The Care and Taming of a Rogue (3 page)

Chapter Two

Bennett noted Jack’s quick-paced confession only marginally. Mainly he glared at the book in his hands and willed it to vanish amid the smell of sulfur-scented smoke. Damned Langley. Now he needed to open it and look, even though the crawling of his skin already told him what lay inside.

“So I apologize for purchasing something that doesn’t characterize you as you deserve,” Jack continued, “but you honestly can’t blame me for my interest.”

A glass of amber-colored liquid appeared before his face. Good scotch—the only kind the Marquis of Emery ever allowed under his roof. Bennett took the glass and downed it in one burning swallow.

“See, there you are. Not so bad after all, eh?”

“Shut up for a bloody minute, will you, Jack? You chatter more than the monkey, and make less sense.”

“Oh. Very well, then.”

Bennett paced to the window and back again, then once more. Finally, grinding his jaw hard enough to flatten his teeth, he opened the leather-bound cover. For a heartbeat, hope touched him. A foreword from his uncle, Lord Fennington. Perhaps somewhere Langley
had
acquired a bit of literary acumen and a soul, and he’d managed to keep his eye on task long enough to write down the tale of his experiences in the Congo.

But then he turned to the first chapter. And there it was. Hope ground into burning dust and blew away. He cursed, not even certain which language he was speaking. Whatever it was, Jack took a step away from him.

“What is it?” his friend finally asked.

“You didn’t happen to notice a certain similarity in style between my books and this bloody thing?” he growled. He flipped through more pages, seeing sketches, translations, maps—all his. Except that someone else’s name was printed all over them.

“A similarity? I suppose so. It’s a book about adventure and exploration, and you’re in it. What—”

“I wrote it. This”—and he slammed the book closed—“is mine.” Snapping his arm forward, he hurled the book through the library window. Glass shattered, raining into the air and glinting red in the light from the fireplace. Kero screeched again, practically climbing onto the top of his head.

“Damnation!” Jack ran to the window, leaning outside. “What the devil was that for?”

“I’m angry.”

“I see that. Thank God you didn’t kill anyone,” the marquis’s son commented, facing into the room again. “And now you have to purchase Flip another edition. She was quite fond of that book.”

“Generally I find you fairly amusing,” Bennett snapped back, “but I worked for three years to put that ‘edition’ together. My journals, my observations, my conclusions.”

“But how—”

“How do you think? Langley stole the lot of it.” Kero patted him on the cheek, no doubt attempting to reassure him. He rolled his shoulders, giving her tail a gentle tug. None of this was her fault, at least.

Pouring himself another glass of scotch, Jack sat heavily in one of the hearth chairs. A second later the library door slammed open. “My lord,” the butler said, an alarmed expression on his face. “I heard something break. Do you require assistance?”

“There’s a book down in the garden,” Jack re turned. “Please have someone retrieve it for me. And we’ll need to have the window replaced.”

The butler nodded. “I’ll see to it at once, my lord.”

As soon as the door closed again, Jack took another drink. “I hope you understand,” he said, “this is a great deal for me to take in this evening. An hour ago I thought you were dead, and now you’re both alive
and
the victim of some sort of thievery involving the most popular book in England.”

“You think I’m lying?” Bennett narrowed his eyes. He’d never been a patient man, and tonight he felt stretched beyond all tolerance. “I may have had a spear through my middle, but all of my wits survived.”

“But are you certain? According to the book, you were delirious, and you both knew you wouldn’t survive. It was quite touching. You insisted that Captain Langley take the few surviving notes and sketches you had, so that your journey would have some meaning. Langley sat by your bedside in a filthy jungle hut until you stopped breathing, and then he made the heartrending decision to return to England alone.”

“That is a cartload of horseshit.”

Jack sat silently for a long moment. “If you say your journals were stolen, then I believe you. But read the book, Bennett. Because I don’t think it’s anything you would have written.”

“Explain.”

