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The Devil Rogue Page 2


  Deciding it wasn’t worth the argument while standing in the foyer, Ian relented. “Fine, bring her, then, but she rides up top with the driver. I want to be alone with you during our short journey.” That softly pleading voice had been too mesmerizing.

  The girl was spoiled right down to her dainty little feet. Ian saw how she’d handled her father. He’d actually been on his knees, begging her. She’d had the man crying, for Christ sake.

  Ian now knew how she was able to manipulate everyone around her. She already had him giving way to her wishes. Obviously, she was a master.

  He vowed he wouldn’t let it happen again.

  She would learn soon enough he was immune to her pretty face and pouting lips. He wasn’t about to let her wrap him around her finger the way she so obviously did with her father. The spoiled little bitch was going to learn what it’s like to not always get what she wanted.

  Ian had heard several tales of how this beautiful woman was spoiled and pampered by her doting father. She’d even had a few offers of marriage, which she’d turned her pert little nose up at. Her gowns were always of the latest fashions and she was seen only at the most lofty functions.

  Well, not any more. He planned on keeping her a virtual prisoner in his home. The opportunity, as it presented itself, had been too sweet to resist. He’d planned on coercing her into becoming his mistress, but when he’d heard her demand for twenty thousand pounds, he’d jumped at the chance to bring his plan to fruition.

  She would sleep in a sparse bedchamber, she would wear modest gowns, and she would service his sexual needs. Maybe he would even assign her daily chores. Indeed, it would be good to see her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floors. It was no less than she deserved for what she and her father had done.

  Suddenly, the image of the beautiful Angela Hopkins on her hands and knees popped into Ian’s mind, but in a different setting – his bedroom – naked. Angrily crushing that thought, he escorted her out to the waiting carriage.

  Hearing her startled gasp, he turned, looking down at her. She was a tiny little thing, the top of her head barely clearing his shoulder. She was facing the shining black carriage directly in front of them, his crest emblazoned on the side of it.

  “Y-you – y-you – you’re—” Angela couldn’t seem to get the words out of her mouth.

  “Blimey, miss!” Rosemary had no such trouble. “He’s the bloody Devil Rogue! The Viscount Blackridge. That’s his crest, there, bold as you please.”

  Angela’s face turned the shade of a ripe beet within the confines of her hood. She gritted her teeth until they almost cracked, listening to Rosemary’s hearty laughter as she climbed onto the driver’s box.

  “Still want to go with me?” Blackridge challenged with a wolfish grin.

  “Y-yes.” Angela had to clear her throat. “Yes, I’m still coming with you. I gave you my word.”

  His step faltered for barely an instant. “Come,” he said, taking her arm to assist her into the carriage. She jerked it away with a hiss of pain. He released her at once, his sharp gaze focusing on her face.

  Desperate to escape those eyes that seemed to know too much, she said, “I can manage on my own, my lord.” She entered the carriage, settling herself as comfortably as possible on the seat, fighting the urge to cradle her throbbing arm. She did not want him to see any weakness in her.

  He sat opposite her, his long legs taking up most of the room between the seats.

  Angela’s head felt like a thousand tiny drummers pounded from the inside, and now she noticed another ache at the base of her spine where her ‘loving’ father had kicked her. She’d fled up the stairs, attempting to lock herself in the attic until his temper cooled. But he’d been too quick for her to get the door shut before he’d shoved it open. The force of his push had sent her falling to the floor onto her side, and before she could gain her feet again, he’d viciously kicked her.

  She bit back a groan, but not before a soft sigh escaped her lips. It was barely audible, but apparently he’d heard it.

  “Aren’t you comfortable?” he asked. “Is it not what you are used to? Perhaps the cushions aren’t soft enough for your pampered behind.” His lips turned up in a mocking smile.

  What was he talking about? Angela could hardly hold two coherent thoughts together with the pounding in her head. “I’m fine.”

  When the carriage rolled into motion, he began to talk. “While you’re in my home for the next three months, you will do as I say. You will not be waited on hand and foot. You will not order my servants to do your bidding. There will be no fancy parties, no visiting with any of your friends. Do you understand?”

  “Hmmm?” Angela had barely heard a word. Did he say friends? She had no friends, other than Rosemary. Her father wouldn’t allow it. Friends would mean visitors, and visitors would ruin the façade of wealth he was trying to maintain. There were no signs of wealth in their home. Every spare pence was gambled away by her father.

  Angela knew she had the reputation of a cold, indifferent woman, but she had to maintain that image. Not only did she have to keep up the pretense of wealth, she feared becoming close to anyone, feared they would also discover her secret.

  “I said do you understand?” he repeated more firmly.

  “Yes, my lord, I understand.” She’d say anything to get him to stop talking. Her head was going to explode any minute, she was sure of it. If only she could lie down for awhile.

  Ian studied the woman across from him.

  Her earlier words had taken him by surprise. “Yes, I’m still coming with you. I gave you my word.” And then she’d pulled away from him, making it more than obvious his touch was distasteful to her. Oh, she was going to get used to his touch. He’d soon have her begging for it. Then he would throw her away, like the trash she was.

