The Curious Rogue (2 page)

“No,” she answered slowly, vexed not only because he was laughing at her, but also because she felt an uncommon attraction to him.

Giving way to his curiosity, he asked, “Why do you wear a spinster’s cap beneath your bonnet?”

“Gentlemen do not ask such intimate questions of ladies,” Elizabeth retorted primly.

“But I thought we had agreed I was not a gentleman,” he noted with mock seriousness. “Perhaps I need to prove it,” he added and leaned towards her.

“No,” she replied swiftly and drew back. “I permitted the first kiss merely to... to prevent you from shooting some innocent person,” Miss Jeffries told him haughtily, her spine very rigid.

“Ahh, the nobility of womanhood.” He sighed derisively, his earlier fatigue suddenly returning. He stifled a yawn as he settled back in his corner.

Sensing his exhaustion, the young woman pulled a squab from beside her. “Take this.” She tossed it to him.

“For, a rogue such as I?”

“Then be less high-handed and leave my presence soon,” she snapped irritably, angry at not reining in her impulse.

A deep chuckle answered her.

What has come over me, she thought, thinking of this man’s... this rogue’s... comfort?

Chapter Two

The long silence, broken only by the wind-driven rain and the slosh of the team’s hooves, convinced Miss Jeffries that the intruder had fallen asleep.

For a time she questioned her strange lack of reaction to the evening’s events but, drawing no logical conclusions, dismissed it as the result of her overabundance of curiosity and her totally unladylike mien. Her Aunt Waddington had oft told Elizabeth that her behaviour was far too insensitive for a lady and the likely cause of her lack of suitors.

Elizabeth sighed. Was there a man in all England who did not want a simpering idiot for a wife? She turned her gaze to the man beside her.
His wife certainly could not be missish if she was to survive his career
, she thought, a smile coming to her lips.

And, Elizabeth continued, that kiss was interesting, far better than Cousin Ralph’s childish attempts six years past. He had been ghastly dreadful at the business. Now, Mr. Simpson was more learned in the art, but, alas, he was far too much the gentleman to attempt more than two, her thoughts continued their unladylike trend. She looked again to the figure beside her.

Your kiss was far better than either... I think. If only I could recall it with more certainty, she ended, frowning at him. Elizabeth shook her head.

What manner of contemplation is this? You should be contriving to bring the man to justice. He must have committed some crime to fear the king’s men.

Carefully she reached out and moved her hand across the seat searching for the pistol.
Now where has it gone?
she wondered, wishing it were not quite so dark.
Ahh, now I recall. He placed it in his belt. Do I dare?
she wondered.

Why not?
her impetuous side prompted. Elizabeth moved slowly towards the intruder.

Gingerly she felt for the edge of his cloak on the seat, found it, moved slowly up, and halted when her fingers touched the cold steel of the pistol. Her heart lurched when his hand closed on hers.

“I... I thought it might be making you... uncomfortable,” Elizabeth blurted, trying to draw her hand back.

“Your consideration touches me greatly,” he replied lightly, keeping his hold. “Tell me, what would you have done had you managed to get hold of it?”

“My... my uncle is a magistrate for Ashford. I would... I would have turned you over to him,” she answered, refusing to be cowed.

“On what charge?”

“Oh, would it matter? There are probably many.”

“What a cruel thing to do,” he tisked sadly, “driving a sick man from his bed for your personal vengeance.”

“There is nothing personal about this, and I’ll have you know that Uncle pretends to be ill twice a year,” Elizabeth returned heatedly. “It is only so he can send for me. He thinks... thinks I am too much alone,” she ended softly.

“Please—” her voice regained some of its strength—”release my hand. I will trouble you no further,” Elizabeth added. A strange chill caused her to shudder.

Something in her voice, in the tremble that ran through her, smote the man’s conscience. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it and quickly released his hold.

Elizabeth realized a moment later that her hand was still poised in the air where he had released it. She snatched it back to her lap.

“My pardon for disturbing your evening,” the intruder told her softly. “Why don’t you try to sleep?” He handed back the squab she had given him. “I shall leave you at the first inn we pass,” he assured her, “and never again will our paths cross.”

