When a Rogue Falls Read online

  And if he could see this particular note, he might well call Liam out, Bathsheba thought as she read it.

  I have been consumed by thoughts of our research endeavor, Liam wrote. It would devastate me to leave any of your hopes unsatisfied. My most ardent desire is to plumb the depths of your curiosity and show you the sublime bliss of knowledge.

  She pressed her lips together. Cheeky scoundrel. She flipped the page over.

  A carriage will call for you this evening at eight o’clock. —LM

  Her hand shook slightly as she folded the letter and hid it in her writing desk. Tonight. Somehow she had managed not to think too much about what would happen, or how or when. But tonight . . .

  She stared at her paper, blank and clean and waiting. Normally she looked forward to writing, creating exciting and dramatic obstacles for her heroine to face and overcome. She had framed Lady X’s journey as a sort of Pilgrim’s Progress through the dangers and temptations of England, from a fresh-faced groom out exercising his master’s horse to a handsome lord whiling away a day in a quaint little hamlet while his carriage was repaired to the devilish rakes who stalked London’s pleasure gardens. Lady X wasn’t virtuous enough to resist them, but the object of her quest wasn’t salvation—it was true and honest love. If she encountered divine pleasure along the way, so be it.

  And tonight Bathsheba’s goal would be just the opposite: pleasure, with a chance at true love being only a faint, wholly unexpected possibility.

  She closed the lid of the desk and went to the window. Of course she didn’t expect Liam to fall in love with her, and she was too old for airy dreams of true love anyway. No doubt he would be efficient and ruthless about it, as he was in everything else. She could just picture him rising from bed and asking if she had any questions.

  “It’s only business,” she whispered to herself, staring into the brilliant morning sunshine. Only business, for him and for her. She would be poised and collected, ready to observe and learn and attentive only to the physical pleasures. That was all he’d agreed to provide, and that was all she could expect.

  Accordingly, when the clock struck eight that evening, she was waiting in the sitting room. She wore her best gown of brown velvet, and carried a notebook and pencil in her reticule so she could make notes of any and all significant details. Liam might only allot her one or two chances to learn what she needed to know, so she mustn’t squander any of it.

  “Where are you going?” her brother asked when he came in.

  “The assembly rooms,” she lied.

  Danny’s face blanked. “Again? That’s twice this week.”

  Bathsheba lifted one shoulder. “I’ve been in the house all day and wanted to get out.”

  “Oh.” Looking nonplussed, he went to the side table, where the brandy was. Danny had lost his left arm at the elbow, and even though he managed quite well now, Bathsheba still watched him intently as he opened the bottle and poured a glass of liquor.

  “Are you well?” she asked on impulse. Normally he didn’t bat an eye when she went out.

  “Of course,” he shot back defensively, raising his glass.

  Bathsheba waved one hand. She never offered to help him physically. When he’d come home from war, rail thin and angry at everyone for his lost limb, she had told him he was only disabled if he let himself be. “Not that. You look unhappily surprised.”

  He dropped into a chair. “I didn’t know you were going out tonight.”

  “You never minded before,” she pointed out.

  Danny shrugged and stared into his drink. “I knew why you were going out before. I suppose . . . Well, I suppose I didn’t realize how much you liked it.” He glanced up at her. “But you do, don’t you?”

  She hesitated. Clearly she could not tell him why she was so eager to go tonight. “What else am I to do?” He would know what she meant: no children to teach reading and arithmetic to, no husband to keep her company. Her few friends had both of those, which meant they were occupied most of the time. Most nights now, Bathsheba retired to her room to write or read by the fire with her brother, if he was at home.

  Daniel’s gaze shifted away at her reply. “I’m sorry, Bathsheba. It’s not fair to expect you to enjoy being marooned at home with a one-armed brother.”

  “It’s only painful when he grows maudlin,” she said tartly. “Most of the time, I don’t feel the suffering too acutely. We’ve got to look after each other, I suppose, since we’ve no one else.”

  “This life is too limited, isn’t it?” He faced her again, wary but almost eager. “There’s not much society.”

