When Tempting a Rogue (2 page)

“I must say,” Angelwood remarked, leaning back in his chair as he puffed on the cigar, “that this has been the most rousing game I’ve played in some time. Thank you, Kane.”

Trystan nodded with a small grin. “My pleasure, sir.”

“I shall give you my marker and bring your winnings ’round to you by Wednesday. How’s that?”

Now was the tricky part.
“I don’t want your marker.”

Angelwood frowned. “Surely you don’t mean to demand immediate payment.” He didn’t have to say just how ungentlemanly that would be.

Trystan favored him with a small smile. “Of course not, my lord. What I meant to say is that it is not your money I want.” He also sat back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee as he smoked. “You have something I hold in much higher value.”

“And what would that be?” The older man was intrigued, and suspicious—with good reason.

Trystan tapped ash into a crystal bowl designed for such purpose. “I want the investment you made in Vienne La Rieux’s emporium scheme.”

The earl’s dark brows rose. “I owe you more than the meager percentage I hold in that enterprise.”

“Yes,” Trystan agreed. “That is why I will also take the loan you so generously bestowed upon Madame La Rieux. Eight thousand, was it not?”

Scowling now, Angelwood leaned his forearms on the table, bringing himself that much closer to Trystan. “What the devil are you about, Kane? I warn you, if you mean Vienne La Rieux harm—”

“Save your breath—
and
your threats, my lord. I mean the lady no injury.”

“Then what is the meaning of this?”

“I believe La Rieux’s scheme to be the beginning of a new era in commerce. I believe that she is on the brink of accomplishing something great.” He meant every word, and made certain his sincerity showed in his countenance.

His companion waited, unimpressed and knowing there was more. Trystan grinned. “I also believe that with me as her partner, the two of us can accomplish something better than mere greatness.”

The earl’s lips twitched. “You have a lot of pride and hubris, young man.”

“No, sir. I simply know what it is I am capable of—the lady does as well.”

Angelwood’s gray eyes narrowed. “Are you certain that’s all there is to this?”

Trystan leaned forward, dropping his voice to little more than a whisper: “I’m certain, your lordship—and, if there is
anything else
, it is none of your business. Now, do we have a deal, or shall I remain here until the banks open and accompany you to collect my winnings?”

It was a low but effective threat on his part. Of course Angelwood wouldn’t want such a humiliation as Trystan accompanying him to the bank. People would talk; speculate as to Angelwood’s financial security. It would cost him business; and as a businessman, the earl knew just how much such talk was to be avoided.

“Damn, but if you’re not a shark, Kane,” the older man allowed, not without a little respect. “I’ll give you what you want, but I want your word as a gentleman that you are not out to fleece my friend or bring her ruin in any way.”

“And you have it, sir. The only plan I have regarding Madame La Rieux is to make both her, and myself, a lot of money.”

The earl watched him for a moment before rising to his feet. He went to a painting on the wall behind his desk and took it down. Set into the wall behind it was a safe. Trystan averted his eyes as a courtesy. It wasn’t as though he could make out the combination at this distance.

A few moments later he heard the painting being repositioned and the earl returned to the table. He set a packet of papers in front of Trystan. “My investment in the lady’s emporium scheme, and her marker for eight thousand pounds.”

It took all of Trystan’s control not to crow with glee as he stared at Vienne’s signature on the marker.
Finally
. Finally, he had her exactly where he wanted her.

“Thank you, my lord.” Collecting the papers, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “I will take my leave of you now.”

“Indeed.” The earl continued to watch him with an assessing gaze. “She won’t take this well, you know. This will not win you entry into her bed.”

Trystan tucked the wonderful, treasured papers into his jacket. “Oh, that’s the last place I want to be, my lord. The very last.” As he made to leave, he turned and tapped the deed in the center of the table. “And you may have the property, my lord. Consider it a trade.”

He left the astonished nobleman with a satisfied smile on his lips; and as Trystan collected his belongings from the majordomo and walked out into the wee hours, he reiterated to himself that he would never share Vienne La Rieux’s bed.
Not again.

But if she asked nicely enough, he
might
take her to his.

D
ressed in a flimsy green silk peignoir, Vienne La Rieux stood on the balcony attached to her bedroom and stared down into the darkness below. There was no movement in the dense garden behind Saint’s Row, but she’d wager at least one or two trysting couples remained in the private cottages she provided. She envied them for no other reason than the warmth of their sheets and the languid ease with which sleep would claim them. The rest of the melodrama she could do without.

