The Love of a Rogue (4 page)

The “he” in question was none other than Chloe’s brother. Not the respectable Marquess of Waverly, but rather, the other brother who’d moments ago mumbled something about lobbing his chaperone’s arm off. Though why he had a chaperone she’d be hard pressed to guess. He was also one who likely broke hearts and if he betrothed himself to a lady, broke that very important tie and….

A growl escaped her.

Chloe slammed an elbow into her side once more.

“Ouch—”

“Hullo, ladies.”

They shrieked and, in unison, jerked their heads up. Lord Alex leaned over the edge of the sofa. Imogen stared at the upside down, grinning visage of the notoriously rakish
gentleman
. With a day’s growth of beard on the harsh, angular planes of his cheeks, he peered down at her through bloodshot, green eyes, likely from too much drink and carousing. She really wished she’d not noticed what a splendid specimen of a figure he was for she’d already learned the perils of those rakish, handsome sorts. As though noting her perusal, Lord Alex winked. Heat slapped her cheeks and Imogen jerked her head forward.

“Alex!” Chloe exclaimed, jumping up. With far greater reluctance, Imogen came to her feet beside her. “Whatever are you doing here?” For her flare for the dramatics all these years, she was a dreadful actress. “I had no idea you were here.”

Lord Alex unfolded to his full, towering height, glass of spirits in hand. “By here, do you mean in this library where you were before I made my entrance?”

His sister swatted him on the arm. “You’re unpardonable.”

A half-grin turned his firm lips up. An odd, fluttery sensation danced in Imogen’s chest and she was grateful when brother and sister launched into a familial discussion on who was the more bothersome Edgerton sibling. She used the distraction as a moment to study him; this rogue sought after by all manner of scandalous ladies. Where her former betrothed had been lean and possessed of a golden perfection, Lord Alex Edgerton could not be more different than the duke who’d broken her heart. More than a foot taller than her own five-foot three-inches, Lord Alex’s muscle-hewn frame had the power to command a room. Whispered about by all the ladies, innocent and otherwise, there was nothing proper or respectable about the bachelor. With his seductive winks and sly grins, he represented folly. As though feeling her gaze upon him, Lord Alex slid his stare in her direction, assessing her through thick, hooded lashes. Imogen’s heart quickened.
Folly, indeed.
She gave silent thanks when Chloe said something calling his attention back.

Just then, he tossed his head back and bellowed with laughter. The subtle movement sent a strand of black hair falling over his brow. She angled her head and took in the gentleness of his eyes as he conversed. This man she’d only known to be a rogue proved himself to be something more—a teasing brother. She’d learned to protect herself against the rakish types. This loyal, devoted stranger was an altogether different matter. With his regard for Chloe, Lord Alex chipped away at some of the cynical, preconceived notions she’d carried of him these past years.

Imogen forcibly thrust back the thoughts that might soften her to the notorious rake. Instead, she fixed on that midnight lock over his eye.
Dark like sin
, a voice whispered. A sad smile turned her lips at the corner. Then, a gentleman more golden than the legendary Apollo had betrayed her. She waited for the familiar twinge of pain. But it did not come.

Lord Alex looked to her once more and issued a belated greeting. “Lady Gwendolyn,” he bowed. “A pleasure as always.”

“Imogen,” she squeezed out through gritted teeth. Was she invisible to everyone?

“If you insist on such informality then, Imogen,” he said with another one of those wicked winks.

She opened her mouth and closed it several times. The scoundrel had merely tricked her into giving him leave to use her Christian name. A bounder, indeed. Why did her heart kick up a beat?

Lord Alexander reclaimed his seat and reached for a partially empty bottle of brandy. He tipped it and proceeded to fill his empty glass.

Imogen widened her eyes. Why…why… He intended to sit and indulge in spirits. Here. Now?
And
refer to her by her Christian name? “But…”

He paused mid-pour and gave her a questioning look. “Yes, Imogen?”

