The Devil Rogue (33 page)

His bold words brought a blush to Angela’s cheeks, even though her recent behavior was just as wicked, if not more so
.
“I am equally to blame,
my lord,
for in my haste to have those very things
,
all other matters ceased to exist.”

“Since you’ve reminded me of
those things
,
dearest,
” he
said huskily, placing her hand around his thickening a
rousal,
“
I must point out that it has renewed
my resolve to have them – again.
”

Angela’s lips slanted with a devilish smile
.
“I believe I can oblige you, my lord.”
S
he slid a leg over his muscular thighs, giving his proudly erect member her undivided attention.

With a growl,
he
grabbed her, his hands on her waist, and lifted her above him
.
“I want you to ride me
.
I want to see your face, watch your breasts as you rise and fall upon me.”

Slowly, he lowered her until he was fully sheathed, her thighs spread wide over his hips.

“Ohhh
,
my God,” Angela breathed
.
She felt so wicked
,
so wanton, the way she straddled him, completely exposed to his gaze.

“Lift yo
urself on your knees, like this.
”

H
e showed her, guiding her gently up and down until she found the rhythm
.
She heard his
gasp as he watched her move
.
He
seemed
captivated by the way her breasts thrust
forward
,
swaying with her movements.

She closed her eyes, her
senses swirl
ing
, building in intensity like an approaching tempest on the horizon
.
Her body became a vessel into which pleasure poured, through him to her, radiating from deep in her center, outward to the tips of her fingers and toes
.
Placing her hands on his chest for support, her head dropped down
.
Long, golden
tresses
brushed his skin as she rolled her hips forward and back in a sinuous dance of temptation and seduction
.
Her body knew without conscious thought
where
to guide it
,
what to do, how to move.

His
hands on her thighs flexed tighter as she increased the pace
.
She gasped her pleasure with each breath
. S
he felt every magnificent inch of him
as
each time she rose
,
and then thrust herself downward, his thickness stretch
ed
her, fill
ed her.

His hands began roaming
over her hips, her buttocks, up her back, then higher, to tangle in her hair
.
He guided her mouth to his, kissing her with deep strokes of his tongue, mimicking the plunge and retreat of the thick member penetrating between her legs.

Then he sat up, his mouth trailing a hot path down the side of her neck before closing over a breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple
.
He molded
her breast
in his hand, suckling the sweet offering, and then moved on to her other breast, giving it equal attention
.
Angela quivered with the pain and the pleasure of it, her pace increasing with her impending climax.

She sat in his lap, impaling herself upon him with fevered strokes
.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she clutched him tightly, her breasts crushed against his rock-hard chest
.
Her movements created a delightful friction between the point of her flesh that was her pleasure center, and the base of his shaft
.
Her efforts, c
ombined with his deep and powerful thrusts, released the floodgates, wringing a cry from her lips as she convulsed violently around him.

Ian groaned and shuddered
as he erupted, shooting his seed into her with powerful spasms
.
Clinging to each other, their wildly beating hearts thundered in unison as their breathing slowed to a normal pattern
.
Finally, the distant sounds of the world intruded once more and they fell back together against the cool sheets
.
Angela lay over him like a limp turnip, her lips pressing gentle kisses along the side of his neck.

He loved the slight weight of her body resting on top of him, the way her damp skin smelled, so fresh and clean, and the way the tangled strands of her hair fell about them both like a shimmering, golden shroud
.
He loved the sweet little noises she made during their love-making, the husky sound of her voice when she was aroused, and the way she engaged herself completely in the task of pleasing him, enjoying every nuance of her own pleasure, as well.

He loved everything about her.

He loved
her
.

He was in love with her, and with that knowledge came a sense of peace, of resolve to accept the inevitable
.
His instinct to reject the idea of love dissipated in the reality of it
.
He –
The Devil Rogue
– had finally succumbed to the condition poets and songwriters have been prattling about through the ages
.
He lay with her in his arms, and as their limbs intertwined, so did his love for her wrap itself around his heart in a welcome embrace.

They slept in each other’s arms, cradled in darkness, their bodies caressed by warm, silken breezes.

