The Love of a Rogue (3 page)

“Is everything a game to you? Your legions of mistresses.” Hardly legions. Never more than one at a time. All in bad form. “Your debts at the gaming tables.” He’d had a rotten run of luck. That was all there was to it. Gabriel ran a disgusted stare up and down his frame. “Tell me this. If you can provide one suitable, sufficient answer, I shall leave your allowance untouched and yours forever.”

Alex braced.

“In your twenty-nine years, who have you loved more than yourself?”

He clenched and relaxed his jaw, unable to meet Gabriel’s gaze and shamed by that unwitting weakness on his part. There had been a time when he’d loved Gabriel in that way, his older brother and champion who’d bravely stepped in and taken lashes meant for the younger, failure of a brother. He loved his sisters now. And that was it. He firmed his lips, content to allow Gabriel his opinions. For Chloe and Philippa, he’d lay down his life.

The rest of the world could go hang. All Society likely saw a self-absorbed, shallow figure of a man. Those people, his brother included, failed to look closely enough to see he cared for those deserving of his love and loyalty.

“No answer?” Gabriel peered down the length of his aquiline nose. “I am, of course, not surprised with your silence.” He pinched the bridge of that same nose. “I’ve thought a good deal about what to do with you.”

Alex steeled his jaw. His brother spoke of him as though he were a stray cat taken in by Cook, wreaking havoc on the kitchens. “There is nothing to be done,” he said, his first defense of himself. “The money is mine.” Alas, his hot temper had never been a boon to him.

“Ah, yes, it should be,” Gabriel, said with entirely too much glee. “And it will.”

Alex probed his brother with a hard stare. He’d learned long ago not to trust. Anyone or anything. Father had doled out plenty of lessons to school him in that particular point. Regardless, he’d tired of his brother’s games. “Then I imagine we are done here.” He shoved back his chair.

“You are to earn your allowance.”

He froze half out of his chair and then reclaimed his seat. “I beg your pardon?” he gritted the question out past clenched teeth.

“Earn,” his brother carried on. “As in work to acquire something. It comes as no surprise that you should fail to grasp the meaning of that important word.”

Alex gripped the leather arms to keep from dragging his smug brother across the desk and planting him a well-deserved facer. Yes, Gabriel had become far better at this baiting business than he’d have ever credited. “And just what will I have to do to—?”

“A chaperone.”

He angled his head, giving a look about for this mysteriously appearing chaperone.

“You are to act as chaperone for Chloe.”

A laugh exploded from his chest. “Surely you j-jest.” He shook with the force of his amusement. His brother still had traces of the humor he’d once possessed. Well, this was a good deal more reassuring than the unpleasant alternative that he’d become, God forbid…their father. Alex yanked a crisp kerchief from the front of his jacket and dabbed at the tears of mirth in his eyes then looked at Gabriel.

His brother fixed a black glower on him. Well, rot. He’d not been jesting. Alex stuffed away his kerchief, amusement fading.

His brother continued. “Chloe requires chaperoning.”

He groaned. He’d task him with squiring his sister about to dull, polite, and proper
ton
events?

Gabriel continued his reasoning. “With Mother in the country with Philippa during her confinement, Chloe needs to be escorted about the
ton
.”

A shudder wracked Alex’s frame. He’d made it a point to avoid those boring pastimes for nearly ten years now. Perhaps he’d try reasoning with Gabriel. After all, the other man had always been the practical…well, reasonable one. “Surely you recognize the folly in
me
,” he splayed his hands, “chaperoning our youngest sister. You are by far the better man for the ta…” His brother narrowed his eyes even more. Christ. “Er…for the taking her about town bit,” he cleverly substituted.

Gabriel drummed his fingers on his seat. “I have taken her about town.” He held a finger up. “More precisely, I’ve taken Chloe
and
Philippa about. It is because of me that Philippa has been properly wed.” To Lord Winston, a stodgy bore who didn’t smile enough in Alex’s estimation. “You should consider yourself fortunate you’ve just the one to chaperone.”

He’d wager the lifetime’s worth of his allowance that not a single peer in the realm would affix the title “chaperone” to his given name.