“You…don’t come out too well in it. In fact, if I didn’t already know you or was familiar with those books you did write about western Africa and Egypt, I’m not all that certain I would be impressed to be meeting you for the first time.” Jack slid forward to the edge of his chair. “That’s why I was apologizing for reading the damned thing. It certainly makes clear why Langley survived while you didn’t.”

“Bloody wonderful.” Pacing seemed to be the only thing keeping him from destroying everything in the room, so he kept his hands clenched and resumed stalking to the window and back. “Your book club guests weren’t pointing at me and laughing.”

“They wouldn’t, would they? Not to your face. And according to Langley you were…reasonably capable, when led to it.”

“And he led, I presume?”

“Yes.”

Bennett cursed again. This was unacceptable. Three years of nearly losing his life on an almost daily basis, his plans to write the book that Langley had already written, his reputation—damnation, he should have remained in Africa. At least there he
expected
ambushes around every tree. “Where’s Langley staying?” he growled.

“With his parents, at Langley House.”

“Good night, then.” Bennett turned for the door.

“But he’s not there at the moment.”

He stopped again. “Damn it, Jack, I am not playing about. You may have been surprised to see me alive, but I had no idea I was dead. It was Langley’s doing. He stole from me, and now he’s apparently defrauded me, as well.” A grim smile curved his mouth. He did enjoy battle, at least. “I find that annoying. So where the hell is he?”

“In Dover, last I heard. He’s doing some sort of tour, readings and autographs.” His friend stood again. “So stay here tonight, and we’ll take a fresh look at things in the morning.”

“I don’t see how sunlight will improve anything.” Another thought occurred to him, and he cursed once more. “I need to see Sommerset. I doubt Langley’s done any favors in my relationship with the Africa Association.”

“The duke will be at the theater tonight. Some charitable event he’s hosting. That’s where my parents are, as well. See him in the morning.”

Bennett took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’ll need that book back myself. It seems I have some reading to do tonight.”

“Just don’t throw it through anything else.” Jack crossed in front of him and opened the library door. “Come along. I’ll find you somewhere to rest your head. Unless you’d prefer to sleep out in the garden.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m the one John Clancy has been courting for five years, so you should thank me that he included you in his silly club.” Olivia tapped her boiled egg and then began peeling off the shell.

“You should thank John for his tolerance and patience.”

“What are you two quibbling about now?” Henry Eddison, Marquis of Leeds, strolled into the Eddison House breakfast room.

Olivia leaned up for a kiss on the cheek. “You will never ever guess, Papa!” she chirped. “It’s so exciting I can barely stand it!”

Their father came around the table to deliver another kiss to Phillipa before he made his way to the sideboard laden with breakfast foods. “Well, if it’s
you
who’s excited, Livi, I would say that trunk loads of Parisian hats have just washed ashore at Dover.”

“Oh, that would be exciting.” Olivia grinned. “But Flip is excited, as well.”

“Now that’s more complicated.”

“If it was Flip alone,” Livi continued, “it would be something dull and political or literary. But it’s both of us!”

With a wink at Phillipa, Lord Leeds took his seat and nodded for a cup of American coffee from Lane the footman. “Both of you, hm? I haven’t a clue.”

“Very well.” Olivia clasped her hands together. “Be glad you’re sitting down, Papa. Because…Captain Sir Bennett Wolfe is…alive.”

“What?”
He choked on his coffee. Lane hurried over to offer him a second napkin, but he waved the servant away. “Where did you hear that?”

“We
saw
him. Last night. Flip dragged me to her bluestocking club, and he—”

“We don’t call Flip a bluestocking, Livi.”

“Apologies, Papa. You know I only say it around family.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Phillipa reminded them, scowling. It wasn’t so much being called a bluestocking—she’d been saying that about herself since she was twelve. It was more the being overlooked. By her own family, this time. And she was the one who’d forced them to begin reading Captain Wolfe’s books in the first place. “The point, Papa, is that he came calling on John Clancy. John introduced him to all of us. Apparently he recovered from the stab wound he suffered.”

