Rules for a Rogue Page 23

  Shoving a hand through his hair, Kit cursed at himself under his breath. This wasn’t a bloody play. Whatever his phrasing, the anxiety coiling in his belly had nothing to do with his delivery and everything to do with Phee’s answer. Surely she wouldn’t keep to her rule that they not speak of marriage or the future. Surely the fact she’d refused Dunstan wasn’t a harbinger of how she’d respond to his proposal. A terrible possibility weighed on his mind. What if, in her forward-thinking way, Ophelia opposed marriage on principle?

  He should have taken the time to memorize every word of Miss Gilroy’s Guidelines.

  Though the house was quiet, Kit entered the breakfast room, hoping to discover a fresh pot of tea or coffee set out. An odd sound echoed through wall. Laughter, distinctly male and oddly familiar, followed by a feminine trill. Following the sound, Kit pushed aside the half-open drawing room door to find Jasper Grey standing far too close to their housemaid.

  “Grey? What the hell are you doing here?” As Kit stepped into the room, a perfumed purple blur hurtled toward him.

  “Kitten! How I’ve missed you.”

  Kit turned in time to catch Tess before she plastered herself against his body. She wriggled in his arms, thrusting forward until her bosom crushed his chest.

  “We’ve come to rescue you,” Grey said as the housemaid scampered from the room. “I did promise I’d come and drag you back to London. Forgive the ungodly hour. Tess insisted we set out early.”

  “Speaking of which, where can I see to my morning ablutions, lovie?” She cast a knowing gaze at Grey and patted her hair. A few blonde locks had fallen from their pins. “I fear the train ride left me a bit mussed.”

  “Upstairs.” Kit pointed her toward the drawing room door. “You’ll no doubt find the maid lurking in the hall. She can direct you to a room where you can see to your hair.”

  After Tess sauntered out, Kit turned to Grey. “Why did you bring her here? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love and can’t bear to be parted.” He couldn’t blame Grey if that was the case. For the first time in his life, Kit understood how a woman could fill the void in a man’s heart.

  “Never.” Grey snorted and let out a rumble of laughter. “As much as I’d like to say we’ve come on a social call, I have urgent business to discuss with you.”

  Which still didn’t explain the petite actress’s presence. “And Tess?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? She left Merrick’s too. Tess is Fleet’s new leading lady, on stage and off.” When Grey noticed Kit’s confused frown, he added, “They are lovers. The man takes her advice. Fulfills her every whim. If Tess wants your play, Fleet will grant her wish.”

  “He’s already expressed interest in my next play.” Though between his father’s business affairs and relishing every moment he’d spent with Ophelia since returning to the countryside, the piece still wasn’t finished.

  “Apparently the man’s fickle. He’s considered and rejected two other playwrights since you left London.” Grey grinned. “Though in all fairness, both were dreadful. Nothing to your talent. Please tell me you’ve finished the work for Fleet.”

  The play hadn’t crossed Kit’s mind in days. After all his years in London and months of envisioning success at Fleet’s, a month in the countryside had changed everything. Just as he knew it would. Now, above all else, he craved a future with Phee. And, most unexpectedly, he wanted to manage Ruthven’s. Not in his father’s way but on his own terms. And Sophia’s and Clary’s.

  “You haven’t.” Grey deflated and threw his lanky frame onto a settee. “What’s happened to you, man? Are they keeping you captive?” He glanced around the room as if expecting to find manacles and chains attached to the walls.

  “My father’s publishing enterprise—”

  “Which you intend to sell.”

  “May be worth keeping. Managing. Turning into a success.”

  “Bollocks.” Grey narrowed his gaze. “This is about a woman.”

  Grey was right. Irritatingly and unerringly so. For Kit, keeping Ruthven’s wasn’t just about creating something for himself and his sisters. He craved success, even responsibility. A chance to prove to Ophelia that she could trust him to stay the course, to commit to an endeavor and triumph.

  “She must be extraordinary. Only a goddess could make me embrace the tedium of countrified hell.” Grey glanced out the window at the open field beyond. He shivered dramatically. “Perhaps not even then.”

