Kiss From a Rogue (2 page)

The cat kneaded her pillow and turned, first by her right ear, then by her left shoulder, before settling in the middle of Sylvia’s chest.

Luckily the lavender that grew in such abundance locally kept the vermin at bay. Galen had withdrawn her objections to a beast in the house after Sylvia had convinced her that a cat who was regularly bathed in lavender water would not only
not
bring in vermin, but would keep the mice out of her pantry. Macbeth performed his duties with great zeal and diligence.

She buried her fingers in his luxurious fur, rubbed under his ear. His rhythmic purring and soft warm body soon had her boneless, her eyelids drooping. If Macbeth’s tiny body generated this much heat, perhaps she should get a dog before winter. A big, warm, furry dog who wouldn’t mind sharing bed space with a cat.

A big, warm, furry dog…with big teeth and a taste for smelly sea captains.

London
June 1816

“D
o you plan to regain consciousness any time soon?”

Tony buried his head farther under the pillow, trying to shut out his older brother’s booming voice.

“Mama was quite worried about you when you didn’t come home yesterday. Do you know how much time I had to spend with her, reassuring her you were not floating facedown in the Thames with a knife stuck in your back? Time I could have spent with my
wife
?”

Ben not only didn’t go away, but plopped down on the edge of the mattress. The bed and Tony groaned in unison.

He hadn’t really had that much to drink, had he? Just a few glasses at the faro table. And one while on board Nick’s ship, but that one didn’t count, since the tide had come in and Tony had heaved his guts out over the railing. And of course there had been the glass or three at his brother’s wedding breakfast, just before he…

Oh. Just before he kissed his new sister-in-law. Soundly. With his brother standing less than three feet away.

Not his brightest move. Tony pushed the pillow aside and risked opening one eye to glance at his brother sitting on the edge of the bed. He squinted, trying to block out most of the light stabbing his eyeball.

Ben looked back at him, his head cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised. No sign of a weapon in his hands, or murder in his eye. Maybe he’d already forgiven Tony for the liberty he’d taken with Jo. A charming lass, his new sister-in-law.

“Are you in there?” Ben poked him in the shoulder.

Pain exploded in his shoulder and upper back. Tony hissed and rolled onto his side, away from the finger. His head throbbed anew, the room dipped and swayed, and the contents of his stomach threatened to make a return appearance. “Kill me now.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Not just yet.” The bed shifted as Ben stood up.

Tony lost his balance and started to roll onto his back, only to hiss in pain again as his shoulder made contact with the mattress. What the…? He swung his legs over the side and slowly sat up, examining the backs of his hands. Knuckles were fine, no bruising or scratches. If he’d been in a fight, as his body felt, he hadn’t defended himself very well.

A mug was shoved under his nose. Tony looked up, trying to see the expression on his brother’s face, but Ben was tall enough, and Tony’s head hurt enough, that just now he couldn’t see that high.

Ben grabbed Tony’s hand and wrapped it around the mug. “Thompson promises this will get rid of the worst of your hangover.”

“Your footman? What’s he know about…Never mind.” He sniffed, took a sip. Nothing he’d ever order at a pub, but if it would stop the incessant pounding and settle his stomach…He gulped it down.

“You can ask him for the recipe later, when you thank him for putting you to bed last night.”

Tony choked.

Ben patted him on the back, and Tony jumped up, away from the pain. Every touch hurt, and Ben wasn’t even trying.

When the floor and walls settled, Tony took stock. He was still fully dressed, minus his coat and boots, in the same garments he’d worn to the wedding breakfast. A few new stains since then, though. But he had no recollection of Ben’s giant blond footman helping him to bed.

“Alistair brought you home, then Thompson carried you up the stairs. Had to pause on the landing while you…” Ben made a rolling gesture with his hand, and Tony’s stomach lurched in response. “I believe you owe the maids a generous vail, by the way.”

“I’ll do that.” He reached for the bell pull.

“Don’t bother.” Ben leaned against the bedpost, his arms folded. “Already ordered a bath to be brought up, as well as a light breakfast. Even though it’s past two.”

“Your servants can handle two requests at once now?” He must still have too much alcohol in his system to be baiting his brother like this. “Oh, right, Jo’s in charge again. Got them working like clockwork, she does.”

Ben straightened to his full height, standing several inches taller and wider than Tony. He spoke softly, his low voice filled with menace. “That’s Lady Sinclair, to you.”

