At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

“Sincere, you say?” the man mocked. “I suppose that makes everything all right.” His tone brimmed with contempt. “One word from the fancy lord here and I’m to go about my business and forget it ever happened. Forget that he left us to rot.”

“Had I known of the living conditions here I would have hired men to make the necessary repairs.” Miles held Roberts’ blazing stare. The muscles in his chest grew tight. He knew the pain that came with loss, knew that blaming another made life more bearable.

“And you’d have tripled the rents to pay for it, I bet.” Water welled in Mr Roberts’ eyes—tears of rage rather than sorrow. His face contorted and twisted into an ugly sneer. With a growl of frustration, he raised his arm and brandished the hammer ready to bring it crashing down on Miles’ head. “Happen someone needs to hold you to account.”

“Put down the hammer, Mr Roberts.” If needs must, Miles could knock the man to the ground before he took his next breath. “Killing me will not solve your problems.”

“Maybe not, but it might make me sleep easier in my bed at night.” The comment seemed to rouse the man’s anger even more. “You took her away from me … you took her and now—”

When Roberts waved the hammer again, Miles had no choice but to divest the man of his weapon. In a series of movements—so quick one would miss them if they blinked—Miles disarmed the man and threw the tool to the ground. It landed with a thud at Miss Lovell’s feet. Startled, the maid gasped, jumped back and almost swooned.

“Gilligan is the one responsible for doubling the rents, not I.” As a sign of goodwill, Miles held up his hands in surrender. “Gilligan is the one who turned you off the land, who refused to use the funds I gave him to make the repairs to your property.”

“It is true, Mr Roberts.” Miss Lovell came forward to plead his case. Her sweet voice brought an element of calm to the situation. “I was there when Mr Gilligan confessed.”

It was a slight exaggeration, but Miles was grateful for her support. One thing was certain. Miss Lovell cared about his tenants. In his absence, she’d taken it upon herself to act as mistress of the manor—though without the funds and title to support her position.

“Mr Gilligan deceived us all,” the lady added. “He kept the money to fund his gambling habit. Lord Greystone was ignorant to the goings-on here.”

Ignorant or not, the blame still lay at his door. “The Greystone Estate is my responsibility regardless where I lay my hat. I made a mistake, Mr Roberts.” Lord, that was the first time those words had fallen from his lips. “An unforgivable mistake that cannot be rescinded.”

The man fell silent. It felt like minutes passed before he said, “Gilligan lied you say?”

“He did.” As lord of the manor, Miles had no need to explain himself, but his conscience demanded he offer a reason for what had happened here. “Funds were made available to him for the repairs, but I’m afraid the man’s greed led him astray.”

Roberts clenched his teeth again. “Then he’s the one that will answer for what happened to Elsie.”

A heavy silence descended.

Mr Roberts’ shoulders sagged, and his countenance grew solemn. “The world ended the day Elsie passed,” he eventually said, his tone marginally more respectful. “You ever been in love, milord?”

It was an impertinent question, but under the circumstances he felt obliged to reply. For some obscure reason, Miles looked at Miss Lovell. She watched with curious inquiry and waited for his answer.

“No.” Miles did not drag his gaze away from the lady. “I have not been so fortunate as to find a woman who appeals to me both body and mind.” Until now, he added silently.

“Then I pray you never have to lose someone what is so dear you’d die a hundred times over if it meant bringin’ her back.”

Ada put her hand to her nose and sniffed.

Miles had experienced the deep sense of loss when a beloved parent died. He knew lust but not the all-consuming love that robbed a man of all rational thought. In some cases, he’d wondered if it was better to avoid romantic entanglements—wondered if the pain of loss outweighed the fleeting moments of pleasure.

“Well, you have your sons to think of now,” Miss Lovell said, trying to lift the poor man’s spirits. “Elsie still lives in them. Though I doubt she’d be pleased to find they’re scrumping in his lordship’s orchard.”

Mr Roberts’ eyes widened. “Scrumping? Again? Those blighters. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a hundred times.” He turned to Miles, deep worry lines marring his brow. “Food’s been scarce, milord, but they’re good boys at heart.”

Miles did not begrudge these people a few apples.

“Your oldest son is twelve, I understand,” Miles said, having gained the information from Mr Crowe. “Perhaps he might like to work on the estate. The work would certainly keep him out of mischief.”

Mr Roberts looked both surprised and relieved. “Can’t say the money won’t be of some help.”

“Then let us go inside,” Miles said, feeling far more at ease. “I need a detailed list of repairs, and I would like to know what happened to your livestock.”

“I’m going past the orchard on my way home.” Miss Lovell smiled, and the autumn day suddenly seemed brighter. “I’ll gather the boys together and send them back home.”

“You’re not coming inside?” Disappointment dripped heavily from his words. He couldn’t help it.

Miss Lovell shook her head numerous times, the delightful cherries on her bonnet wobbling back and forth. “There is nothing more for me to do here. In Cuckfield, word spreads like a rippling wave. I grant you, by this evening, the tenants will want to throw a celebration in your honour.”