Undeniable Rogue (The Rogues Club Book One) (12 page)

Someone had entered the library during the night and had searched desks, knocked books off shelves, and taken paintings from walls.

“Looking for a safe, no doubt,” Chalmer said as Gideon stepped into the room.

“Inside the books?” he replied, raising his brows at the preposterous notion.

“Some people hide paper money and even bank drafts in books,” Doggett said, though that sturdy character was trembling like a leaf in an English gale. His knowledge of money hidden in books, however, would seem to confirm Gideon’s belief that he might have survived as a rookery cutpurse, or some such, in his former life. Except that his certain fear also seemed to negate same.

“Searching the library makes no sense,” Gideon said. “Would a robber not search bedrooms for jewels or the long gallery for paintings?”

“Oh, none of the paintings are missing, your grace. Nothing is, actually. Everything is simply
disturbed
.”

“As am I.” Gideon took in the dishevelment of his favorite room. “I believe I shall send a note to Bow Street, to see what the runners have to say about this.”

“Very good, your grace.” Chalmer bowed and left the room.

Doggett sidled up to him. “You think the runners are necessary, your grace?”

“Do you have another suggestion?”

“I would like to offer my services for the night watch, if I might. I have some little...experience in these matters.”

“I see.”

“I would do anything for her grace. And for you, of course,” he added in a rush, almost as an afterthought. “I promise to keep your home safe from any and all comers. My honor as a...peddler.”

“You think you know who might have done this?”

“I know the type.”

“Very well, Doggett. You are officially assigned the night watch.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

Gideon squeezed the older man’s shoulder. “I am depending upon you.”

* * *

Sabrina would not let emotion rule her, she vowed, not for the first time, as she lowered her awkward body into a slipper bath of warm, lilac-scented water, placed before the fire in her dressing room.

She did not need romance, just a husband, a man to house her and her children, to give them a sense of belonging, of peace, and to put food in their bellies.

That Stanthorpe could control his ire, stood to his credit. That she dared want more than control from the man, angered her inordinately.

Her first marriage had remained turbulent, unpredictable and grim. For the better part of her life, she had known hunger and abuse, betrayal, treachery. She remembered well the humiliation of being sold to the highest bidder, the hopelessness of being tossed in the trash.

Now she craved stability and predictability for herself and her children, and in today’s world, nothing but unrestricted wealth could purchase such rare and expensive commodities. Yes,
she
had sold herself to the high bidder this time, but if anybody deserved to do the selling of her, ‘twas she, thank you very much.

She did not bloody well care what his royal haughtiness thought about her decision not to share her past. That horror was hers to bury, and bury it she would, as deep as the sea, if she could.

This sudden need for...happiness, for a man she knew nothing about, husband or no, was misplaced, foreign, totally out of character. An aberration.

Sabrina knew better than to allow her heart to become involved within marriage. The Duke of Stanthorpe might have purchased her body, but there existed no purse in all the kingdom large enough to purchase Sabrina Whit—Sabrina St. Goddard’s heart.

And her husband knew it. She had already told him so.

So why could
she
not remember?

What ailed her today? How could she possibly forget such a hard-won lesson?

‘Twas her own nurturing body giving her trouble, Sabrina mused, as she soaped her big belly in soothing circles. Her mind and body worked unpredictably these days, and sometimes, even, independently of each other.

‘Twas the babe made her feel unsettled, emotional, needy.

She suffered weakness and craved strength. Of course she would be tempted to turn to the first man to show both strength and gentleness. She had never come across the likes of Gideon St. Goddard in her life. But just because a man acted gentle in bed did not mean he would act anything like out of bed.

Regard the stodgy Duke, himself, just this morning. Demand this and demand that, without a by your leave, if you please. Be there or be damned, he had all but said.

Well, be damned to him. She would
not
be there.

Sabrina dressed in her second best black bombazine, empire-style gown, wondering again why she wore mourning for a barbaric brute of a man she had wanted to murder, herself, more times than she cared to recall, a man she still feared someone must have murdered.

Someone, whose name she knew, she also feared.

A short while later, looking in on her children, she remembered the reason she wore black. She did it for them. Respectability, it was called. She would do anything to earn that for them. Even marry a doddering old man, or worse, a virile young one.

After she left the boys in Miss Minchip’s able care, she took the servants’ stairs to the kitchen, conferred with cook, and set out for a walk toward Old Souls Church. There she would seek guidance from a higher authority as to how she might best deal with her mystifying rogue.

She had not waddled half a block, however, when a closed carriage pulled up beside her, and to her surprise, the door was thrown open by an unseen hand. “Come in, your grace, and rest from your burden.”