“He did look quite fit.” Olivia sighed. “Quite fit, indeed.” She took a sip of tea. “It’s a shame we know now that he wasn’t quite as heroic as he made out in his other works.”

“Livi, that’s not very nice.”

“Oh, I’m certain he’s still quite capable compared to most people. And I’m going to invite him and John to my picnic tomorrow. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I’m still trying to reconcile his being alive with what we all read in Captain Langley’s book,” their father returned. “That is remarkable.”

“I know,” Livi went on. “I’m thrilled, even though we all embroidered handkerchiefs with his initials in symbolic mourning.”

“I’m certain he’ll appreciate your efforts, regardless,” Phillipa put in dryly.

“Oh, my goodness.” Olivia abruptly fluttered to her feet. “I’ve just had a thought. I know something that Sonja doesn’t. I must go see her at once, before she hears the news from someone else!”

Sonja Depris did seem to have a preternatural ear for news and gossip. “Don’t forget to tell her that you’ve seen Kero, as well,” Phillipa called after her sister as Olivia pranced out of the room.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that girl dances in her sleep,” their father commented once Olivia was out of earshot.

“She does the waltz,” Phillipa replied with a smile.

“Of course.” He leaned forward a little. “So tell me, what do you make of this Bennett Wolfe business? It almost seems a shame for him to reappear after everyone’s had a chance to read Captain Langley’s book. He was a hero; Langley showed us his…mortal side.”

With a frown, Phillipa stabbed at her poached eggs. “I don’t know. He certainly didn’t seem overly cautious or indecisive in
his
books. I didn’t see any of that in him last night, either.”

“He did return five months after being declared dead.”

She shrugged. “He’s still seen and accomplished more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” And he still had possession of her copy of
Across the Continent
, a fact that, far from annoying her as she would have expected, had given her a rather pleasant shiver when she recalled it this morning.

“I shall not take that personally.” Her father finished his breakfast, then stood to kiss her on the forehead once more. “I’ve a meeting. If you would, tell your mother I’ll be home to take luncheon with her.”

“Certainly. And I think I’ll tell her about Bennett Wolfe, as well, since Livi is telling everyone else in Mayfair.”

“That sounds fair enough to me.”

As her father disappeared out the front door, Phillipa climbed the stairs and made her way through the maze of short hallways to the room at the far northwest corner of the house. Knocking softly on the half-open door, she entered without waiting for a response.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling as she noted that the frail figure in the large bed was not only awake, but sitting upright.

“Good morning, Flip,” Venora Eddison, Lady Leeds, returned, motioning her daughter closer. “Help Simpson tow me over to my sitting chair, will you? If I have to lie in bed for one more day I will expire from boredom.”

“Of course.” Phillipa moved to her mother’s left shoulder while the lady’s maid, Simpson, supported her right side. “Papa says he’ll be home to take luncheon with you. And your color is much improved this morning, if I say so myself,” she commented as she and the maid steadied her mother and slowly walked her to the large, overstuffed chair by the window.

“I feel much improved this morning,” the marchioness agreed. “I don’t think I coughed over a half-dozen times last night, and the fever hasn’t returned.” Clearly out of breath, she sank into the chair.

“You still need to rest, Mama, or you’ll get sick all over again.”

“Lady Phillipa, will you sit with my lady while I fetch her some peppermint tea and a broth?” Simpson asked, stooping to tuck a blanket around the marchioness’s legs.

“Gladly.” Phillipa sat in the chair opposite her mother as the maid disappeared down the stairs. “I don’t suppose Livi has been in here to see you yet this morning.”

“No. I did hear her running down the hallway shrieking for her bonnet. Something is stirring, I assume? I do hope it’s not another scandal for Prinny.”

“If there is one, I haven’t heard of it yet.” Generally she wasn’t much for gossip, but this was different. Firstly, she’d actually seen the man, touched him, and spoken to him, so he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. And secondly, this wasn’t about who was escorting whom to a dance, or who’d managed the first engagement of the Season. For once it was actually something that interested her.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, my dear.”