  Ian Moreland, the Viscount Blackridge, had nothing against women in general. In fact, he quite enjoyed their favors when the mood struck. He’d never physically hurt one, and he’d certainly never had a reason to hate any of them – until now. Let her fear him. It would serve much better to control her.

  He had yet to see her face. It was hidden by the hood of her cloak. But he didn’t need to see her face to remember her beauty. Why would she want to wear such a garment in this warm weather? He assumed she was pouting over his rules. A spoiled young woman such as Angela Hopkins was used to getting what she wanted, doing as she wished. She probably had a whole pack of giggling, frivolous friends.

  Ian suppressed a smile of triumph. Wait until she discovered what else he had in store for her.

  5

  Villarreal / The Devil Rogue

  Chapter 3

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED at his home, Angela allowed him to take her good arm without protest as they entered the front foyer. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she was able to stand on her own when he released his hold on her. She thanked the Good Lord her knees didn’t buckle, sending her crumbling into a pathetic pile at the viscount’s feet.

  Keeping her head lowered, she listened as Blackridge spoke to a servant, giving him instructions to have a bath brought to her room, and to send someone named Mrs. Brown up immediately.

  “Come with me, princess, I’ll show you to your new living quarters.”

  Angela could have sworn she’d heard a note of amusement in his voice. She followed him up a wide staircase to the second floor. When he continued on to another set of stairs leading to the third floor, she hesitated. The guest chambers were usually located on the second floor, while servant’s quarters were either belowstairs or on the third floor.

  “Don’t fall behind, Miss Hopkins, we’re almost there.”

  He stopped and turned to peer down at her, one booted foot resting on the next stair up. “You didn’t think you would be sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms, did you?”

  His smile was patronizing. “Of course you did, didn’t you?”

  Obviously, the question was rhetorical, since he didn’t wait for
an answer. “You need to remember that you are, in essence, my employee – a servant, if you will. Therefore, you’ll sleep in the servant’s quarters, except, that is, when you’re not sleeping in my bed.”

  He turned and continued up the stairs, not bothering to see if she followed.

  She did. She had no choice. She was too tired to fight him, in too much pain to care at the moment. Tomorrow, she would give him a piece of her mind, but for now, she just wanted to make it to her room before she collapsed in front of him.

  He finally stopped at the end of a long, narrow hallway, pivoting toward the entrance of a small bedroom. He waited patiently for her to join him. The sight of the cramped confines of that space had her halting at the threshold. A feeling of dread covered her like a suffocating blanket. She’d never been fond of enclosed spaces.

  “T-this is to be my room, my lord?” She despised the way her voice came out sounding like a little girl’s. She was too tired and vulnerable and no match for him in her current state.

  “If you have a problem with it, I can always have you sent home. Is that what you want, princess?”

  “As I told you before, my lord, I gave you my word,” Angela replied with more strength this time.

  She waited in the hall while two servants carrying a brass hip bath and buckets of water entered the room. Blackridge stepped aside, allowing the servants to pass, watching as they set down the tub and filled it with steaming water. She wanted to cry like a baby as her wish for a long soak in a full size bathing tub was dashed away.

  Why was he being so cruel to her? Her feeling that she’d made a deal with the devil came back full force. It almost sent her bolting for the stairs. But for twenty thousand pounds, she would endure anything, even this man’s cruelty. She’d lived with that kind of cruelty her entire life. Three more months should be as easy as a carriage ride in the park.

  The two servants retreated just as a short, plump woman bustled down the hall toward them. Her ample bosom heaved as she gasped for air from her trek up the stairs. Her pudgy arms were loaded with towels, wash cloths, and what looked like a white cotton nightdress. “My goodness,” she said between breaths. “Those stairs get me every time! Oh, good eve to you, master Ian, I didn’t see you right off.”

  “Good evening to you, Mrs. Brown. Here, let me take these off your hands.” Blackridge took her bundle and placed it on the narrow bed. “This is Miss Angela Hopkins.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Brown’s tone was respectful, her expression kind, but it betrayed her curiosity.

  “Miss Hopkins finds herself in a peculiar position, so to speak,” he said.

  His gaze raked over Angela in an entirely inappropriate manner, making her heart flutter madly. Her body’s response caught her completely off guard.

  “She has agreed to the terms of this engagement, which is to last no longer than three months. Is that not correct, Miss Hopkins?”

  The man was too handsome, by far. “Yes, my lord, that is correct,” Angela said.

  “Miss Hopkins wishes to learn the ways of the common folk, Mrs. Brown. You will be kind enough to help her with her lessons, will you not?”

  “Of course, my lord, you know it will be so,” Mrs. Brown pledged.

  “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Brown, Miss Hopkins has brought her maid. I’m sure the young woman could also use nightclothes, as well some toiletries. You can have one of the others bring them to her, as you’ve trudged up and down those stairs enough for one day.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I’ll see to it immediately.” She gave a creaky curtsy, and then hobbled back down the hall.

  Angela had a sinking feeling Blackridge had not yet sprung all of his surprises on her. “What did you mean?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What did you mean when you said that I wished to learn the ways of the common folk?”