  Kit looked out on the vista that had just caused Grey such horror. The open land appealed to him as much as London’s crowded spaces. More so. That field led the way to Longacre.

  “Come back to London, Kit. You’re missed. Needed. If it’s a beautiful woman you seek—”

  “Oh, excuse me.” Sophia stood in the shadow of the half-open drawing room door. “I didn’t realize you were entertaining a guest.”

  No noise or happenstance at Ruthven Hall escaped his sister’s notice. Kit knew the moment he heard Grey’s laughter that Sophia would soon be seeking to solve the mystery of their early morning visitors.

  She stepped fully into the room and assessed Grey with an intense head-to-toe appraisal.

  The man shot to his feet, eyes wide, mouth slack. Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered to Kit, “I understand.”

  Kit frowned at Grey’s odd comment and took a breath to begin introductions when a clattering thud drew their attention upward.

  “The new housemaid is forever dropping something,” Sophia insisted. “I’ll see to it.” Without another word, she turned to depart, cast one last glance at Grey, and drew the door closed behind her.

  “You have my apologies.” Grey slumped onto the settee, sitting forward with his elbows braced on his knees.

  “Do I? Why?”

  “I underestimated the lady’s inducements.” He swiped two fingers across his mouth and swallowed hard. “But now that I’ve seen her, my God, man, that face.” He waved his hand in the air, drawing down in a sinuous arc. “That figure. You are one lucky bastard.”

  “That is my sister, you lecher.” In a ground-eating stride, Kit was on his friend, gripping Grey’s lapels and hauling him from the settee. “She is not for you. And you are definitely not for her.” Unclenching his fists, Kit released Grey’s coat. “Don’t look at her. Or speak to her for that matter.”

  Grey lifted his hands in the air and sidestepped away. Some remnant of rational thought snuck in, reminding Kit that his sister was a grown woman and a savvy one. Sophia would see through Grey’s blatant brand of charm immediately.

  “Forgive me,” Kit managed through a clenched jaw. The much less rational part of him still wanted to throttle the man.

  “Done.” Grey pulled down his coat lapels, smoothing out the rumples. “I have sisters too, my friend.”

  Kit worked to steady his breathing while Grey smirked and lifted a triangular bronze brow.

  “What?” Kit asked brusquely. He knew Grey well enough to recognize mirth in the man’s eyes.

  “I simply find it rather amazing.” He flitted his gaze over a series of pastoral paintings that decorated the drawing room walls.

  They were awful. Clary was right. The whole house needed new decor.

  “Amazing?” If the man started going on about Sophia’s allure again, Kit wasn’t sure their friendship would survive the discussion.

  “I mistook your sister for the young woman enticing you to remain in the countryside. If she’s not the lady in question, there must be another goddess somewhere in this quiet little corner of England.”

  There was, and Kit needed to speak to her rather than waste another moment talking nonsense with his libertine friend.

  “Grey, you’ll need to excuse me. I was just on my way out when you arrived.” Kit moved toward the door and hoped his friend would follow. If he and Tess hurried, they could catch the next train back to London.

  “You can’t go.” Grey reached out as if he’d stop him, but then seemed to think better of it and lo
wered his hand to his side. “I haven’t convinced you yet.”

  “Convinced me of what?”

  “Returning to London. Fleet Theater needs your talent, and I promise the man can bring you greater rewards than you ever received at Merrick’s. Don’t allow some other upstart to grasp an opportunity that should be yours.”

  Kit shook his head, but Grey persisted.

  “Success, man. It’s what you’ve always craved. Far more than I do. Perhaps more than any man I’ve ever known. One play for Fleet could change your fortunes.” Grey drew closer, lowering his voice. “Wouldn’t that impress your country lady?”

  Kit couldn’t deny that the drive to achieve success still gnawed in him like a ferocious hunger.

  Turning away from Grey, he strode to the window and stared across the field toward Longacre. Had Phee woken yet? Were her first thoughts of him as his had been of her? The pursuit of fame and fortune had pulled him away from her once.

  “Mr. Ruthven? Pardon me, sir.” The skittish young housemaid pushed into the drawing room, eyes huge, gaze drawn like a magnet to Grey. “Miss Ruthven says you must come upstairs.”

