Rogue in Red Velvet Read online

  ROGUE IN RED VELVET

  By LYNNE CONNOLLY

  LYRICAL PRESS

  An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

  Chapter 1

  March, 1754

  The library door crashed open, shattering Connie’s peace and admitting the last man she wanted to be alone with. Pretending unperturbed tranquility, Connie put her pen in the standish. She clasped her hands on top of the book she’d been working on to still the trembling his presence caused.

  Wide-eyed, chest heaving, the normally elegant, cool Lord Ripley, slammed the door and put his back to it.

  She met his blank, dark stare and cursed her fluttering pulse. Whatever had put him in this state, it couldn’t be trivial.

  He blinked, straightened and assumed the town bronze most of his sort used like a cloak, covering whatever he felt beneath. He gave the perfectly tied strip of linen at his neck a twitch, arranged his sleeve ruffles, then straightened his wig. As poise and elegance returned, he transformed from a hunted fugitive to a gentleman and pushed away from the door. He strolled to the old, scarred table at which she sat. “Here you are.”

  What a ridiculous statement. “I believe I am.” She read a line in the journal before her, more to look away than because she needed to, and took a steadying breath before she met his eyes once more. “May I help you, Lord Ripley?”

  “I merely wondered why you lock yourself away here every day, Mrs. Rattigan. And I came to see if I may assist you in any way.”

  “I’m perfectly fine, sir. I doubt you could help me, or have any interest in doing so.” She’d avoided him for three days and wanted none of his games. She didn’t care why he’d shot in here, only she wished he’d shoot out again, just as fast.

  “Is it something too difficult for my paltry brain? Are you a bluestocking, ma’am, that you labor here day after day without joining the revelry?” In full control, his society manners polished as ever, he walked to her side of the table and loomed over her.

  Her heart beat faster and her breath quickened. She worked to hide his effect on her and castigated herself for a fool. He wasn’t interested in her in that way, much less when she had her hair scraped back in a knot, wore no cosmetics at all and had donned her old clothes in preparation for the dusty work. She was just an excuse, an escape from something. Or someone. She was no empty-headed miss. She was a respectable widow, but it didn’t stop her becoming tongue-tied. “I—I—”

  “You find yourself bored by our antics. You’d rather study Plautus, or is it Marcus Aurelius?” Chuckling, he leaned over her shoulder, flipped the book closed. With one long finger, he traced the name on the cover. “Saucy stories perhaps?”

  The door opened and admitted Miss Louisa Stobart, one of the young ladies invited here to meet Lord Ripley. Connie’s godfather had confided to her that he might choose a bride from among them.

  Now she understood why he’d shot into this room like a pursued fox. Miss Stobart had been the most assiduous of Lord Ripley’s pursuers, indefatigable in her chase. He’d been escaping her.

  For a change, Connie was in charge. How delicious.

  Lord Ripley straightened and gave Connie such a look of pleading that she almost laughed. “Help me,” he mouthed, before assuming his easy smile and facing his tormentor.

  She would have preferred that he said that in different circumstances, but what she dreamed at night remained between her and her pillow. This would do. A little gentle revenge was called for. She slid the book over to his lordship and pointed at random. “Here is a word I cannot read, sir. Do you see?”

  “No, ma’am.” Bending over her shoulder, he peered then looked at her.

  Far too close, his breath heated her cheek and her heart quickened. This close, he’d see her reaction for sure. Inwardly, she groaned. She hadn’t bargained on him doing that. She should have shoved the book away from her.

  His eyes widened slightly. He turned his attention to the book. “I think it says wormwood. An old spell book?”

  She laughed. “An inventory, sir. As you well know.”

  His shoulders relaxed under his country-coat. In an ordinary man that slight movement might remain unnoticed, but Connie had spent the last few days watching him surreptitiously. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and while she could tell herself that she was merely observing, it did no good. For the first time in her life, she longed to be younger, wealthier and socially higher ranking. Then she could compete. Instead, she’d dressed in a practical country gown that would survive hedgerows and house dust, and hidden away here. “Yes, of course. Wormwood.”

  Thank goodness he straightened.

  Miss Stobart stood on the other side of the table, her delicately draped pink silk gown mocking Connie’s sturdy dark green garment. Miss Stobart’s was a fashionable ideal of a gown to be worn in the country, sprinkled with exquisitely embroidered spring flowers. Miss Stobart’s gaze skimmed over Connie and to his lordship. Her ruby lips pursed in a winsome pout. “Sir, I had hoped we could take a turn in the gardens. I quite thought you had promised me at breakfast.”

  “I had no idea.” He glanced down at Connie. It was her cue to say something.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt your”—Courtship? Pursuit? —“walk. Of course you must go.”

  Miss Stobart drummed her foot against the wood floor, maddening in the quiet library. “Indeed sir, I quite thought you’d forgotten me, so I came to find you.” Her voice was sweet; her foot was not.

  “I beg your pardon, but I had promised today to Connie for some time now.” He gave her an easy smile.

