The League of Rogues

Chapter 2

2

Hands sliding up her outer thighs, raising her gown, warm breaths soft against her cheek, bright blue eyes aflame with wicked desires and the fall of pale-blond hair…

“Lady Melbourne?”

Rosalind Melbourne came back to herself. She was sitting in a cozy armchair in a sunny parlor with blue walls. Three sets of feminine eyes were focused on her, all a little concerned. A moment ago, she’d been listening to her hostesses talk about the latest scandals and political intrigues when the conversation had turned to marriages and the men in their lives. It was only natural for her thoughts to turn to Ashton when his friends had been mentioned. And that had led to memories from the last time she’d seen him…at the opera…when they’d both lost control.

I should never have allowed that man to kiss me, nor should I have touched him. It was a mistake.

She reached for the cup of tea nearest her on the table. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“It’s quite all right,” Lady Sheridan said, smiling again. “We’re so happy you’ve had a moment to meet with us.”

Rosalind smiled back at her. Anne was one of the few women in the ton she tolerated. Most of the simpering fools did not particularly like her either. As a Scottish lady having come from a crumbling castle with three wild brothers, bless them all, she’d had no chance of ever fitting in with normal London society, even when she’d married Lord Melbourne, God rest his soul. The man had been in his sixties when he’d asked for her hand.

That day was never far from her mind. Whenever her brothers hadn’t been around, she’d caught her father’s attention, and he’d taken his anger out on her. On that last night she’d run from Castle Kincade, almost blind with pain. She’d walked nearly two miles barefoot to the nearest village. Her father’s blows still burned her face and back.

She’d stumbled into a tavern in the village and fell into Lord Melbourne’s lap when she’d tripped over a loose floorboard. He’d taken one look at her face and with a scowl had said, “No one should treat a lady thus.”

He’d insisted on buying her dinner at the tavern. After he’d seen that she was warm and fed and wearing a new pair of boots he’d bought from a barmaid, he’d taken her straight to a blacksmith and married her that night.

Poor Henry. Such a sweet man.

After her marriage to Henry, she’d moved into her new London home, and he had died in his sleep only a year later. It had been a long time coming, but now she was the mistress of her own destiny. The dear man had tutored her in the ways of business strategies and banking. She’d always had a natural knack for it, but he had helped foster in her a confidence and knowledge that left her strong and able to stand on her own after his death. His companies had become her empire and would remain hers unless she remarried. Under English law, it would then transfer to her new husband, and she would become property herself.

My life wouldn’t be mine ever again.

She had no intention of letting that happen. Being a powerful widow was preferable to being a married slave.

“Lady Melbourne, I understand you have a number of shipping companies?” the Duchess of Essex queried before sipping her tea.

The duchess, who had insisted on being called Emily, was a lovely creature with violet eyes, auburn hair and a smile full of mischief and cunning.

“Yes, that is correct,” Rosalind replied. “I took over my late husband’s company and have been growing it by acquiring other shipping lines as they go on the market. Sea trade can be a risky endeavor, but it has proved fruitful so far.” She smiled a little, happy to be talking about business. It was one of her joys in life, the pursuit of companies, the acquisitions, the shipping. The mental challenges of running the companies that formed her fortune had always been vastly rewarding.

The other two ladies, Anne, Viscountess Sheridan, and Lady Rochester, who insisted on being called Horatia, exchanged glances. Rosalind wasn’t daft. The three women had been doing this from the moment she’d come inside the Sheridan household for tea. She suspected they’d invited her to Curzon Street for some purpose, and she wished they would simply come out and ask her whatever it was they were interested in.

“Do you do any business with Lord Lennox?” Horatia asked. Her cheeks had gone pink, betraying the direction Rosalind had feared the conversation was headed. Given their husbands’ close friendships with Lennox, she had been expecting this.

Rosalind sighed. “Lord Lennox…” The infernal baron had an uncanny way of coming up. It was he who had been on her mind moments ago. The man who’d ruthlessly kissed her in a theater alcove. He’d been out to punish her for her interference with his business, but that chastisement had turned to an attempt at passion, no doubt with the intent of leaving her alone and longing for him.

She had to fight hard to contain the little smile at that particular memory. She’d seen through his ploy and turned it against him, and he’d been defenseless against her. She remembered dropping her glove at his feet, a parting challenge before she’d left him to handle the problem of his stained trousers.

Lennox would no doubt be planning something to obtain his revenge; his ego would not allow otherwise. But these ladies were married to friends of his, so she would need to answer carefully.

