All Men Are Rogues (17 page)

“Answers to some questions. Trail to something.” Justin wished he’d drawn more from the colonel. He looked at the empty threshold, considering the prior interview. He’d never known the colonel to stray from His Majesty’s service. But something was not adding up. He shook his head. No. Wheaton would not betray his country. It was unimaginable. “Then what’s the old codger after?” he asked the vacant chamber.

Justin skipped to the last question, reading it aloud. “‘Do you make a habit of seducing your victims, or was I a special case?’” Brushing the parchment across his lips, he whispered, “You are a very special case, darling, and I’m not about to let Wheaton or anyone else hurt you. On my honor.”

Folding the paper and slipping it into his coat pocket, he called, “Sylvester?”

His man popped his head inside the room. “Yes, my lord?”

“Bring me my writing instruments.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And don’t forget my seal.” He was going to have to get busy, and there was little enough time. He wondered where Evelyn was, and he prayed that she was not taking matters into her own hands, for no one knew better than Justin the colonel’s tenacity. The man was like a tiger with a foot in its jaws, eating its way upward until nothing of a man or woman was left.

E
velyn was shaking so badly that she thought her teeth might fall out from their clattering. She was chilled to the bone, and no amount of firewood could draw out her frostiness. She scooted closer to the raging flames in the hearth and held out her frozen hands. At least the carpet under her bottom was plush.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Angel barked as he strode into the chamber with leopardlike grace. He dropped an ivory dressing gown onto the enormous bed. “Here, put this on.”

She eyed the silky confection warily but knew that she would catch her death if she did not do something quickly to ward off the chill.

“I’m going to get us something to eat and drink.” His dark clothes were plastered to his lean body, and his black hair had curled up around his ears. “Lock the door behind me. Three knocks, remember.” With that, he opened the door a crack, peered down the hall of the fancy inn, and slipped out the door.

After firmly turning the brass key in the lock, Evelyn yanked off her sodden shoes and set them by the fire to dry. She tugged at her drenched garments, taking off everything, down to her damp chemise. She unfastened her stays and peeled the last vestiges of her sodden clothing from her skin. She slipped on the silky nightdress, wondering how Angel had managed to procure such an expensive and personal garment on such short notice.

Thunder clamored outside, followed by a flash of lightning so bright it illuminated the entire chamber, even through the thick drapes. She shuddered and moved back to the fire, tucking her feet under her bottom, praying that they would thaw. She sat hunched so close to the flames that the heat’s radiance wrapped her in a toasty blanket. After a few long moments, she realized that her teeth were no longer chattering.

In the silent chamber she listened to the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the windows and the muffled sounds of horses neighing and carriage wheels rolling by on the cobblestone street below. She wondered if she should light the candles on the side of the bed, but she was unwilling to move from her warm spot by the fire. The firelight cast gloomy shadows around the spacious room and across the thick carpet where she sat. She wondered how much such a well-appointed room cost for the night. Certainly more than she had to her name, she thought glumly. She was indebted to Angel once again, with no means of ever repaying him. Yet now she was even worse off than before.

She’d been a fool twice now where Justin was concerned. Not that Angel took her to task over it. He mostly kept his thoughts to himself, but his silence was reprimand enough. She felt torn from the inside out, hoping beyond hope that there had been some dreadful mistake. Or that she was misreading the situation somehow. Yet even if Justin had had good intentions supporting his actions, she could not forgive him for taking off without at least discussing them with her.

Moreover, he had put himself in dire risk haring off on horseback like that. His wounds had healed well, but not nearly enough for a pounding dash on horseback through a rainstorm in the dead of night. He could have fallen off his horse and be lying in a ditch half-dead somewhere. Part of her wanted to kill him for his bravado. Part of her wanted to skin him alive for being so inconsiderate of her feelings. Mostly she wanted to crawl into a hole and mourn the loss of her faith in him and in her judgment. Once again she’d been a reckless cully to trust him. She supposed she had a weakness for the dashing marquis—one she would regret until the day she died. She just prayed that day was none too soon.

Evelyn inhaled deeply, trying to find something good about the situation, and all she got for her efforts was a coughing fit from too much wood smoke in her lungs. She felt sodden in spirit as well as body. Pressing her hand to her burning chest, she shook her head.

God, she was pitiful.