“Of course. My apologies.” Tony held his hands to his temples, which were throbbing even harder under his brother’s glare.

They both turned at a knock on the door. “Enter,” they called in unison.

A parade of servants marched in, and within moments they had set up a tub with steaming buckets of water before the fire, a tray with food and tea on the desk, and bowed and curtsied on the way out.

“Not a moment too soon,” Ben said as the door closed behind them. “You reek of Blue Ruin and cheap perfume, and I don’t want to know what those other scents are.”

“Sorry to offend your olfactory senses.” Tony struggled out of his waistcoat and shirt, wincing as he caught a whiff of himself. “But this
is
my bedchamber.” He dropped the clothes in a heap. “Unless you’re kicking me out?”

Ben pushed Tony onto the bed before he fell to the floor, as balancing on one foot to peel off his stockings seemed beyond his abilities at the moment. “You can take up bachelor quarters if you want, though I think Mama would prefer you stay here for a while, now that you’re finally done with school. She’s concerned.”

Stockings dealt with, Tony stood up and struggled to remove his breeches. What, had someone stitched the buttons closed while he slept?

“I confess to being a tad concerned, myself,” Ben continued. “I know it wasn’t easy for you, putting off school so long and finishing well after your chums, but your behavior lately…at the wedding breakfast—”

“One is supposed to kiss the bride.”

“One is supposed to keep his tongue in his own damn mouth!”

Tony covered his ears and winced at the reverberating boom bouncing around inside his skull. “Sorry,” he said when the echoes finally died down.

The buttons still wouldn’t release. Tony grasped the material and yanked. Buttons flew across the room and bounced on the hardwood floor. Ah, much better. He let the breeches puddle at his feet, and struggled with the tapes on his drawers.

“And then you went off carousing with your friends for two days—”

Tony jerked his head up. Two days? “This isn’t Wednesday?”

“Thursday. Afternoon.”

Hmm. There was something happening on Thursday. Something he was supposed to do. But his brain hurt too much to dredge up the details at the moment.

“Mama thinks you’re trying to become a rake like Nick, with a mistress in every port…”

Tony let the words wash over him as Ben continued his rant. Mama worried too much. And Nick only had one mistress. The knot undone, Tony shucked off his drawers and headed for the tub before the water cooled.

“And then you—Good Lord, what have you done to yourself?”

Tony stopped. He’d grown up, is what he’d done. Since his brother had last seen him au naturel, Tony had studied with fencing masters and boxing instructors, men who saw rules and laws more as guidelines than rigid codes. He may not have inherited Papa’s height and title, but he was no longer a scrawny little schoolboy, favorite target of bullies. Not anymore.

“No wonder you flinched when I touched your shoulder. Whatever possessed you to do that?”

“Flinching is a perfectly reasonable response to pain.” Tony started for the tub again.

Ben leaped off the bed, caught up to him. “No, I meant, what possessed you to do
this
?” He spun him around and pushed Tony’s chin over his shoulder so he could see his back in the mirror.

Tony shoved the dark brown hair out of his bloodshot eyes and focused his gaze. Good Lord, what
had
he done to himself? Dried blood had congealed on a fresh wound just above his right shoulder blade, with colorful bruises radiating out from it, down his back and over his shoulder. He flexed his muscles. Bad idea. The floor started swaying again.

Ben grabbed him by the elbows and gave an exasperated shake of his head. “Only sailors and convicts have tattoos. Which do you intend to be?”

Tattoo? He’d had enough to drink that he’d let Nick talk him into getting a tattoo? Had to have been Nick—Alistair might sketch the image, but would never embed it on his skin. Nick, however, had come back from his last voyage to New Guinea with some tribal design wrapped around his bicep. Tony would pound him. Just as soon as his head stopped pounding.

Ben cocked his head to one side. “What is it?”

“You just said it’s a tattoo.”

Ben thwacked him on his uninjured shoulder. “A tattoo of
what
? What image did you admire so much that you had to get it permanently etched onto your skin?”

Good question. Tony didn’t even remember visiting a tattoo artist. Come to think on it, there were a lot of gaps in his memory, between the outraged roar from Ben after Tony had kissed Jo, just before he departed with his friends, to waking up this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.

“It defies description. You’ll have to wait until the swelling goes down.” Tony perched on the edge of the tub, his head hanging down, as he allowed Ben to tend to his shoulder.

