Kiss From a Rogue (3 page)

Tony wasn’t aware he was grinning until Ben scowled at him. “Yes, Jo, um, Lady Sinclair. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Until tonight, then.” With a last blush, she swept from the room.

“Now then.” Ben pushed aside the abacus and account books.

Tony sat up. Before his eyes, the jolly newlywed disappeared, replaced by the Earl of Sinclair, head of the family.

“How’s your head?”

“Much better. Thompson’s cure is quite effective.”

“Yes, I know.” Ben picked up a pencil, then set it down again. “As I said earlier, Mama is concerned by your recent behavior. As am I. I know it can’t have been easy, holding things together while I was…away.”

Five years of away, five years of uncertainty, where the younger son had to put a good face on the disaster their family had become, the scandal fodder after Papa’s suicide. Five years of delaying his schooling, not knowing if he’d ever return to complete the remaining year.

Now Ben was back, recovered from his injuries, married, getting on with his life.

Mama was out of mourning, being courted by both a viscount and a marquess, getting on with her life.

And Tony…He hadn’t a clue what to do with his life.

Ben was still speaking. Tony reluctantly brought his thoughts back to their surroundings. “…job at the Home Office. Dunwood wants a clerk he can rely on, and I told him you’d be well suited. You’re not a green lad just out of Cambridge. You have skills and experience that will stand both of you in good stead.” Ben leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “It will do you good—the salary will make you independent of any allowance, enable you to leave Grandmama’s inheritance untouched. You can let bachelor quarters without worrying about the expense. Mama will still worry about you, of course, but you won’t have to be present for it.”

Work as a clerk for Lord Dunwood? Tony leaned back in his chair. A respectable position, an independent income, a regular schedule.

Predictable. Subject to a supervisor’s whims.

Boring.

“So? Will you meet with him?”

Tony sighed. He really didn’t have much of a choice. “Yes.”

Ben stood, clapped his hands together once. “Splendid. He’s expecting you tomorrow at ten. You can discuss specifics, come to an amicable agreement.” Ben glanced at the door, then back at Tony.

“Go to her, you randy, besotted fool.”

With a grin, Ben slapped him on his good shoulder and strode from the room.

Tony slumped in his chair. Ben’s joy permeated the place, inescapable. He had to get out of the house. Go beat his former best friend to a pulp.

He suddenly remembered what was happening on Thursday, and leaped out of his chair.

Less than an hour later, Tony stepped out of a hansom cab, took a deep whiff of salty air tinged with day-old fish, and coughed. He threaded his way through the doxies and costermongers on the docks, to the slip where Nick’s brig was moored.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he shouted when Nick waved at him from the deck.

“Do? Old chum, I did nothing to you. Come aboard.” Nick gestured for Tony to walk up the plank.

“You must think me daft. I have no intention of setting foot on that blighted dinghy ever again.”

Nick threw his head back, let out a far too hearty laugh, and swaggered down the plank. “Keep loading, swabbies,” he shouted up to the deck.

“Aye, Captain,” came the chorus of replies. His crew continued to swarm over the deck and dock, loading casks and barrels.

Tony eyed the stack of provisions. “Still leaving on the evening tide?”

“Sure I can’t persuade you to join me?” Nick threw his arm around Tony’s shoulder, leading him to a nearby coffeehouse. “Jonesy has another brew he’d like you to try, certain to cure your green gills.”

“The last cure nearly killed me.” Tony shrugged off the arm, which was putting pressure on his injured shoulder.

“Don’t be sore. Oh, that’s it, you
are
sore.” Nick gave another hearty laugh.

“It’s your fault.” Tony pointed at his damaged shoulder. “I would never have done this if you hadn’t gotten me foxed.”

“What could I do? You were admiring the tattoo on Jonesy’s arm. Seemed only right to let you get one of your own.”

What could possibly have been on the first mate’s arm that prompted him to get one like it? Nothing; Nick was still joshing him. Nick had pulled more than his share of pranks—years ago, they’d met in the headmaster’s outer office because of his penchant for pranks. This was just one more. Only this time, there would be no scrubbing off the whitewash.

Tony drew breath to argue, but was cut off by Nick’s shout of “Alistair!” and enthusiastic wave.

Standing head and shoulders above the unwashed crowd, their friend changed direction and headed toward them in front of the coffeehouse. “Thought the plan was to see you off at the dock,” Alistair said as he drew abreast of them.