Three knocks banged on the thick pine door to the chamber. She stood and tiptoed to the entry.

“Angel?”

Three more knocks came. “Open up, Evelyn.” She’d know that smooth inflection anywhere. She turned the key in the lock and yanked open the heavy door. Angel stepped inside, carrying at least ten different parcels. While she locked the entry, he stepped over to the table in the corner and laid out his cache.

He unwrapped the first bundle and set out a hunk of cheese; another bundle was a loaf of bread. Another held apples. With a flourish he unwrapped what was obviously his most favored prize, a bottle of reddish-brown liquid. He tugged open the cork, tilted his head back, and took a mighty swig. She watched the Adam’s apple in his olive-skinned throat jump with each gulp.

He licked his lips. “Beverage of the gods.”

He held the bottle out to her, and she took a hearty sip. She coughed and sputtered as fire lanced down her chest straight to her hollow belly. Her eyes teared, her nostrils flared, and her chest burned. It was like tasting liquid smoke.

“Quite the strong tipple,” Angel commented, smiling. He reached for the bottle and took another swill.

Evelyn sat down on the carpet by the fire, feeling warmer on the inside and out. She watched silently as Angel tore a hunk of bread, sliced some cheese with a shiny silver knife, and held them out to her. She shook her head. Food was unimaginable; her stomach was roiling.

He frowned disapprovingly but ate the food himself. After a moment, he commented, “You do no one any good if you are feeble.”

“I am not feeble, I’m simply not hungry.”

He munched on in the silence-filled chamber. The fire crackled and hissed.

She stared into the golden flames. “Do you think they are safe?”

“Ismet will take care of Shah. I pray you’re not including the bloody marquis in your concerns.”

“Of course not.” She buried her head in her arms, abashed once more. She heard the rustle of clothing and peeked up. Angel’s dark coat and silk vest were draped across the armchair by the window. He stood by the bed wearing only his shirt and pants. The white linen was stuck to his lithe form, and his breeches were like a second skin. He had the body of an Adonis. Heat flashed from her cheeks to her hairline, and she pressed her face back into the fold of her arms. For the first time she realized her situation. She was half-naked and alone in a luxurious inn with an attractive man. For a moment, she disregarded the fact that the man was Angel.

He dropped a pillow onto the carpet and lounged beside her by the fire. Leaning up on his elbow, he stretched his legs toward the flames and wiggled his toes. She looked away. No matter how dear their friendship, eyeing his bare toes was a bit too intimate for her liking.

“Are you still cold?” she asked.

“Not with this to warm me.” He raised the bottle to his lips, then passed her the drink. She took it from him and sipped slowly. Her eyes teared again, but the fiery liquid warmed her down to her soles.

“Not too much,
caro
,” he chided softly. “You have not eaten, and we would not want you to become ill.”

Her cheeks reddened. It seemed she was in constant need of his guidance these days. She licked her lips, tasting the smoky brandy on her breath. The firelight played across his handsome features, adding a golden glow to his olive skin and chocolate brown eyes. His raven hair curled tightly around his ears, and she just had to ask, “Were you speaking of Isabella when you said you’d had no luck when intrigue crossed swords with love?”

He stared into the flames a long moment. “She was working for the French.”

“How did you know?”

“She was trying to seduce my father.”

“But he’s happily married.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“But she was with you.”

“Father and son, an interesting arrangement, don’t you agree?” he replied, bitterness cracking his usually velvety voice. “At first I did not believe Father when he warned me against her. I thought he was jealous. That he wanted her for himself.” His laugh was a harsh bark. “Can you imagine me believing that Father wanted something I had?”

“She was very beautiful,” she replied softly.

“She was a scheming bitch.”

“But you loved her.”

“I loved someone who did not exist.” He took a swig of the brandy and turned away, his features cast in shadow.

It somehow made her feel better that she was not the only one with poor judgment in matters of the heart. She pursed her lips. “Have you sworn off marriage?”

“That is your favorite pastime, Evelyn. I am simply intent on enjoying the amusements women have to offer without becoming entangled in their trickery.”

Was that what Justin had wanted from her? Amusement?

Angel commented slowly, “You claim you do not love the marquis. Yet somehow you always seem to wind up back in his arms.”

“How can I love someone I don’t trust?”

“How could I love someone who didn’t exist?” Watching her through hooded eyes, he murmured, “If only we could find love where it finds us.”

