Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Read online

  Christmas Angel

  The Company of Rogues

  Book Three

  by

  Jo Beverley

  New York Times & USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  CHRISTMAS ANGEL

  Reviews & Accolades

  Reader's Choice Award, Best Regency

  "Ms Beverley exquisitely crafts a beautifully complex love story that will become a treasured addition to every Regency connoisseur. The Company of Rogues is well on its way to becoming one of the most cherished series ever in romantic fiction."

  ~Romantic Times

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-447-9

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright ©2013 by Jo Beverley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Chapter 1

  "If only they wouldn't keep falling in love with me."

  Leander Knollis, Earl of Charrington, leaned his head against the high back of his chair and soberly contemplated the shadowed ceiling. It was late on a November night. Only a crackling fire and one branch of candles provided illumination in the small drawing room of Hartwell, the Marquess of Arden's charming cottage in Surrey.

  Despite Leander's lugubrious tone, the said marquess did not seem inclined to tears of sympathy. In fact Lucien de Vaux burst out laughing and even his wife, Beth, hid a smile.

  "What else can a handsome war hero expect?" asked Lucien.

  "Good God, man. War heroes are two a penny within months of Waterloo."

  "I did say handsome war hero. Stop smiling at the young hopefuls at Almack's. You know the power of your smiles."

  Leander flashed him a humorously bitter look. "I do ration 'em, Luce. But I can hardly go a-wooing with a scowl on my face."

  The three of them were comfortably informal. Leander and Lucien had shed their cravats and let their shirts stand open at the neck. Beth was in a loose cloth gown with a large Norwich shawl around her shoulders. She sat on a footstool by her husband's chair, resting contentedly against his knee, his hand a warm, familiar presence against her neck.

  "I don't know," she said thoughtfully, studying Leander with a twinkle in her eye. "There's something so irresistible about a tortured soul. I think we ladies all think we're the only one able to provide the needed solace. No woman can resist such a challenge."

  "I don't present a challenge," protested Leander. "I've been a very paragon these past weeks. I dance with the wallflowers, I'm polite to the chaperones, and I'm not too obvious in my search for a bride."

  "Then," Lucien said, "I suggest that you choose a bride with all speed. I can vouch for the fact that marriage makes life more comfortable in a vast number of ways." His fingers played a secret message among the curls at Beth's nape, and she looked up at him with a smile.

  They were still newlyweds, at least in their own opinion. The wedding had been in June but their marriage had not truly started for some weeks after that, and a number of other events had conspired to keep them from this delayed honeymoon until September.

  And now, after only six weeks of blissful privacy, an uninvited guest had arrived at the door.

  Leander Knollis, Earl of Charrington, lately of the Guards, had only been a name to Beth before this evening. He was one of the Company of Rogues, however, and so she had not been surprised when Lucien unhesitatingly made him free of their rural retreat.

  The Company of Rogues had been formed in his first days at Harrow by the enterprising Nicholas Delaney. He had gathered twelve carefully selected boys together, and formed them into a protective association. During their school years they had defended each other against injustice and bullying. In the years since they had largely been a social group, coming together when occasion permitted, but it was understood that the bond still held. Any of them could call on the others at need.

  Beth was familiar with seven of the Rogues and three were dead, killed in the wars against Napoleon Bonaparte. The remaining two were Simon St Bride, who held an administrative position in Canada, and Leander Knollis. All she knew of him was that he had abandoned a promising diplomatic career to join the army; had survived Vittoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo; and was now apparently seeking a bride and being balked by the fact that all the young ladies were falling in love with him.

  Fleeing London he had, of course, headed for the nearest Rogue—Lucien.

  "I would be happy to choose a bride," Leander said somewhat sharply. "I thought the world was full of females who only cared about money and title. Here I am, prepared to lay both at the feet of a suitable lady without reservation, if only she won't fall in love with me."

  "And they all do?" queried Beth skeptically. In her opinion, Leander Knollis was a little too high-flown in his manner to be taken seriously.

  Leander looked at her. "You seem a sensible woman. You wouldn't fell in love with me, would you?"

  Beth looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. She found she wasn't sure of the answer.

  At her hesitation he groaned and leapt to his feet He dragged Lucien up to stand beside him. "Look at us! I am not a particularly handsome man!"

  Beth studied them. It was hardly a fair comparison for Lucien was quite ridiculously good looking, and that wasn't just her wifely partiality. Even when she had first seen him, when she'd feared and hated him, she'd compared him in her mind to a Greek god. He was over six foot, with clean-cut features, guinea-gold curls, and beautiful eyes and lashes she coveted for their children.

