Victoria and the Rogue (13 page)

heavy voice, “Yes, my sister, Margaret. She married a Scot and lives in Edinburgh, or you’d have met

her already. She’s a great beauty, and was quite sought after when she came out a few years ago.”

“I…”Victoria was so astonished she hardly knew what to say. All she could think was, Stuff and bother!

Now there’d be nothing but endless trouble and tears for everyone involved.

But Jacob had paused, and she supposed he expected a response of some kind. So she murmured, “I

didn’t know.”

“No,” Jacob said, looking impatient. Evidently this was not the response he’d been anticipating. “How

would you? You weren’t even in England yet. In any case, Margaret could have had her pick of suitors,

but the one she liked best was the man to whom you are now engaged—Hugo Rothschild. He wasn’t

Lord Malfrey then… his father was still alive, as was my own. The two of them were friends— Malfrey’s

father and mine. Margaret and Rothschild were often thrown together as a result, and I suppose an

engagement was inevitable. Three weeks before the wedding, however, disaster struck. Several of my

father’s ships were lost at sea due to a series of storms. His fortune seemed lost. The strain was too

much for him and he fell ill, and never did completely recover. He died just six months later.”

Victoria, who barely remembered her own father, said, “I’m so sorry,” because it seemed the thing to

say. But again Jacob brushed her response aside.

“It was while all this was happening—my father’s illness, and the loss of his ships—that Hugo Rothschild

told my sister he couldn’t see his way toward marrying her after all. They would have nothing to live on,

you see, since Hugo’s father hadn’t a penny to his name, either. Margaret suggested to Hugo that he

might find work… an occupation. But Rothschilds, you see”—here the captain’s voice took a derisive

dip—“are above actually earning a living. They’d rather live, like parasites, off the earnings of others.

And so Hugo left London, and my sister, never to be heard of again—until, that is, he showed up on the

Harmony—which I found the height of cheek, that he should have returned to London on one of my

ships. For upon my father’s death, I took over the business, you see, and built it up again.”

Victoria, who’d already heard this part of Jacob’s story from Rebecca, could not help but admire

Captain Carstairs’s narrative restraint. For he had not, as he’d so simply described, built his father’s

business up again, but rather started a new business, practically from scratch, which had gone on to

flourish in a dramatically short period of time… the same amount of time that Lord Malfrey, if Jacob’s

story was to be believed, had been hiding in shame thousands of miles away.

It was, if it was true, a very serious charge indeed that Jacob Carstairs laid at the feet of Victoria’s

fiancé. For a broken engagement—and broken for such a reason!—was not soon to be forgiven. It was

no small wonder that Hugo had not shown his face in England for so many years afterward.

But even though Victoria felt very sorry indeed for the former Miss Carstairs, who had doubtless had

her heart broken and been slighted beyond imagining, she could not be insensible to the fact that the

situation had not been an easy one for her fiancé, either. Was he to be blamed if, upon finding himself

incapable of attaining it any other way, he attempted to marry money?

Still, if what Jacob was saying was true—and Victoria saw no reason why he might lie about it, when

such a thing could so easily be checked—Lord Malfrey had behaved very badly indeed. For while

Victoria had learned most of what she knew of romance from her ayah, from her uncles she had learned

something even more important: sportsmanship. And a good sport accepted his losses gracefully, and

took his lumps like a man. Running off to India and abandoning his bride might have been the most

sensible thing for Lord Malfrey to have done—otherwise, without money or love (for it was clear from

his behavior that the earl could not have loved Jacob’s sister), what were the chances of the match

succeeding? Still, it was hardly good sportsmanship. A game player took risks, and if those risks did not

prove fruitful, then he took his lumps.

But Lord Malfrey had not taken his lumps. He had taken himself off instead. And that, to Victoria, was

far more offensive than his attempt to marry for money.