The fire crackled and sparked as they sat in silence, each lost in their own musings.

He stood so suddenly that she had to cram her neck to look up at him. “You take the bed.” He pulled the coverlet off the mattress, and it slid noisily to the floor. “I will sleep by the fire.”

Nodding, she stood and stepped over to the bed. Staring down at the thick mattress, she turned. “Angel?”

He sat on the carpet before the hearth, his broad back facing her. “Yes, Evelyn?”

She needed to say the words. “You mean so much to me. I, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know,
caro.
” He rolled over and tugged the blanket over his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Lying beneath the scratchy wool blanket, she realized that she’d changed in the last few weeks. Gone was the maidenly girl who’d thought that seduction was a lighthearted game to be played in relative safety with a friend. Feelings were not without peril, and apparently neither was she when it came to matters between the covers. She grasped that although there were people capable of enjoying the pleasures between the sexes without emotional attachment, she was not one of them. That in opening her body to Justin, she had opened up a small corner of her heart. A corner that had flickered with girlish hope but was now dampened by cold reality. A lonely corner that, when she probed it, still burned with his betrayal.

Thunder boomed in the distance. Shuddering, she shrugged the rough cover higher to her neck and nestled her face deeper into the feather pillow. Before, she had always been afraid of being in another’s power. Now, she realized, power came not just from the bonds of matrimony but from intimacies as well. Intimacies that led to emotional hazards she could not afford to risk.

Gentle sleep weighed her heavy lids closed, but her mind still struggled with her newfound insight. It was a lesson well learned now, never to allow a man to control her physically, emotionally, or legally. She had once imagined that there were gentlemen with whom she could be safe, but Justin’s words came back to haunt her. “
All men are rogues and scoundrels.”
But then again, a gentleman lay on the floor by the fire, giving her his protection without asking for anything in return.
Perhaps not all men are rogues and scoundrels
, she thought dreamily as sleep fogged her exhausted brain,
the good ones are just few and far between.

Justin watched the lightning flash across the window in his study and prayed that wherever Evelyn was, she was safe and dry. Sighing, he looked back down at the letter on his desk, dipped his quill, blotted it, and continued scratching out the missive to Doctor’s Commons.

“I think that I’ve been exceptionally patient with you, Justin, and I’ve just about had enough of your heavy-handedness,” his mother chided from the doorway. The single candelabra lit in the room sat on his desk, barely illuminating her by the threshold. Yet he could not miss the silly black sash still wrapped around her thin frame.

She glided into the study, her red silk dress swooshing with her every step. “I have not pressed you for answers, even though you owe me them. I have allowed you your petty little desire to order everyone about, yet I am your mother and I demand the respect due me.”

He scratched out the next word and examined his work. “Respect cannot be insisted upon; it is earned.”

She crossed her arms. “If George were here, he would set you to rights.”

Justin dropped the quill to the desktop and stared at the woman who had tormented him with George’s death for years, as if he had been responsible for his brother’s descent into madness. One thing was for certain: George would never have put up with half of his mother’s malicious tactics. “Well, George is not here,” he stated mildly.

Scowling, she raised her hand and patted her ash blond hair. “If only you were more like your brother.”

“I am sorry, Mother, but I do not have the inclination to put a pistol to my head.”

She hissed, her catlike eyes flashing daggers. “For shame!”

“No, Mother, shame on you. You toss George’s death about like some sort of chalice signifying your martyrdom.” He stood, squaring his stance for a confrontation for which he had little time or patience. “George is no longer here, due solely to his own actions, which you seem to forget, and you are left dealing with me. It might not be what either of us wants, but it is all we are left with. Since you’ve chosen to interrupt my work, I suggest you state your needs and be gone. What can I do for you?”

She sputtered, her gaunt cheeks coloring white, then pink. “I, I require some answers….”

“Don’t we all,” he mumbled under his breath. He sighed. “What do you wish to know?”

Watching him nervously, she replied, “You said something about marrying a lady. I want to know your intentions.”

He looked down at the letter on his desk and then up at her. “You will meet my lady wife when I am good and ready. Not a moment before.”

“But I am your mother and must prepare her, I mean, for her.”

“I will not have you poisoning the most important relationship in my life.” From the look in her eyes, it was clear that she understood his implication that his maternal relationship did not rank.