Going Rogue (8 page)

She’d expected him to grow old before his years, to lose his hair, to be hobbled by a life of hard labor from years spent toiling away on a farm. Yet here he was, looking every bit the rake, oozing charm and virility, leaving her mouth dry and pulse racing.

And when she finally returned to her senses and turned to her left, she found the Earl of Sutherland in the seat next to her—just as the second act was beginning.

Chapter 10

Meredith tried to focus on the magnificent score accompanying the night’s performance. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d possessed a great love for music. She’d sung just as soon as she could talk, and by the age of five, she’d begun teaching herself the pianoforte.

Though she could hardly be considered an aficionado, she thoroughly enjoyed opera. Under normal circumstances, she’d be enthralled by the night’s entertainment.

But these were most definitely
not
normal circumstances.

And it was not the performance that commanded her attention, but rather the presence of the man sitting to her left—which irked her to no end.

He was so different from the boy she’d known, he didn’t even
smell
like himself. She remembered Derek’s scent—freshly turned dirt, grass, and laundry that had been hung out in the sunshine to dry.
Everything pleasant about the country
. Now, his skin and clothes smelled of salt and the sea, sandalwood. His jacket reeked of cigar smoke.

When had he taken up smoking?

And when had he become so overwhelmingly
masculine
?

Nothing familiar remained of the boy who’d once declared his love for her. He was a man now, and a stranger. Ophelia hadn’t exaggerated when she’d spoke of his presence. As if casting a wide-reaching net, he ensnared the attention of everyone around him.

As a young man, Derek had always been quiet and good natured. The man she met tonight was charming and confident—not at all reserved. And that confidence, coupled with his rugged good looks, made for a potent combination.

And damn if she wasn’t feeling some of its dizzying effects.

He was sitting there, one polished boot crossed over his knee, calm and casual, as if his presence in London was nothing out of the ordinary. He faced the stage, occasionally conversing with the others in the box, but not once did he look at her. She wasn’t sure what was more infuriating—his sense of entitlement or how acutely aware she was of him. Sitting leg to leg, she could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

Meredith opened her fan. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, just loud enough for him to hear.

He leaned toward her. “Watching opera.” His deep, graveled voice raked over her like a cold wind. “Why? What are
you
doing here?” He raised a thick, dark eyebrow.

“You know good and well what I mean.”

“Do keep your voice down, Miss Castle. You’ll cause a scene . . . again.”

He looked at her, those piercing blue eyes peering out from under a hood of thick black lashes. She took a moment to absorb the features of his face. Gone were the soft edges of youth—now he looked hard, his jaw square. The shallow cleft in his chin peaked out through the shadow of his evening stubble. Despite the dimly lit theatre, she could easily tell the years hadn’t been entirely kind. There was a scar above his left eye, just a thin white line no longer than her small finger. His once straight nose, perfect and aquiline, now sported a bump. His imperfections boasted a life of danger, a testament to his daring new lifestyle.

Damn him for piquing her curiosity!

Meredith folded her gloved hands in her lap, glancing away. “If this is about me . . .”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t cross the street for you, Miss Castle, let alone an ocean.”

She stared back at him, her mouth agape.

“After my last
accident
,” he patted his shoulder, “my cousin suggested I steer the business in a more conservative direction. Travel is becoming more and more a favorite pastime of the wealthy, so I thought why not switch from the transport of goods to the transport of people? It’s the same basic premise after all. But don’t worry. I only plan on staying through the end of summer. By then, the business should be able to get along fine without me.”

She faced the stage again, fanning herself a bit more vigorously. “You’re staying for the duration of the Season? Your timing couldn’t be worse if you planned on getting any
actual
work done.”

“I thought while I was here I could kill two birds with one stone and find myself a countess as well. I hear every manor can use one.”

“A countess? You really are an Earl then?”