  Connie stared at him in astonishment. He’d used her first name. She wasn’t aware he even knew it. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she nearly leaped up. His skin wasn’t in contact with hers, due to her modest gown and fichu, but it might as well have been. She felt it like a shock of recognition. Of what she didn’t want to consider.

  “Connie and I are old friends.” The familiarity of her first name implied he was much friendlier with her than anyone had imagined. “When she mentioned her task, I immediately volunteered to help. Her—er—errand is something I am particularly interested in.”

  Not to mention, he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was doing. She’d never discussed her project in company and nobody had expressed an interest except for her godfather, whose commission this was.

  He was casting her as his rescuer when he hadn’t asked her first.

  “It is a special project I’ve been meaning to undertake for some time.” Should she lie, draw out the moment? She wasn’t used to being the center of attention.

  Miss Stobart fixed her cold, blue eyes on Connie, probably for the first time since she’d arrived.

  Connie gave the young woman her sweetest smile. “My visit here provided the perfect opportunity.”

  “A bluestocking?” That was the second time in ten minutes she’d been accused of that. Did everyone in society who opened a book get accused of that?

  Miss Stobart’s lips curved in a superior smile. She clearly considered herself the victor in this encounter. After all, who would not? Connie was below the notice of a young lady of marriageable age and considerable fortune.

  “Not exactly.” She glanced at the book.

  Leaning over her once more, Lord Ripley flipped the volume over, revealing the faded label on the front. “It’s an inventory of the house from the sixteenth century. Family history is important.”

  Damn, she couldn’t torment him anymore. He’d guessed right. “Lord Downholland has particularly wished to gather all the documents pertaining to the house in one place. I merely offered to assist hi
m.”

  “And I offered to assist Connie,” he said smoothly, back in control. “I’m sorry, Miss Stobart, but her claims had precedence.”

  Wonderful. He was fast making an enemy on her behalf. Miss Stobart would resent her intensely if she came between the chase and ensnarement of her quarry. “I’m only doing this until my fiancé arrives.”

  Miss Stobart relaxed, nodded regally. “I see. But Lord Ripley has other commitments.”

  “I’ll be down directly, ma’am.” He walked to the door and held it open. “If you would not mind waiting for a few moments, I would greatly appreciate the time.”

  Miss Stobart swept through and he closed the door behind her.

  Breathing deeply, he slumped against it. He met Connie’s gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”

  So that was what she was good for. A distraction. “I’m not prepared to act as your chaperone, sir.”

  Laughing, he waved a hand in one of the most elegant movements she’d ever seen. “I would be eternally grateful to you if you did so.” He sauntered toward her. “I never thought I’d be in need of one, to be truthful.”

  Connie resisted the temptation to move away. She was not afraid of this man, or intimidated by him, even though he had just gone from being the object of her fantasies to a real live human being. His panic, his silent appeal for help had transformed him in her eyes. Although, sadly, his appeal remained.

  Seizing her hand, he dropped a kiss on the back, and immediately restored it to her. “I can’t thank you enough, ma’am.” He grinned wickedly. “Connie.”

  “I wasn’t even aware you knew my first name.”

  “I do.”

  How did he know her name when she wasn’t even aware that he’d noticed her? Had he made a point of learning it?

  “Connie, I truly appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

  “You can answer this. Why is it so important to avoid Miss Stobart?” She dared to turn around and look at his face, bracing herself for the visual contact, as she always did when she looked at him. “You raced in here as if the hounds of hell were after you. Surely you have enough address to avoid her?”

  He perched on the table by her side. Too close.

  Anger was taking the place of curiosity. She no longer cared about the social gulf between them, or her dowdy appearance, or anything else other than the consideration that he had treated her badly. “Sir, I’m a widow, from the country, but I’m not prepared to be treated as if I don’t exist.”

  His eyes darkened as he gazed steadily at her. “I owe you an apology. I am truly sorry if I implied anything of the kind. I meant it. I owe you a favor. Anything.”

  The devil take him. What she could do with was an extra pair of hands, and someone who knew how to read the spidery old writing she was fighting every day. She folded her arms. “Very well, since you ask. I want an assistant in this task. I agreed to help my godfather gather the books he’ll need to compile a family history. It’s proving more difficult than I imagined. Some of the books are heavy and stored in virtually inaccessible places.”

  His broad shoulders eased. “I would be honored to help.”

  “Even if it meant getting a speck of dirt on your clothes?”

  “Even then.” His lips curved in a disconcertingly attractive smile.

  Meeting his eyes became more difficult and she fought the urge to fidget. She’d have to change her chair, it was becoming most uncomfortable. “I’m working at this task most of the day. Until my fiancé arrives.”

  “Dankworth, yes.” He snapped the name as if Jasper had done something to annoy him. “I should wish you happy, I suppose.”

  “Content will do. Thank you.”

  He quirked a brow. That irritating smile returned. “Contentment only? You don’t wish for wedded bliss?”

  “Not in the least. A rational partnership is my dearest wish.” It was the truth. Love had done nothing for her. She wished for a comfortable marriage that would improve the lot of both parties, nothing else. She’d decided that years ago, and now her ambition was within her grasp, she’d do nothing to change it. “The marriage will suit my godparents, who have been kind to me and have no child of their own to inherit their estate.”