The voice prickled the hair on Sabrina’s arms and sent a chill down her spine. Familiar, yet not, and even as the words invited, the voice struck terror.

“Come,” it coaxed. “I will convey you wherever you wish to go.”

Though Sabrina was certain she must have heard the voice somewhere before, she could not seem to recall it.

And she believed she should.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sabrina faltered as she tried to decide whether to turn and run or peek into the dark, forbidding interior of the nondescript conveyance. But her decision was taken away by a top of the trees Corinthian out for a stroll. In his many-caped greatcoat, his black curly beaver at a jaunty angle, and tipping his gold-tipped cane her way, the rogue offered her his arm.

Almost at once, the door of the mysterious carriage closed and the driver pulled the vehicle smoothly into traffic.

“Who was that?” her husband asked.

Sabrina looked down her nose at him, but she took his arm, nevertheless. “Someone looking for directions, I expect.”

Damned if her Duke did not resemble the devil incarnate this morning, wicked as sin and elegant as ever. Amazing what a bath and a change of clothes, or clothing at all, could do for a man.

Not that he appeared a fragment less than magnificent without his clothes.

“Do we feel better after our bath?” he asked, both patronizing and annoying.

“If you mean, by we … do I?” Sabrina asked. “And does the baby? Yes we do. If you are asking after you and me, then I suppose you will have to answer at least part of the question, yourself. Do
you
feel better, Your Surliness?”

His bark of laughter surprised and delighted Sabrina. She had only heard it in the dark, in bed, and supposed that any and all playfulness on his part would be kept strictly in the bedchamber.

Glad to be found wrong on that score, Sabrina smiled, relaxed, certainly for the first time since she annoyed him by refusing to share her past with him.

“For some odd reason, despite the nature of our wedding night,” he said with a wink. “I feel incredibly well-rested this morning. But I must admit that I find myself concerned about your missing breakfast. You are eating for two, you must remember.”

“Mrs. Chalmer force-fed me toast and milk in the kitchen when I went down to approve today’s menu,” she said. “But thank you for your kind concern.”

“Balderdash!” he said.

“Balderdash?”

“You mock an honest emotion, Sabrina. I am genuinely concerned for you. While you may not always like what I have to say, you may be certain that I will always speak in earnest.”

“I see.”

“I am glad to hear it. Let us then proceed to the dressmaker, shall we, and get you out of your blacks?”

Sabrina stopped walking. “In this condition? Now?”

“If you had rather go out of mourning after the baby….”

“Honestly? I had rather bury the blacks now, but I find myself weary and feeling rather exhausted, I am appalled to admit.”

Sabrina had no sooner spoken than Gideon snapped his fingers and bundled her into his carriage, which must have been following at a discreet distance, for the two-block trip back to Stanthorpe Place.

Mr. Chalmer reset the breakfast room, posthaste, and half the household rallied round to be certain “the little mother” consumed enough “good healthy fare” to recover herself, while Gideon relaxed and partook of the breakfast he had been too remorseful to enjoy without her.

He gave her a sidelong glance as he buttered his toast and wondered if she realized the importance of the lessons they had taught each other today.

He had showed her that she could not run anywhere he would not find her. And he hoped she noted that he would not let his temper get the better of him, no matter how much she annoyed him.

Direct orders, she had demonstrated, like surly behavior, she as much as said, would not be tolerated or obeyed by her.

Gideon grinned as the implication sank in. As he had suspected, his bride did indeed make for a worthy opponent, in and out of bed.

Anticipation filled him at the thought.

He liked nothing better than a proper challenge, except, perhaps, winning.

“What, pray tell, do you find to amuse you?” she asked, as she regarded him, perhaps a bit worried, but more than a trace smug as well.

So, she did comprehend her power, or she thought she did. Gideon gave her a grudging nod of approval, while she had the audacity to acknowledge, what amounted to, her rebuke of his high-handedness, with a vainglorious grin.

Round two to Sabrina.

“Oh my,” Miss Minchip said.

Gideon saw that the
others
had been watching and likely bestowed a somewhat sensual bent to their individual translations of the silent by-play between him and his new wife.

Gideon chuckled but did not reveal the source of his humor, even when pressed. Instead, he sought to change the subject. “I had a remarkable experience during the night.”

Sabrina squeaked and nearly choked on her eggs. Miss Minchip’s eyes grew huge and eager, and one of Mr. Waredraper bushy white eyebrows rose high enough to kiss his bald pate.

To halt speculation, Gideon held up his hand. “You will pardon my poor word choice,” he said, winking at Miss Minchip then fearing she might swoon. “I awoke,” he said, starting again, “and could swear that I came face to face with a child, a lad, I believe.”