I am glad for my life
, she told herself as she sipped a glass of whiskey, searching for a semblance of that warmth, of that melt in her bones.
No one to make me feel small, to wish I were somewhere else
.

Or worse—make her believe she was someone else.

Vienne was the kind of woman who harbored a general dislike for the company of others. Unfortunately, she loathed her own society almost as vehemently. But she was never quite as lonely by herself as she was in a room full of people with whom she had little or nothing in common. Even more unfortunate—or perhaps deserving—was the fact that lonely was exactly how she spent most of her life, except for when dear Sadie came to call, or when . . .
well
, that didn’t matter.

Really, none of it mattered. She was only terribly, violently aware of being alone at this moment because the building was so quiet. The club had closed a few hours earlier and her employees had all gone home or retired for the remainder of the evening. The silence in the place—an old theater—was quite oppressive. The entire evening had been a trial. Not even her dear friend Angelwood, an investor in her newest endeavor, could cheer her.

And she knew upon whose broad shoulders she could lay the blame for that as well. Ever since his return to England, Trystan Kane had been a ghost in her establishment. Almost every night for more than a fortnight he had been there watching her or, worse, ignoring her. Not since that first night when she ran into him with that damned Jack Friday—Farrington, rather—had he deigned to speak to her.

Not that she had anything to say to
him
.

She refused to think about the look on his face when she told him it was over between them. He’d looked so young and lost—but now he didn’t, and her first thought had been that he appeared more like a man on a mission. A man with a definite purpose—one that involved her. Vienne was not someone who suffered from an overly inflated sense of self-worth; she knew full well her own value and how, in the eyes of others, it varied from person to person.

Trystan Kane always made her feel as though that value was as precious as gold, a fact that had scared her enough that she couldn’t stand to see the admiration in his spectacular eyes any longer.

If there was one thing she refused to countenance, it was fear. Only one man had ever scared her and gotten away with it. After that, Vienne vowed to never allow a man to have such power over her again.

Still, there had been a certain pleasure in seeing Trystan Kane and his pretty blue eyes again—a stutter in her heartbeat that flustered her and threw her world off kilter. For one brief and shining second, she had been happy to see him.

Just for one second. Perhaps two.

But here she was, doing the thing she had said she wouldn’t do—thinking about him.

She took another sip of her whiskey and stepped into the warm and softly lit interior of her apartments. The French doors shut with a gentle click and she automatically locked them out of habit.

“You were out there a long time.”

Vienne froze, heart hammering. She kept her expression composed as she turned to face the man—boy, actually—lounging on her bed. He was smiling, his handsome face all the more appealing for it. His shirt was open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of curling golden hair. Long legs stretched downward, crossed at the ankles. At least he’d removed his boots before making himself at home on her quilt.

She arched a brow. “William.
Quelle surprise
. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Green eyes sparkled. “Pleasure, exactly. You haven’t invited me up for a while. I thought you might be in need of a little . . . relaxation.”

Relaxation was exactly what she wanted, but not the kind he offered. It was her own fault; she should have ended their affair long before this. It was never a good idea to take lovers from the staff, but he was so pretty and accommodating. There was no excuse: she had ignored reason and now she was going to pay for it.

“You are very sweet,” she said, using a heavier accent, as she tended to do in such situations. “But I am
très fatigue
and wish to go to bed.”

The grin stayed. “I’ll join you.”

Pretty, but not so bright.
She set the whiskey on top of her delicately carved ebony vanity. “I wish to sleep alone.”

William’s smile turned to a frown. “Alone? Whatever for?”

She could say because she was tired, or because she was tired of him, or she could admit to not having much of a sexual appetite since Trystan Kane’s return. Or, she could lie.

Instead, she smiled. “I do appreciate your . . . thoughtfulness, but I need you to leave. Now, please.”

All affability evaporated from William’s expression, turning his youthful face hard. It was an expression Vienne had seen before, and she knew what kind of trouble generally followed. She sent up a silent prayer that the young man wouldn’t take it any further as she casually pulled open the vanity’s top drawer.

William sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He stood and began to move toward her with a slow, predatory stride. “I’ll decide when it’s time for me to leave.”

Unflinching, though she very much wanted to flinch, Vienne raised her gaze to his. “This is my house, my club, and you are my employee. You don’t make any decisions here that aren’t mine.” It was false bravado, but he didn’t have to know that. A slight tremor quivered her right knee, but other than that she held no real fear. Unless William killed her, he couldn’t do anything to her she hadn’t already survived—only a new variant on it.

