At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Despite numerous attempts to avert her gaze, it drifted back to his mouth. “But surely you don’t mean to kiss me here?”

A triumphant glow filled his chest. She wanted him. He was not alone in his devotion or enthusiasm to explore their connection. Feeling an exultant rush of excitement, he captured her hand.

“I refuse to give the gossips cause to think ill of you.” In a slow, languorous fashion, Miles removed her glove. “And so I shall resist ravishing you here.” He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “Meet me tonight.” He kissed the length of her fingers, dared to guide the tips across his bottom lip, to skim the inside of his mouth where it was warm and wet. “Meet me at the stones,” he added before releasing her hand.

“At the stones?” She sounded breathless, and he detected a nervous edge to her tone.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from her. Well, he was, but it went far beyond the physical. “We share an undeniable attraction that cannot be ignored.” The only way to know whether such an obsession promised longevity was to spend more time in her company.

“We do?”

“We do.”

She nodded. “Then I will meet you at the stones tonight.”

“I shall bring supper, and you can tell me why you prefer rusticating in Cuckfield to gracing the London ballrooms.” Not that he had any complaint. Miles had no patience for simpering misses out to snare a husband. “You can tell me about your work with my tenants and why you would refuse the suit of such an influential gentleman as Lord Randall.”

A smile touched her lips. “Is my disdain for the superficial not obvious? Can you see me as the wife of a dandy?”

“I see you as the wife of a man who is true to his convictions.”

Curiosity flashed in her eyes. “And you will tell me why you stayed away so long, why you break with convention at every turn. Oh, and I should like to know how you came by such interesting friends.”

For the first time in his life, the thought of conversing with a woman had infinite appeal. Yes, he wanted to bed Miss Lovell—desperately so—but he could not take her innocence without promising something more.

“I will answer any questions you may have. Indeed, it seems we shall have an enlightening evening all round.”

“Shall we meet at seven?” she said with evident enthusiasm.

“Seven is perfect.” It would give him time to move Mr Roberts and his family into the gatehouse, time to go into Cuckfield to probe the villagers, to let them see that no one taunted the devil and lived to tell the tale. “And you’re sure you can escape the house without rousing attention?”

“Certainly.” Amusement brightened in her eyes. “Though my family find displeasure in everything I do, they rarely bar the door and chain me to the balusters.”

Thankfully, she spoke in jest. The urge to throttle anyone who dared lay a hand on her crushed his chest in a vice-like grip. “Then I bid you farewell and look forward to tonight.”

Miss Lovell stood there for a moment and waited. “My glove,” she said with a chuckle. “You still have my glove.”

Miles brought it to his nose and inhaled the sweet aroma of roses and a potent scent unique only to her. He clutched it tightly. “I lay claim to it for now. That way you’ll have no choice but to come tonight and retrieve it.”

Her excited gaze searched his face. “You are a most intriguing gentleman, Lord Greystone.”

Miles smiled. “And to think you once thought me a murderous devil.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lydia returned to Dunnam Park to find her brother’s carriage parked on the drive and Cecil and Arabella berating the coachman. Well, her sister-in-law poked and prodded the poor servant while Cecil hovered behind like an obedient pet.

Choked by guilt, Lydia resigned herself to take a tankard of ale and a meat pie to the coach house once she’d made it past the militia. It was the least she could do for the trouble she’d caused. For now, she would ease the man’s anxiety by bearing the brunt of Arabella’s wrath.

The crunch of Lydia’s footsteps on the gravel drew attention. Arabella’s evil eyes blazed hot and unforgiving. The gorgon’s glare made most people quake in their boots—but not Lydia. Perhaps she was touched by the gods and held the power of invincibility. Whatever it was, she saw Arabella as weak, a woman desperate for approval from people who didn’t matter.

With her hands clenched at her sides, Arabella dismissed the coachman. “I hope you realise the trouble you’ve caused,” the crow said, staring down her long beak. “Barrow spent the best part of two hours looking for you. Had the Pardues not left the cottage and informed him of your hasty departure he’d still be sitting atop his box.”

Cecil stepped forward and stood beside his wife. “It really was mighty inconsiderate of you, gal. What with this dreadful gossip about you and Lord Greystone, and the fire last—” He stopped abruptly when Arabella nudged him in the ribs.

“Never mind about that,” Arabella snapped.

“You knew about the fire in Mr Roberts’ barn?” Lydia suspected as much. Presumably, they’d kept it from her fearing she’d race over to the manor to offer assistance. “You knew of Mr Roberts’ misfortune, and you said nothing?”