At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

He inclined his head. “Good evening, Miss Lovell. It seems we are destined to meet under difficult circumstances. I, too, have a grievance, you see.” He dragged his gaze away from her, his green eyes turning hard and unrelenting as they fixed on Mr Gilligan.

“Mr Gilligan,” Lord Greystone said in a slow, mocking tone that still managed to sound vicious. “You’ve been a busy man in my absence.”

“M-my lord. Welcome home.” Mr Gilligan had no choice but to bow to his master, but the steward went one step further and dropped to his knees. He gripped Greystone’s dirty boots. “I can explain. I can explain everything.”

“Stand up!” Greystone yanked his boot from the man’s grasp and stepped back. “You will stand up and walk out of this room with me else I shall drag you out.”

“Is that really necessary?” Lord Randall said haughtily. “A gentleman should not resort to violence when in the presence of a lady.”

Lydia might have admired the lord for his considerate comment, yet it was born from a need to impress, and she despised the self-righteous.

Greystone turned his head a fraction, a smirk playing on his lips. He scanned the dandy’s clothes. “Do not dare tell me how to conduct my business. Do not dare tell me what it is to be a gentleman.” The words hit like an arctic wind—harsh and bitterly cold. So cold that all those nearby shivered. “Have a care, that is unless you wish to polish your pistols and meet at dawn.”

Lord Randall gulped numerous times. Conceit was a useless weapon against a man capable of murdering a person with his bare hands.

“Step back,” Lord Greystone warned when Randall failed to reply. “Else I might think that you are part of the problem.”

“I am merely here for a night of entertainment,” the pompous lord eventually said. He tried to shuffle backwards without looking craven but only made himself appear weak and pathetic.

“If entertainment is what you seek, then I do not wish to disappoint.” Greystone glared at the crumpled figure of Mr Gilligan. “Stand like a man and accept the consequences of your actions.”

Lydia glanced around the room. The musicians sat perched on their chairs, bows frozen in hand, mesmerised by the unfolding spectacle. People hung on Greystone’s every word, watching, waiting, wondering what on earth he would do next.

Other than Lord Randall, no one dared offer a challenge.

For all Mr Gilligan’s protestations to the contrary, his lips were sewn shut, too.

Someone had to do something.

Stepping forward, Lydia placed her hand on Lord Greystone’s sleeve. Instantly, his head shot around, his gaze locking with hers before drifting down to her silk glove.

“Please. Don’t do this here,” she whispered. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever speak so softly to this devil. “You don’t know what this man has endured these last five years.”

Greystone stared at her, and the silly tingling in her stomach began all over again. “While your courage knows no bounds, Miss Lovell, in this instance I believe you are ignorant of the facts.”

“Then please take it upon yourself to enlighten me.”

A sinful grin formed on his lips. His eyes flashed with excitement as he studied her mouth, the loose wisps of hair brushing her cheek, the swell of her breasts visible above the neckline of her gown.

“Perhaps some other time,” he said in a rich drawl.

For a moment it was as if they were the only two people in the room. No man had ever looked at her that way, with a clawing hunger that made her forget to breathe. Her cheeks flushed hot. Oh, her traitorous body deserved to spend a week on the rack.

“But for you, Miss Lovell, because you asked so nicely, I shall grant your request.” Greystone squatted—his muscular thighs almost bursting out of his breeches—until eye level with Mr Gilligan. He whispered something in the steward’s ear that made the man whimper.

“My lord, please,” Lydia implored.

Greystone stood. “I’ll await Mr Gilligan outside. You shall bring him out to me, Miss Lovell, else I’ll grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag his sorry backside across the dance floor.”

Lydia nodded. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.”

Arabella would refuse to let her leave and so all she could do was insist Cecil accompany her.

“It seems you have a brief reprieve, Gilligan.” Greystone turned to her. “Meet me outside in five minutes, else the people of Cuckfield will wish they’d stayed indoors this evening.”

Lydia swallowed down a nervous flutter.

Greystone moved to leave but then stopped beside her, his warm breath breezing across her cheek. “Don’t try my patience, Miss Lovell. Just because I have granted you a boon, do not make the mistake of thinking me weak. You were right in your earlier assessment.”