  Lord Charrington was a head shorter. Though he was well made and graceful, there was nothing remarkable about him except a slightly foreign air. That wasn't surprising, for he had been born and raised abroad. Beth wasn't sure what created the Continental impression, for his clothes, speech, and manners were all impeccably English. Perhaps it was the occasional eloquent gesture, the number of words he wrapped around a simple statement, or the quicksilver expressions which could flicker over his lean features.

  The average English gentleman was much less mobile.

  Apart from these mannerisms he was quite ordinary. His hair was as plain a brown as her own, though he wore it in a wavy, rather long style which was appealing in its very carelessness.

  But then there were the eyes.

  Whereas Beth's eyes were a simple blue, his were a strange, pale color, perhaps a light hazel; it was hard to tell in the candlelight. Slightly sunken and heavy-lidded, they still had a bright intensity which caught the attention and, quite likely, the heart. They shone and
yet they contained shadows suggesting hidden pains. Doubtless it was just a trick of their deep setting but, along with that Continental flavor, it was an intriguing combination.

  He looked both different, and wounded and, she added to her surprise, dangerous.

  Not particularly physically dangerous, as Lucien was, but formidable in his secrets and his will.

  She shook off her thoughts, surely products of the late hour and the port she'd drunk. "No, you're not particularly handsome," she said, "but I can see that a woman might easily lose her heart..."

  "Enough," interrupted Lucien. "Do I have to throw him out?"

  Beth smiled at him. "I was about to add—if that heart is free." She turned to the earl. "Tell me, my lord, why do you object to a young lady you are wooing falling in love with you? It would seem to be highly desirable."

  "Perhaps, if I'd settled on one yet."

  "Only perhaps?"

  He resumed his seat with a sigh and she thought he would not answer. He was clearly uncomfortable with discussing his feelings. But then he said, "I seem to lack the capacity for romantic love. I've never experienced it and so I doubt I ever will." He shrugged. "I can imagine nothing worse than to be bound for life to a woman who dotes on me, when I care rather less for her than I do for my favorite horse."

  It was shockingly blunt and Beth was silenced. She instinctively reached for Lucien's hand.

  It was Lucien who said, "I don't recollect that you have a reputation for celibacy."

  Leander looked up coolly. "What has that to say to anything?"

  "And did all these women fall in love with you?"

  Leander glanced at Beth. "I think we may wish to save this discussion for later."

  After a blank moment Lucien laughed. "For fear of offending my lady's delicate ears? She'd have your balls!"

  Leander looked shocked.

  "Lucien!" Beth exclaimed, "Just because I am a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft does not mean I will tolerate vulgarity."

  He met her eyes with a hint of challenge. "I've told you—I'll treat you as an equal, or a lady on a pedestal. Your choice."

  Beth let the matter drop. These difficult questions were still not entirely settled between them, and perhaps never would be. They managed.

  She smiled at the earl. "In truth, my lord, I would resent being protected, especially from such common matters as a gentleman's amatory adventures."

  His brows rose but he said, "I assure you, there has been nothing common about mine. However, if I am to let you into my bedroom, I insist that you cease to be so formal. My name, as you know, is Leander. My friends call me Lee."

  "And mine is Elizabeth. My friends call me Beth. So, Lee, tell us why your past lovers never fell in love with you."

  He took a thoughtful sip from his glass. "To be truthful, Beth, I'm not entirely sure they didn't, which makes me uneasy. I don't like to think myself a cruel or thoughtless man." He shrugged. "But it's the way of the world. An unmarried man takes married women or whores to his bed. He does not expect them to fall in love with him. It would be a singularly pointless thing to do."

  "Do you think then that love is under human control?"

  "Yes, I do, at least as far as avoiding foolish love. However, I fear it is not possible to force oneself into love. If it were, I would be happily at the feet of Diana Rolleston-Stowe who is well-bred, intelligent, healthy, and possessed of thirty thousand pounds."

  "And one of the doting ladies, I gather. But if love is so easily restrained, why is Diana in love with you? All she has achieved is to have driven you away."

  He caught the satiric edge to her comment and smiled without mirth. "Ah, but that is the fault of our romantic modern ways. Time was, a marriage could be arranged without much attention being paid to feelings. Very civilized. In these degenerate times girls think they should fall in love with their husbands, so as soon as an eligible parti pays particular attentions she sets her heart free. I have not yet devised a way to show even a guarded marital interest without triggering this response."

  Lucien entered the debate. "You should pretend you're marrying for money."

  "I tried that with Miss Rolleston-Stowe. It failed to make a difference. Of course, being the owner of a large fortune and Temple Knollis hardly helps my attempt to pass myself off as a fortune hunter." His features expressed self-derision, emphasized by spread hands. "I'm a rich earl, recently freed from the wars, and only twenty-five. Who would believe I would single out a young lady for reasons other than impulses of the heart?"

