A Rogue for Christmas

Chapter 2-1

2

Vaughn Darlington watched the coach vanish into the wintry night, his smile fading as the distance between him and Perdita Darby grew. He was a tad melancholy after the whirlwind of the last half hour. Part of him was still amused by the little beauty—her tenacity, her courage, even her recklessness in approaching someone with his reputation in his bedchamber. At midnight, no less.

A proposition, she’d said. And what a proposition it had been. The run of bad luck that had burdened him for so long seemed to be taking a turn for the better, and all because of a little country girl with sound intuition when it came to the darker side of Samuel Milburn.

His smile grew grim. She thought his announced interest in her would put off Milburn, but Vaughn knew Milburn better than she did. Whatever intentions Vaughn had for her, as his mistress or his betrothed, her scheme would not likely matter to a man like Milburn. He was a true bastard, a danger to the fairer s*x, and would find a way to claim what he thought was rightfully his.

Yet Vaughn hadn’t been able to tell her that whatever he did with her would not be enough to stop Milburn. Not on its own. Vaughn could only hope their little charade would give him a chance to stop whatever Milburn was planning.

He considered the larger problem. Leverage. That was what Milburn had. So long as he held this evidence regarding Miss Darby’s father, if it even existed, he would be in a position to pressure and cajole her. First, he would demand she break off her engagement, then bide his time before he held her feet to the fire to accept his own proposal. That sounded like the bastard’s style. But without that evidence, his position would crumble.

He would put his butler on it. Craig was far more than he appeared to be, and he had not always been a butler. He had his ways of making men tell the truth. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was him.

His thoughts turned back to Perdita and her reaction to the nip he gave her shoulder. While Vaughn was quite notorious for his penchant for pain mixed with pleasure in bed play, he never harmed his bed partners. Milburn, however, had killed his last mistress, or so it was said. The rumors had been murmured in the seediest clubs, and once Vaughn heard he’d been disgusted with the man. Without proof, there wasn’t enough to take the case to court. Milburn, as a gentleman, would escape prosecution.

The affair left a sour taste in Vaughn’s mouth, which was why he’d agreed to help Perdita. He knew Milburn and his type. The man would stop at nothing until he was married to her, and then the law would do nothing once her new husband revealed his cruel streak.

Perdita was in danger, and the only way to remedy that was to offer her the ultimate protection—his name given in marriage. It was the reason he had taken so long to give her an answer. She had no idea that what she really needed was a true wedding, not a false engagement. And ordinarily, he would have declined.

But something about Perdita had changed his mind. It had happened ever so subtly over the course of their interaction. The way she’d softened in his arms when he’d kissed her. The way she’d challenged him when he’d reminded her of what her reputation would be like at the end of her charade. The way she was a charming and yet innocent country maiden who responded with fire and bravado. She’d intrigued him even as she’d stormed into his bedchamber, where there was no chaperone to save her from his clutches. None of it had been an act. Perdita was a woman worth knowing, a woman with secrets and passions and a mind all her own. That was a woman he could marry.

A smile crept back onto his face, and this time it was one of hesitant joy.

Vaughn walked into the drawing room and approached the tray of drinks his butler had set out earlier. He poured himself a glass of brandy before he took a seat in the chair by the fire just starting to turn to embers. He sipped his drink, savoring the flavor as he contemplated the unique opportunity Perdita had presented him with tonight.

It had been so long since he had looked forward to anything. Ever since his parents had died five years past, he’d been mired in debts that were too deep to recover from on his own. No matter what he did, he seemed to be damned. He’d had to close his country estate, let go of his entire staff save for one caretaker, and reduce the staff at his London townhouse.

His only way of getting by had been to win wagers at the clubs, and even that source was running dry. Every man in every major club now knew better than to wager large stakes when they found him across the gaming table. His ability to win should have helped pay off his family’s debts, but not even the most gullible lads were foolish enough to stake their fortunes against him now.

He’d become known as the Devil of London in a matter of months. The moniker hadn’t upset him as much as he thought it would at first, but it had kept men from playing even a simple game of cards with him. His friends certainly didn’t approve of his actions, and in the last few years most had abandoned him.

Of course, he’d done other things, worse things, to drive his friends away. In the fall he had approached White’s infamous betting book and found a five-thousand-pound sum wagered for publicly seducing a young woman named Alexandra Rockford, Perdita’s close friend.

Kidnapping was not at all a charming prospect to him, unless of course the lady wished to be kidnapped. He’d played that particular game more than a few times with delightful results, but k********g Alexandra had been…dreadful.

He indulged in a moment of self-loathing. The night he had taken Alexandra to his home to fake her ruination for the sake of a wager had left a dark stain. He hated himself far more than he ever had before, and it showed how desperate he had truly become. That loathing had deepened until it left a scar on his heart. One he doubted would ever go away.

