At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

“Where’s your damn proof?” Stephen scoffed.

“I shall leave Mr Cardon to deal with the details. After all, this will be his permanent office from now on.” Miles felt a rush of elation at their stricken faces. “And in case you have trouble accepting the situation, let me introduce you to Mr Cardon’s assistant, Mr Budgen.”

With any luck, the fellow would be waiting outside.

Mr Cardon hurried to the door and greeted the mountain of a man who entered. Budgen came to stand next to Miles. He stood almost a foot taller and with clenched fists the size of mallets.

“There now,” Miles said with a grin while his brothers stared open-mouthed. “I’m sure you’ll all get along famously.”

Miles turned to leave.

“Wait!” Stephen cried. “Greystone! Come back here. You can’t do this.”

“I think you’ll find I already have.” Miles turned to Mr Cardon and lowered his voice. “I’m interested in purchasing the ships you mentioned but wish to set up a new company.” In truth, he had no interest in watching his father’s company flourish. “Arrange it and keep me informed of your progress. Any problems, send word to me immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Miles left Mr Cardon to present the necessary papers and marched from the room, relishing in his triumph. In a year, he’d sell his share. By that time, he would have a shipping company of his own to run and a thriving estate in the heart of the English countryside.

Now, it was time to address the most pressing matter on his mind. What was he to do about the delectable Miss Lovell?

Chapter Eleven

Three days had passed since Lydia kissed Lord Greystone. Three sleepless nights left her contemplating the folly of her actions. Clearly regret over their secret interlude had sent him racing back to the manor, eager to throw a few garments into his saddlebag and charge off to town.

Perhaps he thought her a desperate country chit looking to capture a husband, and any devil would do. And to think, she’d permitted him to put his hand on her bare thigh, and worse still—

Oh, Lord!

Lydia scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. How on earth had she gone from making flirtatious comments to being ravished on the sacrificial stone?

Oh, God!

What must Greystone think of her?

But it was too late to worry about it now. Besides, after his brother’s scandalous behaviour could they both not be excused for their recklessness? Emotions were high. It was easy to lose one’s head after such a shocking confrontation.

Lydia sat on the bed in the attic room—a place she shared with a family of spiders—and contemplated the siblings’ relationship. If Lord Greystone had a brother, why had he not tended to the manor during his lordship’s absence? Why permit the ancestral home to fall into such a sorry state? Why had no one ever mentioned him? But then there seemed no love lost between the two men. During the seven years she had lived at Dunnam Park, she believed Greystone was an only child.

How odd.

After an hour spent lost in thoughts of Lord Greystone, Lydia decided to visit his tenants. With Ada in tow carrying a wicker basket filled with bread rolls, they navigated the narrow lanes—a walk they did three times a week. Lydia knew the Guthries were working up at the manor, but the loud banging nearby drew her to the couple’s small cottage.

“Did you hear that, miss?” Ada ducked quickly and then straightened. “It sounds like gunfire.” She clutched the basket to her chest as they approached the stone building. “What if Mr Gilligan came back and his lordship is punishing him good and proper?”

“You do realise how long it takes to load a pistol? Only an army could make that much noise.” Besides, his lordship had fled to London for fear of being shackled with a country bride.

It wasn’t an army. Nor was it Lord Greystone—more’s the pity.

Three men worked on fixing the roof of the Guthries’ cottage. Lydia recognised one as Jack Painter, a labourer from Cuckfield who’d done small jobs for her in the past, when her a

llowance stretched far enough to help Lord Greystone’s tenants.

Jack was busy stacking tiles into a neat pile. He looked up, doffed his cap and said, “Mornin’, Miss Lovell. Happen you had some clout with the master. Lord Greystone’s given us work enough to keep us busy until Michaelmas.”

“I’m thrilled to hear it.” She’d prayed the tenants would have clean and comfortable lodgings, and a means to earn their keep. “I’m sure Mrs Guthrie is pleased, too.”

“Aye, she went skippin’ out of here this morning with a smile as wide as your Lady Lovell’s summer bonnet.”