Her desire to ask his name was firmly squashed as Miss Jeffries accepted the pillow and forced herself to lean against it and close her eyes. The odd fluttering of her heart was adamantly commanded to end.

You shall never see this rogue again, she told herself firmly. Know yourself to be fortunate.

Sleep slowly descended, dispelling all her spinsterly reproaches. A dream of love and family crept into her dreams once more.

The hint of dawn brought a grey light to the coach’s interior. The cloaked man had been studying the sleeping figure for some time, his thoughts oddly disrupted. She is not beautiful, he concluded,
but most pleasant to gaze upon. I wonder if her eyes are dark like her hair.

He shook himself. What had happened to his sense? Had that knock on the head a week past damaged his reasoning? This was only a chance encounter with a perfectly unreasonable chit who had neither the sense to be hysterical at his intrusion nor the folly to throw herself willingly into his arms. They would never meet again. He did not even know her name.

I wonder if it is a harsh sound like Abigail, or something soothing like Letitia? he wondered, smiling. Certes, she is headstrong. His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. Innocence... she has that look of innocence I had forgotten a woman could have, he realized, and became alarmed at the trend of his thinking.

The coach slowed. They passed the outer cottages of a small village.

I must go,
he thought, and quelled the urge to stay. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently and then slipped quietly out of the coach, hurrying into the shadows before anyone could see him.

* * * *

Sir Henry Jeffries’ comfortably rambling mansion, Ashly, sat snugly atop a hill just outside of Ashford. It was early morn when his coach, carrying his niece, halted before the large double doors of its main entry. Elizabeth Jeffries stepped down from the coach before the butler, Niles, could reach its door.

“How is Uncle?” she asked.

“Improved, miss,” Niles answered, his face expressionless as he recalled the late hour of his master’s guests’ departure last eve. “He is resting now.”

“Very good,” she smiled, walking towards the doors. “Please see to my portmanteaus. I believe I shall refresh myself before seeing Uncle. Will breakfast be served at nine as usual?”

“Yes, miss.”

“If my uncle awakens, please tell him I had a pleasant journey. Except, of course, for the intruder....” A hint of a smile came to her lips.

“Would there be anything else, miss?” Niles questioned with barely concealed interest.

“No. Tell him I shall come to him as soon as I have breakfasted.” Elizabeth turned and walked towards the stairs.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Niles? What is it?”

“I believe you would like to know that Lady Waddington is to arrive later this morn,” he informed her.

“Thank you, Niles,” Elizabeth answered with a sigh, her already depressed spirits further dampened by the news of her aunt’s imminent arrival.

The Green Room’s cheerful interior did not have its usual brightening effect on Elizabeth. Laying her gloves and pelisse on the bed, she washed her hands and face. With a heavy sigh the young woman moved slowly to the oriel window overlooking the valley below.

Leaning against the edge, Elizabeth gazed at the fog-shrouded village of Ashford. The buildings were visible in brief glimpses as the heavy mist slowly drifted through the streets. A ray of morning sun splashed through a break in the clouds then was gone.

My life has become like those buildings, enveloped in doubt, she mused. What has happened to all my certainty, to the days when peace and quiet were assured? At four and twenty there should be few additional questions to ask.

Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to the cloaked intruder, a gentle smile curving her lips.
How tall he must be
, she thought, recalling how his head had almost touched the roof of the coach. And his form, the fine line of his leg and that broad muscular chest. She sighed.

How senseless—no, how unladylike
, she amended, thinking of what her Aunt Waddie would have said to such thoughts.

While Miss Jeffries had never worried about being unladylike, she prided herself on her good sense, which seemed to be sadly lacking in this instance.

What kind of sense prompted her to be saddened when, awakened by the stranger’s gentle kiss, she had seen only the tail of his cloak as he slipped into the shadows. What caused this melancholy she had felt upon realizing that she would never see him again, her nameless rogue?

Turning from the window, she raised her head, the line of her jaw hardening.
Enough of this, miss,
she told herself sternly.
You could not even recognize the man if you encountered him again.
Her heart begged to differ, but she quelled the instinct.

