearth and home, happy, like their father, to putter about the house.

Yet Jane had spent the past two days rattling her bones in a coach, with only more long travel ahead of her in the stifling vehicle, feeling bored and hot and sorry for herself. She hated the close confines and longed for her own little spot of garden so much that she felt like weeping. She had tried to escape into dreams, but they were strange and restless, and after waking to find her husband in her lap this afternoon, Jane had been unable to close her eyes.

Raleigh was such a caution, she had immediately suspected him of some prank, but the roads were dreadful, and sometimes she had found it difficult to keep her own seat. She only wished that she had been awake to feel—no! Her cheeks flushed at the thought. She certainly did not crave any contact with her husband, and it was apparent that he was of a like mind.

For last night he had not come to her.

Jane had waited, half angry and half terrified at the notion of his touching her, of his doing the things Charlotte had talked about, only to fall asleep near dawn, alone in the huge bed at Westfield Park. At the memory, Jane shivered in reaction, for she should have known better than to wait. Hadn’t she learned long ago to harbor no expectations?

The bald truth was that she was too plain and provincial to appeal to anyone, even such a loose screw as Viscount Raleigh. The old, familiar despair washed over her, threatening to drown her, though she told herself she didn’t care. Raleigh meant nothing to her, and, indeed, she should be rejoicing over his neglect, for he was a coxcomb who had not a clear thought in his claret-addled brain.

The sound of his voice brought her upright, and Jane looked away into the empty grate, searching for telltale ashes from its last usage. “I have ordered us a nice roast goose, some tongue and a beef pie,” he said jovially, as if he positively thrived on sitting cooped up in a carriage all day. He probably did, for it certainly required no effort on his part, and Raleigh excelled at doing nothing.

“And do I get something to eat, too?” Jane asked, her voice brittle.

“What’s this? The wench makes a joke! By Jove, I don’t believe it!” Raleigh crowed like a child with a treat. “There’s hope for you yet, love.” The careless endearment ran along Jane’s strained nerves to hang in the silence that followed until she could bear it no longer. Sensing his eyes upon her, she pushed up from her seat.

“Stop ogling me!” she snapped, walking toward the window.

“As you say,” Raleigh muttered. Was that hurt she heard in his tone? Impossible! The man was a thoughtless japer, who danced through life without a care, and Jane was certain that her trifling words could not affect him in the slightest. “You’ll forgive me, if I wish a breath of fresh air,” he said with unfamiliar brusqueness. It made Jane feel like calling him back and apologizing. But for what? For hating his eyes upon her, judging and condemning?

Still, Jane might have gone after him, but for the arrival of the maid that the countess had thrust upon her. The French-born Madeleine might boast an exceptional education, followed by extensive training at Westfield Park, but she made her new mistress ill at ease. Jane was not accustomed to such personal attention, even at Casterleigh, and she got the distinct impression that Madeleine was not eager to leave her prestigious household for less lofty service.

After her attempts at conversation were met with little response, Jane fell silent, and in the ensuing quiet, she had a good long while to regret her earlier temper. She knew she spoke sharply to Raleigh out of her own fears and melancholy, but this marriage was not his fault, and he had been more than civil toward her. He deserved the same.

Determined to be more her father’s daughter, Jane waited for her husband to join her, but supper arrived without the viscount. The maid, dispatched to check on him, returned to announce coolly that Jane was to take her meal without him. And so she did, feeling oddly bereft without his presence. No doubt he was drinking and carousing in the common room, Jane told herself disdainfully, but somehow she could not shrug off a glimmer of guilt that she had sent him away with her tart tongue.

There were times, living in the vicarage, surrounded by siblings, when Jane had longed for peace and quiet, and that urge probably accounted for her escape into her gardening. But now, alone in a strange place and facing an uncertain future, she took no pleasure from her solitude.

Nor was she pleased to discover that she was sharing a room with the rather forbidding Madeleine. Although Jane knew she ought to be relieved to escape the awkward business of being confined with her new husband, somehow Raleigh’s amiable presence seemed preferable to the maid’s haughty superiority.

Nonsense, Jane told herself as she crawled alone into the big bed. It hardly mattered who was with her, for after her fitful night at Westfield Park, she should sleep like a stone. However, such escape did not immediately come. Noises from the yard below seemed loud through the open window, and despite her weariness, Jane lay stiffly on the lumpy bed with her eyes wide open.

For the first time since waking up yesterday morning in Charlotte’s yellow bedroom, she was homesick. She yearned for the comforting sound of the boys’ voices, raised in a low argument, Carrie’s soft chatter or the warmth of Jenny, crawling beside her after a nightmare.

