Romancing The Rogue (The Rogue Chronicles Book 1) Page 4

  Further protests fell on deaf ears, and Caroline soon found herself standing outside of her father’s library door next to her mother.

  “That certainly didn’t go as we wanted.” Her mother shook her head. “Why the Marchioness of Southby decided she needed a breath of fresh air at that moment is beyond me.”

  Caroline couldn’t agree more, but lamenting the fact would solve nothing. Nor did the knowledge that if the marchioness had stepped onto the terrace a few minutes earlier, Caroline might be betrothed to the duke instead. “I’m going to have to find some way to explain to Aberland that I have no dowry.”

  “It’s crass to discuss money, my dear, especially with one’s betrothed. It just isn’t done.”

  Caroline sighed. “Do you have another suggestion?”

  “I suppose not. I thought your father was clear on what he should say.”

  “He’s not clear on what he had to break his fast this morning. I suppose a conversation like this one was too much to ask.” Heaven knew what the earl thought.

  What truly puzzled her was when it had begun to matter.

  Chapter Four

  Two days later, Caroline studied her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table in her bedroom and made another adjustment to the ribbon on her bonnet, hoping it wasn’t crooked. Not that she cared about her appearance. Not at all.

  But the lie had her scowling at her reflection.

  In truth, her stomach fluttered with nerves. Aberland would soon arrive to take her for a drive in Hyde Park, their first outing as a betrothed couple.

  The idea of being alone with him, even in an open phaeton, had kept her awake half the night.

  Or perhaps it was the idea of determining what her father had told him. At the thought, the nerves in her stomach were replaced by a terrible sinking sensation.

  She and her mother had asked her father, but he hadn’t been able to tell them. The biggest misconception she needed to correct was the one of her dowry. If Aberland had no funds, an attractive dowry would be important to him, but marrying her wouldn’t provide him with one. Where would that leave them?

  Where did that leave her?

  Caroline couldn’t contain her hope that the earl would agree marriage was unnecessary. They might be officially betrothed, but it could still be called off. Wasn’t that the purpose of an betrothal? To see if they’d suit?

  They wouldn’t.

  Caroline already knew that. Despite the odd way her body reacted to the mere thought of him, she didn’t care for the cynical earl or the way his practiced gaze raked over her. Further, he had no money.

  Marrying Aberland would mean she was the only one of her sisters not contributing to the family’s funds.

  The thought brought her gloved hand to her mouth as tears threatened once again. Though her mother had reassured her numerous times that all would be well, that things have a way of working out, Caroline no longer believed that. Not anymore.

  She did her best to put on a positive front for her family but as circumstances continued to spiral downward, her smile became more and more forced. Nothing had gone right since her father’s decline. Since then, one terrible thing had occurred after another. Her betrothal to Aberland was not only the latest but by far the worst. Yet as her mother had advised, they all needed to make the best of the situation.

  Margaret peeked around the corner of her door. “I came to make certain the gown fit properly.” She studied Caroline. “You look lovely.”

  “Thanks to you,” Caroline replied, turning to face her sister.

  “Aren’t you looking forward to this?” Margaret asked with a frown as she studied Caroline.

  “Hardly.” Caroline shook her head. “This entire situation is a disaster.”

  Margaret cocked her head to the side. “If this had happened to me, you would advise me to make the best of it.”

  The remark put a lump in Caroline’s throat.

  “No tears.” Margaret wrapped her arms around Caroline. “They will only make your face splotchy and won’t solve a thing.”

  Caroline leaned back to look at her sister. “Not only are you now as tall as I am, you’re far wiser.”

  “I’m merely giving your advice back to you.” Margaret placed her hand on Caroline’s cheek. “And you always know the right thing to say. You always make things better.”

  Her sister’s words were a comfort yet a terrible reminder of her failure. “I haven’t been able to do either the past year let alone the past two days.”

  “Nonsense. This is a temporary setback.”

  Caroline scowled. “Temporary in that the earl will change his mind and call off the engagement?”

  Margaret’s expression sobered. “If he did, do you truly believe the duke would still propose?”

  With a groan, Caroline realized Margaret had a point. What would the duke think when he learned of her circumstances? Had word spread of how she and the earl had been seen together in a compromising situation? Two broken betrothals would be linked to her name. Who would have her after that?

  “As they say, that ship may have sailed,” Margaret said.

  Caroline turned away as despair washed over her. “Where does that leave us?”

  “You could accept Aunt Felton’s offer of assistance.”

  Caroline shook her head. “You know Mother would prefer to avoid that unless it becomes an absolute necessity.”

  Their mother’s sister, the Marchioness of Whirlenhall, had offered help several times. Her daughter, Louisa Felton, had encouraged Caroline to accept it. Louisa was a year older than Caroline, and their families were close. However, Caroline and their mother had resisted, hopeful that a more permanent solution could be found. Taking money from Aunt Felton might provide temporary relief but it felt wrong.

  “Besides,” Caroline continued, “if Father ever discovered we accepted her funds, he’d be beside himself.”