Phillipa drew a breath, that excitement and anticipation she’d felt on hearing the news herself last night running through her all over again. “Captain Sir Bennett Wolfe has returned to England. Alive.”

Her mother’s light-colored eyebrows lifted. “But Captain Langley’s book describes his death. And the foreword by Wolfe’s own uncle says he agreed to the publication because the captain would have wanted the discoveries they made known to the world.”

“Apparently—well, obviously now—the captain and the marquis were both wrong. I saw Bennett Wolfe myself.”

“And you’re certain it was he?”

“He’s John Clancy’s friend. John introduced him to our reading club.”

“Well. And they say the age of miracles is past.” Her mother reached out and squeezed Phillipa’s hand. “And you were able to meet a hero of yours. That is pleasant, indeed.”

Pleasant
. Logic-minded as she liked to consider herself, “pleasant” did not describe the tingle in her chest when Captain Wolfe had looked at her. Yes, she knew he might not be everything she’d dreamed before she’d read Langley’s book, and yes, she had a question or two that she wanted him to answer, but he was still Bennett Wolfe.

“Tell me,” her mother said after a moment, startling her out of her reverie, “what does the famous Bennett Wolfe look like?”

“He…looks like an adventurer,” Phillipa replied.

“Handsome?”

Abruptly uncomfortable, Phillipa stood and went to the window. “Livi seems to think so. He has pretty eyes.”

“Well. Then I hope I shall have the opportunity to meet him, as well.”

“I don’t know if you will or not, Mama,” Olivia said, strolling into the bedchamber. “Sonja said that Lady Stevenson said that Lord Stevenson said that the last time Captain Wolfe was in London, he only stayed for a week, and then he went to his new estate. And that was with Prinny knighting him.”

“In his
Golden Sun of the Serengeti
he wrote that London seems very crowded,” Phillipa noted. She couldn’t imagine being away for so long and then not staying home long enough to unpack a single trunk. She wasn’t precisely a diamond of the
ton
—that was Olivia—but she did enjoy a great deal of what London had to offer. Theater, museums, reading clubs…She stifled a scowl. At times she positively
did
feel like a bluestocking, drat it all.

“Crowded or not,
I
hope he stays for a time. You should have seen him, Mama. He’s an absolute Adonis.” Livi turned to face her younger sister. “Whose version of him do you believe, Flip? His, or Captain Langley’s?”

His
. “You care about his character, Livi?” she asked aloud, lifting an eyebrow. “Before you’ve learned about his yearly income?”

“Ha. He earned over five thousand last year, for your information. Both from the stipend Prinny granted him and from his book sales. And I don’t want anyone making fun if I dance with him.”

The smile Olivia flashed could have lit up an entire ballroom. And for the first time Phillipa could remember, she wished her sister wasn’t quite so pretty, quite so vivacious, and quite so skilled at the art of idle conversation. It wasn’t that she was jealous; heavens, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if everyone clamored for her company. Rather, if Captain Wolfe meant to stay in London for only a short time, she wanted more of an exchange than a passing request to borrow a book.

This man of the Renaissance, after all, had learned things in person that she had learned only from books. Some of them, from
his
books. And so she didn’t want him spending all his time dancing with the belles of the ball. She wanted him to talk. To her. And she had an excuse to approach him. He did still have her book, after all.

A thrill ran through her. And only to herself would she acknowledge that perhaps it wasn’t completely about the opportunity to talk to a great explorer. Perhaps a little of it was because Olivia wanted to talk to him, too, had even tried to talk to him last night, and instead he had conversed, albeit briefly, with her.

“Excuse me,” she said, as soon as Simpson returned with her mother’s tea.

She needed to go read through
Golden Sun of the Serengeti
and
Walking with Pharaohs
again. After all, the next time she saw him she was not going to waste the opportunity with girlish babble. She meant to have something to say.