“Tony needed coffee.”

“Still hung over? Didn’t think you’d had all that much to drink.”

Tony opened the coffeehouse door and stepped through first. “Nick wants to flirt with the serving wench one last time before he goes to sea.”

“Good lord, man, it’s only a two-week voyage.” Alistair pushed his coattails aside as he took a seat at their favorite table. Nick and Tony followed suit.

“Two weeks—an entire fortnight during which I shall have to abstain from sweet curves, long hair, gentle voices, and soft skin.” Nick trailed a finger down the hand of the serving wench who came to take their order. She giggled and blushed, and left with their request for coffee and biscuits.

“Perhaps you should hire a better-looking crew,” Tony suggested.

“I don’t know that’s necessary.” Alistair appeared to give the matter grave consideration. “Jonesy wears his hair in a long queue, and your bosun’s voice has been soft ever since his throat was crushed in a fight. Where was that, Barbados?”

Nick laughed. “Le Havre, actually.”

They reminisced about some of Nick’s past adventures, then switched to the trip he was about to depart on, a counterclockwise sail around the coast of England, until their order arrived.

The serving wench flirted outrageously with Nick after she set down the plate of biscuits and gave him his cup, staring at his black hair tied back in a queue, mesmerized by his gold earring and dark blue eyes.

She finally tore her gaze away to set a cup in front of Alistair. He brushed the light brown hair from his eyes and smiled his thanks at her. One, two, three…there it was—the hitch in her breathing as she stared into his blue eyes and angelic face. The wench smiled back, ready to melt in a puddle at his feet. Or his lap. “Anything else you gents be wanting?”

Tony cleared his throat and pointed at the third cup, still in her hand.

“Oh, right, so sorry, sir.”

Tony gave her a wry grin. She blushed and gave a slight shrug. No, of course she couldn’t help herself. After facing the full force of Nick’s allure and Alistair’s unconscious charm, one right after the other, any woman would be flustered. Tony, with his brown hair, brown eyes, and smaller frame, seemed almost innocuous in comparison.

Almost.

Nick dunked a biscuit in his cup, splashing coffee. “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

Alistair nodded. “Traveling on foot, I’ll have just enough time to see a few sights and take a roundabout way to William Herschel’s.”

Tony stirred sugar into his coffee. “Tell me again why you finagled an invitation to visit him. What’s so special about his forty-foot telescope?”

Alistair spoke slowly. “It’s forty feet.”

“So you’re saying size really does matter?” Nick sat up and puffed out his chest.

Alistair took another bite of biscuit. “So, Nick’s sailing in a few hours, I’m leaving on a walking tour in the morning…what are
you
up to?”

“Has your brother called you out?”

“No.” Only two biscuits left. Tony grabbed one.

Alistair snatched the last biscuit from Nick’s fingers. “Then you lead a charmed life.”

“Ben doesn’t get angry—he finds
solutions
.” Tony told them about the offer with Lord Dunwood.

“A nice, steady position sounds just the thing. You’ll always know what to expect of tomorrow.” Nick brushed the crumbs from his cravat.

Tony snorted. “This, from the man who can’t wait for tomorrow and has to sail toward the horizon to bring it closer?” He turned to Alistair. “How would you like to know what you’re going to do every day? The same thing, day after day?”

Alistair shuddered.

“Exactly.”

“A living death, to be sure.” Nick drained his cup. “So, you’re going to take the job, right?”

Tony sighed. “Probably.” He could turn it down with a clear conscience if he had an alternate plan. Any plan.

“I do know what I’m going to be doing fourteen days from now,” Nick announced. “Getting reacquainted with the fair Esmeralda at the Duck and Drake Inn at Weymouth.”

“You’re still seeing her after, what, three years now?” Alistair’s brows rose. “I must meet this paragon of womanhood. I’ll see you in Weymouth in two weeks.”

“You can meet her, but her heart is already spoken for.” Nick held his hand over his chest.

Alistair snorted.

Soon after, they walked Nick back to his ship and saw him off. Alistair left to finish packing for his journey, and Tony was left to contemplate the fact that he was about to accept a boring job instead of setting off on an adventure of his own.

“Elliott will be waiting out front to drive you to the City,” Ben said as Tony lingered over a cup of tea with three sugars at breakfast the next morning.