When Angela woke the next morning, Ian was gone
.
The place where he’d been most of the night was vacant, the sheets cold where they had once been warmed by his skin
.
In the hour just before dawn, they’d made love one more time with dreamy languor
.
It had been wonderfully sensual, her climax deep and soulful.

A soft knock at the door preceded Rosemary’s entrance
.
She carried a tray laden with enticing breakfast foods along with a pot of tea
.
“Good morning, love,” she said with an affectionate smile
.

After closing the door with the heel of her shoe,
Rosemary
placed the tray on a small table
.
She g
lanc
ed
in Angela’s direction
.
“I see you’re no worse for wear after last night’s adventure
.
In fact, by the bloom on your cheeks
,
and your lack of nightclothes, I’d say the adventure didn’t end when we arrived home.”

“Rosemary
!
You’re too impertinent, by far.”

“And that’s why you love me so much.”

Angela raised herself to a sitting position, holding the sheet up to her chin
.
“’Tis true, you’re like a sister to me, wagging tongue and all,” she said, grinning
.
“And, I daresay, your vision is much too keen for comfort.”

Rosemary came to sit on the edge of the bed
.
Looking at Angela, she asked, “Are you ready to admit you love him?”

Angela waited a moment before answering
.
“Aye, I love him,” she said in a hushed voice
.
“What do I do now?”

“You marry him.”

“But he hasn’t asked me again
.
What if he never does?”

Angela knew for certain that if Ian asked her once more to marry him, she would say yes.
He was a noble, honorable man – nothing at all like
T
he
B
aron – nothing like any man she’d ever met.
Behind
Ian’s
roguish exterior was a kind, generous, caring man.
He had wanted to help her find out who her real father was, was willing to risk everything by breaking into
T
he
B
aron’s house.
And even though she
believed
Ian’s
proposal had been spurred by guilt
,
she no longer cared.

“He will.”

“And my real father?”

“What about him?”

“I need to find out who he is.”

“You can marry
Blackridge
either way.”

“Only if he asks me again.”

Rosemary took Angela’s hands into her own
.
“
He will.
”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what, love?”

“All my life I wanted my –
T
he
B
aron – to love me
.
What if Ian doesn’t love me as I love him
?
It frightens me that I might spend the rest of my life trying in vain to win his love like I did with the man I thought was my father.”

“Can you not see how much he cares for you
?
If he hasn’t realized his love for you already, he will soon enough
.
Now, get dressed and eat some of this good food before it gets cold.”

IAN SAT AT
his desk, reading the missive sent by his lead investigator
.
It stated that the baron has so far kept to a predictable schedule of drinking and gambling most nights
.
However, there was a report of an unknown gentleman who ha
d
made several visits to the baron’s residence
.
There
also
was another piece of
information, disturbing in its nature
.
This same as yet unidentified gentleman had also been making inquiries about Angela.

It brought to mind several important questions
. W
ho was this stranger, what was the baron up to, and how did Angela fit into it?

So far, there was nothing conclusive to prove
Eberly
had anything to do with
John Winston
’s murder
.
Ian had been so sure, given the evidence of blackmail, that the baron was guilty of the crime
.

T
hree gentlemen had courted Angela
. A
ll three had been rejected, and all three had been blackmailed
.
But so far, only one of them has turned up dead
.
Could it be that
John
was just in the wrong place at the wrong time
,
the pointless victim of a common robbery
?
The idea was a ludicrous one
:
that his friend had died in such a
mundane way.

They needed to identify the stranger
.
His connection with the baron and his interest in Angela may only be a coincidence, but Ian doubt
ed
that was the case
.
If the baron
was
involved in
John’s
murder, and considering the obvious hatred he felt toward Angela, she could be in danger.

A knot of fear settled in the pit of Ian’s stomach at the thought of losing Angela
.
His hand clenched, crumpling the note in his fist
.
It
would be
one thing
for her
to leave at the end of their agreed time together
. A
t least he’d know she was still alive somewhere
.
But it was
damned
unsettling to think of her gone from this world entirely.

