The Redemption of a Rogue (Dark Regency Book 2) (2 page)

Michael knew enough about ghosts already. “Thank you for the advice, Miss Barrows.”

~*~*~

Abbi walked out of the study and up the stairs, turning into the same chamber that had been hers since she’d left the nursery. It was far from luxurious. The walls were bare stone, many of the tapestries long since sold to pay the servants or the butcher. The four poster bed was hung with green velvet to keep out the chill of winter nights, though the fabric was faded with age. She collected her nicest gowns from the wardrobe, knowing even as she did that they would not be suitable for her Lavinia’s lavish lifestyle. She packed them carefully into her valise, along with her brush and assortment of hair pins.

Carefully, she placed her mother’s pearls in the bag, as well. They were the one item of value that she’d never considered parting with. A miniature of her parents followed, and then she was done. It was a sad testament to the level of poverty she had sunk to that all of her worldly possessions would fit into one bag.

How different her life would be, she thought, if her father still lived, or her stepmother. That Thomas, Lord Allerton, had inherited the hall, and thus guardianship of her was nightmarish. As the house was not entailed, there was no legal reason to prevent him from putting it up. It had been her home, inherited by her father from a distant relative. Upon his death, as an unmarried woman, she had not been given the option of seeing to her own finances. They had instead been entrusted to a man who would bet against rain even as the first drop fell.

In five years, she had gone from a fairly comfortable lifestyle of moderate wealth to chasing a deranged feline because she couldn’t afford to replace a simple quill. Now she was off to her sister and her lecherous brother in law. There were worse fates than having one’s fortune entrusted to a wastrel like Allerton, and she was on the verge of encountering it first hand.

She carried the bag downstairs but Mrs. Wolcot, the housekeeper, was nowhere to be found and her brother, Willis, was still at the gate. Lord Ellersleigh was there, where he promptly took the case from her. He carried it outside to a waiting horse, saddled for her. It had to have been done by him as there was no one else. He assisted her with her mount and handed the bag up to her.

“Thank you again, Lord Ellersleigh. You have been most kind,” she offered. It was true. He was allowing her to keep her things, to take one of the mounts that now belonged to him.

Michael stared up at her, “I have robbed you of your home, Miss Barrows. That is hardly a kindness.”

“You did not. Lord Allerton robbed me of my home, and you have been most gracious in permitting me to take my personal items with me. Good day, Lord Ellersleigh.”

Michael watched her ride away, feeling more like a villain than he ever had.

Chapter Three

A day later, Michael was an honored guest in the home of Lord and Lady Whitby. He had accepted their invitation to dinner only because he wished to see Miss Barrows again and assure himself that she was suffering no ill effects of her unanticipated eviction. Michael was a rake, a well known one, but he did not move in the same circles as the Whitby's. They preferred darker entertainments much like the previous Duchess of Briarleigh.

He was not the only guest. Lord Allerton was in attendance, as well as other prominent locals. Miss Barrows was seated far down the table. Though the hostess was her sister, she was relegated to a position at the table that might have been more appropriate to that of a companion than a guest or family member. It was telling.

Her gown was old and worn, though of good quality. The muslin was pale and did not truly suit her dramatic coloring, though the neckline revealed a charming amount of cleavage. Her hair was dressed similarly to the first time he saw her, a collection of tight braids interwoven, though a bit higher on her head this time and adorned with a simple silver comb. She looked effortlessly lovely, a far cry from the other women present.

“Lord Ellersleigh, tell me about London! I have missed the excitement of the city so!” Lavinia gushed. She had seated him to her right, and with every statement she clutched his arm. At one point, beneath the table, she had even clutched his thigh.

“I have not been much in town,” he said, “I have been visiting at Briarwood Hall for an extended period.”

“Ah, yes! I had heard that his grace, Lord Briarleigh, had remarried. What a shame about Lady Elise…We were quite good friends, you know.”

He did know. It only added to his distaste for her. Elise, the former duchess had been evil, spiteful, and wicked. There was no sin she would not commit. “I was aware of your connection,” he said simply and hoped the matter would be at end.

Lavinia leaned forward so that her bosom pressed against his arm. In a conspiratorial tone, she asked, “Was she really haunting Briarwood Hall? Did you see her ghost there?”

“Idle gossip,” he replied, evading the question even as he shifted in his chair to evade her touch. “Tell me, Lady Whitby, do you intend to return to London for the little season?”

She smiled, “Perhaps I will have all the entertainment I desire right here, Lord Ellersleigh.”

She might, Michael thought, but it would not be him. Lavinia left him utterly cold. He continued to dance about her prying questions even as her husband entered the conversational arena.

