A Rogue to the Rescue (The Rogue Chronicles #4) Read online

  A Rogue to the Rescue

  Book 4 of

  A Regency Romance

  Lana Williams

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  A Rogue No More

  By Lana Williams

  Suddenly alone in the world without a penny to her name, Beatrice Linfield, a vicar’s daughter, arrives in London in search of a new life and a position. But her circumstances go from bad to worse when she’s drugged and tossed in a brothel. She might not know where she belongs, but a brothel isn’t it. Despite her fear, she manages to escape in the night, hoping for a miracle.

  Daniel Walker wonders if he’s come upon a ghost when he sees a form dressed in white drifting toward him on a dark street. To assist a desperate lady in need of rescue seems an answer to his deepest secret—to prove himself worthy of doing something meaningful.

  Beatrice quickly realizes the handsome rogue who rescued her could easily steal her heart. But there’s no denying the fact that she’s now ruined in Society’s eyes. He is not for the likes of her. Yet a heated kiss makes her wonder if love is possible after all.

  Daniel sees the beauty in Beatrice, inside and out, and vows to do all in his power to help her find a new life. As he works with her to halt the terrible scheme that trapped her and other women in its web, he begins to hope her new life could be with him. Can he bring the villain to justice or will doing so risk everything he now holds dear?

  Table of Contents

  Other Books in the Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Other Books by Lana

  Copyright

  Other Books in The Rogue Chronicles

  ROMANCING THE ROGUE, Book 1

  A ROGUE’S REPUTATION, a Christmas Novella, Book 2

  A ROGUE NO MORE, Book 3

  A ROGUE TO THE RESCUE, Book 4

  A ROGUE AND SOME MISTLETOE, Book 5, a Christmas Novella, available exclusively in Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology

  More coming soon ~ to be the first to know about new releases and special promotions, sign up for my VIP Readers newsletter.

  Chapter One

  London, England, September 1815

  “Don’t do it. He’ll catch you.”

  At the whispered warning, Beatrice Linfield paused to look at Mary, the other young woman who shared the tiny room of the brothel.

  The temptation to heed Mary’s advice nearly overwhelmed Beatrice, sending a chill down her spine. The haze that clouded her thoughts didn’t prevent the fear already weakening her limbs from taking a firmer grip. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounded, and her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. Yet everything within her demanded she escape.

  Now.

  This might be her only chance. The life she faced otherwise had been made clear, and she couldn’t bear it.

  “Come with me,” Beatrice urged, her voice barely a whisper. “We’ll go together.” She didn’t know anything about Mary, other than her given name. But no one deserved to be sold like a piece of property to the highest bidder, let alone again and again. Deflowering rights weren’t necessarily a one-time occurrence, according to the other ladies in the brothel, especially when those rights brought significant sums of money.

  “He’ll beat you when he catches you,” Mary warned.

  A sob tightened Beatrice’s throat, nearly choking her. She swallowed hard and tipped up her chin. “He won’t catch me. Let us go. Together.”

  Mary’s nightrail-clad form cowered on the bed, just visible in the sliver of moonlight coming in through the barred second-story window. The young woman sat with her knees up, her arms wrapped tight around her shins. She shook her head adamantly.

  Beatrice wore the same thin white nightrail and nothing else, the clothing they’d been given to look more ‘virginal’. She didn’t remember who had changed her clothes and taken them or where her other possessions were. But those were just things. Things didn’t matter when one’s life was at stake.

  Yet still, she curled her bare toes on the wood floor, wishing desperately for shoes. Somehow, having something on her feet seemed as if it would return a portion of her dignity.

  She’d worry about things like dignity and proper clothing after she gained her freedom.

  The only reason she and Mary hadn’t been sold earlier in the evening was because they’d both managed to make themselves sick and emptied the meager contents of their stomach on Mrs. Cole’s favorite gown.

  The madam had been livid and struck them both. When Mr. Finch heard their initiation had been delayed, their punishment would be severe. Even the thought of the large man with his cold, pale blue eyes made Beatrice shiver.

  Retching had a second benefit, limiting the effect of whatever drug they’d been given in the day—or was it days?—since their arrival. Laudanum, perhaps. Or something stronger. Whatever it was, it robbed her of her thoughts and her will. Which was why this was her chance to escape. She didn’t know where she belonged since leaving home, but it certainly wasn’t in a brothel.

  Beatrice had no idea what time it was, but the thumps, bumps, and groans of the building and its occupants had faded. She had to at least try to leave now, while it was still dark. Mary was right. Being caught meant severe punishment, a whipping at the very least, according to the other women.

  But staying meant losing herself, and that was far worse.

  “Where will you go?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t know.” Beatrice was new to London, having recently arrived from the small village of Bromyard in Herefordshire where her father had served as vicar for decades before passing away two months prior. A knot of grief tightened her chest at the thought of him.