When he found Perdita in his doorway tonight, he hadn’t expected to feel anything. Yet he had. She’d lowered her hood, and her brown hair had turned a burnished bronze in the lamplight. Her eyes, a gentle shade of brown like topaz stones, turned warm as honey. His blood had burned with desire in a way it hadn’t in a long while. If that wasn’t reason enough to marry the girl, he wasn’t sure what else would be.

He left the drawing room and sought out his butler. He found the older man in his office on the basement of the townhouse.

“Mr. Craig, I have a task for you.”

The butler glanced up from the papers on his desk. He gave Vaughn an appraising look. “Am I correct in assuming that this lies outside my usual duties?”

“You are.”

Mr. Craig sighed. “I am no longer a young man, my lord.”

“This is not for my own selfish desires, Mr. Craig. That young woman you brought to me requires our help. Her very life may depend on it.”

Those words seemed to give Mr. Craig new vigor. He rose to his feet like a man twenty years younger. “Name it, my lord.”

“A man named Samuel Milburn claims to have evidence that Mr. Reginald Darby has been involved in smuggling and evading taxes. He’s using this as a means to pressure Darby’s daughter into accepting marriage to him.”

Mr. Craig scowled. Though he did not look it, he was at heart a romantic. In fact, Vaughn had caught him reading the works of L. R. Gloucester, a gothic novelist, on more than one occasion. The thought of any man forcing a woman by such means would be anathema to him.

“I want you to look into this. Miss Darby believes her father invested with men who might be working with Milburn. It could be they are trying to lay false evidence that Darby is the one behind the ill deeds. What we need is proof that Milburn is attempting to blackmail the Darby family, or proof of Mr. Darby’s innocence. And if at all possible, I want you to put a stop to whoever is causing these problems, if you understand my meaning.”

Mr. Craig’s grim smile was a reminder of the man he’d once been, a man who’d fought valiantly for his country in the shadows years before.

“Understood.”

He rarely spoke of those times, and when he did it was often in an allegorical fashion, but Vaughn had seen on more than one occasion just what Mr. Craig was capable of. And despite his complaints of old age and weariness, it took little to light the old fire under him again.

He left his butler and called for his valet, knowing the fellow would be up late.

“Barnaby!” His voice echoed in the darkened corridor. A few seconds later the man appeared around the edge of the door leading to the servants’ quarters.

“My lord?”

“Pack me a valise for at least a week. We’re going to Lothbrook in a few days and shall be there for Christmas.” He tipped his brandy back and finished it before he headed for the stairs to return to his bedchamber.

Barnaby wrinkled his nose. “Lothbrook again? I’m still scraping the dust out of your trousers from the last visit, my lord.” The man muttered this more to himself than to his master. Neither of them cared much for the country. It was so bloody provincial, but if he had to return there to seduce his unknowing bride, then that was where he must go.

He would deal with the details of his travel arrangements in the morning once he had had word from Perdita’s parents that he was invited to their estate. With another small smile, he returned to his bedchamber and began to strip down for bed. He always slept in the buff, even in winter. It was a habit that would no doubt shock his little bride-to-be, but he suspected she would shock him right back. He closed his eyes, letting his mind flash images of her as he bent to kiss her, and the memory of it resurrected a smile upon his lips.

Her startled look, then the way she’d melted in his arms. She’d tasted like honey and fire, burning, yet impossibly sweet. He could still feel the velvet of her cloak, crumpled in his hands as he latched on to her. He had wanted to slide his hand up her skirts right then, but that would’ve been a step too far, no matter how she’d claimed she was not an innocent creature.

She was wanton, he would agree, yet still innocent in so many ways. Introducing Perdita to the mysteries of a man and woman coming together was not a thing to be rushed. Hasty fumblings in the dark would not do. No, she deserved a well-planned, deliciously slow seduction of the body and the mind.

Vaughn sat on the edge of his bed, raking his hands through his hair as he considered his next move. Tomorrow he needed to purchase a ring. He had little money to do so, but he’d find a way. His smile stretched into a broad grin. The invisible forces of fate had seemed determined to stop him from restoring his family’s name in the ton, and now he had found a way to win against them: marry the ton’s darling. Miss Darby was the answer to his prayers. What a shock it would be to them all.

London’s sweetest lady mated to its fiercest devil.

Perdita stood by her mother’s writing desk in her private sitting room, her heart racing more than it ought. Her mother sat at her delicate escritoire and was diligently checking the guest list for the party that would occupy their country estate in a few days. Perdita shifted about, her red shawl dropping from her shoulders to hang about her elbows and lower back.