"Ellersleigh, I understand your father was something of a collector of Greco-Roman artifacts!"

Michael nodded. "Indeed, he amassed a rather impressive collection prior to his passing. I have not yet cataloged it in its entirety."

"Some of those artifacts are quite risque! Should be inspiring work." Rupert was amused at his own wit, but his chuckle gave way to a cough.

Michael was nonplussed by the man's attempt at humor. "If one finds blood sacrifice entertaining... most o my father's artifacts pertain to cults and rituals. It's hardly lighthearted fare!"

Rupert nodded, having collected himself. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "I have quite a collection of my own, Ellersleigh. If you find yourself eager to be rid of such dark objects, I'd happily take them off your hands."

Michael gave a noncommittal nod. Doing any sort of business with the Whitby's was ill advised. Rumors abounded over the state of their finances. If he sold his father's collection, it would be to someone who could actually pay for it.

After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room while the men retreated to the library for brandy and cigars and the ubiquitous discussion of investments, politics, hunting, and horses. As conversation went, it was dreadfully dull. Not that the ladies' conversation would be any livelier. Dresses and balls held little interest for him, but at least the view would be better.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, they rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room. He hoped to find a moment to speak with Miss Barrows, but she had retreated to her room, banished most likely. It didn’t take him long to understand why.

Liquor and other vices began to flow freely in the drawing room, and many of the guests began to indulge in more libidinous pursuits. More than ever, he needed to assure himself that she was well, and then escape the pit of vipers. With that in mind, Michael made a beeline for the doors but was abruptly halted.

Lord Allerton was well into his cups. He’d arrived for dinner already foxed and had continued to consume copious amounts of wine throughout. As the party descended into something more suited to the front room of a brothel, Allerton seemed only to wish to fight.

“There is nothing so dishonorable as a man who will cheat at cards!” Allerton said loudly. Though it wasn’t a direct challenge or insult, it was near enough to have several of the guests gasping with dismay.

“Are you enjoying your new home, Lord Ellersleigh?” he demanded. The question had been worded politely, but the drunken sneer robbed it of any semblance of propriety.

“There is much to recommend it, Allerton. Excuse me, please,” Michael said, and retreated to the garden. At least Allerton's tantrum had offered him a reasonable excuse to vacate the thinly veiled orgy. He walked down a darkened path that led alongside the house, hoping to avoid confrontation. Allerton was an ass, and a drunken one, but Michael did not wish to be put in the position of having to call him out. He had done enough shooting in the army. Putting a pistol ball in another human being was not an experience he wished to repeat any time soon.

“It is so nice and quiet out here, Lord Ellersleigh… I am glad you found a private spot where we could be alone.”

Michael groaned as he turned around to see Lady Lavinia behind him. She had followed him. The dancing slippers dangling from her fingers accounted for his not having heard her approach. The hunger on her face was evident. She made no attempt to conceal the carnal nature of her intentions. Even as he looked at her, she brought her hand to her neckline; one carmine tinted finger dipping beneath the fabric. 

“You should return to your guests, Lady Whitby,” he said evenly.

Lavinia laughed and continued to approach him. “You needn’t worry about my husband, Lord Ellersleigh. He doesn’t mind that I pursue other avenues of satisfaction. He encourages it actually… Your prowess is legendary. Perhaps we could demonstrate for him?”

“It isn’t fear of your husband, madam; it is a lack of interest,” he said bluntly. It had become alarmingly apparent that subtlety would not discourage her.

“You appear to have some interest,” she said, reaching forward to press her hand against the front of his breeches.

Michael pulled back, pushing her away from him. It had been his thoughts of Miss Barrows who had prompted his physical response.

He had been staring at her during dinner, in her simple dress, with her neck and shoulders bared by her restrained coiffure. The hint of cleavage revealed by her gown was far more appealing than Lavinia’s breasts that were all but bared before him.

When she reached for him again, Michael gripped her wrist, the pressure painful but not damaging, “Return to the house, Lady Lavinia, and find some other stud to service you. I haven’t the stomach for it.”

She hissed at him, like a spitting cat. “Then why did you accept my invitation? If you weren’t seeking a liaison with me, why did you come?”

Michael rolled his eyes heavenward, and a pale figure on the balcony above caught his eye. Abigail was seated on a narrow ledge outside the window, not even a true balcony, but a decorative edifice. She was near enough to see, but too far to hear what had been spoken in hushed tones. With a silent curse, he said, “We are neighbors. I had hoped to be on friendly terms…Apparently the terms are not as friendly as you would wish.”