“I always knew I had family in Scotland—my father’s brogue was evidence enough of that. But he was a stubborn man, to a fault. He had a falling out with his father and left Scotland with just enough money to purchase our farm and a few extra plots in Middlebury. My grandfather died just a few years ago, and to my complete surprise, I inherited an Earldom.”

“But shouldn’t it have gone to your father?”

“It should have . . . but he’d already passed on by then.”

Meredith felt a sudden pain in the pit of her stomach. Her mother hadn’t mentioned it in any of her letters. “I’m so sorry. Nobody told me . . .”

“Well, I don’t suppose your mother would have thought to bother you with such inconsequential news from Middlebury. She wouldn’t have wanted to interrupt your
important
life here.”

She flinched at the harsh words. She would never be so heartless, and hated him for thinking she could. “Well, that explains how you managed to buy yourself a shipping company.”

He stiffened. “I didn’t buy my success—I earned it. And it’s not
just
shipping, it’s highly specialized work. We’re responsible for discreet cargo, as well as the interception of ships that are known to be harboring stolen goods . . . for a nominal fee, of course.”

“You’re a pirate.”

“I’m not a pirate. We refer to it as
transfer and procurement,
and I assure you the two couldn’t be any more different.”

“How so?”

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I do is legal, where piracy is not.”

“Very different, I see. And your services are in such high demand that it requires you opening an office in
Town
? Why not open an office in Scotland?”
Hundreds of miles away from here
.

“Business is better in London—more clients. Not to mention the wide variety of marital options.”

Derek glimpsed over his shoulder at Ophelia.

“Am I to assume that you regard Miss Marshall as one of those options?”

He turned back. “Perhaps. Would it matter if she was?”

Meredith’s nostrils flared. “No. It’s just . . . she doesn’t strike me as your type, that’s all.”

He laughed. “My type? Aren’t lovely girls like her every man’s type?”

They both looked back at Miss Marshall, this time she noticed and tentatively waved.

“Besides,
Miss Castle
,” he enunciated her name. “You’re not in a position to presume anything about the types of women I find desirable.
You
don’t even know me.”

No
, she thought contritely,
I don’t
.

Lord Brayan MacCalistair leaned toward Derek. “You best turn yer attention back to the stage. The way yer carrying on with Miss Castle will have tongues wagging about ye two.”

Derek straightened in his seat. “There’s nothing for them to
wag
about. I was simply relaying to Miss Castle the extent of my visit here, nothing more.”

“I wouldn’t fault ye even if you were trying to get to know her better. She’s a bonnie lass, that one.”

Derek’s jaw tensed. “Oh, you think she’s pretty?” He remarked, feigning disinterest.

Brayan shook his head. “Ye need spectacles—she’s lovely. And I think she may have taken a liking to ye.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He smirked. “Miss Castle most definitely does
not
like me.”

He recalled the painful day he’d left Lady Browning’s townhome. It wasn’t long after that his father passed, solidifying his new outlook on life. Losing everything certainly had a way of putting the world into perspective.

Strong, whip-smart, and good with a pistol, life at sea suited him and his prospects eventually improved. Good for little else but muscle on a ship, the company utilized his talents in other ways. Under his direction, King’s Ransom Transfers exceeded all expectations. By the time word of his estranged grandfather’s passing had reached him, he’d achieved an enviable level of notoriety. That’s when he’d met Brayan, his late father’s nephew.

He’d reached a level of success he’d never imagined possible . . . and he dreamt of the day he’d meet up with Meredith Castle again. What better vengeance than accomplishing everything she’d tossed him aside for?

Thunderous clapping from the audience roused him from his bitter thoughts. The curtain was drawn—the performance had ended.

Derek stood and bid the group goodbye, purposefully avoiding Meredith. He and Brayan returned to their carriage and started the journey back to the rented townhome they’d been sharing. Contrary to Brayan’s thoughts on it otherwise, he had no intention of staying any longer than he had to—London was just another stopover in a life he’d devoted to travel. He simply wasn’t the sort of man who put down roots.

