A Rogue to Remember Read online

  Lovely Lottie, nineteen and fresh out of finishing school, on the night of her coming out ball. Though most girls were eager to debut at seventeen or eighteen, she claimed the thought filled her with dread, so she had asked Sir Alfred to delay her own, and he had been happy to oblige her.

  She and Alec had not seen one another since a brief visit at Christmas, as Sir Alfred had sent Alec to help with the excavation of a Roman ruin outside Edinburgh once he completed his master’s work. It had been a thinly disguised punishment for Alec’s reluctance to join the Foreign Office. Though he secretly harbored hopes to return to Oxford and become a history lecturer, Alec had dutifully gone to Scotland as a kind of mea culpa. Yet when the opportunity arose to escape the dig for a day or two, he didn’t think twice. Not even the threat of invoking his guardian’s legendary ire could keep him from this.

  In their letters, Lottie admitted to feeling nervous at the prospect of waltzing in public: You know what a tomboy I always was. Now I can’t help but worry I’ll step on a gentleman’s toe or turn the wrong way.

  Alec wrote back that he had complete faith in her abilities but promised to waltz with her himself one day: I’ll gladly sacrifice a toe for the honor.

  So of course he would take the train down from Edinburgh.

  Of course he would buy a new pair of evening gloves, both expensive and impractical.

  Of course he would surprise her.

  She was his oldest friend. A sister, really.

  Except his friends didn’t seem to cherish letters from their own sisters, half of which were written in ciphers they created, or talk about them quite so much. Alec had never noticed how often he mentioned Lottie until another fellow on the dig made a crack about apron strings. Alec asked if he wanted to settle it outside. He didn’t, but Alec made sure never to mention Lottie again, either.

  Lottie was his secret. His safe space. His home.

  And he would never do anything to jeopardize that.

  When Alec arrived at Sir Alfred’s grand town house in South Kensington, rather than have the hackney cab pull up alongside some of the finest carriages in the empire, Alec requested to be dropped off across the street. He had learned long ago how to navigate these upper echelons—smiling through the subtle jabs, laughing at his own expense first and loudest, showing that he knew he wasn’t one of them and didn’t particularly care. It was true most of the time. And much easier when he wasn’t surrounded by the wealth and status he would never possess.

  He watched as fashionably late guests entered the stately home just in time for the dancing to begin before looking toward the darkened landscape of Hyde Park close by. He and Lottie had mostly been together at Haverford, the Lewis family seat in Surrey. But on the rare occasions when they both weren’t away at school and found themselves in London, they had spent drowsy afternoons wandering around the park with picnic baskets and one of Lottie’s hawk-eyed governesses.

  A kind of wistfulness came over him as he stood there in the shadows, listening to the easy laughter floating across the road. The men’s freshly polished shoes glinted in the gaslight while they escorted women in glittering gowns that cost more than most people’s annual salaries. Alec’s own evening suit was in excellent condition, but it was also four years out of fashion, and someone was sure to remark upon it at some point this evening. As with everything else of quality he possessed, it had been given to him by Sir Alfred. Alec took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. “Remember why you’re here,” he muttered. Then, before he could lose his nerve entirely, he set off across the street, but instead of joining the increasingly long line of guests at the front entrance, he headed toward the back of the house.

  The kitchen was a madhouse, with servants rushing back and forth as Mrs. Houston barked orders. She traveled between London and Surrey at Sir Alfred’s insistence, and was considered one of the most exacting housekeepers in the city. Many had attempted to lure her to their own households over the years, but Mrs. Houston turned them all down.

  As soon as she spotted Alec, her commanding expression melted into a heart-stopping smile. She gave a few more directions to a footman, then came over. “Oh, it’s such a treat to see you here, Alec,” she said as she grasped his hands. She still retained a soft lilt from a childhood spent in Ireland’s West Country, and her doe-brown eyes glistened with genuine warmth as she took him in. “My goodness, how handsome you look!”