  “True. Perhaps I shall see if I can make gowns for other ladies rather than just the family.”

  “No.” Caroline spun to face her sister, completely against the idea. It wasn’t the first time Margaret had raised the subject. Caroline had seen how hard seamstresses worked—long hours and terrible light, ruining their fingers and their eyes—all for a meager wage. “I’ll think of something.”

  Margaret reached out to squeeze her hand. “We will each do what we must to save our family. And if that is what is required of me, I stand ready.”

  “Margaret, please do not do anything rash.”

  “I promise not to if you promise the same.” She raised a brow, waiting for Caroline’s reply.

  The butler’s voice echoed in the hall as he answered the front door, signaling the earl’s arrival.

  “I’d better be going.”

  Margaret took her arm, halting her. “Nothing rash,” she repeated.

  “Yes, yes. I know,” Caroline agreed reluctantly.

  With one last deep breath, she left her room to greet Aberland, hiding her crossed fingers from Margaret. Her goal of saving her family had not changed. If it required rash action on her part, so be it.

  ~*~

  Richard watched as the driver flicked the reins of the horses pulling the barouche. Miss Gold seemed preoccupied as she sat with her maid on the opposite bench. Her lilac scent drifted his way on the gentle breeze of the fine day. She was quiet—unusual for a woman of her age in his limited experience. Her silence only made him realize how little he knew her, as he had no idea what she might be thinking.

  Had she noted the barouche’s shabby appearance? In keeping with his reputation of having little money, the open conveyance with its collapsible hood had seen better days. It wasn’t as well-sprung as the newer models, and the faded and worn cushions had frayed in several places.

  The matched bays pulling it were ones he’d bought over two years ago. They hadn’t compared favorably then with the fine horses they passed and fared worse now.

  While it normally amused him to see disapprov
al cross people’s expressions at the obvious signs of his supposed lack of funds, the truth threatened to spill out with Miss Gold. The sudden urge to reassure her matched his urge two days ago to propose, even though he thought her reputation would easily weather this minor storm.

  He had yet to confirm his suspicions as other duties had taken all his time since he’d last seen her, but he wondered if money was tight for the Gold family.

  His visit with her father had been...enlightening. The older gentleman had moments of lucidity that spoke of his keen intelligence. Other times, even seconds later, he was clearly confused, perhaps even crazed, and certainly made no sense. Richard intended to make some discreet inquiries about the man to see what he could discover about his wellbeing.

  Added to that were the missing knickknacks evidenced by dark rings on a shelf and table that suggested something had once stood there. Nothing of value graced the library other than an exquisitely fine painting of sheep grazing in a meadow.

  If he added together the evidence he’d noted thus far, he’d be willing to wager the man’s failing mental capability had caused a financial hardship for the family.

  Not that Richard had any intention of getting involved in the family or the troubles they had. Far from it. He needed to find a way to suppress these wild impulses that filled him of late, demanding he help right Miss Gold’s world in some small way.

  He’d already proposed. He couldn’t risk telling her of his wealth. Not when he still held the hope that if he prolonged the betrothal, they might be able to call it off without harm to Miss Gold or her family. No wedding date had been set, despite the discussion about doing so.

  New gossip was generated at each social function. Once something more interesting occurred, he and Miss Gold would be free to go their separate ways.

  When her father had called his honor into question, Richard’s hackles had risen. He found himself formally proposing before he thought twice. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing. And if a man didn’t have honor, what did he have?

  Nothing.

  He’d certainly learned that ten times over since starting his work for the Crown. Some spies had none. Yet others were adamant that honor was what motivated them.

  For Richard, there was a line he wouldn’t cross, not even for his country. In his opinion, his government shouldn’t ask him to do things that forced him to make an impossible choice.

  But he’d never expected his code of conduct to place him in the position of having to marry to save a woman from ruin. If Dumond yet lived, he’d be laughing hysterically at the situation. Richard knew the difference between ladies who were not to be compromised and women who enjoyed being so.

  Unfortunately, a combination of his frustration and his past experience had made him view things in a different light the evening of the Southby ball. His thinking had been clouded with memories, causing him to see the situation the wrong way.

  At least that was what he told himself.

  Part of him still questioned what Miss Gold had been doing that night alone with the duke. He hadn’t witnessed a passionate embrace, which would’ve suggested the pair was headed toward a wedding. The only other explanation that came readily to mind was spying. The idea of them simply having a quiet moment to speak privately seemed unlikely. Had they been exchanging information after all?

  Miss Gold’s questionable financial situation added to her motivation to commit treason. Money, fear, and love were the top reasons men and women alike betrayed their country. If Richard could determine why they did it, he could more easily locate the evidence he needed to hand them over to the government.

  Yet the idea of the attractive woman seated opposite him doing so failed to make sense.

  “Lovely day, is it not?”

  Miss Gold’s question drew him from his dark thoughts. He glanced about to see they’d arrived at Hyde Park. The place was crowded on this sunny afternoon.

