Gone With the Rogue Read online

  Her quizzical gaze connected with his again. “Yes, all of these sound very clever. What about a false-bottomed or secret drawer in a desk?”

  “That would work.” He nodded. “But it would probably be the first place someone would look. If you are going to hide something, you need to make it difficult to get to. Usually, people who are looking for an object have very little time. The harder you make it for them, the better.”

  “Yes. I see what you mean. Thank you for sharing your insights on this with me.”

  Lady Kitson smiled at him and Garrett’s stomach tightened. “Do you need my help with something, Lady Kitson?”

  Her lashes fluttered and she took in a deep breath before she spoke. “No, not at all.”

  Garrett knew she wasn’t as convinced she didn’t need him as she indicated. He didn’t want to pressure her, but asked again, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course,” she responded more confidently. “I was just wondering for no particular reason. Now I really must bid you good day, sir.”

  He bowed.

  Garrett watched Lady Kitson hurry toward the governess. She stopped and quickly donned a wide-brimmed straw hat, taking time to shove wayward strands of her hair beneath it before making a hasty bow with the ribbons under her chin. She then turned and looked back at him, causing another surge of wanting to tighten in his lower body. He hadn’t expected her to give him any more consideration but was glad she had. He tipped his hat to her and turned away.

  He didn’t imagine the way she looked at him. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. Though her words didn’t bear that out, he’d felt it as surely as he could feel the wind in his hair when a storm was brewing at sea. Yet she’d made no indication she’d welcome his attentions.

  He couldn’t blame her for being cautious about him. Probably none of the things she’d heard about him would woo a sensible lady. Why would a jewel like her want to get involved with a man who was known for being gone a year at a stretch, or sometimes longer? She had a son and would be looking for stability in a man.

  Garrett felt the tug of desire again. His body was eager, but his mind ruled. He didn’t want just any woman. He wanted one who was brave enough to climb a tree and turn down his attentions when he knew she wanted them.

  The saddle creaked as he put his foot into the stirrup and climbed onto the back of the horse. He turned the mare around and headed back toward the tree.

  Being a rogue had its benefits. Garrett would see Lady Kitson again, and propriety be damned.

  Chapter 3

  From her bedchamber, Julia heard boyish squeals, laughter, and the sound of small feet running down the hallway. Bigger footsteps followed, and then more delightful shrieks. Sometimes Miss Periwinkle acted as young as Chatwyn. He was supposed to be learning his letters and numbers, but clearly the young governess didn’t yet have control of her charge. He was teaching her—to neglect her duties.

  Which made Julia realize she was forgetting hers. She tapped the freshly trimmed quill into the ink jar and turned her concentration back to the sheet of foolscap in front of her. Promising to write the duke a few words each day about what she and Chatwyn were doing was a small price to pay for the precious freedom to be in London without the duke so she could search for his secret documents. It would be so much easier if she knew in which room they were hidden. She assumed his private book room was the most likely place and was concentrating her efforts there, but really they could be hidden anywhere.

  She bent over to sign her name and the feather of the quill tickled under her chin, instantly reminding her of Mr. Stockton’s light touch at the back of her neck when they were in the tree. For those few moments in his arms she had forgotten her fear of falling to the ground—and her fear of the duke. The only thing she’d been aware of was her need to feel the rogue’s lips on hers.

  The heat had been stifling, and her heart had pounded at the possibility of his kiss. After four years, Mr. Stockton was the first man to have her thinking about testing the duke’s directive that she restrain from any man’s attentions. According to the duke, shunning all men was the only proper way for Julia to mourn her husband. It was what he expected from her—if she wanted to remain in her son’s life. And that was what she’d done since her husband died.

  But Mr. Stockton didn’t have her feeling proper. She wasn’t even feeling like a widow. His brief touch made her feel as eager for attention as a young belle attending her first ball. Why he was the first man she was attracted to since Kitson, Julia had no idea. She only knew he stirred and provoked her passions in a way she couldn’t deny and hadn’t wanted to ignore.

