A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “A woman.” Mr. Raybourne continued to stare at her as if she were some exotic creature from a far-off land. No one ever looked at her like that. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  She lifted her chin. “Because you think a woman isn’t capable of writing well?”

  “No. I just can’t imagine how you came up with the plot. You’re hiding more secrets than I realized.”

  “I don’t understand.” His words made no sense. He now knew her one and only secret.

  “First that surprising kiss a few months ago.” His smile returned along with the dimples. “And now this. Who knows of what else you’re capable?”

  She gasped and glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see the young man had disappeared. She could only hope he hadn’t heard that last bit. “What gentleman would remind a lady of such a thing?”

  “I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman,” he retorted with a flash of his dimples.

  He managed to make the statement sound appealing. Blast his charm and that smile.

  “Humph.” She had no idea how to respond.

  “Would you care to have a seat?” He gestured toward the single chair before the desk.

  “My maid is right outside the door.” Why she felt the need to warn him of that she didn’t know.

  “I’ll leave the door open then, shall I?” He raised a brow again as if daring her to stay.

  The challenge was impossible to ignore. She drew a fortifying breath to calm her nerves then took a seat, her gloved hands clutching her reticule. A glance around the office revealed little about the man behind the desk. Did that mean he didn’t spend much time here? The idea had her frowning. She wanted a dedicated professional to assist with her book and help make it a success.

  Mr. Raybourne sat, folding his hands on the narrow desk before him. “I enjoyed your book. It was even better than the serial chapters you’ve been writing for the broadsheet.”

  “Thank you.” Her thoughts raced at the idea of him reading her stories even as pleasure filled her. With her identity a secret, she rarely received direct praise from readers other than an occasional letter sent to the broadsheet editor.

  “The twist of what the murder weapon was and where it was found was quite inventive.”

  She nearly snorted as a chuckle escaped. “I’d almost forgotten about that.” The protagonist had discovered a bloody pair of embroidery scissors under his own bed.

  “The pacing of the story was excellent. A clever hook at the end of each chapter, forcing the reader to turn one more page to see what happened.”

  “Once they put it down, who knows if they’ll pick it up again.” She’d argued with Mr. Jonesby about that as he’d wanted a smoother transition between chapters as well as the three volumes into which her book was divided. She’d wanted the readers hanging onto a cliff by their fingertips, anxious to learn what happened next.

  “Quite. The ending was satisfying as well. I appreciated fate stepping in to punish the meddling sergeant.”

  The ending had given her fits. Even now, she bit her lip, wondering if she’d handled it properly. “I worried that might have been a step too far.”

  Mr. Raybourne leaned forward, his green eyes alight with excitement that set her heart racing for an entirely different reason. “It was perfect. Have you considered writing another book?”

  “If I had, would Artemis Press be interested in publishing it?”

  “We’d be honored.”

  Delight filled her, but she tried to hold back her eagerness. This was a negotiation after all. “I was hoping for an update on the sales of the first book. The number of copies printed was less than I’d hoped.”

  “We should discuss a second printing based on strong sales. I believe they’d increase if word were to spread of a new three-decker to be released soon.”

  She curled her toes in her half-boots at the excitement that swept over her even as she tried to mask it. She’d dreamed of this moment for a long while, ever since Caroline, her older sister, had suggested she write one of her stories to sell to the broadsheet. The extra money had been welcomed by their family at the time, and Annabelle had been thrilled to contribute in a meaningful way. But even more, the step had given Annabelle hope that she could become a truly successful author whose books would be read by thousands. The idea was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

  Though Caroline insisted she was well on her way to accomplishing that, Annabelle knew one wrong move could change all that. If the next story she wrote wasn’t as good as the previous one, or she offended someone with her writing, or if her identity was discovered—any of those factors could crush her dreams.

  She didn’t want merely one book. She hoped for half a dozen. The idea made her positively giddy.

  But the notion of trusting her fragile dream with the man on the other side of the desk was troubling on every possible level.

  “May I inquire as to your experience in publishing?”

  He straightened in his chair, the light in his eyes dimming. “No more or less than my father’s. He enjoyed reading a variety of books and took it upon himself to assist in seeing some of them to publication.”

  “With the hope of profit?” In her mind, profit meant success. Perhaps because her family had been so desperate for funds the past few years.

  Caroline’s marriage to the Earl of Aberland the previous year had eased that desperation considerably. In fact, her mother had suggested Annabelle stop writing, much to Annabelle’s dismay. Lady Gold didn’t understand the fire that burned within her daughter to write the stories that came to her.

  Annabelle had yet to understand it either. She only knew that if she didn’t write down the scenes playing out in her mind, they wouldn’t leave her in peace but continued to rattle about in her head. The feeling that overcame her when she managed to write a perfect passage was like nothing else—pure joy.

  Give that up? Never. It was her salvation.

  She wished her mother had something similar to give her enjoyment. Annabelle’s father, Sir Reginald, had been in poor health for some time, though it had more to do with his mind than anything else, not that anyone beyond the family knew the truth.