  Alec couldn’t help blushing at the compliment and glanced down at the remarkably spotless floor. “Commanding the troops, I see. Don’t go too hard on them now,” he teased.

  Mrs. Houston threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, they’re useless. The lot of them,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But it will do for tonight.”

  She had been a great beauty once, and was handsome still, yet she had never married, preferring instead to dedicate her life to Sir Alfred. Alec had never given it much thought when he was younger, but now he suspected something far greater than money had kept her in the Lewis household all these years.

  “And Miss Lottie will be so pleased you’ve come,” she added, watching him carefully.

  Mrs. Houston had been a sort of motherly figure to both Lottie and himself. Back in Surrey they had often spent rainy afternoons in front of the hearth in her sitting room, sharing cups of milky tea and listening to stories of her wild Irish childhood. Alec could nearly taste the shortbread she always served.

  He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and forced a smile. “I noticed quite the well-heeled crowd outside. No doubt she’s too busy dancing with a duke to pay me any mind.”

  To his amazement, Mrs. Houston reached out and cupped his face right there in the kitchen. Her sharp gaze had always fascinated and repelled him. She seemed to know things, deep things, about people only by looking at them. “My boy, we both know that is impossible.”

  His cheek heated under her palm, which was rough from decades of work. She gave him another warm smile, but there was no hiding the sadness in her eyes as she pulled away. “Now, get out of the way,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Unless you plan to play footman for the night.”

  “I trust you don’t want Sir Alfred’s expensive champagne to end up on the guests,” he quipped, relieved to retreat back into the safe confines of good-natured banter.

  “Off with you, then.”

  Alec did as he was told and traveled up a back staircase that deposited him into a hallway near the receiving room. As was usually the case, Sir Alfred was surrounded by a circle of admirers of all ages looking every inch the distinguished pillar of society in his black tails and carefully styled salt-and-pepper hair. He guarded his reputation as fiercely as the Crown’s secrets and had never been attached to even a whiff of scandal.

  Taking in the son of the tragic poet Edward Gresham, and so soon after assuming guardianship of his niece, only increased his already esteemed character. Now in the autumn of his life, Sir Alfred was thoroughly above reproach. Virtually untouchable.

  And if he weren’t a man of honor, that could make him very dangerous.

  “Alec! Isn’t this a welcome surprise.” He reached out and gave him an enthusiastic handshake. Anyone else would think Sir Alfred was speaking the truth, but Alec had spent almost as much time at the poker table fleecing his wealthy classmates as he had in the Bodleian Library. Now he was much more adept at noticing the small details that gave people away. Sir Alfred’s tell was a slight tapping of his right foot. The man was profoundly annoyed, and Alec couldn’t fathom why. He had been wallowing in icy mud for months now. Other members of the excavation team were given leave if they could be spared. And Alec certainly hadn’t shirked any of his duties in coming here.

  Sir Alfred pulled him closer and lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Don’t tell me you came from downstairs. How egalitarian of you.” Alec ignored the remark as the crowd of sycophants chuckled along with him.

  “I hope you don’t mind the imposition, sir, but I couldn’t mis
s Lottie’s first ball.” Alec gave him a sincere look and held on to his hand a moment longer than was polite. “I’m staying with a friend nearby, so I won’t trouble you for a room.”

  Never mind that the massive town house had upward of eight bedrooms.

  “Of course not.” Sir Alfred flashed him a cool smile. “She will be delighted.”

  As a committed bachelor, Sir Alfred wasn’t in the habit of entertaining, but he had spared no expense that night for his beloved niece. The ballroom of the lavish town house was transformed into an enchanted garden with live trees, fresh flowers, and lights covered by shades with drawings of fairies. Alec couldn’t stop smiling as he moved through the crush of people. If only he could have seen the look on Lottie’s face when she first entered. She must have been delighted. He searched and searched but couldn’t catch sight of Lottie’s cinnamon hair.