  Beth was interested to note that Lord Charrington became more flowery the closer they came to the nub of the problem. She left the obvious question to Lucien.

  "So, why are you singling them out?"

  The earl's expression became flat and Beth knew he would lie, or at least evade. "I am an only child. I have evidence from battle that life is a chancy thing. I should marry."

  "On the other hand," countered Lucien blandly, "you have, I believe, a fair clutch of cousins."

  If possible, the earl's expression grew even blanker. "Yes, my uncle has sired eleven children, ten living, eight boys. The name and title are assuredly in little danger."

  "So, my advice is to put aside any matter of marriage for a while. No good comes of rushing these things. If you give yourself time you will encounter a female who does stir warmer feelings."

  "But I wish to marry now."

  "Why, for God's sake!"

  He gestured apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm hardly being fair, am I? I barge in here seeking help, but then become obstructive. I have my reasons, Luce, but they do not affect the issue. It's a simple need to marry and settle down." A rueful smile lit up his face in an extraordinary way. Even Beth, armored by her love for Lucien, felt her heart do a little flip. "I shouldn't have intruded on you like this because of a mere attack of funk." He rose.

  Lucien also stood. "You can't go anywhere at this hour of night."

  "Of course I can. It's a full moon."

  Lucien put down his glass. "You leave this house over my dead body."

  Leander's eyes lit up. "A mill?"

  Beth leapt to her feet. She knew the Rogues. "Start a fight and you're both out on your ears. Lee, it's past ten. You will assuredly sleep here. Tomorrow, if you wish, I will give you safe escort to the stables. But you are welcome to stay. Truly."

  He studied her for a moment, and a sweetness in his expression truly did steal a tiny corner of her heart. It was boyish and endearing, but behind it were the shadows, and that hint of danger. No wonder the blooms at Almack's had been lying wilted at his feet. He took her hand with a distinctly foreign flair and pressed a warm-velvet kiss on her knuckles. "You are a jewel, Beth. Why can't I find a woman like you?"

  "Lucien found me in a school not a ballroom," she pointed out sternly, trying to dissipate the effect he was having on her. "Perhaps you should look there. And don't overestimate my sanity, sir. If you'd come courting, I suspect even I would have melted just like all the rest."

  Lucien pulled her out of the earl's grasp. "I've changed my mind, Lee. You may leave as soon as you wish."

  * * *

  Later, when their guest was settled and they were in their own bedroom, Lucien looked at Beth. "Could you have fallen in love with him?"

  Beth hid a smile. It still astonished her how jealous he could be when he was one of the most handsome, most desirable men in England, and she was the most ordinary of women. "I was hardly in a mood for love back in my teaching days, but yes, I think I could."

  He frowned. "Why? You were devilish reluctant to fall in love with me, and I am not lacking essential charms."

  Beth slipped off her satin wrap. "But you were my oppressor. It's hard to love a conqueror, no matter how handsome. I began to love you when I saw that you, too, were a victim."

  He caught her by the shoulders, eyes flashing with anger. "Are you saying it's pity?"

  Beth laughed aloud. "Lucien. Even at your lowest you were hardly an object of
pity except for being entangled with me." She slid her arms up around his neck. "But I began to see you needed me. It's good to be needed."

  He wrapped her in a warm embrace. "Then where's Lee's magic? He's always been devilish self-contained, needing nothing and no one—like a cat. A very high-bred, sleek, Persian cat. And these days he has the world in his hands."

  Beth rested comfortably against his shoulder. "So it would seem, love. But there is great need in him. I don't know what it is but it's like a gaping hole. I think that's what is melting all the females at Almack's. They just want to fill that hole."

  Lucien chuckled. "Don't you have that switched around, sweetheart?"

  Beth blushed, something that surprised her after months of marriage. "You are a very wicked man." She wriggled out of his arms and flashed him a naughty grin. She slipped off the shoulders of her satin nightgown so it fell to the waist. "Are you going to prove again that a wicked man's the only kind worth having?"

  He pulled her into his arms, swayed back so she was presented to his mouth. "For ever and ever," he murmured against her breast.

  "Amen," breathed Beth.

  They never made it to the bed.

  When Beth stirred her hot sticky body she was looking down into her husband's dark, sated eyes. They had even rolled off the carpet onto the oak floor under the window. He was on the floor. She was on top.

  She brushed his damp hair off his brow. "You'll have plank marks on your back."

  "Merely proves that gallantry isn't dead." He put his hands behind her head and kissed her with stunning thoroughness. "When did I last tell you I love you?"

  "Hours ago."

  "I'm a neglectful swine. Perhaps we should help poor old Lee. Marriage is a wonderful invention."

  "Help him to a marriage without love? That would be no kindness." Beth traced Lucien's beautiful features. "When did I last tell you I love you?"