Perhaps it was
time
for Ian
to pay the baron a visit.
I
f extreme persuasiveness was required to get some answers, then so be it.
Besides,
Ian was itching to dole out a little retribution on Angela’s behalf.
He just hoped he didn’t end up killing the man
,
at least not before he talked.

5

Villarreal / The Devil Rogue
                                     

Chapter
2
0

“A
LORD BLACKRIDGE
to see y
ou
,
baron
.”

Lord Eberly raised bleary eyes up at the
man
who spoke to him from the
doorway of his study
.
He didn’t recognize him as one of the usual servants
.
His muddled mind had trouble remembering who the rough-looking man was, but after a moment he recalled that all his servants
had
gone
.
Most of them he’d discharged, the others had mysteriously vanished, abandoning him to an empty house
.
He remembered that
that man
had sent this fellow, who looked more like a pugilist than a butler.

Blackridge!

It was because of
Blackridge
that
Eberly drowned his sorrows in drink every night, and languished in self-pity
over
his predicament during the few daylight hours he was awake and sober
.
And it was because of that bitch of a step-daughter why
that man
had come.

Mr. Hawk was his name
,
the stranger who had come with his money and threats
.
He was tall, with dark, penetrating eyes, always dressed entirely in black
.
His appearance
, combined with his strange accent,
made him seem
. . .
demonic
.
When
ever
Mr. Hawk was here, in this house, Eberly felt like death had come knocking on his door
.
A shiver ran up his spine
with the memory of th
e
man’s most recent visit.

Oh, if he had
only
treated Angela kinder, he would not be in this situation now
!
He
’d
never asked for this
,
had loved her mother
so much he hadn’t minded that she carried another man’s child
– at first
.
He hadn’t known then who the father was, but he did now, and he knew he was going to pay for his sins.

Eberly rubbed a thick-fingered hand over his
protruding
stomach, trying to alleviate the gnawing pain there
.
He needed a drink
.
Licking his dry lips, he said in a petulant tone of voice, “Tell
Blackridge
to go away, I’m not receiving visitors.”

“He’s very dete
rmined
,
my lord
,”
said
the pugilist
.
He eyed
Eberly
with
a look of
disgust
.

“I don’t care how determined he is, I won’t see him!”
Eberly
shouted
.
He slumped back in his chair,
drained of
energy from his outburst
.
He really needed a drink
.
His
guts
burned
like
the fires of hell.

The pugilist was
clearly
not intimidated by
Eberly’s outburst
.
In a
calm
voice
with the same foreign accent as Mr. Hawk’s
, he
said
,
“
Blackridge has informed me that
he will not leave until he has spo
ken with you.”

With a shaky hand
,
Eberly
reached for the decanter near the edge of the desk
.
After filling his glass, he raised it to his lips and drank deeply
, feeling the strength of his salvation
wash
down
his parched throat and
seep into his blood
.
Fortified with the illusion of courage, he said, “Bring him, then.”

IAN STOOD IN
the same entryway he had the night he came for Angela
.
With new eyes, he
viewed the dim interior
.
A thick layer of dust
coated
every surface
.
Slivers of sunlight breaking through
small holes
in the curtains revealed tiny particles floating in a silent ballet in the stagnant air.

The walls were missing most of the paintings that had
once hung there, as evidenced by the outlines left behind
.
Everything that might have had
any
value was gone, leaving empty places on all the tables and stands
.
Why hadn’t he noticed this before
?
Why hadn’t he seen the threadbare rugs, the cobwebs, the moth-eaten curtains
?
Why hadn’t the overall shabbiness
of the place
registered in his mind
?
Because
,
on
that particular night, his mind had been on only one track – the acquisition
–
and subsequent ruination
–
of Miss Hopkins.

Feelings of guilt and remorse welled up inside him again for what he
’
d done to her. B
ut
there were
no regrets for taking her away from this
,
from her life with a man who hated her.