  His occasional memory lapses had grown worse over the past three years until they didn’t dare allow him to run the shipping business he’d started, nor could they allow visitors to call. No one could guess what he might say or what bad decision he might make. Heaven forbid if he let it slip that Annabelle was A. Golden. Then again, Annabelle wasn’t certain he actually knew.

  “Profit is definitely a consideration,” Mr. Raybourne said, bringing Annabelle’s thoughts back to the conversation. “Would you prefer to sell the copyright to us for this story?”

  “Certainly not.” Outrage spilled over at the very idea. Receiving a small fee for the story but nothing beyond that was unacceptable. She’d thoroughly researched the four main methods of publication prior to this meeting. Whether Mr. Raybourne was familiar with them all would help her decide if he was qualified to publish her next book. “I should’ve known you’d suggest something of the sort. The previous contract was a profit-sharing arrangement.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “I propose this one be published on commission.” This venture placed much of the risk on her own shoulders, but with great risk came great reward. Should the book be profitable, she stood to benefit significantly. She had it on good authority that several other successful authors used this option to publish their works.

  “You will pay for the cost of the book’s publication?” His eyes widened with surprise.

  “Yes. Artemis Press will act as the distributor and earn a five percent fee from the profits.” She’d saved much of her earnings from the previous book for this purpose. The income from the broadsheet chapters continued to go to her family.

  “You must be jesting.” Mr. Raybourne scowled, but the expression still displayed one of his dimples to full advantage. “Twenty.”

  “Now who
’s jesting? Seven percent.” Who knew negotiating a contract could be so exhilarating? Perhaps she had more of her father in her than she realized.

  “Ten.”

  She considered further. The percentage was fair. In truth, she wanted him to have stakes in the endeavor so he’d be more motivated to do all he could to make the book succeed. Ten percent would make it worth his while to increase sales. “Agreed.”

  “Excellent.” The wolfish smile he offered gave her pause.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter Two

  “Do you see Caroline?” Lady Gold asked as she glanced about at the Stannus Ball the following evening.

  “Not yet.” Annabelle stood beside her mother in the receiving line to greet their hosts. Already bits of conversation drifting to them from the guests confirmed the subject of Napoleon’s return to power and the efforts of the British-led coalition to stop him were on everyone’s mind. But this evening, talk of the war was only part of what held Annabelle’s thoughts. “Louisa and Granger should be in attendance as well.”

  Her cousin, Louisa, and Louisa’s husband, the Earl of Granger, had met just before Christmas and married soon after. The couple was enjoying wedded bliss as were Caroline and Aberland.

  Annabelle was happy for them all. Truly.

  Prior to marrying, Caroline had kept the family from the brink of financial disaster with her many clever ways of saving money. Being caught with Aberland in a compromising position when she’d been hoping for a proposal from a wealthy duke had been a rocky beginning to their relationship. The moment when that hope had been dashed had been painful for the entire family but nearly crushed Caroline.

  However, sometimes fate stepped in to change the course of a life to an unexpected outcome. Only time made the reason for the change clear. And with time, Caroline realized her future had actually been saved. Aberland hadn’t been the impoverished rake they’d believed him to be. And the duke had proved less than worthy of her affection. Louisa had shared a similar change of circumstances with Granger.

  But neither of those situations shook Annabelle’s belief that marriage would jeopardize her own dreams, something she had no intention of allowing. The previous evening was a perfect example. She’d stayed up late into the night, writing an idea for a scene that had come to her vividly. As an unmarried woman, she could keep whatever hours she wanted and have not only the freedom but the peace and quiet to listen to the voice in her head. What man would allow his wife to write when the whim or a deadline struck?

  She and her mother greeted their hosts, Lord and Lady Stannus, then proceeded into the ballroom where everybody that was anybody had convened. The music had yet to start, but the musicians were warming up. She and her mother searched the crowd for Caroline and her tall, dark, and handsome husband.

  Annabelle spotted them first and led the way to the pair, excited to tell her about the second book contract if they had a moment of privacy.

  “Good evening.” Caroline greeted them warmly as did Aberland. “I hope you’re both well.”

  “We are, indeed.” Lady Gold smiled, but Annabelle didn’t miss how she studied Caroline as if to make certain all was well with her eldest daughter.

  Annabelle understood how important it was to their mother to know that Caroline was happy, but she didn’t think there was any reason to worry on that front.

  Caroline gave them each a beaming smile as she squeezed their hands. “I’m so pleased to see you both. Tell me all your news.”

  Annabelle chuckled. “We saw you a few days ago. What makes you think anything has occurred?”

  “I still miss seeing you every day, and you never write letters, only stories,” Caroline said even as she tucked her arm under her husband’s.

  “It’s true. She does still miss you.” He smiled at her, the love in his eyes warm and gentle.

  Annabelle felt Caroline’s absence fiercely. She’d encouraged Annabelle’s love for writing from the beginning, and that was something Annabelle appreciated more than she could ever explain. It had proved to be a gift beyond measure.