He sneered. So much for having any respect or degree of feeling for her. “I gave you what you wanted whenever you wanted it, you frog whore. Now you’re going to deny me?”

Vienne lifted her chin with just a hint of a mocking smile that really couldn’t be helped. “Yes, you did. And yes, I am. That is the way these things go when an employer makes the foolish choice of taking an employee to bed. You really should leave now.”

“I’ll leave when I’ve gotten what I came for.” He smiled—a little sharper this time. “You, on your knees.”

Vienne rolled her eyes. Why was it that so many men seemed to think it was their right to take a woman whether she wanted it or not, simply because she had given her body to them previously? Poor little
enfant
. William did not understand who had the power in their relationship. It really was unfortunate. She had liked him before he chose to reveal his true nature. He had been most entertaining.

She withdrew her pearl-handled pistol from the drawer and pointed it at him. Her hand was steady, her aim true and fixed—right between his eyes.

“You are about to be very disappointed,” she informed him coolly. “You’re not going to get what you want, but you have succeeded in getting yourself dismissed. Now, I’m going to give you to the count of five to gather your belongings and get the hell out of my house.”

The young man didn’t come any closer, but he eyed the pistol with a cocky confidence that Vienne found terribly annoying. “You won’t shoot me.”

She arched a brow. How little he’d ascertained about her during their brief affair. If it were Trystan Kane standing in her sight, he would have had enough sense to back away by now. But William wasn’t Trystan.

“My dear boy, I’ll not only shoot you, but I know how to fix it so no one ever finds your body.” She cocked the hammer.
“Une . . . deux . . .”

He didn’t move. He just stood there, smirking, so certain of his manly control of her. So certain she would cow before him.

“ . . . trois.”

Vienne pulled the trigger.

Chapter 2

T
he following morning found Trystan enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the dining room of his hotel, the Barrington. He read the paper while sipping a cup of piping hot, strong Turkish coffee imported by one of his concerns in that area. On his plate was an assortment of tropical fruit, juicy and ripe, some crispy bacon, and toast.

“You eat like a woman,” came his brother’s voice above him.

Sighing, Trystan snapped his paper closed and set it beside his plate. He wiped his hands on his napkin and looked up just as Archer slid into the chair across from him.

“I eat like I want to eat,” he replied calmly, waving a waiter over. “What will you have?”

“Steak and eggs—with fried potatoes and fried bread.”

Trystan arched a brow. “Would you like your coffee fried as well?”

Archer brushed the remark aside, used to them as he was. “No, but I would like a shot of Irish in it.”

The waiter nodded in acquiescence and walked away. Trystan waited until they were alone before commenting. “Do I even need to remind you how early in the day it is?”

Archer snatched a piece of toast from Trystan’s plate. “Which is exactly why I need the Irish. Say, did you hear what happened at Saint’s Row last night?”

“Obviously not, because I was there for several hours and nothing interesting occurred, unless you count Lady Gosling setting her sights on a new conquest. I hope Mason Blayne knows what he’s getting into.”

Archer leaned his elbow on the table, dangling toast from his long fingers. “He’ll be getting into Lady Gosling, I do believe that’s the point. But that’s not what I meant. Apparently Madame La Rieux shot one of her footmen last night.”

Trystan’s spine snapped straight. “What?”

Archer nodded, pale eyes sparkling with mischief. “Caught the bloke
en dishabille
in her bed chamber. Seems he had
amour
on his mind—and other body parts. When he refused to leave, she put a hole in him. Winged him. He’s fortunate she didn’t aim lower.”

“He’s fortunate she didn’t kill him,” Trystan replied. She could have. Vienne is a crack shot. “Is she all right?”

“I was wondering when you’d inquire after the lady’s health. By all reports, she’s perfectly fine. The bloke will have a deuced hard time finding employment in London after this. Attempted rape of one’s employer tends to diminish the number of available situations considerably.”

“As it should.” It occurred to Trystan—just for a moment—that he could find out the name of this footman with relative ease—and, with a mere word in the right ear and a few pounds in the right hand, make sure the man never bothered another woman ever again. He could do that. He
wanted
to do it . . . but wouldn’t. He’d rather cut out his own tongue than let Vienne know he cared about what happened to her.

He glanced up to find his elder brother watching him with considerable concern—not a usual expression in Archer Kane’s repertoire. For all his flippancy and rakish ways, Archer was a simple man who held family above all else. He never forgot a slight against a loved one, no matter how small. Archer knew that Vienne had broken Trystan’s heart, and that alone was enough to make Tryst squirm under his brother’s crystalline gaze, because he sensed he had forgiven the trespass far more readily than Archer had or ever would.