His appetite suddenly gone, Tony set the cup down. “Right, no sense me hiring a hansom cab when you have no need of the coach yourself.” He doubted Ben had set foot out of doors since the wedding, though he was certainly still getting his exercise.

Ben’s only reply was a waggle of the eyebrows. He reached for his wife’s hand, and the two left the dining room, disappearing up the stairs.

“I do hope you and Lord Dunwood get along well,” Mama said, interrupting Tony’s thoughts.

“I’m sure we shall.” Tony tossed his napkin on the table. “I can get along with anyone.” He bussed his mother on the cheek, and stepped out the front door.

Soon, Elliott set the horses in motion and eased the coach into traffic, joining the throngs of carts and hacks that filled the street. Tony leaned back against the velvet squabs and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the din of vendors hawking their wares.

Alistair was leaving for a walking tour of the countryside, was on the road south out of town even now.

Nick had set sail on last night’s tide, off on his own adventure, even if it was just a routine trip around the English coastline.

Tony was on his way to a job, in an office, in the crowded, noisy, dirty City.

He rapped on the roof. “Elliott!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Head south. We’re not going to the City. We’re going to catch up to Alistair.”

“Y
ou’ve gone stark raving mad,” Alistair muttered as they watched the coach head back to town.

“Entirely possible,” Tony said with a grin. He slapped Alistair on the back and they set off walking in silence, save for the chirp of birds, the crunch of their boots on the road, the occasional coach or cart rumbling past them.

Tony breathed deeply. Not the miasma of London, but the fresh clean scent of tilled earth. Blue sky above, not four walls and a ceiling. Fields stretched in every direction. Already, London was just a memory.

His decision to join Alistair was precipitous, yes, but the right one.

He wasn’t completely unprepared for the journey. Perhaps he’d made his decision as he’d dressed that morning, without realizing it. He’d placed the entire remainder of his quarter’s allowance in his purse, much more money than he normally carried. Since he refused to sacrifice comfort for the sake of fashion, his boots and clothes should hold up well. He could always buy toiletries and a change of linen when they stopped for the night. And he’d asked the coachman to relay his request to Ben to have bank drafts waiting at points along Alistair’s planned route, just in case he ran short of funds.

“How do you think your brother will react when he learns you’ve rejected Lord Dunwood’s offer?”

Tony reluctantly gave up his contemplation of the clouds. In a fair fight, Ben could probably still pound him into the floor. Which wasn’t much incentive to fight fair, or to go home again.

“Perhaps his real intent all along was simply to goad you into doing something, just as you did. Force you to do something with your life.”

“You think Ben is that calculating?”

Alistair shrugged. “I’m just saying I know how difficult the last five years have been. If you want to play truant and explore England with me for a while, that’s fine. Maybe you’ll find your life’s calling along the way.”

Find his life’s calling. Good one.

The day passed quickly, the miles eaten up beneath their boots. It was nearing dusk when hunger finally made them stop at an inn.

“This evening’s special, whatever it is, and a mug of ale for each of us, please,” Alistair said to the serving wench when she approached their table. He immediately turned his attention back to Tony and their interrupted conversation, teasing him about running away from home.

The young woman lingered long enough to witness Alistair’s smile, and Tony knew she was a goner. She stared at Alistair over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.

Tony pointed his finger at his friend. “You still have no clue of the effect you have on them, do you?”

“What effect, on who?”

“Never mind.” They chatted until she returned and set their platters down. Tony couldn’t resist a spot of mischief. He lowered his chin and looked up at her through his lashes, the way he’d often seen his friend do it, and kept his voice low. “Would you mind terribly bringing us more ale, miss?”

She melted before him. “My pleasure, Brown Eyes.” She was back in less than a minute with full tankards. “Anything else you fancy?” She leaned over, offering Tony a peek down her gown, almost to her navel.

That was just too easy. Or she was. Tony cleared his throat. “Um, thank you, no, we’re good.”

“I’m sure you are, ducks.” She walked away, her hips swaying provocatively.

“If you’re that desperate for company, I’ll make myself scarce.” Alistair dug into his food.

“What? Her? Oh, good heavens, no. Just, no.” Tony certainly didn’t mind a little company now and then, but he did mind being one among many. “I was just conducting a little experiment. And it worked.” They ate the indifferent stew the wench had brought. “Actually, she did remind me of something Ben said yesterday.”

Alistair pushed his empty platter aside. “Oh?”