  “What is it?” What else would thwart his path to Ophelia this morning?

  “The lady, sir. She’s fallen.”

  Before Kit could question the maid further, Sophia strode into the room. Kit didn’t miss the way Grey’s gaze followed his sister’s every move.

  “The woman you left in your bedroom.” Sophia raised her voice loud enough for half of Briar Heath to hear. Then, apparently contrite for her outburst, sucked in a deep breath and continued in a quieter tone. “She spilled water on the floor and managed, somehow, to sprain her ankle. I’ve sent for Dr. Weeks.”

  “I should go up to Tess.” Grey started toward the door, passing far too close to Sophia.

  “We should at least move her to a guest room.” Sophia spoke to Kit but flitted glances at Grey, who lingered at her elbow.

  “I can help.” Grey spoke directly to Sophia. “Just tell me which room you’d like her moved to.”

  His friend had never been so eager to please anyone. Kit pinched the skin between his brows and exhaled a long sigh. Sophia was looking at him expectantly. She still hadn’t been introduced to Grey and seemed to be waiting on Kit to conduct formalities.

  “Sophia, this is—”

  “Jasper Grey.” The man stepped forward and sketched a ridiculous half bow. “Actor, reprobate, and irredeemable scoundrel.” After gazing longingly at Sophia’s hand, he shot her a wolfish grin. “I’d kiss your hand, Miss Ruthven, but I suspect your brother would have my head for it.” Flicking back his carefully disheveled hair, he added, “I’m afraid I’m quite fond of my head.”

  “You were never in any danger, Mr. Grey. I have no intention of offering you my hand.”

  Grey let out a low chuckle. “Now I’m determined to kiss both of your hands.”

  “Shall we all go up and see to Tess?” Kit asked, interrupting an uncomfortably long stretch of silence in which Sophia and Grey stared at each other with a strange combination of wariness and intrigue.

  As the three of them headed upstairs, Sophia led the way and Kit cast a glance at the clock in the hall. It seemed Tess and Grey wouldn’t be departing quickly. Though Kit loathed the notion of leaving a scoundrel like Grey and his sister in the house alone together, he needed to visit Phee.

  They’d lost enough time. He didn’t want to wait another day to ask her to be his wife.

  Six pounds four pence multiplied by three . . . “Isn’t enough.” Phee didn’t need Juliet’s talent for mathematics to understand the woeful state of their household finances. The lines in the account ledger were empty where they should have been full, and the current balance was several digits thin.

  Kit. Lifting a finger to her mouth, Phee stroked the flesh of her lower lip, still sensitive from his kisses. Even when she worried, Kit burst in, coloring every thought.

  From the moment she awoke, he’d been on her heart and mind. Memories of their lovemaking caused her body to respond as if they were alone in his London room again. As if his warm hands and hard body were pressed against her, loving her.

  But despite a head full of fresh, blissful memories, old familiar worries wormed their way in too. They’d driven her out of bed to her desk, where she could review the household accounts. Subtracting the income they relied on from her tutoring made the balances even more dismal. Worse still, on a Wednesday morning she had no prospect of a single pupil coming for the remainder of the week. She worried the two who remained on her roster would eventually go too.

  The pile of paper she used to make her lists and her favorite pen lay on the desk blotter in front of her. Phee pushed them aside.

  What good had her lists done? They were flimsy attempts to control what refused to be tamed. The source of all her trouble and bad fortune. Her own wayward heart. Perhaps she was an “unnatural woman,” as Mrs. Raybourn called in a letter denouncing Phee’s book, her ideas, and her skills as a tutor.

  She’d grown up torn between her mother’s lessons in decorum and propriety, and her father’s tendency to encourage both his daughters to follow their hearts’ desires. He’d urged them to dream on a grand scale. Phee feared she’d inherited his stubborn nature too.

  Rather than pursue new employment or find a more reliable publisher for her book, following her heart had been Phee’s chief occupation for weeks. The previous afternoon had been its culmination. No lists or rules or guidelines kept her from choosing those moments with Kit. Despite Mama’s lessons in propriety, knowing precisely what she should do, and having no doubt what others would think of her if they knew, she didn’t regret a single moment.

