At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

rother, were guilty of a host of immoral deeds.

Lydia had heard enough. They would have to wrestle her to the ground to make her stay.

She strode over to Lord Randall. “I’m leaving, my lord. I trust somewhere beneath that grotesque coat you possess a shred of honour and can bring some order to this disgraceful debacle.”

Without warning, Lord Randall captured her hand. “Miss Lovell, please listen to me,” he said with a level of desperation so out of character. “If you marry me, you shall want for nothing. Ladies will look upon you with awe and wonder. Our sons will be regarded amongst the greatest gentlemen of the ton. Doors will be open to you, doors men the likes of Greystone have no hope of accessing.”

Lydia was about to tell him that she cared nothing for the opinion of London Society. That Greystone was the greatest man she’d ever known, that his sons would aspire to be like their father—honourable, courageous, kind-hearted, a devil if need be. But Arabella must have seen something in her lover’s eyes that severed the thread of her fragile control.

“Oh, what a blind fool I have been.” Arabella flew at Lord Randall. She snatched his hand from Lydia’s and pushed him in the chest. “This is not about your love for me or the blasted money.” Arabella’s grey eyes turned hard, steely. “You want her for yourself.” She prodded Lord Randall, and he stumbled back. “Say it. You want her. Say it. Say it, you measly coward.”

“All right.” Lord Randall held up his hand in surrender. “Yes, I want her, damn it. But I’m confident the infatuation will pass.”

While Arabella hurled abuse at the shocked lord and he struggled to defend his position, Lydia locked eyes with Ada and nodded discreetly to the locked door.

No one noticed Ada stand or shuffle away from the pianoforte. No one noticed Lydia take a few steps towards the exit—not until Ada knocked the console table and sent the hand-painted Sevres vase crashing to the floor.

There was no time to wait—no time to worry about the damaged heirloom.

Lydia was about to run to the door when Arabella caught her by the arm, her claws digging into Lydia’s skin. “You’re marrying Rudolph even if I have to tie you to a chair and force you to repeat your vows.”

Perhaps Lydia’s sudden surge of courage had something to do with wearing Dariell’s clothes. Perhaps, after three years spent biting her tongue, she’d reached the end of her tether. And so, mustering all her strength, she clenched her fist and launched it into Arabella’s face.

Hell, it hurt her knuckles, and the bones cracked, but it felt exhilarating all the same.

The crow’s arms flapped about, and she squawked before hitting the floor.

And then an almighty bang drew everyone’s attention to the door. Another thud shook the frame as the wood splintered and pieces of plaster fell to the floor.

The door burst open and there stood the powerful figure of Lord Greystone.

Chapter Twenty

There were few moments in Miles’ life when he could recall being so angry his blood boiled in his veins. At no point could he remember being so bloody terrified lights danced before his eyes and his heartbeat pounded hard in his throat. And yet those conflicting emotions plagued him as he stood in the doorway and surveyed the chaotic scene within.

Concern for Lydia overruled the need to ram his fist so far down Randall’s throat the lord would be pissing teeth for weeks.

Miles’ gaze settled on the lady’s ashen face. Relief swam in her watery eyes. There was something else there, too, a look deeper than attraction or affection, deeper than anything he’d ever known. She possessed the ability to speak to him silently, and so when he marched into the room, there was only one place he needed to be.

Lydia hurried to meet him. “Oh, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she clutched his hands so tightly he feared his fingers would turn blue.

Miles pulled her into an embrace. He didn’t give a damn who stood there watching. Lydia’s body shook as he held her in his arms.

Miles released her and cupped her cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

His heart lurched for all he could think of was scooping her up into his arms and carrying her home. “Tell me what happened.”

“They were going to force me to marry Lord Randall. Cecil isn’t here.” She spoke quickly, her hands gripping his biceps. “I don’t believe he knows I left the house last night. I don’t believe he knows anything about the challenge to meet you on Blackmoor Common.”

A mocking chuckle drew Miles’ attention to Lady Lovell. Blood stained her bottom lip, and she dabbed her fingers at the corner of her mouth as she clambered to her feet. “Cecil can’t whip his horse without losing his balance. What hope has he of firing a pistol?”

Miles considered the woman’s swollen lip. He glanced at Lydia and whispered, “Who hit Lady Lovell?”

Guilt flashed across his love’s face. “I—I did.”

The urge to kiss her took hold, the need to honour her for finding the strength to defend her position when outnumbered. But he would spend the night rewarding her for her courage. Throttling Lord Randall was next on his list of priorities.