To Want a Rogue

Chapter One

Miss Dahlia Abigail Smith wiped the rain out of her eyes for the tenth time in as many minutes as lightning streaked across the sky. The flash of light was closely followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The storm was directly on top of her now, not that she hadn’t known that already.

Not a half hour prior the sky had been clear as the sun set in summer hues of pink that had left her breathless. She’d gawked out the window of the carriage. She rarely got to see such natural wonders in the streets of London where she’d grown up. Dahlia had called to her brother, Sam, to come see. Rather than look up from his book, however, he’d laughed and continued to read. “We’ll be at the Crowing Cock in less than an hour. I’ll look then.”

“An hour?” Dahlia had huffed playfully, a smile tugging at her lips. Her brother forever had his nose between the pages of some text or another. “You’ll miss the whole thing.”

Her brother cocked a brow over the leather spine. “Au contraire, dear sister. I can see it all reflected in the sparkle of your blue eyes and the hues of your pink blush. They are brighter than any sunset could be.”

She reached over and gave his knee a little swat even as her blush deepened. A playful gesture meant to show she saw through his thin compliment. He only wanted her to stop nagging him to put his book away. “No wonder women incessantly chase after you. What a silver-tongued devil you are.”

He laughed, finally dropping the book and setting it on the seat next to him. “Women do not chase me. And if they did, I wouldn’t have a moment to attend them. I am far too busy beating back the hordes of men trying to woo you.”

Heat infused her cheeks. She knew she was pretty. Sky-blue eyes and ivory skin were set off by her dark mane of wavy hair. “We have the same hair and eyes, so what makes you think I’m doing any better than you…” Her words trailed off as the sky darkened far more quickly than the setting sun allowed. She scrunched her brows, frowning at the wall of dark clouds headed straight for them. “The sky is growing rather dark.”

He wedged his large shoulders against the seat to have a look behind them. He frowned deeply as he straightened again. “A storm is on our tail, it would seem.” Then he rapped on the carriage roof, signaling to the driver they’d hired to transport them from London. “Mr. Ainsley, are you seeing what is following us? It looks like a nasty storm.”

At that, Mr. Ainsley had snapped the reigns, the carriage jerking into a quicker pace. “I do now,” he’d called back as the carriage picked up speed. “We’ll do our best to outrun it.”

A crash of lightning brought her thoughts to the present. Dahlia tipped her head forward, a puddle of water spilling off her straw bonnet. Was it better or worse to leave the blasted thing on her head? Wrapping her brother’s Redding coat tight about her, she lifted her muslin gown, its edges muddied and soaked beyond repair. At least the coat kept off some of the water. How had their fortunes changed so quickly?

A silly question because of course, she knew. At least, she understood the details of what had transpired. Minutes later the storm had overtaken them. As thunder crashed around the carriage, a tree had fallen landing on their conveyance. Dahlia’s stomach twisted at the memory and nausea threatened to overtake her. The horses had broken free, running off into the night. Mr. Ainsley was thrown several feet from the carriage, knocked unconscious and her brother lay trapped in the carriage, his leg wedged in the twisted pile of wood.

He

r feet picked up speed as another flash of lightning illuminated the sky. She screeched to a halt, surveying her surroundings. Up ahead, a house sat on a hill. Large and imposing spires climbed above its roofline, flickering in the flash of light. Still, despite the ominous display, relief pushed her forward. She’d been worried she’d have to travel all the way to the next village, and she feared for her brother’s life. How long could he remain trapped in these conditions?

Racing down the road, she ignored the burning of her lungs and the water now trailing in rivulets down her back. But her feet stopped dead as she came to the gate of the house. On either side of the tall wrought-iron bars were two stone wolves, their massive figures towering over her head.

A chill that had nothing to do with rain raced down her spine as she stared up at them, her shoulders hunching. For a moment, she considered pressing further down the road. The village couldn’t be far. But the thought of Sam out there, alone and injured, made her resolute. She straightened her spine and with a confidence she didn’t truly feel, she pushed open the gate and began racing up the steep drive.

After what seemed like forever, she finally reached the house. Completely out of breath, her legs barely held her as Dahlia used the rail to push herself up the front steps. The door was no more welcoming than the statues, its giant wooden panels appearing as though they’d been hanging in place since the dark ages. But she’d come too far to turn back now, and so she raised the knocker and let it fall back into place with a resounding crash.

Even with the wind and rain, she heard the echo of sound through the house and gave a shiver. The July heat kept her from being truly cold, but she was drenched to the bone and more frightened than she cared to admit.

A faint tap tap on the other side caught her notice and she turned her head, pressing her ear against the door. Were those footsteps? Straining to hear, she pressed more fully against the door, leaning against its solid structure.

The steps halted and for a moment all she could hear was the rain. But before she could back away, the door swung open and she lost her balance. She tumbled into the foyer of the house. Her heart nearly stopped, and she scrambled, trying to get her feet under her, but her gown tangled in her legs and she let out a cry as she fell. This place was scary, she was weak from running, and now she was on the floor trapped in her own dress.