  She wanted to experience and explore once again the inexplicable delight that occurred when a man and woman came together for intimate pleasure, and she wanted to do it with Mr. Stockton. There was no doubt she’d caught his eye, too. She’d felt the current of awareness that passed between them when they looked at each other a little too long. She’d felt the tremble of desire in his body when her breasts pressed against his chest and his arms tightened around her waist. She’d been so tempted to allow the kiss, and she was certain he knew it. Even thinking of the possibility of it caused an erratic beating of her heart.

  Julia placed the quill in its holder and whispered, “No.”

  Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t find a way to see Mr. Stockton and encourage him. The risk was great and she had much to do. What lay before her wasn’t going to be easy. She needed to stop thinking about the rogue and kisses and be content to enjoy this time of having her son all to herself without the duke’s watchful eyes. She’d had to give up so many things concerning Chatwyn to the duke’s orders. Decisions that should be hers to make—when he could play outside, what foods he should be allowed to eat, and when he left the nursery for the governess’s teachings.

  Julia always had to bow to the duke’s will because of his threat to take custody of Chatwyn. The duke prided himself on his reputation of being a devout family man even though his second wife had run away with another man. She remembered hearing that he became all the stricter about obeying his rules after that.

  The past couple of days, Julia discovered neither of the servants entered the duke’s private chambers when he wasn’t in residence which was good to know. He kept a minimum staff at the London house when he was away: Mrs. Desford, the housekeeper, and Mr. Leeds, the footman.

  Both of them had been with the duke a long time, and Julia had no doubt they were loyal. She wasn’t in a position to befriend either of them.

  For all his virtuous standing in London and how properly he treated everyone, the duke had never accepted Julia into the family. Perhaps he had just cause for that. Julia and his youngest son, Kitson, had foiled the duke’s plans for a wealthy family merger and had eloped. The reason wasn’t that they were passionately in love with each other. It was more a defiant matter for Kitson and a desperate one for Julia. The duke had selected a young lady for Kitson to marry, and Julia’s uncle had his heart set on her marrying an older viscount who already had three children. Eloping with Kitson had been an easy decision for her to make when he’d suggested it.

  She’d never regretted that impulsive act. Their union gave her Chatwyn.

  For members of the ton, it appeared the duke had accepted their elopement with the dignity and fairness he showed everyone. Only Julia knew different. When they first returned from Gretna Green, he told her he’d never forgive her for coercing his son into marriage, though for a time she’d thought he had. But then Kitson died at sea, Chatwyn was born, and the duke’s true feelings for her emerged. She discovered he not only disliked her, he intended to punish her for marrying his son. He considered she had ruined Kitson’s life and now he was trying to destroy hers by his strict rules and the threat of taking her son.

  After folding and sealing the missive to the duke, Julia pushed away from the secretary and walked over to the open window that looked out at the back garden. Still, tepid air met her. An uncommo
n and oppressive heat had gripped London for the past three days. Windows and doors were thrown wide up and down the street. Everyone was suffering from the effects and hoping for a vagrant breeze to flow through their houses and shops to cool down the rooms.

  Below her in the garden, she caught sight of a butterfly flittering around the withering blooms. Mr. Stockton came to her mind again. He’d never left her thoughts for very long since she’d watched him climb on his horse and ride away. How could she forget such a rousing man?

  Besides, she welcomed the memory of him. How could she not when she enjoyed and longed for the feelings thoughts of him provoked? The strength that was so evident in his quick actions and his body, the unrecognizable spice that clung to his skin and teased her senses were still so real. It had been far too long since she’d pondered so intensely about kisses and caresses. Now they came so easily to her mind. She would never forget how he looked at her, as if he desired her more than any other woman in the world. He made her want to forget where they were, who he was, what was at stake and just follow the delicious feelings and sensations that welled up inside her.