Tony pushed his platter aside, as well. “Accused me of becoming a rakehell.”

Alistair coughed. “You?”

“You needn’t look so shocked. I did kiss the new countess.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Perhaps that’s my life’s calling.”

“You got away with kissing her once, but your brother will certainly call you out if you try that again.” Alistair took a deep drink, emptying his tankard.

“No, you dolt. I meant, perhaps my life’s calling is to become a rakehell.”

Alistair spewed ale.

“It’s not that far-fetched. I’m fairly good-looking. I may not have your extraneous height and fallen-angel looks, but some women like a more compact package. She certainly did.” He pointed at the wench, who winked at him as she served another table.

“Not that I’m disagreeing in the slightest with your appeal to the fairer sex—”

“However…”

“However, I think if one has to make the conscious decision to become a rake, one is not
really
a rake, but merely a poseur.”

Hmm. Perhaps Alistair had a point.

“Sleep on it. Maybe your calling will come to you in your dreams.”

Later that night, dreams stayed just beyond his reach as Tony as fidgeted on the lumpy mattress, trying to find a spot that didn’t aggravate his sore shoulder.

Nick had served his country with his ship, and Alistair was trying to prove something important in the field of astronomy. Was there any subject that stoked his own fire?

Giving up on sleep, he pulled on his breeches and shirt and climbed out the window, up to the peak of the roof where Alistair sat, silhouetted against the starry sky, telescope raised to one eye.

“If only I had a more powerful scope,” Alistair said softly. “I could measure the seas on the moon, unlock the secrets of the universe.”

“What is it you’re trying to do, again?”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Give him a willing audience, and the scholar could wax poetic about celestial bodies for hours on end. Nick could go on just as long, speaking in awed tones about the lines of his ship.

Tony encouraged his friends, admired and supported them, just as they would support his avocation…if he had one.

He’d had one, temporarily, when he’d acted in the earl’s place. Coordinating the efforts of their estate managers, overseeing the family’s investments, supervising the running of the household—he’d been consumed every waking moment with his new duties. Willingly, gladly.

With his father barely cold in his grave, Ben off to fight Napoleon amidst gossip that he’d killed their father’s rival, and Mama plunged into deep mourning, a recluse, it had been left to Tony to pull them through. He’d left school and stepped into the role thrust upon him, and done a damn fine job under the circumstances.

But Ben was back, life had attained a new normal, and Tony was left adrift. He’d finished school, of course, but now that he was done, what was he supposed to
do
?

So far, the most intriguing idea was to become a rake. The family finances were in excellent condition. Tony didn’t
need
to work, unless he found something he wanted to do, a cause to take up.

As Alistair talked about perturbations of planetary orbits, Tony’s head began to swim. So, astronomy was out of the question. The mere thought of getting on a boat again unsettled his stomach, so his calling would clearly have nothing to do with ships or the sea.

His brother’s passionate interest, aside from his bride, was helping soldiers. Too many had come home from the war to find no way to support their families. The new Lady Sinclair had been hiring ex-soldiers right and left, but Ben had taken it one step further—buying inns, and putting men to work running them. Ben’s solicitor was kept busy investigating potential properties for Ben to purchase.

Perhaps Tony should involve himself in his brother’s endeavor. Alistair’s walk about the countryside was going to take them to a great many inns. Tony could evaluate the inns and send reports back to Ben.

As lifelong passions went, it wasn’t much, but it did give him something to do in the short term. Some purpose, while he tried on the role of rake.

His immediate future settled, he realized his teeth were chattering. Alistair had donned boots and coat before climbing up, but Tony’s bare feet felt like blocks of ice. Whatever cause he eventually took up, it would not require him to shiver outdoors in the middle of the night, or climb up on roofs. “I’m going back in, where it’s warm.”

“You’ve no stamina at all.” Alistair grinned as he looked through his telescope.

One week after leaving London, they stopped at the Happy Jack Inn on the Dorset coast early one afternoon. Tony had scrutinized each inn they passed as a potential purchase for Ben, and sent his notes home in the penny-post, hoping his steady flow of correspondence would allay his family’s fears and annoyance. Alistair observed the stars each night, but repeated rain showers and cloudy skies had left him in a funk—observations would be impossible tonight. Tony just wanted a hot meal, and to get dry.

