My Lord Rogue (3 page)

She snatched her fingers back as if stung. “Baroness, my lord.”

“I know who you are and from whence you come. I’m the last man on earth who needs to be reminded.”

Her eyes misted momentarily. Or had he imagined it?

“Perhaps not.” She arrowed her lips into a frown, once more seeming imperfectly at ease.

“Why are you here?” There. He’d said it. Taking a deep breath to regain control, Simon swallowed back amazement at how quickly his desire for a woman he couldn’t have had risen to the surface. It was a rush of passion so brutal, all-consuming, he could barely withstand it.

She didn’t answer
. A
gamut of conflicting emotion
s assailed him
. “Why are you here, Gillian?” he asked again, using her given name to ply home his concern. “You know it isn’t safe.”

Gillian stepped backward and peered down at the assembling crowd as if searching for someone in particular. If not Lucien. Who?

“I am here on a personal matter,” she confided, her voice holding an undecipherable edge.

Personal matter? Her father was dead
,
and she’d never indicated any desire to return to Town. What could have possibly been so important to draw Gillian to London?
He wa
s determined not to be put off.
“At an opera house dressed in widow’s weeds?
”

“
Your opinion is none of my concern, my lord, and there
is no need to prolong
your visit
.” She smiled coquettishly and once more dismissed him.

“
I’m disinclined to believe you.”

“You may presume whatever you like. What you believe is none of my concern.”

“
It should be
.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits.
How she must hate him.
T
he air about them charged like brilliant light criss-crossing a fused sky
.
H
e
made every effort to remain calm, to prevent her from seeing how deeply wounded
her insolence
speared him.

“Tell me, then. If you are here on a personal matter, what are you doing in that hideous disguise?”

Her eyes immediately darkened. “’Tis no disguise.”

“You cannot expect me, of all people, to believe you.”

“What you believe is none of my affair, my lord.”

“Lia
r,” he said
as he leaned
forward.
“Black does not suit for an affair such as this. If you’d intended not to draw attention, you failed. It leads me to recall one particular time you wore black to a disagreeable end.”

Gillian turned away from the applauding crowd, a move he didn’t miss. She
was
hiding now. Why? What had she seen? What was going through her mind?

“Leave,” she whispered. “Before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” He huffed. “Has the past driven such a wedge between us that you would deny me the right to see you, speak to you?”

“
I
was too late,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, making him regret she’d stepped into the shadows. He couldn’t read her eyes now. But he knew what she eluded to — his loveless marriage.

“Time has never been on our side, Simon.”

Lucifer take it,
she’d
used his given name. A disemboweling dagger couldn’t have done more damage. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to bleed out. And that would simply not be allowed. “Gillian,” he said, unable to control himself. “What are you hiding from? I can give you—”

“Nothing,” she said with split-second timing.

“
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwilling to school. And then the lover
…
”

~
William Shakespeare’s
All The World
’
s a Stage

Bloody hell!
He
released a frustrated growl.
“Do you need
my
help?”

Gillian
stepped out of the darkness
,
her
brown eyes harden
ing
,
a
frown drawing unfashionable lines
along
her jaw
.
With an upward tilt of her chin
,
she
presented
a brave face,
pressing home the fact that he could try
to make her tell him the truth
, but
she’d never relent
.
She had either grown stronger of character while she’d been with Lucien or more stubborn, if that was possible.

“I am perfectly ca
pable of taking care of m
yself.
”

Was she?
Her
proclamation
sent his pulse thundering.
The product of a penniless father
who prized ale over blood
, she’d been
plying her trade in the theat
e
r
when he’d first met her
,
alongside notable greats like
Elizabeth Farren, Frances Abington, and
siblings
Sarah Siddons and John
Phillip
Kemble.
But unlike Siddons, Gillian had been labeled a fortune hunter by his family; someone who was merely looking for an aristocratic patron, or perhaps a lover in order to further her career.
He’d
held
Gillian
in too high esteem to allow
her to
fall to the machinations of his family
.
The decision to
spare Gillian a life like
Farren, Abington, and
Siddons
, women who attracted sexual suspicion,
had come easily.
Living with it
had not.

But
now
Gillian had returned
,
driving the dagger of his deceit deeper into his heart
. What
circumstances
had
forced her to come to
London? Why
now?
A knot
rose in his throat
making it exceptionally hard to swallow
.

“
I
know you
believe
you can take care of yourself. I assigned you a protector
, Gillian
, because you needed one
.
Now, w
here is he?”
Simon
stepped closer, putting his hand up to
as
sure
her that
he only meant
for
her to hear
him out
. “Has
Lucien
returned from France?
Did something happen to him?
”

“You should go.
”

Again she sought to push him away,
the
same defiance
mixed
with a hint of sorrow
glaring
back at him through
her
dark
,
seductive
eyes
.
Then s
ilence
.
Disgruntled
but spurred to action,
Simon slapped h
is hat on his head
and
began to shove
on
his gloves.
Why had he
taken them off in the first place
? Perhaps he
had
meant
to
put her at ease
.
No
.
A gentleman wouldn’t have removed his gloves.
I am
no
gentleman
.
G
entlem
e
n
didn
’t fixate on married wom
e
n. A
nd
married
gentle
m
e
n
didn’t
betray
infirm
wives.