  Oh, it had been exciting. It had washed her with such unbelievably wondrous feelings. She had never felt such impatient spirals of desire as when she’d realized she hadn’t fallen out of the tree but had landed against Mr. Stockton’s solid chest. His lips would have covered hers with kisses if not for the man shouting to his horses.

  Even now she wished she’d forgone her fear of being caught and allowed the kiss anyway. If she had, she wouldn’t have to be daydreaming about how Mr. Stockton’s kisses felt. She would know.

  Julia closed her eyes and forced the pleasant feelings away. Time to put thoughts of Mr. Stockton out of her mind. She had something much more important to think about than her feminine wishes. There would be time for that in the future. She had to focus on her goal of ridding herself of the duke’s choking control before he returned. But even that now reminded her of the rogue. He would probably be off on another voyage by the time she was free to pursue the life she wanted.

  However, she’d taken his advice and searched the book room floor for a secret compartment last night after everyone went to bed. Barefoot and in her night robe, she’d slowly, carefully crawled on her hands and knees from one side of the room to the other and back again, hoping to feel a lose board, raised nail, or something to indicate the wood might have been compromised and a hidden compartment may be under the floor. She’d quietly moved chairs and lifted rugs. She’d felt a few rises in the wood in some places and had checked them carefully but could find no sign of anything amiss other than aging of the wood.

  The only place in the floor she hadn’t surveyed was under the duke’s desk, and that was because it was too heavy for her to move. Tonight she’d start the painstaking job of removing each book from the shelves, one at a time and feeling for a crack, a seam, or anything in the wall that might be suspect.

  “Pardon me for disturbing you, Lady Kitson?”

  Julia turned toward the open doorway and smiled at the housekeeper. “You never disturb me, Mrs. Desford,” Julia responded kindly.

  “Thank you, my lady.” The short, slightly robust woman with gray hair and doe-like brown eyes gave her a reserved smile of appreciation. “Mrs. Brina Feld is here and wants to know if you’ll receive her.”

  “Yes, of course,” Julia whispered excitedly. She’d been anxious to talk with Brina about her plans. “There’s a letter to the duke on my desk. Would you please see it gets posted to him today?”

  With that, Julia lifted her skirts, then hurried out of the room and down the stairs. She rounded the doorway that led into the drawing room where she stopped abruptly. Her dear friend stood in front of the large window that overlooked the front lawn of the house. Shards of sunshine streamed across her face and silvery blond hair. Julia’s old foxhound stood beside her, slowly wagging his tail. Brina seemed in such deep thought that Julia hesitated in calling out to her.

  Brina Feld was the youngest and most wounded of the three widowed friends who had started The Seafarer’s School for Girls two years ago. Sad as it was for Julia to admit, Brina was the only one of the ladies who had deeply loved her husband. In the nearly four years since his death, her mourning hadn’t seemed to lessen. Nor had the heartbreak that losing him had caused her.

  Brina was tall and slender, with a straight, graceful carriage. Everyone took notice when she walked into a room. To most of Society she was the embodiment of all a widow should be. Quiet. Proper. Staunch. Yet there was a beautiful, feminine appeal about her that any lady could envy, and some did. Most every eligible man, and many who weren’t, had tried to court her since her mourning passed. Like Julia, she always kindly, but firmly, let them know she wasn’t available. Their differences rested only in the fact that Julia wouldn’t have minded the attention of a gentleman or two, if not for her father-in-law’s promise to take her son from her if she didn’t stay a proper widow. And Julia hadn’t met the man who would tempt her to risk losing her son.

  Until now.

  Mr. Stockton entered her thoughts again. The rush of longing to have his strong arms surrounding her, pulling her up close, and his lips covering hers with kisses wouldn’t leave her in peace. There was a hunger inside her that wouldn’t stay away.

  Julia defiantly shook the images from her mind and said, “Brina.”

  In a rush, the friends met with welcoming hugs and kisses to each other’s cheeks.