“Did a woman just scream?” A deep voice called from somewhere, echoing all about her. The large room absorbed no sound, which only made the place more frightening. And, honestly, how could one man be so loud? His voice alone could scare a woman half to death. She froze, ceasing to struggle like a frightened deer as she tried to look about her. Her heart pounded in her chest and her saggy bonnet covered her eyes, making it impossible to see anything.

“It would seem so, my lord.” Another man replied. “And she seems to be creating a puddle on your new rug.”

She reached her trembling fingers to the ribbons of her bonnet and plucked at the wet fabric, attempting to untie the smart bow she’d artfully arranged hours before. Drat her excellent knotting skills. Not only had the wet ribbons tightened but her fingers were numb with cold. She should give up, but staying there motionless was unlikely to accomplish anything.

“My…my…apolo­gies…for…for the puddle.” Her teeth were chattering terribly as she tried to push out the words, her fingers still tugging at the wet knots. She needed to see what was happening.

“I don’t think she’s here for your party, my lord,” the man standing over her replied. She could discern enough from his pants and shoes to guess he was the butler. Somehow, seeing a person as normal as a butler eased her tension and Dahlia attempted to sit up as she continued to pluck uselessly at the ribbons.

“No, I don’t think so.” The deep voice answered. He was closer now but the sound still echoed through her, causing another shiver to ripple down her spine. It wasn’t exactly fear, but some other deep emotion that the low cords of his voice struck. She shook her head, focusing again on his words. Party? Who would willingly come here to make merry?

But before she could ask, she was hauled to her feet. A strong hand held her under her arm as another plucked the ribbons to free her from her bonnet and pulled the soaking straw from her head. The Redding coat weighed her body down like an anchor, her knees were weak, but the man held her up. She blinked the water from her eyes, trying to focus on whoever was in front of her. Quite without meaning to, she reached out and fisted her hands in his shirt to further steady her exhausted body.

“Please, my brother. He’s trapped. Our carriage was hit by a falling tree and—”

“Bloody hell,” he growled and suddenly his large hand was wiping away the rivulets of water streaming down her face. They were nice hands, she was dimly aware of that, strong and sure in their movements. Not so callused as to be rough, but not soft either. Very masculine. With just a few swipes, he managed to clear her eyes of the water.

As she opened them again, Dahlia focused on the face in front of her and her mouth went dry, which would have been amusing considering how soaking wet the rest of her was. But she was completely overcome by what she saw.

Dark brown, nearly black eyes held her captive. Long, dark hair framed his face, falling carelessly over his ears. But not even those dark locks could not hide the squareness of his jaw, his straight aristocratic nose, or the full, sensual lips, that, even pursed, looked like sin incarnated.

Her heart thundered in her ears. “We were heading from London to the…” She looked up at the ornate ceiling, trying to remember the name that had slipped from her thoughts but then it came to her again. “The Cock’s Crow Inn.” She gripped his shirt tighter. “We were nearly there when the storm overtook us. I couldn’t get Sam’s leg free. I…” She swallowed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. “I need help. I can show you the way. Please.”

Without a word, he bent forward and swept an arm under her knees, lifting her with an effortless grace that stole her remaining breath. She gripped him tighter still, not that she needed to. Cradled against his broad chest, he said, “I don’t need your help to find him. If you were traveling from London to the village then you were on the North road.”

“That’s correct,” she answered, still holding his shirt. What did he intend to do with her? Would he help her brother? Time was passing and he was still trapped. “I don’t know how long it took me to get here.”

He walked through the nearest door. “Mr. Carter. Light a fire and bring the girl tea. She needs to warm herself.” He looked down at her even as he deposited her into a chair. A chair she was sure to ruin with her wet clothes. “I’ll fetch the grooms in the stable. We’ll have your brother out in no time.”

Relief overwhelmed her, and she slumped into her seat, clutching the jacket closer. She stared up at him, her mouth almost certainly hanging open.

“How…how can you be certain?” she asked, noting the breadth of his shoulders. The man was larger than life in just about every way.

“The storm only started twenty minutes ago. Your carriage must be close. I’ll get him out and quickly. You can be certain of that.” Then he turned and strode out the door.

Dahlia laid her head back on the chair in which he’d left her, staring where he’d just been. The man couldn’t be real. He had to be other-worldly…but had she just met an angel or the devil? This house made her think of hell but the man…he might be her savior. She would determine that after he found her brother.

Gavin cracked the whip as he shook the reins of the wagon, several men seated in the back to help him should he need it. The storm, like many summer storms, had passed as quickly as it had come. The wagon wasn’t a mile down the road, its mangled wood frame causing his heart to race in his chest.

“Hello!” he called out, jumping from his seat and charging through water to reach the wagon. He ignored the knot twisting in his stomach as he remembered another accident that he’d rushed to rescue. His hand clenched about his riding crop