“What did you get up to last night?” Archer inquired, taking another bite of toast. “Given the footman scandal, I know you didn’t take another run at La Rieux.”

There it was, out in the open, although it wasn’t as if this was the first time Archer had brought up his past entanglement. “I played a little cards with Lord Angelwood.”

His brother’s sharp brows rose. “Did he clean you out?”

Trystan allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “No. Unlike you, my dear brother, I know how to gamble and win.”

Archer scowled. “No one knows how to gamble and win, that’s why they call it gambling.”

Trystan shrugged, watching his sibling carefully as the waiter returned and set Archer’s breakfast in front of him. He waited until the man had left before asking, “How in debt are you?”

Archer’s head snapped up. “I’m not. And it’s none of your damn business.” With that, he slapped a wrinkled fiver on the table between them. “Here. Thanks for the loan.”

“Arch—”

The older man pointed a fork at him. “
Not
a word. Just because you’ve off and made something of yourself doesn’t give you the right to judge me. You think I spend all my time whoring and drinking, throwing money and my self-respect to the wind?”

“Don’t you?” Trystan inquired before he could silence his tongue.

Archer’s mouth twisted and his eyes went as hard and cold as ice. At that moment, for what was probably the second time in his entire life, Trystan recognized his brother as a dangerous man. If he told anyone that, no one would believe him. No one in all of London thought Archer Kane anything but a charming, self-centered rake. Five minutes ago Trystan would have agreed with them.

Then, as quick it had come, the danger was gone, replaced by a devil-may-care twinkle. “Of course!”—Archer sliced into his steak with a smirk—“What else is a second son to do? Someday, no doubt, a lady will take a shot at me as well.”

Trystan remained silent as his brother added a bit of egg to his fork and lifted it and the meat to his mouth. If anyone shot Archer it probably wouldn’t be a woman, he thought—and doubted the person would live long enough to claim credit. It unsettled him, seeing his sibling that way. Chilled him to the bone.

“So,” Archer asked after a few moment’s silence, “how much did you win off Angelwood?”

“It’s not how much, but rather
what
I won from his lordship.”

Archer took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “God bless the Irish. Allow me to rephrase, then, Mr. Subterfuge.
What
did you win from the earl?”

One thing that hadn’t changed was the fact that Trystan had always trusted Archer with even his deepest secrets. Oh, he might rub his little brother’s face in a mess, but he never, ever revealed what Trystan told him. “Vienne La Rieux’s I.O.U.”

Fork and knife in hand, Archer put both of them to rest against the sides of his plate and stared at Trystan. The younger man grinned at his brother’s surprise.

“What exactly does this I.O.U. entail?”

“Let’s just say that madam now has a partner in her emporium scheme.”

“Good lord, boy. Some day someone’s going to
shoot
you.”

Trystan’s smile faded. “Don’t call me
boy
. You know I hate that.”

There were six years between the two of them. Comparing the closeness in age of Grey and Archer, Trystan would often keenly feel the gap. It didn’t matter that Bronte, their sister, was eight years his junior and the youngest of the family. Being the baby of the sons made him all too aware of how his brothers and society viewed him. He was the youngest Kane boy, forever compared to his notorious older siblings, the eldest of whom just happened to be a bloody duke.

Cutting another piece of steak, Archer eyed him with undecipherable scrutiny. “Fair enough. My apologies.”

Of course, this instantaneous contrition made Trystan feel every inch a stupid arse—exactly the effect his brother no doubt hoped to achieve.

“Though, given how indubitably in shock the lady must be over the events of last evening, perhaps I will refrain from sharing the news with her just yet.”

That got a chuckle. Archer raised his cup in salute. “Sound judgment, brother.”

Trystan smiled and returned the gesture with his own cup, connecting the porcelain rims with a solid but gentle
clink
.

“Lord Archer, Lord Trystan. Good morning.”

Both men glanced up at the familiar voice and then promptly stood as gentlemen ought when in the presence of the fairer sex. Before them stood Sadie Moon, who was the wife of Trystan’s business partner, Jack—only there seemed to be some dispute as to whether the two of them were actually married. But the eager look, often seen in the lady’s large, unusual eyes while in Jack’s midst, showed her true feelings.

Trystan bowed over her bright purple glove. The lithe woman, in her colorful clothing, stood out like an orchid amid daisies. “Madame Moon. How good to see you again. Have you word from our mutual friend?” It was the most tactful way he could think to ask.