The sound of approaching footsteps intruded on Ian’s thoughts
.
The man who had answered the door walked with a steady, unhurried gait toward him
.
When Ian had made his intentions clear, the man hadn’t said a word, just nodded his head
.
He
most definitely
didn’t look like
the usual
servant
.
Taking in the man’s huge, muscular shoulders, the barrel chest, and the flattened nose, Ian figured he was probably a fighter, or had been at one time
.
Ian
was not unfamiliar with the lower end of society
. He
knew a henchman when he saw one
.
Did
this rough-looking character
work for the baron
?
Was he involved somehow in
John’s murder?

“If you will follow me, my lord, the baron will see you now.”

Ian noted the man’s accent
.
His speech indicated he was
more literate than his looks implied, which meant he’d been educated somewhere
.
But where
?
The accent was very close to Russian, but not like any Ian had
ever
heard before
.
Moving to follow, he felt it wouldn’t hurt to ask
.
“May I inquire as to where you’re from?”

“Not from here, my lord.”

Obviously
.
The man was being purposefully evasive – why? “What is your name?”

“Ivan.”

A good Russian name
.
“Are you from
Russia
?
Your accent seems to imply it, a
s well as
your name.”

“Not
Russia
, my lord,
but a small neighboring country,
”
Ivan
said
.

“You can’t tell me the name of this country?”

“It is not for me to tell.”

“Do you work for
Eberly
–
I mean, did he hire you?”

Apparently,
Ivan decided he could answer that question, at least.
“I work for only one master
. I
t is not the baron.”

“Who is your master?”

“It is not for me to tell.”

Ian clenched his teeth in frustration, but considered himself lucky he’d gotten that much out
of
Ivan
.
His attention turned to the man sitting behind the desk in the same study he and Angela had recently searched
.
The baron looked to be in ill health, his physical appearance a shocking contrast to the last time Ian had seen him
.
Whatever had happened in the last few weeks had definitely taken its toll
.
Could it be
Ian’s
plan to ruin
Eberly
had been
successful, or was some other factor responsible, or a combination of both?

Even if the baron wasn’t connected with
John Winston’s
death,
Eberly’s
predicament was of his own making for his deplorable treatment of Angela.

“Eberly,” Ian said, approaching the desk.

The baron took a sip from his re-filled glass
.
“Blackridge,” he said with a sneer
.
“I see you’re as arrogant as ever, intruding where you’re not
wanted
.
No doubt
diddling
my daughter
has you strutting around like a proud cock
.
N
o pun intended.”

Rage built like a black thunderhead within Ian
.
He fought to keep from slamming his fist into the baron’s face
.
“
Angela is no daughter of yours, Eberly,” he said in a steely voice.”

“What do you want?”

“
I want t
he truth
about Angela
, as well as
information about
another matter.
”

“Finally figured it out, did she
?
She always was such a stupid girl
.
No matter how many beatings she got, she never learned to keep her mouth shut.”

“Not so much stupid as spirited, compassionate
,
and courageous
.
Thank God you weren’t able to destroy those qualities in her.”

The baron laughed
.
“Oh, this is too good
!
You’re in love with her, aren’t you
?
The Devil Rogue
and the bastard daughter of
—”

Ian snapped
.

With lightening speed, he leaned over the desk, knocking the drink out of Eberly’s hand,
and
grasp
ed
him by the throat
.
“Yes, I’m in love with her,” h
e
growled into the baron’s face
.
“So know this – I’d do anything for her, including beating you to a bloody pulp
.
Now
t
ell me who her father is.”

Eberly’s eyes widened in fear
,
his face drain
ing
of all color before it turned crimson from
Ian’s
vice-like grip around his neck.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” the baron choked out.

Ian released his hold, but remained leaning over the desk, his hands flat on the surface in a threatening position
.
He was much bigger than the baron and he used that fact to his advantage.

“She’s a princess,” Eberly rasped
.
At Blackridge’s blank look, he continued, “Her father is
k
ing of some small country
.
It’s
tiny and insignificant, but
he’s
k
ing just the same
.
That makes Angela a royal princess by blood.”

Ian’s mind reeled
.
Angela – a real princess
?
How ironic
that he’d been calling her
princess
all this time
.
“You never knew this?”

“I knew her mother loved
another man,
” Eberly said, rubbing his neck, “
but she never told me who it was, and she never told me w
hy he didn’t marry her.
”