A hearty breakfast was what she needed. Hunger was the cause of these nonsensical thoughts. Elizabeth marched to the door and grasped the knob, then sighed, her shoulders sagging.

Recalling the grip of his hand upon hers, she thought.
He neither robbed nor ravished me and certainly didn’t frighten me.
Her features lightened, a grin spreading across them.
Mayhaps I could scandalize Aunt Waddie enough with the tale
, she thought,
to have her decide to return to London immediately
.

“Shameful creature,” she admonished herself out loud the next instant. Chuckling, she opened the door and ambled towards the breakfast room.

* * * *

Niles assisted Sir Henry into his old-fashioned frock coat. “Do you think it wise to go down, sir?” he asked.

“Confound it, Elizabeth is no child. She knows the lay of things.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If only Madeline did not arrive today also,” Sir Henry muttered adjusting his stock. Checking his appearance one last time, he bobbed his head with approval and made for his breakfast.

“Good morn, Elizabeth,” he greeted his niece cheerfully, brushing her cheek with a kiss. Taking a plate, he chose sparingly from the dishes on the sideboard before joining her at the table.

Miss Jeffries pushed aside
The Times
, which she had been reading and gazed sternly at her uncle.

“Just the thought of you with me for the next month worked a marvel on my health,” he blustered, a soft red hue covering his face to the top of his balding pate. “You see, I am eating sparsely this morn.”

“You always eat sparingly, Uncle,” she reminded him, inspecting his lean, angular form for any hint of malady.

“Still the same young woman,” he snorted, then beamed approvingly.

She burst into laughter. “You are a wonder, Uncle Henry. I begin to see why your paternity is sometimes questioned. You differ so greatly from dear Papa and Aunt Waddie.”

Choking, Sir Henry drank deeply of his tea. “Pray, my dear girl, do not go about vocalizing such indelicate thoughts. Especially not in front of Madeline. Your aunt would fly into the boughs and not be done with it for a week.”

“But I have heard her say the same.”

“That is different. She is a married, well, widowed lady. Now don’t cast such a black look at me. I mean to abide by our truce.”

“No beaux... no dandies... not even a promising solicitor?” Elizabeth questioned suspiciously, her uncle’s matchmaking propensities sharply in mind.

“Well... Perhaps a young barrister I met last month will call while you are here. But he has been invited only because of a common interest we share,” he hastened to add.

“Women?”

“Elizabeth!”

“I’m sorry, Uncle, but each time I come you throw all manner of men at me. It is so obvious—so embarrassing—to be paraded about like a shank of beef. I am happy as I am.”

“You know I do not mean to—”

“Then don’t. Find yourself a wife or take a mistress. Aunt Lettie has been gone five years now. You have never adjusted to being alone.”

“Which is why you should agree to stay with me permanently. I told you when your father died two years past that you were welcome,” Sir Henry told her earnestly.

“Even with Papa gone I must still maintain the house for Morton.” Her eyes went to her plate.

“Your brother doesn’t care a fiddle for that house. Hasn’t cared for anything since he saw his first ship.”

“And who do we have to thank for encouraging that interest? It was you who provided for his entry into the Naval Academy at Portsmouth, who arranged for his promotion on the Zenphone.” Elizabeth’s features softened upon seeing her uncle’s distress. She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his.

“You are not to blame for what happened. I know the sea is Morton’s life, that it shall always be. You could not have done better by him. We both know Father had very little capital and could manage nothing. Something shall happen, you shall see. Morton may even manage to escape the French like Sir Sydney Smith did in ‘98.”

“This damnable war. If only Malmesbury had been successful in ‘96, but the French were not wishing for peace then. Their treatment of the Old Lion in ‘97 was proof of that. Now both governments refuse to exchange prisoners. What stupidity!” His fork clattered onto his plate.

Elizabeth’s face had darkened at mention of the French. The war had made little impression upon her at its start. In the second year, however, a cousin had joined the émigrés who had landed at Qiberon Bay, and the tale of how he had been wounded, abandoned by his companions, and then died had shocked her. It turned her not only against the French but against the royalists who flocked to England for safety.