  “Unusually fine weather.” It had been a long time since he’d made polite conversation with a lady. He’d nearly forgotten how. The women he normally spoke with were often in the same line of work as him. He cleared his throat, determined to try harder. Odd how his mind seemed so blank around her. “You look nice today.”

  “Thank you.” She fingered the brightly patterned shawl that covered the shoulders of her primrose gown. Her attire brought out the color of her eyes, but he decided mentioning that suggested an intimacy they didn’t share.

  Yet. The unbidden thought brought an awareness that curled through his body like a plume of smoke, promising flames and heat would soon follow.

  He shifted in his seat. There would be no intimacy with this lady, he sternly reminded himself. He intended to be a gentleman until such time that he could suggest she call off the betrothal.

  But as if he’d given his mind permission for intimacy, his gaze dropped to her rose-colored lips, noting how her lower one was slightly fuller than the upper. A slight bow on that top lip caused a wisp of desire to ease through him, heating his blood.

  He tore his gaze upward, but that only brought to notice the fan of her dark lashes against her alabaster skin, the arch of her brows over her wide eyes. Her nose was a perfect line. Her chin was slightly pointed, bringing a heart-shape to her face.

  She was truly beautiful.

  And he was staring again, he realized as she cleared her throat before glancing at him from under the sweep of those long lashes.

  When had he become such an unsophisticated bore that he made the lady he was with uncomfortable?

  “Do you ride?” he asked.

  “Not as much as I used to.” The look she gave him was tinged with regret.

  “Oh?” He almost felt bad for the open-ended question, but he dearly wanted to know more. Was it because of her father? Of their funds, or lack thereof?

  She held her silence, her gaze passing over the others enjoying the park. Perhaps she’d make an even better spy than he thought. She didn’t crack under the pressure of his regard.

  “I don’t ride as much as I used to either,” he said. There he went again, doing what little he could to make her feel better. This odd urge to come to her rescue had to stop.

  “Oh?” She studied him, one brow slightly raised.

  Was she deliberately using his word back at him? Damn. She truly was clever. Hadn’t he noted the intelligence in her gaze when he’d watched her at the ball?

  “I had to sell my favorite steed.” He waited, wondering how she’d respond to the implication that he needed the money.

  The slight twist of those oh-so-kissable lips suggested disapproval. He nearly smiled in response.

  “How terrible.” Her tone lacked any sympathy whatsoever. “What activities do you enjoy if riding is no longer an option?”

  His mind went blank. Catching spies was hardly an appropriate response. “I travel on occasion.”

  She frowned. He could almost see the questions forming in her mind. How could he afford to travel if he couldn’t keep his horse?

  If he wasn’t careful, his attempt at polite conversation was going to cause more problems than he’d previously encountered in his line of work.

  “To where?” she asked almost reluctantly, as though she couldn’t help herself. Her maid kept her gaze on the passing scenery and gave no indication that she listened to their conversation.

  “France.” He watched for her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

  “Even during the war?”

  He had to smile this time. Her natural curiosity was overriding her sense of disapproval. “If the occasion calls for it.”

  She turned to stare directly at him. “What occasion would require a visit during a time of war? That sounds like a terrible idea.”

  Her response both amused and delighted him. Rather than giving him a noncommittal reply and keeping her questions to herself, she called him out on his comments.

  He’d never met another woman like her. Damn if he didn’t enjoy her company,
even if she regarded him as if he were mad.

  “Forgive me for asking a question of such a personal nature, but are your parents alive?”

  He frowned, trying to follow her logic. “What difference does that make?”

  “It appears to me that you have no one to answer to and make decisions based purely on your personal pleasure.”

  He stilled at her comment, wondering if that was how others saw him as well.

  She bit her lip, her gloved hands smoothing her skirts. “Please accept my apologies, Aberland. That is none of my affair.”

  “Call me Richard.” They were betrothed. It was time they acted like it.

  She nodded almost reluctantly, making him wonder at her thoughts.

  Was Caroline correct?

  As he considered the matter, he realized she was probably right in some respects, though his actions weren’t guided by pleasure.

  He had little regard for money, mainly because he had plenty, although his attitude might change if he didn’t. And concern for his personal safety didn’t sway his decisions either. As he’d recovered from his injuries after Dumond’s death, he’d decided that he owed his friend, and if revenge cost him his life, so be it.

  Not that he wished to die, but he’d accepted death as a possible outcome of his mission. Now that he’d narrowed the list of suspects who could be Le Sournois, he was even more determined to claim justice for his friend.

  But he couldn’t explain any of that to Caroline.

  Her puzzled expression along with her questions had caused him to do more soul searching in the past five minutes than he’d done in the last year.

  The woman had a gift. At least he thought her clever questioning was a gift. It could be equally annoying, he supposed. There were times when analyzing one’s life created too much doubt and one became frozen by indecision.

  “There is no need to apologize. I understand your questions. You have a valid point. My parents died several years ago. I have a brother three years my junior who is a good man but I don’t often see him. You’re correct in that I answer to no one.” Except the Crown, he added silently. That was one more secret he had to keep.