Undeniable Rogue (The Rogues Club Book One) (14 page)

Sabrina laughed. “Do you never stop trying?”

Gideon grinned. “Never.”

“I suppose I should take that as fair warning.” She drew her hair over her shoulder and turned to present him with the row of buttons down her back.

Gideon regarded this woman, who had caught his imagination the first moment he saw her, as something of a gift to unwrap. And like an excited child at Christmas, he hardly knew where to begin.

In fact, he did not begin. He stepped close behind, put his arms around her and rested the flat of his hands upon the haven of her child. What would life be like, he wondered, if this were his child, too?

But he could not imagine it. Not yet, at any rate.

“How is he?” Gideon spoke softly, at Sabrina’s ear.

She lay her head back, against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. “He is sleeping now. He performs only during the night.”

“Performs?”

“Acrobatics, jigs, reels, that sort of antic.”

“Then this should be a good time for you to catch up on your sleep. I will undo your buttons quickly, shall I, before he wakes?”

“Yes, please.”

Gideon especially admired her beauty as she lay back against her pillows, wearing nothing but her shift. He sat on the bed beside her and took her small hand in his, liking the notion that together they, alone, belonged to this intimate moment.

He supposed that he simply liked her attention, however and whenever he could get it. He had wanted her from the first, after all.

Never having had an opportunity, previous to this, to examine his bride at his leisure, Gideon feasted to his heart’s content.

He found her flawless and marveled at the richness of her beauty. Exotic eyes, violet as an island sunset and just as fathomless. Lips, full and pouting, exceptionally kissable.

But what Gideon decided intrigued him most about this new wife of his was the sparse dusting of wayward freckles that danced beneath her eyes and across the top of her nose. With his fingertip, he skimmed each beauty mark, as if connecting them one to the other.

Without them, she would seem altogether too perfect, untouchable. Imperfect as she was, she presented a surprising blend of porcelain doll and flesh and blood woman, vibrant and alive.

Allure and vulnerability, all in one package.

Gideon wanted to touch, and more.

“You make me want to pull the blanket up over my head,” she said.

Gideon shook his head at her cryptic comment. “Do I, by God? And why would you want to do that?”

“To save you from having to look at me.”

“From having to?” He knuckled the crest of a breast, at the edge of her shift. “My darling wife, no one, not even you, could stop me from feasting on your beauty.”

Her laugh reminded him of a songbird that brings joy to all who hear it. “Does that kind of talk work on your other women?”

Gideon wrapped himself in dignity. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, the haughty Duke returns.”

All his life, his aristocratic arrogance had served to put people in their proper places. And now, behold his bride, happily oblivious to his awesome presence.

Gideon released an exasperated breath. “Let us set your mind at ease concerning my, er, other women, shall we?”

“Oh, yes. Let us, please.”

Gideon raised a brow but refused to respond to her caustic gauntlet. “I have employed—one at a time, mind—several mistresses over the years—”

“How many is several?”

Gideon raised a brow. “Five.”

Sabrina nodded. “A good conservative number,” she said. “I approve. Go on.”

Gideon coughed and cleared his throat. “As it happens, I dismissed my latest, and my last, in your presence, after our wedding, yesterday. Unfortunate timing, that. Again, I apologize.”

“You are forgiven. Did I not say so, then?”

He quirked a brow, and his bride closed her mouth and schooled her features.

Gideon kissed her hand and held her gaze. “I am now devoted to one woman—you. And I shall keep only unto you, till death parts us.”

Gideon watched keenly for his bride’s reaction to his vow, but he perceived nothing in her demeanor to reveal that she had heard him. “You doubt me.” It was a statement, not a question, and the only possible reason for her lack of response.

“I doubt … me,” she said after a moment, and he suspected she was being as honest as she could, given their situation.

But he was confused. “Explain, please.”

“I have never managed to inspire...fidelity in a man, so I...worry that this marriage will be no different.”

“Then, we are of like mind. Identical, actually.”

Sabrina rose on her elbow. “I vow that I will remain faithful to you.”

If only he could believe it, Gideon thought, regarding their clasped hands, because he did not want her to see how deeply her naïve declaration affected him.

After he collected himself, he raised her hand to his lips and returned his gaze to her. “I promise the same, Sabrina. I would inscribe and sign the vow in blood, if such would help you believe me.”

Sabrina let go of his hand, lay back against her pillows, and closed her eyes. But after a minute, a single tear escaped from between her lashes. And Gideon knew that she could no more believe him than he could believe her. Had she also lost her ability to trust after having it stripped carelessly away?

If so, perhaps they could heal together.

Gideon rose and pressed his lips to the tear trail on her cheek. “Sleep.”