“It’s her, isn’t it? My dear stepsister has caught your eye!” she said. “Well I wish you the best of luck with her, my lord, for she’s as cold as they come!”

“I apologize for any offense to you, Lady Lavinia. I have no interest in your sister other than to be certain she did not suffer any ill effects after being so unceremoniously evicted from her home.”

“The great libertine and the frigid spinster! Your cock would freeze before you ever got her thighs parted!” The words were full of venom as she turned away, stalking towards the house.

Michael watched her go with a mixture of horror and relief. It was no wonder she’d been such good friends with Elise; he thought. When she was out of sight, he turned to the balcony and the pale form of Miss Barrows. She steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. He moved to stand beneath the balcony, and in his best impression of a lovesick calf said, “What light through yonder window breaks, it is the east and Juliet is the sun!”

She still did not look at him, but muttered something that sounded vaguely like “Arrogant ass.” He bit back a chuckle and considered his next course of action. In for a penny, he thought, and began to climb the tree that grew adjacent to the balcony, thankful for its convenient placement.

When he reached the balcony, he peered over the stone rail into a pale face. In the night, her brown eyes appeared black, shining like obsidian. The silvery light was kind to her, illuminating her alabaster skin and highlighting the lovely curves of her face. Her hair spilled over her shoulder in a braid that was nearly as thick as his wrist.

She was infinitely appealing, and he wished he could blame it on the moonlight, but he suspected it was something else altogether. He noted that she wore only a nightdress and a wrapper. It was an unusual choice for the weather. Perhaps spying was not her intent after all.

He chuckled, “Have you locked yourself out?”

“Shh,” she hissed and glanced quickly in the window. “You must be quiet,” she whispered, “And you must leave at once.”

“I’ve only just arrived,” he protested.

She finally looked at him, only to shush him again. “Be quiet!”

Michael smiled, “Why are you spying on me, fair Juliet?”

She glanced over her shoulder again, peering into the room behind her and whatever she had seen reassured her enough to answer. “It isn’t spying! I was here first! Now you must go back inside before we are both caught!”

Michael didn’t listen. He gripped one of the limbs of the tree and hauled himself up, climbing higher until they were face to face. He looked past her into the room and what he saw made his blood run cold.

Lord Rupert was inside the room, asleep in a chair. “Why is your brother in law in your chamber?” She didn’t answer, but he hadn’t expected her to.

There were only a couple of plausible explanations for the situation, but only one was likely. It was also infuriating. He might not always adhere to the mandates of proper behavior, but he had never made advances on a woman in his household, and certainly not when those advances were so obviously unwelcome. But since his night blooming rose seemed somewhat skittish, he kept his tone light and teasing. “So, this is his room and you are a dirty, little sneak, spying on him, just as you spied on me. Or this is your room, and you’re hiding from a drunken lothario… Which is it?”

Abigail glanced behind her again, assuring herself that Rupert slumbered on, “It’s the latter! And I wasn’t spying on you. I have no other option, but to be out here!”

He glanced in the room again. “So, it would seem. Tell me, fair Juliet, does your sister know what her husband is about?” He feared that he knew the answer to that already.

“It’s none of your concern,” she said, sharply.

Her reply confirmed his fears. Lavinia was well aware of her husband’s intentions. The realization that Allerton’s recklessness and his own carelessness had put her firmly in Rupert’s grasp did not sit well with him. “Has your dear brother in law been successful in his attempts to rob you of your virtue, Miss Barrows?”

“This is terribly improper and you must leave at once!”

Even in the dim light, the heightened color of her cheeks was obvious. He couldn’t help but find her amusing. She was sitting on the balcony in her night clothes advising him of what was proper. Her behavior was quite at odds with her current predicament. But then he supposed that if she were a typical female, she would have succumbed to a fit of vapors, and been both ravished and ruined. He had to admire her ingenuity, if nothing else.

She shifted, and he saw her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightgown. It reminded him of just how perilously cold it was outside, especially when one was not properly outfitted. She had to be freezing.

The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped considerably that day. Tooms, his valet, whose joints predicted the weather with shocking accuracy or so he had been told, was preparing for snow. His amusement, though not entirely abated, was somewhat displaced by a concern that was somewhat disturbing in its intensity. “How long have you been out here?”

She honestly had no idea. “I came up right after dinner… Rupert followed not long after.”

Michael recalled Rupert making his excuses and leaving them standing in the library, which meant that she had been out there for nearly an hour. He wanted nothing more than to open her window, enter that room and beat her brother-in-law senseless. While that might salvage her virtue, it would do little for her reputation. It would do even less for his bachelorhood.