  Finally he recognized Miss Abigail Thorne, Lottie’s closest friend from school, though in her low-cut gown and massive crown of curls, she bore little resemblance to the awkward creature he had met only last summer. “Miss Thorne! I’m looking for the lady of the hour. Where is she?”

  “Why hello, Mr. Gresham.” She gave him a simpering smile and fluttered her eyelashes. “I didn’t know you would be here.” Someone moved behind her, and the young lady took the opportunity to press against Alec’s side.

  “It’s a surprise.” Alec smiled tightly as she placed her hand on his arm.

  But she didn’t seem to hear a word over the din of the crowd, though she did use the noise level as an excuse to lean closer to his ear. “Wherever have you been all this time? Don’t tell me Lottie’s been keeping you away with her upstairs.”

  “I’ve only just arrived. She’s upstairs?”

  “Yes.” Miss Thorne scoffed. “Lord Exeter made a joke. He’s very droll, you know. A renowned wit. But of course Lottie mistook him. She didn’t say anything—Lord Exeter couldn’t even tell she was offended—but went directly to her room. That was nearly thirty minutes ago. People will start to notice soon. Really, it’s so unbecoming to exhibit such childish behavior during her own debut. If I had done such a thing at mine—”

  “Thank you, Miss Thorne. I must go.” Alec pried her hand off him and maneuvered through the crowd. He exited the ballroom and took the servants’ staircase up to the third floor, where Lottie’s room overlooked the back garden. Her bedroom door was opened a crack, and a sliver of light illuminated the hall. The rich carpet masked Alec’s footfalls as he spied Lottie sitting on her bed with her back to the door. She wore an ivory satin ballgown that exposed a good bit of her slumped shoulders. Only in private would she allow her true feelings to show.

  That old familiar surge of protectiveness flooded through Alec. Wit or no, Lord Exeter would not leave without hearing from him. He pushed the door open and Lottie turned around. Her cheeks were streaked with recently shed tears.

  Lord Exeter might encounter his fists as well.

  Lottie peered into the dark hallway as she hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “Is someone there?”

  If Alec could have captured one perfect image from his entire life, it would have been the moment he stepped into Lottie’s bedroom. No one had ever looked so overjoyed, so relieved to see him. Not before, and certainly not since.

  “Surprise,” he said with a smile as he held out his arms.

  “Alec!” Lottie sprang up from the bed and ran right to him. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. Alec hugged her close, not like he had in many years. Not since they were both children. But he hadn’t missed the way Lottie’s perfectly cut gown clung to her figure, or how her elegant coiffure, far more refined than Miss Thorne’s, showcased her delicate, heart-shaped face. She had grown into a beautiful young woman.

  “Did the excavation finish early? Uncle Alfred said it wouldn’t end until December.” She pulled back. “Or have you come to tell him about Oxford?”

  Lottie was the only one who knew of his secret wish. Her face was so full of fragile hope that Alec had to press his lips together to hold back the grimace. “No, it’s still going on. I could only get away for the night,” he reluctantly admitted. “And I…I haven’t decided about Oxford yet.”

  What a coward he was.

  “Oh.” She lowered her head, not even bothering to hide her disappointment.

  He placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up. The sheen in her eyes tore at his heart. “Dear girl, I came here for you. Now, tell me. Why are you in your room?”

  She shook her head. “It’s so silly. Really.”

  “Tell me.” He gripped her shoulders and leaned his head closer to hers. Lord, had her eyes always been such a brilliant shade of green? However had he not noticed?

  “It was only something Lord Exeter said,” she demurred. “He was trying to be funny. I think.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  Lottie’s eyes widened at his dark tone, then she looked away. “He remarked on the number of guests in attendance, then said they all must have come to get a glimpse of Sir Alfred, as I certainly wasn’t the draw,” she explained with a wince, flushing with embarrassment at the memory. “He’s right, of course. I’m hardly the most promising debutante of the season, but he said it in front of so many people. And most of them laughed…”

  Alec inhaled slowly, controlling the anger that suddenly thundered through him. Her familiar rosewater scent further calmed him. “He’s not a wit. He’s an ass. Forget about him.”