  Feeling a brush against her skirts, Julia glanced down. York woofed softly. She reached down and patted his black head. He didn’t hear very well anymore, and recently she’d noticed his voice wasn’t nearly as deep or strong. She bent down and gently took his gray muzzle in her hand. Looking directly into his cloudy dark brown eyes, she said, “I’ve already said hello to you today. No attention for you right now.” Julia looked back to Brina. “I didn’t expect you to come so soon, but I’m so glad you did.”

  “I had to. It’s been over three months since we’ve seen each other. I wanted to dash over the minute I received your note saying you’d returned, but restrained myself to give you time to settle in.”

  “Tell me how you’ve been.”

  “Except for the heat these past few days, I have been well, and I do have something I want to share with you, but we are going to talk about you first. I’m dying to know how you talked the duke into letting you come to London without him. That’s never happened before! Did you give him a dose of laudanum in his brandy and make him groggy enough to say yes to anything you said?”

  Julia smiled. “No, but I probably would have if I had thought about it.” She glanced toward the doorway behind her. “Let’s move farther into the room and sit on the settee by the window. I don’t want anyone to hear us so we must speak softly.”

  “Yes, of course. You now have me anxious, but before we begin…”

  Brina reached over to a chair and picked up a package York was sniffing. “I can’t give you one of these right now,” she told the dog, and then presented Julia with a bundle of cloth that had been pulled up by the ends and tied together with a blue ribbon. “I had plum tarts made this morning for Chatwyn.” She looked down. “And York, too.”

  “Oh, you are no friend at all,” Julia admonished with a smile. “You know what an utter mess Chatwyn makes of himself and his clothing when he eats.”

  “I do and I insist you let him have one of these while I’m here so I can watch him eat every bite of it. York will enjoy every crumb that falls to the floor.”

  Julia laid the package on a side table—and out of the foxhound’s reach. “Of course. I’ll bring him belowstairs in a few minutes and you can give him one.”

  Brina made herself comfortable on one side of the deep rose–colored velvet settee and Julia the other. York, sensing he wasn’t going to get a treat or any more attention, turned and slowly wandered out of the room.

  “Now, tell me,” Brina said softly. “What’s going on? Your note
said only enough to intrigue me.”

  Julia had needed to talk to Brina since she overheard the duke’s conversation. “It’s really two different stories, but I’ll be brief with each.”

  “Don’t be for me.” Brina laid her hand on her chest. “I have all day.”

  Julia did not. She planned to spend some time in the duke’s book room on the pretense of looking for a book to read.

  “First, I’ll tell you how I managed to get to London without the duke. He hasn’t been his spry self all summer. He didn’t complain, of course, but I noticed he’d sometimes wince in pain when he bent over or when he’d rise. He lacked his usual vitality in chasing Chatwyn around the house and garden. A few days ago, the duke made the comment he might be feverish. I became concerned and quite innocently asked if he thought he might have something that Chatwyn could catch. Once that fear was spoken out loud, there was no taking it back. The possibility he might have a serious condition that could pass to his grandson concerned us both. Naturally, he doesn’t want Kitson’s son coming down with anything. I saw this as the chance I desperately needed to come to London without him.”

  “It’s a dream come true for you,” Brina said in a normal voice, but then caught herself and whispered, “To be free of him. To be on your own.”

  “Yes, for more than one reason, which I’ll tell you about, too, but I want you to know I don’t wish a grave ailment on the duke. I only want to be allowed to live my life the way I want, but I can’t wish him severe harm.”

  “You don’t have to say that to me,” Brina said sympathetically. “I know your heart.”

  Julia nodded. “After the duke agreed we needed to get Chatwyn away from Sprogsfield to spare him whatever was ailing the duke, I wasted no time. We left early the next morning. I didn’t want to give him opportunity to change his mind. I do want him to recover. Eventually.” She sighed. “But not for at least a couple of weeks or longer. A month if possible. I must be ready when he returns.”