Page 12 of Rogue of My Heart

“I did,” Christian said with another drink, “and she’s out.”

“Maybe we rehearse, and you can try again. You’re not the best with these things. Remember what you said to Lady Leadbetter about her gown? She stills get pink in the face when we see her.”

“I thought she’d accidentally dressed for a costume ball, I honestly did!” He coughed and shoved the flask in Penny’s direction. “Did you see that silk catastrophe? I was trying to save her from embarrassment. ‘Go home and change before anyone sees you’ type of thing. You dressed for the wrong event.”

“What I’m hearing is that you applied your standard finesse to the proposal tonight.”

“It wasn’t poetic if that’s what you’re asking.”

Penny took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, I’ve read this play before. You bumble, then Miss Mowbray says something you don’t want to hear, and boom, a sulking, insolent man appears, stage left.”

Christian stacked one boot atop the other and hung his head back, his gaze going to a sky that looked like it was going to unleash havoc at any moment. “A congenial groom got to her first. Someone by the name of Dash or something. Certainly the more appropriate choice. Another maid told her about that knighthood offer from cracked George, so she believes we’re leagues apart. If she only knew what it was like growing up with a wastrel for a father, a revered vicar the entire household was terrified of. My upbringing was less than noble. Likely less noble than hers in many respects.”

“So she declined because of societal disparity and this illustrious groom…”

“Then I got angry, and that sulking, insolent bloke you mentioned joined the party. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Your temper is truly your downfall.” Penny polished the flask on his sleeve and slipped it in his pocket. “We’re lost if we can’t upstage a humble groom, however.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He groaned, digging his heel in the soil. His cheeks had gotten hot, always a bad sign. “Remember that girl I fancied? The one at Tavistock House?”

Penny whistled beneath his breath, tilted his head in meditation. “The paragon on the veranda. Yes, I remember, because you bring her up every time we’re deep in our cups. She’s mysteriously ruined every relationship you’ve tried to sustain, if I may be so bold as to judge. Let me guess, she’s in your head along with your lovely bluestocking and you don’t know?—”

“She is my lovely bluestocking.”

Christian held back a grin as shock whipped across Penny’s impossible-to-alter countenance. At least he was getting some joy from this dreadful experience.

“Well…” Penny rummaged in his pocket for the flask, apparently deciding another chug was in order. “Consider me stunned.” He issued a humorless grunt, his gaze locking with Christian’s then dancing away. Penny was his best friend in the world, but discussing emotions was hard for men. God knows what tender sentiment was shining in Christian’s eyes. “Almost gives me a chill along my spine. I don’t believe in fate or fanciful events, or love, but damn, that’s incredible. Are you sure?”

Christian nodded. He was sure.

“Then you must make her understand. All these years. She’s your…she’s the…”

“You’re going to have to finish the translations.”

Penny crawled to his feet with a curse. “I’m the best soldier-cum-manservant in England, and I’m dutiful, but I’m not crazy. And I’m not sitting in that stifling, regally-oppressive room with a vexed woman you inelegantly asked to marry you.” He collected the edge of the blanket in his fist as raindrops began to strike the ground, yanking it from underneath Christian. “I’m scared of angry women. And tired of dealing with yours. This is your dilemma to solve, my friend.” Grabbing the candles, he stuffed them under his armpits, and kicked the wine bottle in the bushes. “If you can look her in the eye and tell her you don’t want her, if you mean it, then I’ll pack up our gadgets and tools, and we ride back to London. If you can’t, maybe your job’s not done. And I don’t just mean the watches. I guess I’m asking you to stop and think and not let your temper lead.”

“Feels hopeless,” Christian said and rose unsteadily to his feet, the rain coming down hard, soaking his clothing and sending tiny rivulets of water into his eyes.

Penny took off across the bridge, throwing over his shoulder, “That’s the liquor talking.” He halted on the rise, just before he dipped down on the other side, lost from sight. “And she cares. At least a little. How do you think I found you? Your lovely bluestocking was worried about you out here in the wild, three hundred feet from a ducal manor, which I didn’t point out. Came to get me. To get you.”

Christian sank back against the bridge’s pillar, his mind awhirl. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but he barely acknowledged it. It would serve him right, getting struck during a fit of masculine pique.

Raine cared about him.

She’d almost admitted that. Not wanting to hurt someone equaled caring, didn’t it? Her kiss, while untutored and endearingly guileless, spoke of attraction. And curiosity. Which could lead to love. With their tempers, he expected a lifetime of senseless arguments and fierce lovemaking.

She was everything he’d dreamed of. Clever, perhaps too much so. Beautiful and serious-minded. Attentive. Kind. Unconventional in the most enchanting way. He didn’t care that she hadn’t been born a lady. He simply didn’t care. He’d never wanted anyone else, not ever. Had been in love with her since the first moment he noticed her sitting beneath a dusky summer moon, even if no one—except, incredibly, Penny—believed it.

He would find a way to make her forget about that ridiculous knighthood.

About her enthusiastic groom.

He would find a way to make her choose him.

Five

Christian was late for the morning’s translation session.