“Since there is nothing of value you contribute to the family,” his brother spoke in effortless disparagement, “this is something you can do.” That handful of words was more than just a little condescending in the aspersions they cast upon his character.

Filled with restiveness, Alex shoved to his feet. “Bah, this isn’t about proving my worth.” He made for the other man’s sideboard in desperate need of liquid fortitude. He swiped the nearest bottle and a glass then poured himself a stiff brandy. “This is about you shifting your responsibilities.” He held the glass up in salute and then took a long swallow.

Gabriel’s gaze grew shuttered once more and Alex knew, with that slight raising of his glass and the impulsive words he’d tossed at his brother’s smug face, he’d gone and shattered any hope of being relieved of this task. “If you can manage to find some scrap of decency in you, you’ll know I have never shifted responsibilities.”

“Unlike me?”

His brother lounged in his chair, as though bored by the whole discourse. “You refused a position in the clergy,” he pointed out.

He, Lord Alex Edgerton of the cloth? Alex gave his head a rueful shake. The devil would have danced in delight with the hilarity of it.

Taking Alex’s silence for an invitation to continue presenting his case, Gabriel added, “Nor were you interested in a commission in the King’s army.”

Alex swirled the contents of his glass, stoically silent. He quite enjoyed life and hadn’t relished the prospect of marching to the beat of a drum, potentially risking life and limb…and his visual appeal. After all, that was really all he had to contribute to Society. Not much of a contribution, but there you had it. Boney’s eventual takeover of the Continent had proven his remarkable foresight.

An exasperated sigh escaped his brother, proving silence to be the most effective strategy in handling Gabriel when he was on one of his lectures. “You may resume your shiftless life, drinking yourself into oblivion and whoremongering…”

Alex enjoyed the pleasures to be found in a woman’s arms “Whoremongerer, am I?” he said with droll humor in his tone. Other than the eager widows, he didn’t dally with respectable ladies. Long ago he’d learned societal ladies in the market for a husband had little use for a second son. No, he would not open himself up to hurt in giving any more of himself; not when life had taught him the perils in hoping for love—from anyone.

“When Chloe is wed,” his brother went on. “When she is married, then you’ll be free to live your purposeless life.” He gave a flick of his hand and dragged forth a ledger. With precise, methodical movements, the other man flipped it open, picked up his pen, and proceeded to work.

A seething rage thrummed through Alex as he stared at the bent head, black hair so similar to his own, that many had often said the two men could be mirrors of one another. Their bond had once been that close, forged by years of their father’s abuse. How easily Gabriel had forgotten. Everything. Every lash. Every thwack of the birch wood as it was applied to their buttocks. An old familiar fury and pain roiled in his gut. May his father’s dark soul burn in hell for his sins. Alex would never forgive his long-departed sire. But Gabriel’s crimes were far greater. For Alex and Gabriel had been more than friends—they’d been brothers, and yet how easily the other man had forgotten all they’d suffered through.

Alex downed the contents of his glass in a long, slow swallow and grimaced at the fiery trail it blazed. Knowing it would infuriate the stiffly proper marquess, he swiped the half-empty decanter from the Chippendale sideboard and started for the door, needing to be free of the other man’s sight. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, Gabriel?”

His brother paused; pen poised over the ledger and glanced up with a question in his eyes.

Alex inclined his head. “Congratulations. You would make Father proud with the man you’ve become.”

Those words had the intended effect. Gabriel recoiled and sat unblinking; the lines of his face a hard, unmovable mask.

Yet, that small victory left Alex hollow as he took his leave. “Chaperone.” He suppressed a groan. Then, it could be a good deal worse. Alex stomped his way down the red-carpeted corridors, his boots noiseless in the wide halls. At least he enjoyed Chloe’s company. If he were being totally truthful, with her tendency to seek out and find trouble, she was the most entertaining of his siblings. Philippa had always been the proper, polite one. No wonder she’d wed a stodgy bore handpicked by their brother.