But of course she couldn’t admit as much out loud. She had, she could see now, made a terrible mistake

in agreeing to marry Lord Malfrey. But it would be bad sportsmanship to admit as much to anyone else

before she’d given the earl a chance to defend himself against the charges.

And she would never admit as much to the likes of Jacob Carstairs!

And so, masking her own feelings of wounded pride and, it must be admitted, some mortification—for

what girl likes to hear that a man she thought was in love with her was marrying her only for money? Even

a girl who’d suspected something of the kind all along, but had thought herself perfectly all right with the

idea?—Victoria said gravely to Captain Carstairs, “I thank you for telling me. I am glad to hear that your

sister’s pain was not of long duration, and that she is happy now.” Then, straightening herself up, Victoria

gestured toward the terrace doors. “Now would you kindly unlock these? For I’d like to go inside again,

if I may.”

Captain Carstairs, who had, during his impassioned speech about his sister, come to stand very close to

Victoria, now looked down at her with an expression every bit as astonished as if Victoria had suggested

he walk barefoot across a bed of hot coals.

“Lady Victoria,” he said in a voice that sounded a bit strangled. “I would never presume to tell you what

to do—”

Victoria could not restrain an incredulous laugh at that. The captain ignored her.

“—however,” he went on, “I would urge you to consider very carefully whether or not you ought to

marry the earl. He isn’t… well, he isn’t a very good man. And though I know we have had our

differences in the past, my lady”—and here the captain’s gaze bored very hard into her own—“I do think

that, for the most part, your extremely impertinent interference in the affairs of others stems from a

genuine desire to do good.”

Victoria parted her lips to protest that interference was hardly the correct term for her very kind efforts

to improve the lots of her friends and relatives…

…but forgot everything she’d been about to say when she found one of her hands caught up in Captain

Carstairs’s. Looking down at her slim fingers in his own much larger ones, Victoria felt, for some reason,

her breath catch in her throat.

Which was, of course, perfectly ridiculous, because she didn’t admire, much less care for, Captain

Jacob Carstairs. Indeed, she considered him exactly what he’d just confessed to thinking her—a rude

interferer. Only he, rather than interfering in the affairs of those less fortunate, seemed intent on constantly

interfering in hers.

That fact, and that alone, was undoubtedly why, the moment Captain Carstairs’s fingers closed over

hers, Victoria’s pulse seemed to grow erratic. And why her breath grew short. And her cheeks hotter

than ever. Why, the impudence of the man! And the fact that that grayeyed gaze seemed to be raking her

face, taking in every little moonlit detail—for, of course, the moon would have come out again just then,

when it was most inconvenient. Why, just who did Jacob Carstairs think he was?

“It would be a shame,” the captain went on, keeping a firm grip on the hand that Victoria was

attempting, albeit ineffectually, to slip from his grasp. He did not, however, seem to notice… or care,

anyway. “A burning shame,” he added forcefully, “were you to align yourself with a man who has never

once considered doing anything for the good of anyone but himself.”

Victoria found herself—beyond all reasoning, and much to her horror—being pulled hypnotically toward

Jacob Carstairs, as if his eyes were, of all things, the moon, and she the tide. It was completely illogical,

but there it was, and there didn’t seem to be a blessed thing she could do about it. Even as they stared at

each other, their faces just inches apart, Victoria’s body seemed to sway to fill the gap between them, in

a manner of which she knew her ayah would have greatly disapproved.

But she couldn’t seem to stop herself, though of course it defied all logic. She didn’t even like Jacob

Carstairs. Oh, certainly he was handsome enough, she supposed, in a darkly brooding sort of way. But

those collar points! And that mouth—not to mention the things that seemed constantly to come out of it!

How could she possibly feel attracted to such a person?

But what of him? For Jacob Carstairs had made it amply clear that she was not one of his favorite

people. But he hadn’t exactly dropped her hand and turned away in revulsion when she’d begun swaying

toward him. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. He was swaying toward her as if as unable to stop

himself as she was—

And then the worst thing possible occurred. Jacob Carstairs swayed so far forward that his mouth

actually collided with hers.