Shutting her eyes against the tears that threatened, Jane told herself that she was not alone, but the maid’s even breathing from the corner cot bespoke her sleep and offered no comfort. Indeed, the longer Jane lay awake, the more she found herself longing for the one familiar face in her changing world.

It was the face of perfection, with heavy-lidded blue eyes that always held a mocking gleam—as if their owner was secretly amused by everything, including himself. Yet his disarming grin was free from malice. Indeed, it was hard to imagine Raleigh in a temper. Still, he had avoided her this evening, Jane knew full well. Was he displeased by their marriage or angry over her sharp remarks? Or was it simply the way of things? What if he meant to avoid her…forever? Charlotte often spoke of such marriages, where the spouses lived separately.

Jane felt nervous sweat break out upon her brow as she realized that she had no idea what Raleigh had planned for her. Aware that he was to go to Northumberland, she had simply assumed that she would accompany him, but what if he left her in London, alone and friendless? Worse yet, what if he sent her back to Westfield Park? The thought of trying to live with his parents made her perspire in earnest.

Now she regretted those long hours in the coach when she might have discussed their situation more openly instead of disdaining Raleigh’s very presence. Whether she liked it or not, marriage bound her to him, and as her husband he wielded enormous power over her life. The thought made Jane shiver with fear and regret. She should have argued with Charlotte and defied them all, instead of wedding this than! In the darkness of a strange inn, far away from home, Jane could not even remember why she had ever weakened.

And now it was too late. Jane let the tears flow readily as the full import of her situation sank down upon her like a weight, cold, heavy and unyielding. What had she done? And what could the future hold except loneliness?

Chapter Four (#ulink_619c9f00-dd2b-5e7f-b9af-3b69152734c0)

Raleigh strode toward the coach without his usual careless grace. He had been forced to dress himself, after having borrowed one of his parents’ servants for the task yesterday, and he vowed never again to get so drunk that he left on a trip without his valet.

He had kept that stricture firmly in mind last night when the conviviality of his fellow patrons tempted him to indulge too well, for he did not want to get himself in another scrape—or any deeper into this one. When, sometime after finishing his first bottle, he found his thoughts drifting more and more frequently to his virginal bride, whose stiff demeanor, he had discovered, did not extend to her gently curved body, Raleigh had taken himself firmly off to bed—alone.

And so this morning he had arisen feeling pleased with himself for both his good judgment and well-being, having managed to avoid the headache that sometimes plagued him after a night of too much drinking. Unfortunately, his neck cloth had given him difficulties and his coat needed pressing, which soured his mood. He hated to appear at anything less than his best, even if he could look forward to nothing but a day of travel with his wife.

Raleigh’s steps slowed, and he wished for a moment that he had the blunt to hire a horse to ride alongside the carriage. Although usually content to relax in the luxuriously appointed vehicle, he had a yearning to escape his suddenly waspish wife. Lud, the chit’s form might be softer than he had ever imagined, but her tongue was far sharper. Raleigh shuddered, then nearly groaned aloud as he saw the driver help her into the main coach. All hopes that she would choose to sit with her maid died a swift death as he steeled himself to join her.

“Good morning,” he said as cheerfully as he could at this early hour. “I trust you breakfasted well.” Having sent a tray up to her chamber so that he could eat in the common room among his fellows, Raleigh was hoping she would view his act as one of thoughtfulness.

Apparently not. From the sour expression on her face, one would have thought Jane had dined solely upon lemons, and Raleigh braced himself for a set-down. But she only nodded and thanked him, which made him study her more closely. Her face was pale, making Raleigh hope that she wasn’t coming down with anything. Lud, what would he do with a sick female?

“And you?” she asked, raising her gaze to his. Raleigh was startled by the force of it, evident even through the spectacles, and he found himself wondering what she would look like without them. He had never noticed their color, but now, seeing her bathed in the sunlight filtering through the windows, Raleigh realized that her eyes were, indeed, green. Not the unusual springtime shade of Charlotte’s, they were a richer, more sultry color that reminded him of lush plants he had seen only in conservatories.

Jane exotic? The notion brought him up short, and Raleigh realized he was staring at her. Glancing away, he tried to remember what she had asked him. Eh, yes, breakfast!

“Hmm. Quite so. Simple fare, but filling!” he said, patting his stomach. Then he had the odd experience of seeing her attention dip to his flat abdomen and linger there a moment before fleeing. Gad, she was probably taking offense at his vulgarity. At a loss, Raleigh cleared his throat and wondered how the deuce they were to get on when she objected to nearly everything he said.