  Kit had thoroughly ruined her but not only in the way polite society meant the word.

  The lovemaking in his London lodgings had been a revelation. More passion than she’d ever expected to experience in a lifetime. Precious hours she would never forget. Memories she would carry with her all of her days. And she never wanted to taste that kind of passion with any other man. That is how he’d ruined her.

  They’d been so close, moved together in such exquisite harmony that Phee couldn’t shake the sense he should be with her. Or that she should stride across the field toward Ruthven Hall and find him. Wherever Kit was seemed the place she should be.

  He’d returned with her on an evening train to Briar Heath, but how long would he remain?

  Her throat burned and tears began to fall in fat drops onto the desk blotter.

  Why had she insisted on rules for seduction? No talk of marriage. No planning for the future. How could she have ever dreamed one moment with Kit would be enough? Maybe her need to control every aspect of her life, and quite unsuccessfully, would be her true ruination.

  “Cup of tea, my dear?”

  At the sound of her aunt’s voice, Phee swiped away her tears.

  “Or is this a predicament that requires chocolate?”

  “Tea will do, Aunt Rose.” Phee tried for an unaffected tone and lifted a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her damp face and runny nose.

  “Excellent. I have tea and scones at the ready.” Her aunt entered a moment later with a small tea service, and Phee rushed to take the laden tray.

  “I can pour.” Filling their cups gave Phee something to do, and she prayed the signs of her tearful bout would wane before she had to face her aunt.

  “Did your visit to the city go well, my dear?”

  “Yes.” Perhaps the best day of her life, though she could hardly divulge the details.

  “Then something else has you out of sorts.”

  Phee drew in a deep breath and met her aunt’s perceptive gaze. The time had come. Though Juliet knew about her writing, Phee had yet to speak to Aunt Rose about Miss Gilroy’s Guidelines. She deserved the whole story. The dire state of their finances would affect them all.

  “You may know I wrote a book.”

  “I do.” Aunt Rose took a sip of tea and grinned at
Phee before continuing. “Juliet is quite taken with your etiquette book.”

  “Not an etiquette book.” That sounded too much like Ruthven’s Rules. “I offer young women suggestions. Guidelines. The whole point is that young women should make up their own minds.”

  “Ah, of course.” She sipped again at her tea and offered Phee another knowing grin. “And your suggestions have caused a bit of controversy, I understand.”

  “I’ve lost most of my tutoring pupils and gained the contempt of many in Briar Heath.” Phee refrained from mentioning Lord Dunstan. She had no wish to revive the debate with her aunt over the baron’s desirability as a prospective groom.

  “Young women’s choices have consequences, then.”

  “Yes.” Guilt swept down, heavy on Phee’s shoulders. The warm tea soured in her belly. “I will find another way to keep us afloat, Aunt Rose. Some other occupation.”

  “Why not consider marriage?”

  “Not every young woman chooses marriage.” Phee breathed a heavy sigh. Only one man had ever proposed to her, and he wasn’t the one her heart craved. Stubborn, wayward heart.

  “I cannot recommend spinsterhood, my dear.” Aunt Rose wasn’t smiling anymore. Sadness welled in her gaze more than anything. “I do cherish my independence and every moment spent with you and your sister, but loneliness is a heavy toll to pay.”

  Phee frowned. Her first instinct was to deny her aunt’s words. Since the day she’d come to live with them, Aunt Rose had never spent a day alone. Either their father, Phee, or Juliet were always with her. Yet Phee knew, understood today in a way she wouldn’t have just a few days earlier, that Aunt Rose referred to the marriage of two minds, the loving companionship of another who is yours by choice, not out of necessity or family ties.

  “If Lord Dunstan offers for you again—”

  “He won’t.” He might be able to tolerate her authorship of a scurrilous book, but he and the whole village would denounce her entirely if they knew what she’d shared with Kit.

  “Then he wasn’t the cause of your tears?”

  Phee shook her head, torn between confessing all and keeping her heartache to herself.