  She was alone now, abandoned by her former betrothed who’d declared his sudden love for another when faced with Beatrice’s changed circumstances. Her father, God rest his soul, had given all his money to the poor over the years, including her dowry, leaving Beatrice with next to nothing. She’d told herself that was fine. She was fine. She knew how to work, having served the community at her father’s side for years, even before her mother died when Beatrice was ten years of age.

  After burying her father and settling his affairs, she’d come to London to find employment in the city and had filed with a servant registry office two days ago. At least, she thought it had been two days. Events had been a blur since then.

  Soon after that, everything had gone wrong. The drug she’d been slipped at the boarding house that the registry office had recommended made days and nights slide together, and she wasn’t certain how much time had passed or when she’d been taken to the brothel. The realization that even if she managed to escape, her journey to safety was far from over had her blinking back tears. But they would have to wait until she’d made good her escape.

  “Please come, Mary. We can do this.” Beatrice gestured for the other woman to join her.

  “No. I won’t do it.” Mary scrambled farther back on the bed, shaking her head again. “Finch will catch us. He’ll beat us.”

  He’d beat them whether they ran or not, according to another of the prostitu
tes Beatrice had passed in the corridor. But she couldn’t waste time arguing with Mary any longer.

  “God be with you.” Beatrice turned the knob, knees weak with relief when the door opened. She’d jammed a sliver of wood from the floor into the lock mechanism earlier when a maid had delivered their evening gruel and drugged ale, which Beatrice had dumped through the floorboard along the wall.

  With one last glance at Mary, Beatrice glanced up and down the dark hall then shut the door quietly behind her. A faint light at the top of the stairs drew her, much like a moth to a flame. She halted at the sound of noises from below, flattening herself against the wall, her chest heaving with panic.

  Only then did it occur to her to find the backstairs the servants used. Those would be safer. Her mind wasn’t working properly, still clouded from the drug. She would be caught if she didn’t take better care.

  Heart racing, she crept along the edge of the hallway in the opposite direction and arrived at the rear stairs. These weren’t lit, so she grasped the handrail and made her way steadily down, listening carefully. Her stomach growled with hunger, and she pressed a hand against it. The idea of being caught because of hunger pangs had her covering her mouth with her other hand to hold back a hysterical sob.

  The stairs led her to a darkened kitchen, a soft glow from the banked fire enough to reveal the limited furnishings. Her nostrils twitched but no aromatic smells from baking bread or roasted meat lingered in the air. Though tempted to search for food as she knew she wouldn’t make it long without a decent meal, fear kept her moving.

  An odd shape became visible as she neared the door. She frowned, trying to think of what it could be when a snore reached her startled ears. A guard slumped in the chair directly beside the door, sleeping at his post.

  Beatrice held her breath, her fingernails biting into the palm of her hand as she forced herself closer to him. The stench of stale sweat stung her nose as she eased closer, his uneven snore causing her to shiver with fear once again. Why did he have to be so close to the door?

  The knob held tight under her hand, refusing to turn. Fighting her sluggish thoughts, she realized it must be locked. She bent low, found the lock, and slid it down. The quiet click echoed in the kitchen, causing the guard to shift on his perch. She froze, tensed to fling open the door and run, but his breathing evened. With careful movements, she turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

  The cool night air greeted her as she shut the door quietly behind her, expecting the guard to shout the alarm at any moment. She kept moving, drawing a deep breath to help keep her panic at bay, up the few steps to the pavement, only to slide in the muck that coated the pavement.

  She shoved aside her disgust at whatever was seeping between her toes and glanced back and forth. Which way to go? The night was dark, disorienting, and her fear and confusion spiked.

  Then she berated herself. It didn’t matter which way she went. She had no idea where she was, nor did she know the city. It only mattered that she get as far away as possible, lest she be tossed back in the room with Mary.

  With a glance over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t yet being followed, Beatrice ran as quickly as she dared. Her white gown would make her easy to spot. The sooner she was out of sight of the brothel, the better.

  She turned at the first corner and then again at the next. The crooked streets were baffling, and she paused to catch her breath, praying she hadn’t somehow taken too many turns and returned to the street where the brothel was located.

  Shouts filled the night air. Though she didn’t know if they were from pursuers, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Down one street. Left at the next, ignoring the sharp pain on her feet as she stepped on rocks and other debris. A painful hitch in her side slowed her progress, and she pressed a hand against her ribs to try to ease the ache.

  “Where ye goin’ in such a hurry?”

  With a gasp, she spun to see a man approaching her. Did she dare explain her situation and ask for help?

  “Come here, pretty one.” His demand and extended hand were all it took to have her running again, ignoring his shouts to halt.

  Was there no one in this city she could trust? No one who would give her aid? Hopelessness filled her as she turned another corner, bracing a hand against a brick building to keep herself upright as she staggered along. Shivers wracked her frame, a combination of the damp air, her sore, cold feet, and fear.