A serving maid came out of the kitchen, bringing them the evening’s special. Obviously the innkeeper’s daughter, with the same red hair and strong chin as the stout older man who’d brought their bread and ale a few minutes before. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” Her voice was breathy, but her dress was cut high enough her abundant charms were not on display. She flashed a crooked but innocent smile.

Tony was reminded he hadn’t done much yet to further his career as a rake. He smiled up at her. He’d never been with a redhead before. Would
all
her hair…

Her father appeared, filling the kitchen doorway, glowering at Tony.

On second thought, perhaps the innkeeper’s daughter was not the best idea for his first conquest as a rake. “Thank you, but this is enough.” He kept his smile pleasant but neutral.

“As you wish, sir.” She walked back to the kitchen, hardly any sway to her hips at all.

Tony returned to his rapidly cooling stew, and glanced around again at the deserted taproom. The place was clean, aside from soot-stained walls and ceiling that swallowed up most of the daylight. They’d seen no employees save the innkeeper and his daughter. An older woman, who must be the innkeeper’s wife, had emerged from the kitchen doorway long enough to hand the girl the bowls of stew.

“This might be the most promising inn for Ben I’ve seen so far.”

Alistair glanced around. “Certainly could benefit from a new investor. I don’t think it’s been painted in this century.”

The outer door opened and slammed against the wall, caught by a gust of wind. A woman stepped through and struggled to close it again. A widow, given her unadorned straw bonnet and half-mourning gown of gray. Tony was about to jump up and offer assistance when she shoved the door closed. She gave an embarrassed smile when she saw the two men sitting at the corner table.

Tony’s heart lodged in his throat.

In London, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance. But here in the wilds of Dorset, there was something utterly perfect about her reddened cheeks and full lips, her windblown dark blonde curls peeking out from the gray ribbons of her bonnet. Her husband must have been monumentally unfortunate or criminally stupid to have widowed her at such a young age.

She blushed as Tony continued to stare, and hid her green eyes by glancing down at the basket on her arm.

She was a widow. He wanted to be a rake.

Perfect.

He scooted his chair back. Before he could rise, she strode across the taproom and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I’ll just pay our shot, and we can be off.” Alistair threw his napkin on the table.

“What? Why?”

Alistair followed Tony’s gaze, which was still locked on the kitchen doorway. “You just saw her for the first time, haven’t even spoken with her yet. You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I can. I think I’m in love.”

“You’re in lust.”

Tony shrugged. “Same thing.”

The innkeeper’s daughter came out, and Alistair settled the bill. After she left, he pulled out the dog-eared map from his pocket. “I want to head inland for a while. We can be in Wool by tonight, and in Shaftesbury the following night. I have a friend with a five-foot telescope there, built by Herschel himself. One of his earlier models.”

The widow came out of the kitchen just then, now juggling two baskets on her arm. The ribbons of her bonnet had become tangled with the handles. Tony was across the room and at her side before Alistair had even finished his sentence. “Allow me to give you a hand.” Tony rested his hand on hers, where she gripped the basket handle.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “No, thank you, sir, it’s quite all right.”

Tony untangled the ribbons and smoothed the worn gray satin between his fingertips. “No trouble at all,” he murmured. While her hands were occupied with the baskets, he took the liberty of tying the ribbons into a neat bow beneath her chin. He also took the liberty of touching his bare fingers to the underside of her chin in the process, and brushed her bare neck just above her unbuttoned pelisse.

Her soft skin was chilled from the storm outside. The fichu tucked into her neckline had been tugged loose on one side by the wind, revealing a small strip of creamy flesh above her bosom. Tony wanted to brush his fingers there, too.

By the time he finished tying the bow, instead of a maidenly blush coloring her cheeks, there was a decided glint in her green eyes. Outrage? Defiance? Her pulse fluttered at her throat.

Alistair strolled to their side. “Please forgive my forward friend, madam. He seems to have left his manners behind in London.”

She forced a polite smile, baring a few teeth. White and straight. Lovely. “No harm done.”

Tony drew breath to protest Alistair’s insult. Alistair continued, with the smile and smooth-as-honey voice that made women want to toss their skirts for him. “Alistair, Viscount Moncreiffe, at your service, madam.” He gave an elegant bow. “May I assist you with your burden?”

Her smile was genuine now, drat Alistair. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Good day, gentlemen.” And with that, she hurried out of the taproom before Tony could utter another syllable.