  Lottie’s lips parted in shock, but then her gaze turned adoring. Alec nearly lost his breath. She hadn’t looked at him quite like that since she was a young girl. He’d forgotten how powerful her admiration made him feel. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with a dangerous new awareness.

  He patted her arm. “Come. I want a waltz.” The idea of going back downstairs where any man could dance with her, touch her, whisper sweet words to her, was suddenly unbearable. But they needed to get out of this room before he was tempted to keep her there.

  “Oh, no. I feel so silly now—”

  Alec grabbed her hand and pressed his thumb against her wrist. Her pulse was steady, strong, and swift. “Please, Lottie. Do it for an old man like me.” He moved his thumb in small circles and her heart beat even faster. As she stared at him, the very nature of the air seemed to change. They were no longer Lottie and Alec, but something more. Something that had been building for years, steadily growing without either of them noticing. But it had been there all along, biding its time. In every letter, every charged silence, every accidental touch.

  And Alec could no longer ignore it.

  “All right,” she said softly.

  He smiled and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was. Because it always had been.

  Alec let her enter the ballroom a few minutes ahead of him to avoid any hint of a scandal, then proceeded to dance with her not once, but three times. Sir Alfred’s frown seemed to deepen a little more with every turn, but Alec was tired of living to please that man. Not if he could live to please someone else.

  As the night wore on, Alec laughed harder than he had in ages, while Lottie radiated with a happiness he hadn’t seen in years. And slowly, all his reservations dimmed. Though he bore no title, was not even recognized by his own family, and had no inheritance beyond the pittance his father’s copyright earned, he had a world-class education and, more important, a driving hunger to succeed. Perhaps that could be enough.

  By the end of their final waltz, Alec had made a decision. He drew Lottie a touch closer than propriety deemed appropriate and lowered his voice. “May I call on you tomorrow morning, before I return to Scotland?”

  She beamed up at him. “Of course. Did you think to slip away without saying a proper goodbye?”

  Alec grinned. “I could never dream of doing such a thing.”

  If there was even the slighte
st chance she would have him, he was going to marry Lottie Carlisle one day. And no one would stop him.

  Chapter Five

  Alec awoke to purple dawn breaking across the Tuscan sky and a nasty crick in his neck. He was twenty-eight. Far too old to sleep on a cold stone floor. He sat up with a grunt and rubbed his throbbing shoulder. A bullet had gone clean through the top over two years ago during a skirmish in a Turkish market, and Alec was usually fastidious about the injury, but that simply hadn’t been possible last night. Then his eyes fell on the very reason for his negligence.

  Lottie slept peacefully, her hair splayed across the pillows like a lush, russet crown.

  He had risked his life countless times over, fought hand-to-hand with men hell-bent on killing him, looked death straight in its black, bloodless eye, and he had always kept his head. But catching just a glimpse of Lottie behind the dressing screen last night, knowing how close he was to her barely clad figure, had strung him tighter than a bow. Hours later and he was still ready to snap. He felt like the favored target of a vengeful, ancient God. Having his heart cut out every night only to awaken and find it whole again.

  Alec imagined climbing in beside her and drawing her sleeping form against his chest. He would bury his face against her neck, her hair, her soft skin, and wake his wild maiden slowly with gentle kisses until she gave him a drowsy, knowing smile. Then he would roll her body beneath his own and all her treasures would finally be his.

  If only they could stay right here, forever.

  Alec pressed his head against his palms and breathed deeply, ridding the fantasy from his mind. For that was all it was. He certainly hadn’t imagined Lottie’s full-bodied flinch when he held her hand last night, nor the look of sheer terror when she thought they might have had to share a bed. And thank God for that.

  All he had to do was bring her to London. They could be there in four days. If he bungled this up in any way, Sir Alfred could end his career. Then Alec would truly be left with nothing.