By the teasing glint in his eyes, she knew he expected her to scold him for his high-handedness. Imogen gave her head a slight shake, tired of being the boring, predictable, lady. “Nothing at all,” she bit out, resenting it perhaps as much as she detested the pitying glances she garnered from everyone except her still gleeful mother. Oh, how disappointed her late Papa would have been of his wife’s mercenary grasping for that coveted title. Loyal to a fault, he would have been almost as disappointed in his wife as with Rosalind’s behavior; gloating over the title duchess she’d snared, uncaring that her elder sister’s heart had been breaking.
That
was the true pain that remained of the hasty marriage between the Duke and Duchess of Montrose.

“Dare I ask what has you ladies hiding away in the library?” Lord Alex asked, giving his glass a slow swirl.

“Nothing,” Imogen said quickly. It brought his head up. Too quickly. She trained her gaze on Chloe. They’d been friends so long they often gleaned one another’s unspoken thoughts.

Chloe stooped to rescue their collection of scandal sheets. “Oh, we’re merely pouring through the gossip columns,” she said. Apparently, her friend didn’t know her quite as well as she’d hoped. Imogen gave her a silencing look. “We’re trying to ascertain the least popular events to attend.” A silencing look her friend studiously ignored.

“Indeed,” he drawled. Fortunately, Lord Alex sounded about as interested as if his sister had announced their intentions to take their vows in the church and have him serve as witness.

“Oh, yes.” Imogen fought back a groan.
Please stop talking
. “We’re taking care to avoid the crushes.” She waved a hand about. “Those events where all the most popular gossips are in attendance. You see, that has been my clever plan to—” Imogen stepped on her toes. “Did you just step on my toes?” Chloe asked it with the same shock as if Imogen had turned her puppy into cherry tarts.

“My foot slipped,” she muttered, that slight, now none-too-subtle gesture.

Lord Alex attended them with real interest, now.

Splendid
.

Her friend gave her long, commiserative look, which bordered too close to that pitying kind. She glanced away.

“Well?” Lord Alex prodded. “Out with it.”

Chloe firmed her lips and shook her head once.
Now she would be silent?
Well, there was something for at least belated awareness.

In one effortless move, he leaned across the sofa and plucked the copy of
The Times
from his sister. Imogen’s breath caught as his well-muscled forearm brushed her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said under his breath. He proceeded to skim the front page.

Embarrassment drove back the momentary lapse in sanity his innocuous touch had roused as he skimmed the pages of the scandal sheet that documented her shame. Imogen shifted back and forth on her feet, making a show of studying the room. Her gaze collided with Chloe’s.

Sorry
, her friend mouthed, and then turned with a flounce to her brother. “It isn’t really well-done reading the scandal pages,” she said the way a nursemaid might deliver a set-down.

“No, it isn’t,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the page. “You really should refrain from that.” Then Lord Alex looked up from the page. He met Imogen’s gaze square on. She tipped her chin up a notch. Daring him to say a blasted thing of the dastardly duke and her duplicitous sister. All of it. Any of it.

“Here,” he tossed the paper over to his sister who effortlessly caught it. “All rubbish, that.”

Imogen swallowed hard. Lord Alex was correct. At his unspoken defense, warmth slipped into her heart and, for the first time in a long time, she acknowledged the truth of that. It was all rubbish. Every last bit of it. After months of dwelling on the hurtful gossip, there was something freeing in that sudden realization.

“That is all you’ll say?” her friend exclaimed, cutting into this momentary weakening of the shockingly gallant gentleman.

“Chloe,” she began. She appreciated her friend’s loyalty, but she also craved her discretion. Even if the bounder before them was only her brother, the indolent Lord Alex.

“Oh, uh, yes. Well, then.” Chloe gave a flounce of her curls, this time correctly interpreting Imogen’s silent pleading.

“What would you have me say?”

Nothing. She’d have him say nothing about the scandal, or her broken betrothal, and assuredly nothing about His Grace, the Duke of Montrose.

Both ladies exchanged a look.

He took another swallow of his brandy. “I suppose I could say any lady would be fortunate to avoid marriage to the arrogant fop.” With that, he tossed back the remaining contents.

That
.
I would have you say that.
Chloe laughed and spared Imogen from finding words. Her heart quickened. He could say that particular something about her humiliation. Lord Alex returned his gaze to her; a dark glint in his cynical eyes. Then the warm, fluttery sensation in her chest was extinguished with a reminder of the truth—with his glib tongue and right words he was no different than any other rogue. It would be silly to serve as voyeur to this exchange between Lord Alex and Chloe and form any opinion but the one she’d gleaned of him over the years.