She inclined her head, the huge hat she wore tipping dangerously, plumes trembling. “I have. He hopes to be back in London within the fortnight.”

Trystan had tried to do as much as he could for Jack after the unfortunate death of his grandfather, but it had been Sadie who had done the most. And now she waited while Jack tied up loose ends at the family estate in Ireland. “If that is what he says, then that is how it will be.”

Sadie smiled softly at that. Her shoulders heaved ever so slightly, as though she silently sighed in relief. “Where are my manners? May I present one of my dearest friends, Miss Indara Ferrars?” She gestured to the exotic beauty standing next to her, dressed in a spicy-colored costume of English design that only served to highlight her Indian heritage. Her eyes were like bright jewels, indicating English blood even more strongly than her surname.

Trystan bowed to the lady. “A pleasure, Miss Ferrars.” Archer, he noticed, was a little slower; couldn’t quite seem to take his gaze off the young woman. But his interest didn’t appear to be totally physical—for the slightest bit from his earlier danger had crept back into Archer’s expression.
What the devil?

“Would you ladies care to join us?” Trystan inquired. It was propriety that made him ask. As Jack’s partner, he felt somewhat responsible for his woman, in his absence, especially since Jack had indeed asked him to watch out for her.

The women exchanged a silent glance, communicating in that strange telepathic way only women seemed to master.

“We would love to,” Sadie replied. “Thank you very much.”

Trystan snapped his fingers and two more chairs instantly appeared, each held by an obliging member of his staff who also assisted the ladies in sitting at the table. Waiting until they were settled, Trystan and Archer then flipped the tails of their morning coats in almost perfect unison, and sat themselves.

The waiter appeared immediately with cups and more coffee. Miss Ferrars enthusiastically accepted the offered beverage in an English accent touched with a hint of India. It made her voice as intriguing and exotic as her face. Sadie asked for tea.

And additionally requested toast brought with her tea, while Miss Ferrars, taking one look at Archer’s half-finished meal, said, “
I
would like the same, please.”

Archer smiled. “I must admit, Miss Ferrars, to having an appreciation for ladies with a healthy appetite.”

Trystan almost choked on his coffee at the innuendo in his brother’s voice.

Miss Ferrars, however, seemed unbothered. She returned Archer’s smile. “So I have heard, Lord Archer.”

Turning to Sadie for something of an explanation, Trystan found her looking as surprised as he was. She shrugged at him.

“I heard there was some excitement at Saint’s Row last night, Madame Moon,” he said, hoping to distract both his brother and Miss Ferrars from wherever their strange flirtation/provocation might lead. “I do hope your friend Madame La Rieux is quite all right.” Even though he’d gotten the news from Archer, Sadie would be a much more reliable source.

“Indeed,” she replied, casting him a hesitant glance. “She is quite well. Thank you, Lord Trystan.”
Wonderful
. She knew about his past with Vienne, it was obvious from the way she tried
not
to avoid his gaze. Was there anyone in London who didn’t know that that he’d gotten his heart broken? Would any of them believe he was over it?

“I believe my friend was going to visit the site of her emporium this morning.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, but it was as broad a hint as he had ever experienced.

“She has raised enough blunt for the scheme?” Pretending ignorance was something he’d learned to excel at. “As an investor I must admit I’m pleased.”

“As is she,” Sadie replied, turning those strangely colored eyes of hers on him. He couldn’t tell if they were blue or green or even brown. “Perhaps you would like to see the site as well? I planned to visit after breakfast.”

What is she up to?
Trying to push him and La Rieux together, was she? Playing matchmaker? He wished her luck.

“Capital idea,” Archer joined in. “Why don’t we all go?”

Trystan tried very hard not to let his surprise show. He fixed his brother with a questioning gaze but said, “Yes, why don’t we?”

Archer turned to the beauty sitting to his left. “Miss Ferrars, I trust you will accompany us?”

She smiled sweetly. “I would be delighted, Lord Archer.”

Stifling a groan, Trystan hid his annoyance behind his coffee cup. So much for his speaking to Vienne privately. He wanted to tell her in private what he had contrived. He didn’t want anyone else to see her reaction when he informed her they were now partners. She would school her expression for an audience, but not for him. Now he would have to wait and hope she didn’t hear the news elsewhere. He didn’t think Angelwood would gossip, but he might tell his wife, who might tell a friend; or a servant might over hear a conversation and repeat it to another; or . . . Eventually, Vienne was going to find out what he’d done, and he’d much rather be that messenger.