“Well, our business interests, while shared, tend to put us in direct competition.” She hesitated to say more. It was possible that anything she told these three women would make its way back to him through their husbands. The secret behind her success came from the subtle balance of obtaining information from others and keeping it away from indiscreet ears.

On more than one occasion, she’d come across the jilted lovers left in Ashton’s wake—widows, daughters or unhappy wives of those he was in competition with. They had provided him with information over the course of an evening, often in bed, and he had used it to his advantage.

But he had also left a fair number of women who were willing to talk about him and his tactics as well. Rosalind had used that information to her own advantage and had been able to track his movements and strategies, even anticipate his business goals and outsmart him on more than one occasion.

Emily nudged Horatia’s elbow. Horatia spoke up.

“I’m sure you must think we are spies on behalf of our husbands, but I assure you that is not the case.” Horatia set her teacup down. “The reason we are asking is to protect you, if we can.”

“Protect me?” Rosalind set her own cup down, a flicker of unease darting through her like a startled rabbit in the underbrush. “Whatever from?”

Emily cleared her throat. “What we mean to say is that we know Lord Lennox. We know what he’s capable of when he’s in a mood, that is. All of us admire your courage and your ability to compete among the men. And we don’t want Ashton, that is, Lord Lennox, to upset you simply because he has his trousers twisted. I adore the man, but like the rest, he can become harsh in his business matters where his pride is pricked. We only wish to protect you, Lady Melbourne. We ladies must stick together.”

“Well…” What did one say to that? Rosalind plucked at her rose-colored day gown and glanced away, feeling a tad awkward.

“Have you any way to know if your finances are protected?” Anne asked quietly. “Cedric, that is to say, my husband, once said Ashton will challenge a man by dealing a blow to his banking abilities, such as his credit and his debts.”

Rosalind felt her stomach drop out. These ladies were serious about Lennox. And she’d certainly pricked the man’s pride. She’d bought three companies out from under him in the last month and had wooed old trading partners of his to her lines. But surely he wouldn’t do something so drastic. But she had taken out credit lines to buy the last few companies, and her own bank was light in gold if any of her notes came due at this moment.

“But surely he wouldn’t…” She went over the numbers and scenarios in her head. She saw it. A vulnerability. What if…?

Suddenly the room was too hot, too closed. She needed air.

“Quick, Anne, open a window!” Horatia gasped.

Rosalind rushed from her seat following Anne, who opened a window facing the back gardens. She leaned against the sill, her hands digging into the wood as she sucked in the fresh spring air.

“There, there,” Anne soothed. “Breathe and you’ll be fine.”

Rosalind wished it were so simple. But if Lennox was setting that plan in motion, she would have little chance of stopping him, unless she could get to the banks and ask for more credit to cover the gold cash-outs. But that wouldn’t solve her debt problem if he bought the debts. She would then still owe him everything.

“What can we do to help?” Horatia asked.

It took several long moments for Rosalind to recover. Her stays were too tight, and dizziness swamped her.

“I’m afraid I must go—” If she could get out in front of this, she might survive.

“Of course,” Emily replied. “Would you like someone to go with you?”

“No!” Rosalind gasped, then recovered herself. “I mean, no thank you, Your Grace. I’m afraid it would not do to have you walk into a bank with me. They act poorly enough when I go in—I should not like to see how they react to a duchess.”

Emily grinned, her violet eyes twinkling. “Nonsense. I have no qualms about scandals. You forget who I am married to. Scandal is nothing new to me.”

Rosalind debated her options. She wasn’t all that fond of accepting help, but something about Emily was reassuring. Neither she nor Horatia nor Anne seemed to be the sort of women who allowed men to control them, not even their husbands.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” She finally sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Not at all.” Emily shared another of those secretive glances with Anne and Horatia.

“Might I ask, why are you helping me, Your Grace?” Rosalind closed the window facing the garden and focused on the three women. “I cannot help but notice you keep looking at each other.”

Horatia blushed. “We’ve all had to put up with men in the past when they’ve caused trouble. We wish to help you, and we know Ashton can do great harm to your business.”

“I’ll ring for my coach.” Emily rose from her chair and pulled a slender cord on the door.

Half an hour later the coach bearing the Essex coat of arms rattled to a stop outside Drummond’s Bank. It was the bank where Rosalind kept the majority of her lines of credit.

Rosalind and Emily climbed out of the coach and proceeded toward the bank, ignoring the stares of men and women on the street. It had amazed Rosalind to learn on the ride over that Emily was a skilled businesswoman herself. She’d handled her uncle’s accounts, then taken over her husband’s once she married. Through the course of the conversation, Emily had told her a fantastical tale of abduction, intrigue and eventually love, which had resulted in her marriage to the Duke of Essex. The local papers had certainly not given any of those details.