Oh, his sins were many
—
too many to count, if his thoughts gave evidence to that
effect
.
He wanted to do more than kiss her soundly.
Beneath Gillian’s
fixed gaze
, the revelation
he still loved her
hit him full force
with a
sickeningly familiar assault
that sent
blood
coursing
down to the coveted organ between his legs
.
H
e
wanted her now
as much as he
ever had
.
Damn
his eyes
!
O
n entering Bedford’s
box, a
small part of him had
held out hope that
he could
kiss
away the distance between them.
In his naivety, he’d wanted to s
educe
his
own
name
from
Gillian’s
lips
.
Hear her say
she’d never loved Lucien, that
she still loved him.
B
eg
her
to forgive
him
for
ordering her to
marry another,
for putting integrity before passion, even though he credited her for being strongest.

He stopped at the
fourth finger
of his left hand
when it s
uddenly
occurred to him
.
No matter what had happened,
Gillian
would
never
confide in him
. Her reason
to chance meeting him
had to
have been
paramount.
Something was wrong.
Had s
omething happened to Lucien
?
It was obvious
she wouldn’t allow him to help her
. The last time she’d asked for his help, he’d barely had
enough
time to save her husband’s
life
before losing
her
in the process
.

Lies separated them. Hers. His. Yet, s
he
couldn’t
have cut him more deeply
by refusing to acknowledge their past
.
Bloody hell
! W
hat was he supposed to do?
She’d married Lucien, following his advice.
S
he’d broken her promise
and
returned, forcing
him to
acknowledge
emotions he’d
buried
in order to live
his life, however hollow
it seemed
,
day
after
endless
day
.
Now the taunting refrain echoed clearly
in
his ears.

He couldn’t have her.
He would never
be able to have her.

Baroness
Gillian Chauncey
had become
resourceful, cunning
,
and ruthless
.
Whatever she was up to,
he’d be better off having no
part of it. He had a full plate of his own to dine on
and
didn’t
welcome another misfortune
clawing
at his door.
And yet, she’d made him remember
, acknowledge feelings he’d forced down into the recesses of his heart
.

Silence
rose like
a deafening buffer
as he observed her and made peace with the chasm between them. The divide overpowered
the applause igniting the crowd below and in the boxes around them.
Holcroft’s
Deaf and Dumb
had begun
like
the metaphor it was
;
neither of them understanding the other, neither ready to accept their true feelings, neither willing to make sacrifices
.
Proud, undaunted, Gillian
stood with her chin raised, eyes glaz
ed
with
unflinching determination
.
Had he produced that rea
ction?
Her
stiff
posture indicated she
would never
reveal her true
reason for being at the opera house
,
London
specifically.
With a disapproving grunt, Simon produced a cordial
b
ow
, barely catching the slight hint of
her
polite
curtsey
.
“Baroness
,” he said stiffly before
turning
to
walk
out the door.

She made no sound
.

Perhaps it
is
for the best,
eh,
his conscience
suggested
.
Duty linked him
to Admiral Nelson
, to a cause greater than flesh
. T
he mission they embarked on de
pended on
total
discretion and obedient
concentration.

As quickly as
his instincts ha
d
been
triggered to follow Gillian, Simon
thrust her out of his mind, turning off his emotions as he
exited the box
. H
is heart
was ill-equipped to deal with another ill-timed
injury
.
Gillian
wanted nothing to do with him. So be it.
Nelson would be arriving soon
,
and
the admiral
warranted his devotion.

Simon tapped his cane on the floor
in disgruntlement
.
Not far from the stairs, a
tall
gentleman dressed in brilliant gold
, powdered hair and face
, made more fashionable in years past
,
caught his attention. The fop was
a sight that obliterated any
sense of normal from the modern mind
.
Simon
rolled his eyes.
Faith and tribulation
,
but
Percival Avery, Marques
s
Stanton, pushed
the limits of disguise as far as a
ny
man coul
d and s
till
managed to
maintain
surprising
dignity.
How did the man do it?
Could Simon
get away with it?
I daresay I would not.

“I say,
old
chap
,” the popinjay shouted, waving his quizzing gla
ss
like a drunken sailor with a bottle of coveted rum. He sauntered
closer
on loose legs
that gave him a swaggering jaunty gait
. “Have you seen a
woman in black
swishing
bombazine
skirts
on this level
?”
He
bowed
low
, respectfully
.

Simon’s
brow r
ose
as he bowed mockingly in turn
.
Bloody hell,
but
Percy
was entirely too
ridiculous, a fact that
would surely be the death of him.
Simon
couldn’t imagine ever
getting
over the man’s transformation. He
knew
Percy
too
well.
The
irony?
The marques
s
was the
son of
Rathbone Avery, the
Duke of Blendingham,
a
prominent member of the House of Lords
.
With an aristocratic heritage dating back hundreds of years,
Stanton
’s status placed him in the upper echelons
of society
, the perfect position for a man of means to learn the best gossip, foil the most devious pursuits, and champion king and country without anyone being the wiser. It had been Percy’s idea to
perform the
dandy
to perfection
, to the consternation of his father. Fashioned after Georgian greats, a
beauty mark
aptly positi
oned near the side of his nose, the man was Simon’s best agent
, a
first born son
legitimizing his plan
to protect the crown.
He should know.
Simon
and Lucien
had
trained
him
.