The next thing Victoria knew, they were kissing. She and Jacob Carstairs, the last man on earth whose

lips she’d ever want to touch with her own. Kissing! And quite passionately, too. Jacob had dropped her

hand and reached out instead to seize her by both arms, as if fearful she’d sway so far forward the two of

them would topple over the balcony railing, if he didn’t attempt to stop her.

And she was no better! For her fingers had curled, as if of their own accord, around the back of the

captain’s neck, though Victoria could in no way determine how they’d gotten there, unless Jacob

Carstairs had put them there… something she would not have put past him.

But, oh! It was strange how delightful it felt to have them there. Stranger still how delightful it felt to have

Jacob Carstairs’s mouth on hers! Which was, of course, perfectly ridiculous, because Victoria hated

Jacob Carstairs—hated him with a passion, and, besides, was engaged to someone else… though,

thanks to this evening’s discoveries, she was not at all certain for how much longer.

Perhaps it was because she hated Jacob Carstairs so passionately that kissing him felt so terribly

exciting. For love and hate were both very strong emotions, so naturally both would incite very strong

reactions. She loved—or at least was very fond of—Lord Malfrey, and so being kissed by him was quite

pleasurable. Why wouldn’t being kissed by someone about whom she felt just as strongly—if not even

more strongly—elicit a similar sensation?

Except, of course, that she doubted being kissed by someone one detested was supposed to trigger

anything but feelings of revulsion. And she, oddly enough, felt far from revolted by Jacob Carstairs’s

kisses.

Oh, dear! For the first time since leaving India, Victoria found herself longing for her wise old ayah, who

would surely have been able to clear up this very disturbing mystery for her—would have been able

satisfactorily to explain why it was that, even though she hated Jacob Carstairs, the feel of his lips on hers

made her heart beat so quickly inside her chest, she thought it might explode. Her heart had never beaten

this quickly when Lord Malfrey kissed her… and he was her own fiancé! Something, Victoria felt sure,

was very, very wrong….

Especially considering the fact that, when Jacob lifted his lips from hers and started to say her name in a

voice that sounded quite unlike his own, it was so ragged, Victoria only pulled his head down and started

kissing him even more passionately than before….

What might have happened if they’d remained undisturbed, Victoria later shuddered to think. He might

possibly have proposed, and she might—la! What a joke!—possibly have accepted.

Fortunately, however, someone tried the terrace doors, and, hearing the latch rattle, the two of them

sprang apart, Victoria with cheeks she was sure were scarlet, and Jacob with a dark curl of hair falling

rakishly over one eye.

“Vicky?” Rebecca called, tugging on the latch. “Are you two still out there? Why won’t the doors open?

Are they stuck?”

Jacob, with a composure of mind Victoria quite envied, reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew

the key.

“Yes,” he said, in a voice that was a good deal steadier than any Victoria could have summoned. “They

stick sometimes when it rains.” Then, with one last penetrating—and, to Victoria, anyway,

inscrutable—glance in her direction, he turned the key and opened the doors.

“Ah,” he said, grinning in the rectangle of light that spilled out from the drawing room, and looking far

handsomer than any man Victoria had ever seen. “There. That’s better. Lady Victoria, will you come in?”

Victoria, perfectly incapable of meeting anyone’s gaze—but most of all the one belonging to the man

she’d just been kissing—hurried inside, where she was immediately accused by her aunt, because of her

high color, of having caught a chill while out-of-doors, and was summarily sent to bed with a hot brick as

soon as she returned home… a turn of events that did not dismay her at all, as it happened, since her bed

now seemed the only place in London where she was safe from the vagaries of her own heart.

CHAPTER TEN

Victoria stood before the mirror in the bedroom she and Rebecca shared, carefully twirling one strand of