“I daresay I’d rather wed a mere second son than a lofty duke who’d break a lady’s heart,” Chloe said, in a bid to be supportive.

Imogen’s cheeks flooded with heat.

Lord Alex gave a mock shudder. “Egads, that will be a dark day, indeed, when young ladies decide to turn their attentions upon the lesser second sons.” He winked. “After all, avoiding the parson’s trap is the sole benefit of being that lesser, second son.” Even with the crooked grin, the hard twist of his lips spoke of a cynical rogue who avoided any hint of respectable misses.

“Oh, hush, Alex. Why, someday you shall fall in love and I will quite gleefully remind you of what a foul fiend you were,” his sister said giving him a slight shove. “Isn’t that right, Imogen?”

A rake with his chiseled cheeks and noble jaw likely had any number of women falling in love with him on any given day. She shifted. “Your brother has the right of it,” she said softly. Another tug pulled at her heart; a wish for more.

He trained his stare on her once again, in that bold, assessing way.

Did he expect she’d look away? She met his gaze squarely. She’d been the subservient, deferential, young lady once before. Never again. Imogen angled her chin up.

Alex made to take a sip of his brandy and then froze, the glass midway to his lips. Imogen met his gaze with a boldness he’d not expected of a miss of nineteen, twenty years? The blues of her eyes may as well have been a mirror to his own dark cynicism on the sentiments of love and yet, he glimpsed past that, to the emotion in the sapphire depths. He didn’t make it a habit of noticing anything where a young, unwed lady was concerned. With a silent curse, he tossed back a long swallow, grimacing at the trail it blazed down his throat. The chit had the widest eyes and the most generous mouth, full lips made for sin, and…

He choked on his brandy. For the love of God, what madness possessed him that he’d do something as insensible as lusting after Lady Imogen Moore?

“Oh, dear,” Chloe exclaimed, a suspicious glint in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he gritted out. With her temerity in all matters over the years, he knew she’d not be content with that succinct utterance.

She leaned forward and squinted. “I do say, your face is all flushed. Do you notice, Imogen?” Chloe poked him in the cheek and he swatted her hand away.

Imogen’s lips twitched and the lady’s unfiltered amusement softened her face. All thought fled as he was sucked in by the smile on her full lips. She tipped her head and made a show of studying him. Only, if she
truly
studied him, she’d see the havoc she now wrought on his senses. “I daresay your brother will be just fine,” she assured his sister, not appearing the slightest bit concerned with whether he did, in fact, end up just fine.

And here he’d been mooning over her and—he shuddered—her innocent smile? Madness, indeed. He bristled, unaccustomed to being so dismissed by a lady. Why ladies young and old clamored for his notice; for reasons that had nothing to do with a title and everything to do with the reputation he’d earned behind chamber doors. With a frown, he finished the remainder of his drink, deliberately ignoring the two vexing misses.

Except Imogen touched a finger against the tip of her lower lip, drawing his attention once more to the lush mouth…

And he choked on his swallow.

She creased her brow. “Oh, dear perhaps there is, in fact, something wrong.” Though the light twinkle in her eyes indicated the lady was having a good deal of fun at his expense.

Which young ladies assuredly did not do. They had fun with him, in ways that would make this teasing vixen’s cheeks burn with shocked outrage and certainly not in any way that was respectable.

“I assure you, I’m indeed fine,” he drawled. Alex set his glass down. He really should leave. Instead, he wandered around to the back of the sofa. He glanced down at the piles of scandal sheets scattered about the floor and toed the copies. They really had amassed quite the collection. “I daresay I’d expect you’d be so thorough as to have
The Tons Tattler
in your pile,” he said dryly.

Chloe gasped. “How could I have failed to procure a copy?” She sprinted toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“To have one of the footman secure a copy,” she shot back without breaking her stride.

He gave his head a rueful shake and looked down once more. His lips twitched and when he picked his head up, Imogen’s cheeks were red like a summer berry. Which only roused delicious images of the young lady upon satin sheets while he dipped berries in champagne and…With a silent curse he kicked at the untidy stack. “Quite a bit of reading you ladies are doing.”