  Margaret, their younger sister, remained at home with their father this evening. Having her to help with his care was a blessing. But neither Annabelle nor Margaret could calm him when his confusion caused agitation like Caroline was able to.

  “How is Father?” Caroline asked, her smile faltering.

  “Today was a good day.” Lady Gold shared a look with both her daughters.

  That was the best they could hope for, to take one day at a time. Some days were better than others. Those eased the pain of the bad ones when he didn’t remember where he was or who they were. His confusion was painful, hurting them, worrying them. The times when he was more like his old self were a salvation to them all but were few and far between.

  Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m pleased to hear that. We intend to spend some time with him on the morrow. Richard was thinking of taking him to the dock for another visit.”

  “He’ll enjoy that.” Their mother nodded with approval. “But be sure to avoid speaking of Napoleon’s return if possible.”

  The topic upset her father, but it was difficult to steer clear of it completely when the broadsheet headlines were filled with updates on the war.

  “If it arises I will speak of Wellington and his efforts in glowing terms,” Aberland said.

  Though he never spoke of it, Annabelle knew Aberland had been part of England’s network of spies but had eased away from the work upon his marriage to Caroline. Recent events had tempted him to rejoin though thus far he’d resisted. Thank goodness he’d stepped in to help with her father’s shipping business, saving it from financial ruin. He kept their father up to date with his decisions though that was an uphill struggle when Sir Reginald’s short-term memory was so unreliable.

  “I trust all is well, Annabelle?” Caroline gave her a meaningful look.

  Annabelle could hardly contain her excitement. Caroline was the only person in her family who would be truly pleased about the new book contract. Her mother had expressed concern and again suggested Annabelle stop writing. Margaret had been happy but was distracted with the design of a gown she was working on. Her love of fashion far outweighed books, even those written by her sister.

  “It is.” Annabelle smiled aware her sister would know exactly what she meant.

  “I look forward to hearing the details. Are things progressing as expected?”

  “Not exactly.” The image of Thomas Raybourne came to mind, something that happened frequently since her meeting with him. “There has been an unanticipated wrinkle but nothing that can’t be overcome.”

  At least, that was her hope. She refused to allow him to change her goal. What would Caroline think of his involvement? Annabelle couldn’t risk discussing it here.

  “Oh?” A frown marred her sister’s brow as Louisa and the Earl of Granger joined them.

  “What has you frowning already, Caroline? The evening has only just begun.” Louisa greeted each of them as did her husband.

  “Nothing at all,” Caroline responded with a smile.

  But Annabelle could feel the weight of her sister’s regard. Had her own expression given away more than she’d intended? She truly was worried about Mr. Raybourne and whether she could trust him. He’d admitted he had no publishing experience and his reputation as a rake concerned her. His involvement was an unexpected twist that lent uncertainty.

  The only time Annabelle liked uncertainty was in her stories. Within the pages, she loved to keep her readers, and herself, guessing. But the actual publishing of her book was a completely different matter. A business matter.

  If only he didn’t cause such a reaction in her. That made her agreement with him far too personal.

  She was pulled from her unsettling thoughts when Viscount Barrow, a nice man with a shy manner, asked her to dance. From there, the evening passed quickly between lively conversations with her family and enough dancing to ke
ep things interesting.

  The night was drawing to a close when she heard her name—or rather, A. Golden’s name, in a familiar, deep voice. She stilled, heart thudding as she slowly turned to see Mr. Raybourne a short distance away speaking with another man. About her.

  What did he think he was doing? He knew she kept her identity a secret. Why would he choose to discuss A. Golden at a ball?

  “I’m going to check my gown,” she told her mother then moved toward Mr. Raybourne, hoping to hear what he was saying. She intended to have a word with the man before he ruined everything.

  ~*~

  Thomas had managed to raise the topic of A Most Unusual Murder in three different conversations thus far this evening in between discussing the war, which everyone had an opinion on. The idea of mentioning the book to those with both money and the time to read seemed like a fine idea. As far as he was concerned, every sale mattered. And if those interested in reading the book requested it from the lending library, that was fine as well. It still meant additional interest and sales.

  He found attending balls somewhat tedious but doing so provided a simple way to have conversations with friends and acquaintances he didn’t always see. The people he encountered at gaming hells weren’t the sort who read.

  “I think you’ll enjoy the story,” he continued to Baron Bennington. “It thoroughly kept my interest.”

  “I will order a copy. Perhaps my wife would enjoy it as well.”

  “I think she would.” He knew women, in general, spent more time reading than men though this book might be a darker tale than females normally preferred. However, if Bennington shared the book with his wife and she enjoyed it, chances were she’d tell her friends. Now he only needed to repeat this process a hundred more times.

  The thought was daunting, but he was determined to spread the word about the book in every manner he could think of. Besides, he wasn’t the only one speaking of A. Golden’s work. Miss Gold had already caught the attention of many with a serial she wrote for the broadsheet. Each week, a chapter was published in an ongoing mystery for readers to enjoy. Though unrelated to her book, it was a major advert for her book. If only there was a better way to connect the two.