“What happened between ye two?” Brayan asked once they’d been on the road for a few minutes.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Miss Castle.”

He stared out the window, wanting nothing more than to leave the subject alone. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe ye, it had to be something. Ye’ve been shooting daggers at her for most of the evening.”

“You’re imagining things, Brayan.”

His cousin grinned from ear to ear. “Am I?”

Derek glared. Brayan had been the first to welcome him into the family, and since then, the two had become inseparable. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hit him.

He was too perceptive—making it nearly impossible to lie. “There
was
something,” Derek confessed. “But believe me, it’s over now.”

“For how long?”

He took a deep breath. He’d spent years trying to forget, the memories still unwelcome. Every so often he’d dream of her—her green eyes, her blond hair. The way she’d clung to him when they’d kissed that last time, as if she were unable to get close enough. “A few years.”

“
Years
?” Brayan repeated, surprise registering on his face. “What happened?”

“London happened.” Derek could tell by Brayan’s expression that as much as he didn’t want to, he’d need to elaborate. “We were friends growing up. I loved her with every ounce of my being. And she . . . she tolerated me. Her mother sent her away to live with her great aunt—here, near Mayfair. And I let her go.”

“You let her go?”

“I needed something to make me worthy, something to be deserving of her before I asked for her hand. But I was miserable. My father knew it and the good man did all he could to remedy the situation. He mysteriously found enough money to purchase a commission for me. I never questioned where he found the funds, but I was grateful. I thought that would be enough for her to accept me.

“And it wasn’t?”

He sighed. “She’d changed. There must be something in the air here that turns sweet girls into self-indulgent henwits.”

“So the great Lord Sutherland, formerly of Mr. Weston fame, found himself refused by a common girl?”

Derek faked a bow. “In spectacular fashion.”

Brayan laughed. “And how many times have ye been refused since then?”

“Not once.” He returned the smile, though it took a great deal more effort than he’d expected. “It’s not actually a fair comparison. I’ve never really proposed marriage to anyone else—propositioned maybe, but not proposed.”

“I bet she regrets her choice.”

“I should hope so.” Derek was pleased with the evening’s turn of events. He hadn’t planned on seeing her so soon, but was pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t just perturbed by his presence. She’d been livid.

“I suppose ye can thank her now.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “Thank
her
? Why ever would I do something like that?”

Brayan shrugged. “Well, if it weren’t for her, ye might not have done as well for yerself as ye have.”

He smiled. “You have a heart of gold, cousin. Guard it well. London is no place for a man like you.”

“It’s quite the coincidence that she’s friends with Miss Marshall.” Brayan’s statement was little better than a thinly veiled accusation.

Derek couldn’t fault him for believing his interest in Miss Marshall had been calculated, when in truth it was simply a happy coincidence. “I met Miss Marshall in Brussels. She never mentioned her friendship with Miss Castle. But it does make for a most interesting dynamic, don’t you think?”

Brayan leaned back onto the cushions. “I know this is partly my doing, but are ye certain ye want to pursue Miss Marshall? I still can’t quite reconcile the two of ye together.”

“What’s there to question? She’s a beautiful girl.” Derek sighed. “You were the one so keen on me opening this damn office and settling down. Now you’re questioning my methods?”

“I only suggested that since yer the Earl now, perhaps you should slow down, find yerself a respectable wife.”

“Isn’t Miss Marshall respectable enough for you?”

“She is, but she’s also quiet, and yer . . . not.”

“It’s a fine trait for a countess to possess.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but don’t ye find her to be a bit odd?”

“Brilliant maybe, but not odd. I promised you I’d find a wife and secure my line before I went and got myself shot again.”

Brayan shook his head. “Ye promised me to stay put for a few months and use that time to think about returning to your estate in Scotland. Yer father did so much for you in life, the least ye can do is try and stay alive for a bit and see to yer legacy.”