Gideon went to his bedchamber to change, then to the mews. He wanted to take Deviltry out and run him fast and furious, faster and farther than his need—his desire, damn it—for a wife who frightened him with the strength of her inscrutable hold on him.

As he neared Deviltry’s stall, Gideon stopped in his tracks. There, stroking his steed’s silken muzzle was the child he had seen in the night. “You, there. What is your name?”

The child bolted, faster than a jackrabbit, and disappeared just as quick.

Where was the stable-hand? “Harry! Har— Oh there you are. The lad who was just here? Who is he? What is his name?”

Harry scratched his head, his chin, beneath his arm, and he was going for his ballocks when Gideon ran out of patience. “Damn it, Man, take a bath!”

The shocked expression on the stable-hand’s face drained the pique right out of Gideon. “‘Twas a simple enough question,” he said. “Surely small boys do not wander in and out of my stables at will. You must know who he is.”

“Sure, I know him well enough; I just don’t know his name is all.”

“Well, where does he live?” Gideon asked, losing patience, again.

Harry made to scratch his head, caught Gideon’s expression and stopped. “As to where he comes from, your grace. I am sure I...
cannot
say.”

Gideon cursed and turned to leave.

“Were you wanting to ride, your grace?”

“No. I changed my mind. Thank you.”

To Gideon’s surprise, not five minutes later, he spotted the boy outside the servants’ entrance to his own bloody kitchen. And this time when he approached, the urchin did not bolt.

Gideon bent on his haunches to address him. “How did you get back here so fast? I could swear that I saw you disappear in the opposite direction.”

The boy shrugged. He had dark hair and darker eyes and so much dirt on his face, you could hardly tell where the grime ended and the freckles began. His serviceable, nankeen playsuit looked to be as dirty as his face and hands, as was his short serge jacket. Gideon could not help think that the boy reminded him of someone, but he could not, for the life of him, imagine who. “Are you from around here?”

“No sir.” The boy shook his head, not seeming the least inclined to scamper.

“Funny, I could have sworn I saw you in my bedchamber last night.”

The boy laughed a happy little boy sound. “Not me, Sir. If I did such a thing, Mama said she would— ‘Twas not me, Sir.”

Just from his ease of speech, Gideon knew the boy was speaking the truth. “Where is your Mother?”

“Right now? I cannot say for certain, but I do know she must be working. She works all the time.”

Taking in laundry and such, most likely, when she should be caring for her son. Gideon wondered how far the lad had wandered to get here. “I am on my way to the small kennel we keep here in town,” he said. “Would you like to come and see the puppies?”

The boy shrugged but fell into step beside him. Along the way, they talked about dogs, and Gideon was glad he had been inspired to offer the impromptu outing.

If only to prove to the members of his household that there was nothing they could, or should, keep from him, Gideon very much wanted to unearth their secret, and he was certain that this boy held the key.

His name was Damon and he was four. Cute little tiger. Bright. Loved the puppies, and they loved him. Giggled in the way all little boys should, easy and free, without restraint, the way Gideon had never dared.

This child was loved, unconditionally, unreservedly; that was clear. Gideon need not worry about Damon’s upbringing or the momentary absence of his mother. He lacked nothing but a recent face-wash. Hell, little boys needed their faces washed about every ten minutes, did they not?

A shrill whistle split the air, and Damon stood like a shot. “Gotta go,” he said even as he ran. “Thank you,” he called back.

Gideon found himself smiling from ear to ear as he returned to the house, looking forward to seeing—well he was looking forward to talking with...someone—anyone would do. Though Sabrina was his wife now, so he supposed she would be the logical choice.

He took the stairs two at a time but slowed at her bedchamber door. He went softly in, disappointed to find that she was still sleeping.

Not disappointed, actually. It was not as if he needed her, or anyone. He had simply hoped to lie down and wrap his arms around her, perhaps attempt a bit of playful seduction, to keep his skills honed. He did have a challenge to rise to, after the baby was born, and he needed to learn all he could about this new wife of his, like what was most likely to melt her resolve.

Damn, he had become hard just watching her sleep.

Gideon backed away from the bed and carefully closed the door between their rooms. She needed to rest. He needed to cool down.

He stripped out of his clothes. He may not have returned smelling of horse, but the pungent aroma of puppy clung.

One of the beagle pups, to his absolute horror, had lifted a leg and drizzled on his boots. Even Gideon’s inexpressibles had been sprinkled in the onslaught.

When it happened, Damon had fallen to the ground in a paroxysm of childish giggles.

CHAPTER TEN

Sabrina awoke, from what turned out to be a three-hour nap, dressed, and slipped up to the nursery to check on Damon and Rafferty. While Miss Minchip dozed in her rocker, the boys sat in the far corner, spillikin sticks scattered on the floor between them.