  How could she have thought her life had reached its lowest point when she’d left her father’s grave to board the coach to bring her to London? Now she was lost with nothing to her name, nowhere to go, and no one to help her. Tears blurred her vision as despair replaced the panic.

  Mayhap she should’ve stayed at the brothel. A night or two on these rough streets might see her dead.

  DANIEL WALKER NARROWED his eyes at the ghostly apparition drifting toward him on the darkened street. Perhaps he’d had more to drink at the club than he realized.

  Though he often walked home to wear off the effects of spirits he imbibed as well as to clear his thoughts before seeking his bed, never had he come upon an ethereal figure on the streets. Ruffians and a footpad or two, certainly. Those he welcomed as a way to test his fighting skills, much to the dismay of Pierre, his French valet, and savate instructor.

  Daniel couldn’t explain his need to prove himself, but it simmered inside him all the same.

  He could only hope his brother, Richard, the Earl of Aberland, never learned of his paltry attempts to ascertain his self-worth. Richard had served as a spy for England, something Daniel hadn’t learned until the war had been nearly over. The realization that his brother hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him still caused a pang of hurt. That lack of trust was undoubtedly one of the reasons behind his need to verify his worthiness.

  Daniel slowed his steps as the apparition staggered then stopped, floating to the pavement. The crescent moon didn’t provide enough light to see much, and the streetlight was too far away.

  He glanced about, wondering if this could be a trick by a footpad or the like, but no one seemed to lurk in the shadows. A low moan from the figure drew him nearer if only to ease his curiosity. He didn’t believe in ghosts yet couldn’t deny that the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was afoot.

  Keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, he continued forward until he reached the white form. Awareness dawned that it was a woman in a nightrail, an odd sight given the fact that he wasn’t walking near Covent Gardens or the other rough parts of the city where prostitutes plied their trade.

  “Miss? Are you unwell?” Had she overindulged in gin or was she hurt?

  She gasped at his words and bolted upright with jerky movements, leaning against the wall of the building as she swayed slightly, one hand extended toward him with her palm out. “Leave me be.”

  The cultured tone of her speech suggested she was an educated lady. Her shuddering breath told of a traumatic experience. He couldn’t begin to guess what had brought her to this street in such a state of dishabille. The scent of liquor didn’t taint her breath. He glanced over her, though the darkness hid the details of her features. She wore nothing on her feet, and he was careful to avoid studying the thin gown overmuch regardless of the darkness.

  Despite her demand, he couldn’t leave her there. “Are you in trouble? Do you need assistance?”

  To his shock, she dropped her hand and started crying, her entire body trembling. She looked over her shoulder with alarm. “They might be looking for me.”

  “Who?”

  “I must hurry.” She lurched forward as if to brush past him.

  He grabbed her arm to halt her. “Who is looking for you?”

  “Finch. The guards. I can’t return there.” She glanced about wildly then jerked free of his grasp.

  “Allow me to help.” Daniel didn’t understand who she was or what had happened, but the woman was clearly frightened and in need of aid.

  “Help? You?
” The doubt in her tone irritated him. Her wide eyes locked on his, but their color remained a secret. Then she released a breath and her body crumpled.

  Daniel managed to lift her into his arms before she hit the ground, relieved to hear her shallow breathing. Mayhap she was ill, though the state of her attire was concerning as was her fear. What could he do but take her to safety? He walked toward the nearest hackney coach stand a block away, keeping an eye out to see if anyone followed, but no one did.

  The sight of a waiting hackney filled him with gratitude. The woman hadn’t woken, and he wasn’t certain how much farther he could carry her even though she was slim.

  “Here now,” the driver demanded in alarm as he caught sight of Daniel. “What do ye think ye’re doin’?”

  “Taking a lady to safety.”

  Before the man could protest, Daniel reached for the carriage door and gave his address, advising the driver to hurry, then stepped inside. Only after he’d settled into the conveyance with his burden did he wonder whether it wise to bring the lady to his townhome. If anyone saw them, the woman’s reputation could be ruined—if it wasn’t already. Yet where else could he take her?

  The idea of waking Richard and his wife, Caroline, who was with child, in the middle of the night seemed unwise. Especially since he didn’t know anything about the woman. Was she of sound mind? Or perhaps she truly was a prostitute, in which case her reputation was past protecting. He would know soon enough he supposed.

  Within a quarter of an hour, he arrived home. The driver assisted him to alight, and Daniel carried the unconscious woman to his front door where Pierre opened it before he could knock.

  “Sir?” His valet stared in shock at the form in Daniel’s arms.

  “Pay the driver then assist me, would you?” Daniel ignored Pierre’s hesitation and made his way up the stairs toward the guest room.

  To his credit, Pierre did as Daniel bid and still made it to the guest chamber door before Daniel to open it. “Is this wise?” the man asked.