  “They know about Dankworth, then?”

  Did he? Eyeing her pen, she wished she could take it up again and lose herself in the old inventories. She didn’t want her decision questioned in this way. What good would it do? “They know he can be foolish on occasion. Marriage will settle him and ensure heirs for the estate.” She tired of this game. This man was only baiting her. “I understand you’re here seeking a bride, sir. You won’t find one in this room.”

  “Will I not?” He leaned forward, pressing home his advantage. His citrus and spice scent was altogether too seductive. His low voice hinted at unforgiveable sins. “You’re not formally betrothed yet, ma’am.”

  “I will be very soon.” She wasn’t very good at flirting, never had been. She scraped back her chair, got to her feet, and made a business of shaking out the skirts of her drab green gown. “You cannot show the guests such discourtesy. They are here for you, at least a good many are.”

  He grinned wryly. “It would be more discourteous to run away screaming. If I don’t have this escape, I might very well do that.” He stood, took a few paces toward the door, and turned back, the skirts of his country coat swinging around thighs that filled out his breeches creditably. “I see I must confide my predicament and throw myself on your mercy. Miss Stobart is determined to trap me into a connection I have no desire to acquire.”

  Miss Stobart had either ignored Connie or treated her with barely concealed contempt since her arrival. Connie had heard rumors as well as witnessed Miss Stobart’s relentless pursuit of his lordship.

  He sighed and scrutinized the silver buckle on his shiny black shoe. “I suspect my father put her and her mother in the way of finding me here. The old man wants me married and as soon as possible. The truth is, I was caught in a compromising position with Miss Stobart at a ball and I decided to leave London for a while until the affair blew over.” He lifted his hand as if to run it through his hair, but he was wearing a fashionable wig.

  From the color of his brows, she’d say his hair was dark underneath and she had an irrational but powerful desire to see it for herself. To touch it, in a way entirely forbidden to her. Annoying that this unwanted desire wouldn’t leave her. His confession didn’t endear him to her. Compromising position could mean anything from a private conversation to full-blown seduction.

  “The incident happened at a ball,” he continued. “Miss Stobart said she’d torn her gown and asked me to help her pin it. So there I was kneeling at her feet in an anteroom when her aunt dramatically flung open the door. She’d been clever enough to bring witnesses.”

  That wasn’t so bad. “Didn’t you explain your task?”

  ”They chose not to believe me. Miss Stobart swore it was a declaration of marriage. It was not, but my absence from town was advisable. She chased me here.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them they were filled with surprising bleakness. “I must sound like the veriest coxcomb, imagining every woman in the house after my hand.”

  “No indeed, sir. You are from one of the foremost families in the land, accepted everywhere, and in possession of a large fortune. Why should you not think that?.” Since he was being so honest, why should she not do the same?

  He arched a brow. “If I said I wanted to be desired for myself, I’d sound foolish. But it’s true. Connie, I have few friends, people I can be honest with. It would be a privilege if you allow that between us.”

  Friends? Damn, but she still wanted more. Not that she could have it, and Connie had become used to not having what she wanted. Friends would do. “Very well.”

  “And I’ll devote a portion of every day to helping you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Exquisite agony to have this man so close, but she’d bear it. Worse that she was
liking him more.

  “Alex.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want the privilege of calling you Connie. In return, you must call me Alex, especially in private. You do me a great favor, helping me to avoid the ladies, particularly Miss Stobart. She’s done everything she can to compromise me.”

  “What about me? Won’t I be compromised?”

  “You’re a respectable widow, soon to be formally betrothed. You told me so yourself.”

  He had her there. “And in any case, I’m of an age where I cannot be expected to be on the hunt. Isn’t that right?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He raked her with his eyes, once, twice, from head to toes.

  Every part of her body tingled. How could she bear this? “I’m eight and twenty, sir. I’m far too old to consider husband hunting seriously, even if my arrangement with Jasper didn’t exist.” He might as well hear the truth. “If it weren’t that my godparents had chosen me, I’d be well on the shelf.”

  “They might consider you decrepit. I certainly don’t. But you have my word, Connie, I’ll behave. Just don’t leave me to their mercies.” When he moved back, she caught the scent of citrus and masculinity. He was too real, with her in this room, a man rather than a symbol of power and influence.

  “Why don’t you just leave?”

  He shook his head. “I promised my father I wouldn’t. He’s an old curmudgeon, but he’s the only father I have. In a week, I will be kicking the dust of this admittedly charming house off my heels. I just need help until then.”

  So he could help the old widow woman sort out the dusty books. The situation appealed to her underused sense of humor. If she could bear his presence, and since he’d dropped his society mask she found him much more agreeable, then she could watch the play unfold and smile. As a widow she was allowed more leeway than others, and even if rumors came her way, she was safe. Jasper would arrive any day now and then her quietude would be at an end. She would be an engaged woman. “Very well, but not for long. Until you leave.”

  “Thank you, Connie. You do me a great service and I won’t forget it.”