As they reached the door to the bank, Rosalind drew them up short. “Are you positive you wish to go in with me? There will be talk—more than talk—if you do.”

With a chuckle, Emily replied, “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been considered scandalous, so it’s time to dive back into the gossip, I think.”

If Rosalind’s nerves hadn’t been so raw, she would have laughed with her.

The inside of the bank was filled with men of business and members of the peerage, talking, perusing papers and making business deals. A collective hush filled the room when she and the duchess entered. Women were not supposed to enter such a realm without a gentleman escorting them. It was something she’d gotten used to, the quelling gazes of men who wished to intimidate her into leaving. But she never gave in. There was nothing any of them could do to her. After living most of her life at the hands of an abusive father, she was done letting men dictate her life.

“Is it always like this?” Emily leaned in to whisper. “The way they stare at you?”

Rosalind answered with a faint nod.

Suddenly a tall, dark-haired man with honey-brown eyes stepped out of the crowd and approached them. Rosalind recognized the gentleman. She had half feared that Emily’s husband or one of the other so-called Rogues would be here to intercept her, but this man was not one of their number, though he was an acquaintance of theirs.

“Your Grace.” His smile dispelled some of the tension around them. There were still a few grumblings, but the majority of the men returned to their previous conversations.

“Lord Pembroke! How lovely to see you,” Emily greeted the man and turned to Rosalind. “Lord Pembroke, this is Lady Melbourne.”

Pembroke bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “A pleasure. What brings you ladies to Drummond’s?” Pembroke’s eyes darted around them, but he did not seem entirely surprised at their being in such a bastion of masculine activity.

“We’re resolving an issue,” Emily said. “Rosalind, who is it we need to see?”

“Mr. Reed.”

“Very well.” Pembroke offered an arm to Emily and she took it, winking at Rosalind while he escorted them to Mr. Reed’s office.

The banker was settled at his writing table, poring over several letters. He glanced up and froze when he saw Rosalind, Emily and the Earl of Pembroke in his doorway.

“Lady Melbourne?” Her name escaped the banker in a stutter.

“Mr. Reed.” She took a seat in front of him and studied the older man closely. His skin had taken on a white pallor, and he began to shuffle all manner of papers and items on his table. This did not bode well.

“What may I do for you?” Mr. Reed asked as he slid a finger beneath his neckcloth and tugged on it.

“I wanted to see about extending my line of credit.”

“Your credit…” Mr. Reed swallowed and smiled a little, but the expression was forced.

“Yes, I have several notes out, and I am afraid they may be called in.” She hesitated when Mr. Reed’s glance darted away and then back.

“Lady Melbourne, I do regret to tell you this, but I cannot extend any further lines of credit.”

Knots formed in Rosalind’s stomach. She leaned forward in her seat. “Why not? Do you need more collateral?”

Mr. Reed shook his head. “I cannot extend your credit under any circumstances.”

“Why is that?” Lord Pembroke demanded.

Rosalind saw he had remained with her and Emily. He was now scowling as he leaned against the door frame to Mr. Reed’s office.

“Well, it’s bank policy to make decisions that protect our stability and—”

“Mr. Reed,” Emily cut in gently, though Rosalind caught a hard glint in the young woman’s eyes. “You have a daughter coming out this year, do you not?”

“Why, yes. Amelia. My youngest.” Mr. Reed sighed and dropped his head a few inches.

“She’s a lovely girl, I recall,” Emily continued. “And she could make a good match if she had help, say if a duchess sponsored her?”

Rosalind blinked. Was Emily actually offering herself as a sponsor to the banker’s daughter?

Mr. Reed’s face lit up. “Why, that would be wonderful.”

Emily raised a gloved hand. “It would be an honor to sponsor her, but I’m afraid that I simply could not do it unless I trusted you, Mr. Reed, in all things.”

The banker stared at Emily for a long moment. “You would help Amelia find a good man, with say ten thousand pounds a year?”

Emily’s smile grew. “I have quite a few suitable candidates in mind already.”

When Mr. Reed spoke again, his voice was low and he leaned close. “You must not tell him that I betrayed his confidence.”

“We shall not. Now, who has told you not to allow any credit extensions? I assume someone ordered that, correct?”

“Lord Lennox.”

It was the name Rosalind had dreaded to hear. Hearing her worries confirmed sent spirals of panic through her. So Lennox was finally making his play, after a month of letting her believe she was safe following that night in the theater.

“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” Emily glanced toward Rosalind.