They’d done this as children—Ben would push aside their nurse or governess to take care of Tony’s scraped knees and bloody nose himself, especially if Ben had been the one to inflict the injuries in the first place. Never with malicious intent, of course—the bumps and bruises were just a consequence of Tony tagging along after a brother five years older and so much bigger.

But they were adults now, and Ben had other responsibilities. “Not that I don’t appreciate being awakened from a sound sleep for no apparent reason, but shouldn’t you be with your bride?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Tony looked up at the unexpectedly gentle tone in Ben’s voice. Was that a blush staining his brother’s cheeks? He drew breath for a teasing comment about newlyweds, then remembered he was in a rather vulnerable position at the moment. Ben gave him a wry grin that said he knew exactly what Tony had been thinking. “Perhaps she’s awake by now.”

Ben’s grin widened. “Perhaps.” He dunked the washcloth in the tub and plopped it over Tony’s head. “I’ll just go see.”

Tony shoved the dripping cloth out of his eyes and watched his brother head for the door.

Once again Ben walked with the self-assured posture of a soldier, his limp barely noticeable. “When you’re decent and can think straight, come see me. I have a proposition for you.” Ben shut the door behind him.

When Tony had left for school last fall, Ben still needed crutches. Doctors said it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his leg altogether in that blasted battle at Waterloo. Mama had said in her letters that Ben worked hard to be rid of even a cane. Tony was convinced a certain managing female was responsible for Ben’s recovery. An auburn-haired beauty who smelled of lemons, whom he had better, apparently, address as Lady Sinclair.

Tony allowed himself to fall over the edge into the tepid water, splashing all over the floor. Careful of his aching shoulder, he washed and shaved. He now had the funds to hire a valet—perhaps he should finally get one.

When Jo, now Lady Sinclair, had come to work for Ben, she’d shifted their investments and increased their worth considerably, in spite of the embezzling secretary that had preceded her. Even Tony’s modest inheritance from his maternal grandmother had been doubled.

And they’d been hiring servants at every turn the last few months—what was one more? The love match between Ben’s aging butler and housekeeper had infected the rest of the staff. He’d lost track of how many servants had paired up and run off and had to be replaced.

Tony heaved his aching body out of the tub and got dressed.

He had made do without a manservant while at school by having his clothes tailored so that he didn’t require assistance. Good thing they were loose over his aching shoulder. The New Guinea tattoo artists must be more skilled than those at the London docks, because he couldn’t imagine Nick putting up with this much discomfort.

Whether it was the hangover remedy or bath and clean clothes, he was starting to feel human again. Recovered enough, in fact, to feel a smidgeon of curiosity about Ben’s proposition.

He made his way downstairs to the library. All was quiet within. He debated whether to knock, but Ben had told him to come down as soon as he was ready. He opened the door and stepped in.

Behind the massive oak desk, Ben was seated in his big leather chair, account ledgers spread across the desk, with his wife sideways on his lap. Jo had a pencil in one hand and was moving balls on the abacus, or at least attempting to do so, with her other hand. Her progress was impeded by Ben’s nuzzling of her ear.

Tony stood motionless, frozen. He should leave them their privacy, but found himself unable to look away. His breathing hitched and an unfamiliar emotion crept over him.

Envy.

Not specifically for his brother’s wife, attractive though she was, but for their relationship. Happiness and contentment seemed to ooze from their every pore. Ben was at peace, because of the laughing woman on his lap.

Could Tony ever find a similar joy and peace for himself? Or was that also reserved solely for the eldest son, along with the title and family wealth?

“Pull up a chair.”

Tony looked up with a guilty start at his brother’s command.

“I’ll leave you two to your chat.” Lady Sinclair struggled to get up, her cheeks flooded with color. She had faced down menacing merchants and towering servants in her role as “Mister Quincy,” but was still embarrassed to be caught on her husband’s lap. Charming. Or perhaps she just couldn’t bear to look at him after the liberty he’d taken with her the other day. He wouldn’t blame her.

Ben’s arms tightened around her waist. “You don’t have to leave just yet,” he murmured.

“Yes, no need to leave on my account,” Tony felt compelled to add as he sat down. He must have a death wish. Judging by the narrowed expression on his brother’s face, Ben would gladly help make that wish come true.

Lady Sinclair peeled Ben’s arm from her waist and slid to the floor, adjusting her gown as she straightened. “Will you be staying in for dinner tonight?”