Alex reached the end of the hall and continued onward to the library. As much as he abhorred this room for the memories here, it had become a sanctuary of sorts. Largely because not a single servant or sibling would dare look for him there. That understanding had proven quite beneficial through the years. He pressed the handle and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Chaperone,” he muttered. “Sooner lob off my arm than act as a chaperone.” And Gabriel knew that and was likely why he’d given him the honor. Alex claimed a seat on one of the leather sofas and set down the brandy and glass. He splashed several fingerfuls into the crystal snifter, and then thought better of it. “Chaperone.” With a wry shake of his head, he filled the glass to the brim.

The floorboard creaked and he stiffened. He passed his gaze about the empty room and then returned his attention to the task doled out by his bastard of a brother. How difficult could it be to wed Chloe off? To a man who was not a stodgy bore, as Gabriel would have seen her wedded to? With her spirit, she at least deserved a fun chap. Alex frowned into the contents of his glass. Not one of the rakish sorts who visited the notorious hells that Alex himself frequented. Perhaps a stodgy bore might be better for her, after all.

He nursed the amber contents of his drink. With each sip, the hot fury burning his chest eased. He’d always known his father had despised him and Alex had scars enough for proof. Gabriel, on the other hand, hadn’t always been filled with this antipathy for him. No, at one time he and Gabriel had shared such a bond. Alex would have gladly given his life for Gabriel. Back when he’d been hopelessly naïve, he’d thought those sentiments returned. Everything had changed the day their cold bastard of a sire had noted his heir was no longer a child and had taken him under his heartless wing, instilling on him all those necessary lessons for a future marquess.

From then on, Alex had ceased to exist. To both of them. He swirled the contents of his glass. Which was, in a way, a favor done him, if an unwitting one, by Gabriel. For then, the beatings had stopped. He tightened his hands reflexively about the glass. His one regret had been that his evil sire had not known the man he’d become because by God, laws of nature be damned, he’d have gladly traded blow for blow with the other man.

Seated in the quiet of his brother’s library, he recognized there were certainly things a good deal worse than chaperoning Chloe for the remainder of the Season. His father had taught him that.

Chapter 3

T
he next day, after Chloe had concocted her desperate scheme to reintroduce Imogen into polite Society, Imogen found herself with her back pressed against the Marquess of Waverly’s leather sofa. With her friend’s head bent over one scandal sheet or another, Imogen appreciated just how far she herself had fallen.

Imogen sighed. Three days, just thirty-six hours away from being a duchess in love with her husband, and not even five months later—
this
. Copies of papers lay spread out before them in messy piles and two dull pencils rested atop them. Imogen gave her head a pathetic shake. As though any strategy could silence the gossips. Wherever the
ton
was, so too would be the story of her and the Duke of Montrose and the sister he really loved.

The DofM forsakes all for love.

Had a lesser lord, or any other gentleman for that matter, thrown Imogen over for her sister, the cad would have been held in the ranks of Boney himself. But it was a duke and somehow Society had made his betrayal into something romantic. She’d never understand the
ton
. Nor did she
care
to understand a people so callous as to delight in another person’s woes.

Imogen shifted her shoulders, her lower back aching from the stiff position they’d been in since Lord Alex had invaded the library. “Can’t we simply announce ourselves?” she mouthed.

Chloe frowned her into silence and gave her head a brusque shake.

She reached for the morning copy of
The Times
. Her friend flicked her hand and she winced. “What was that—?”

“Hush,” she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips.

Imogen settled back in her seat. By the clink of glass touching glass, Lord Alex Edgerton intended to stay, and would probably get himself soused. In a library. By himself. Which likely meant she was stuck here for as long as her friend decided they were to be…well, stuck here. Or, until the gentleman drank himself into oblivion. Imogen had little experience on the matters of overindulging gentleman and their intoxicated states. “This is silly,” she mouthed. Though in truth, she’d spent too many days since William’s betrayal being a sad, somber lady she no longer recognized. A renewed thrill surged through her as she embraced the lighthearted woman she’d once been—even if but for a moment.

Chloe slapped a finger to her lips. “Sometimes he speaks to himself.” She leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I’ve gathered some rather useful pieces of information.”