Pembroke looked horrified. “Wait a minute. Lennox is trying to stop you from obtaining credit? Whatever for? I know him. He’s a ruthless man of business, but not to ladies.”

With a mirthless laugh, Rosalind fisted her hands in her skirts. “It seems I am to be the exception.” How fortunate am I? Her inner voice was a tad impolite, but who could blame her? Lennox had her back against a wall, and she wasn’t handling it very well.

“Lady Melbourne, I was advised not to give you details. However,” Reed said, glancing at Emily again, “I’ve been informed he also bought the debts you have and will be sending demand payments through proxies this afternoon.”

Rosalind sank in her seat. That was far worse than the gold demands she’d been expecting, but it was oh so clever as well. A personal touch, to let her know exactly who had bested her.

“Why that pompous, bloody bastard!” The curse did not come from Rosalind, but Emily. “Just wait until I get my hands on him. He’s supposed to be the most gentlemanly of the League. Ooh!” Emily’s hands were curled into fists, and anger sparked in her eyes.

Pembroke growled and looked at the two ladies. “That is indeed a very low thing to do. If you give me the nod, I’ll have half the ton give him the cut direct by this evening, and he’ll be tossed out of his club.”

“Thank you, James, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve a better plan in mind to deal with our misbehaving friend.”

Rosalind laid a hand on the duchess. “Please, Emily, you need not get involved—”

“Nonsense. That is precisely what I must do. But first, we have to get you home, Rosalind.”

“But I need to handle the notes—”

Emily smoothed out her skirts. “Let me see to that. You must handle Ashton.”

“How on earth do you suggest I do that?” She had her own ideas, of course. Strangulation being at the top of her list. But she was also curious as to what Emily might say.

“You are rivals, correct?” Emily asked.

“Yes.” Lord help her if they were rivals in anything besides business.

“And how would you handle a business rival?”

Finally Rosalind felt like smiling. “By finding his weakness. Breaking him down from the inside.”

“And do you know any weakness you might exploit?”

Her thoughts went back to the theater. One heated encounter in that alcove and he’d lost his control, but she’d kept hers. She’d won.

And I can win again.

Emily clapped her hands at the sight of Rosalind’s cunning smile. “See, you have the right of it. I’m certain you can use that to your advantage. Now let’s get you home so you can change into something more suitable for seduction.”

The banker sputtered in shock, and Pembroke covered a laugh with a polite cough. “Allow me to escort you ladies to your coach.” Pembroke nodded his goodbye to Reed.

“Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” Rosalind said, but her mind was still reeling.

Seduction? She hadn’t necessarily thought of that sort of plan, but there was logic to it. If it could get her back what was hers, her life, her independence, then she would play him like a fiddle if she must. But she’d only ever been with one man before, her late husband. Sweet and gentle in bed he had been, but his touch had never burned the way Ashton’s had, nor had her entire body felt as though it was on the edge of something dark and wild when they had kissed.

But she detested Lennox. He knew just how to prod her until her barely leashed temper snapped. How was a woman to enjoy herself in bed when she wanted to strangle the man with his own bedsheets? Was he even capable of being seduced? She doubted he ever let himself be free enough to fall completely for a seduction, but what else could she try?

By the time she finally parted ways with Emily and Lord Pembroke, she had become thoroughly agitated. No, that was not nearly a strong enough word, but the words that came to mind were most unladylike.

As she reached the front door of her townhouse, her butler was there, anxiously holding out a letter.

“What is it, Pevensly?” She took the letter from his shaking hands.

“A man under the employ of Lord Lennox delivered this. He told me you must read it immediately and that he would be back within the hour to see that the letter’s instructions are followed.”

With trepidation, Rosalind peeled off her gloves and broke the seal on the letter as she entered the hall. Pevensly close the door behind her.

The letter was written elegantly, and yet as she began to read, it felt more mocking with each stroke of the quill.

My dearest Lady Melbourne,

As I’m sure you are now aware, Drummond’s Bank as well as every other bank within your immediate traveling distance has been given strict orders not to extend or offer you any additional credit. All of your notes will be cashed in by my proxies if I hear of you trying to buy them back.

Additionally, I have purchased all of your debts. At this moment, my accountants and solicitors are taking a full account of your affairs at your offices in London and Brighton. Your entire fate lies in my hands. The house you stand in at this very moment? Mine. The clothes upon your back? Also mine. I own you, Lady Melbourne, in all but name.

What does this mean? I am putting you on the street. Your servants may remain at the house and I will see to their continued employment, but you, my cunning rival, must seek home and hearth elsewhere until I decide what to do with you.

I own you.