  “Why, your chores, of course.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, didn’t I mention it? You’re to earn that twenty thousand pounds, my dear, by doing a few chores in between our time in the bedroom. Sex is easy and enjoyable, too easy for that amount of money. You’re to earn your keep beginning tomorrow at first light. I’ll give you this one night to settle into your new quarters, but tomorrow night, you’ll be in my bed, servicing me. I’m sure you’re no novice to that activity.”

  “What?”

  “Come, now,” he said, his sensual mouth twisting into a sneer. He must think her an imbecile. “A woman of your advanced age of six and twenty, possessing such rare beauty, can hardly be a virgin.”

  “B-but, I—”

  “Enough,” he said, holding up his hand. “I’ll check on you first thing tomorrow. Good night, princess.” He bowed, and then turning on his heel, left the room, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

  Princess? What was he about? Why did he act as though he hated her very existence? Angela’s head hurt too much to give his odd behavior more than a fleeting thought.

  She peered into the room. The tub of steaming water beckoned to her aching body. It may not be large enough to sit in, but she’d enjoy it just the same.

  She forced herself to enter the tiny room. Somehow, she would persevere – she always did. Since the room was located at the end of the hall, perhaps she could leave the door ajar. There was no reason anyone would come down this way, and she wouldn’t feel so closed in.

  Damn that man!

  Mrs. Brown came back to ask if there was anything else Angela needed. Obviously, she didn’t always follow Blackridge’s instructions. That discovery gave Angela hope. “A needle and some thread would be much appreciated, Mrs. Brown,” she said. “I seem to have torn my dress. If you would tell me where I might find them, I can get them myself. I truly wouldn’t want you going up and down those stairs for me.”

  “Nonsense. My room is just down the hall. You get yourself into that tub and I’ll bring you your needle and thread.”

  Her motherly kindness brought the sting of tears to Angela’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  After Mrs. Brown left the room, Angela closed the door behind her. She removed her cloak, hanging it on a peg on the back of the door. Sighing in resignation, she removed her dress, taking care not to tear it further.

  She decided it would be better to take off her shift, as well, rather than let it get soaked. It might not dry by morning, and she had nothing else to wear. She was not about to put on her dress over naked skin. It was too decadent. And when, pray tell, had she begun to think those kinds of thoughts?

  When she’d seen Blackridge’s face for the first time, that’s when.

  The man’s reputation was scandalous, and that was putting it mildly. He was known as a cold, unemotional man, making him a target for women who liked the challenge of melting the ice around the viscount’s heart.

  Angela had never seen him before this night, but she’d heard plenty about him. Rumors concerning him circulated, spreading like wildfire around the party circuit. He was a very powerful and dangerous man, it was said.

  Stories of his exploits in the bedroom had practically set her ears on fire. She’d overheard conversations about him at various soirees and balls. At the time, she didn’t think much about it, knowing she would never move in his circles, and most definitely not in his bedchamber.

  Oh, how things change! Here she was, virtually held captive by The Devil Rogue himself. His sexual talents were widely known, envied by the men, and well-gossiped over by the women.

  And he thought her a woman of experience!

  What was she going to do tomorrow night when he expected to be ‘serviced,’ whatever that meant. She didn’t know the first thing about what went on between a man and a woman in the bedchamber. She’d certainly never seen a real, live, naked man. Her innocent imagination tried to conjure an image of Blackridge without his clothes.

  She’d seen pictures in books, and then there were the various Greek statues that were popular among the ton.

  Would h
e look like one of those statues?

  Would he have one of those things between his legs?

  What would it be like to touch his bare flesh, to explore his muscled contours? She was quite certain he had muscles. He was such a large man. His shoulders were wide, his torso solid, and he had strong thighs beneath his tight-fitting breeches. Between her wicked thoughts and the steamy water, her face became flushed and heated.

  “What in the Holy Mother happened to you, my dear girl?” Mrs. Brown exclaimed from the open doorway.

  Angela looked up, startled by the older woman’s outburst.

  Mrs. Brown let out another gasp, and then her gaze fell to the bloody bandage on Angela’s arm. “Great Caesar’s ghost!”

  Angela crouched down as far as she could into the small tub, trying to cover herself. “Please, Mrs. Brown! Keep your voice down. I don’t want the whole household to come running.”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Brown said more quietly this time, closing the door. “It was just such a shock to see, is all. Who did this to you?”

  “I-I . . . fell.”

  “Fell, my arse! You’ve been beaten, but good.” She rushed over, ignoring Angela’s naked state, and gently took her arm into her hands. Removing the bandage, she inspected the still oozing gash. “Sweeting, you’re going to need stitches, I’m thinking. This is a deep cut.” Brushing Angela’s hair aside, she probed the purple bruise near her eye. “The skin isn’t broken here, but I have a cream that will help with the bruising and swelling. And you have a huge bruise on your back, did you know that? You’re going to need a physician to stitch up this cut, though.”

  “No – please.” No doctors. Doctors meant rumors, and rumors meant humiliation. “My maid, Rosemary, can stitch it. She’s done it before, if you could fetch her for me. I don’t even know where her room is.”