  “No.” She glanced at him sideways. She’d known Danny since he was born, and she could tell from the set of his jaw that he had something on his mind. “It sounds as though you wish to change that.” What did he intend, she wondered with a trace of foreboding. He’d been so revived in spirits since the production of Fifty Ways to Sin. Did he want to restart the newspaper business? Liam could surely tell him that was a fool’s choice; Bathsheba strongly suspected her Tales of Lady X were subsidizing the Intelligencer.

  “Well . . .” He paused. “Perhaps. But not without your approval, of course.”

  She frowned. What on earth was he talking about? It wasn’t like Danny to be so coy. But at that moment, a knock sounded on the door, sending Bathsheba’s heart into her throat and scattering her thoughts. She jolted to her feet. “That’ll be my hackney,” she said. “Good night, Danny, don’t wait up!” She pressed a quick kiss on his cheek and hurried out, leaving him staring after her in amazement.

  A coachman stood on the step. Bathsheba threw on her cloak and let out her breath, relieved that Liam hadn’t come himself. Not that she had expected him, but it would be like him to confound her expectations, and she would have had a thorny time explaining it to her brother, who had followed her as far as the sitting room doorway.

  “Which assembly rooms?” Danny asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “The usual ones,” she said as she closed the door on him. “Good night!”

  “Miss Crawford?” asked the coachman.

  “Yes.” She tugged up the hood of her cloak, even though it was warm out. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m not to say.” He opened the door of the waiting carriage for her, and jumped onto the box when she was settled. Bathsheba watched out the window and tried to keep track of where they went, but the carriage left London, driving past the familiar squares and thoroughfares into more rural roads before turning into a winding lane lined with oaks and finally stopping in front of a smart cottage of gray stone.

  Liam was standing in the cottage doorway when the driver lowered the step and helped her down. Trying to conceal her sudden uncertainty, Bathsheba thanked the driver and crossed the neat patch of gravel. “Is this your home?”

  He grinned. “Does it matter? It’s private.” He held out his hand. “Come in.”

  She avoided looking at him as she took his arm, instead examining the house with far more interest than was necessary. It was a very pleasant house, with oak floors worn shiny with time and walls of buttery yellow. Fresh flowers stood in a tall vase at the back of the small hall. “It’s lovely,” she said as she removed her cloak.

  Liam looked around as if just noticing it. “It is, isn’t it?” He hung up her cloak and put his hands on his hips. “What are you wearing, Bathsheba?”

  She flushed, feeling his gaze wander down her figure. “This is my best dress.”

  His dark brow arched. “And you thought it was suited to a seduction?”

  “If I knew what was best suited to a seduction, we wouldn’t be here,” she pointed out. “What ought I to have worn?”

  One corner of his mouth curled, and she instinctively braced herself. Liam looked like a devil when he smiled that way, and often she thought that was his true nature, allowed to shine through for a moment. “As little as possible under the cloak. Ideally, nothing at all. But never mind that now.” He turned and strode into the p
arlor, waving one arm for her to follow.

  Grimly she went. “Nothing at all. Surely that’s more appropriate when two people are already lovers, assured that the assignation will occur.”

  “The only reason we are not already lovers,” he replied, pouring two glasses of wine, “is that this is our first assignation.” He handed her a glass. “Or was that your way of saying you’ve reconsidered, and might not, upon further reflection, wish to proceed?”

  No. The wine in her glass rippled as her hand shook. Even if she had had doubts, seeing him this way would have trampled them into dust. She had covertly admired Liam when he was at the newspaper office, his cravat pulled askew and his jacket unbuttoned as he snapped and barked at other employees. Now he wore neither jacket nor waistcoat, his neckcloth was simply knotted around his throat, and his attention was fixed on her as it never had been before.

  Well—excepting that day she had made her indecent business proposal, when he agreed to make love to her.

  She gulped some wine for courage. “If I didn’t wish to proceed, I wouldn’t have come all the way out here.”

  “I am gratified to hear that.” His gaze raked over her once again. “Now take off that appalling dress.”

  She drew breath to scold him for insulting her clothing, then realized exactly what he’d said, and almost forgot to let out her breath. Very well. Right to the point; highly admirable. She set down her glass and reached for the fastenings.

  “Just the gown, mind,” Liam said. “And not in any great rush. We have all night.” He seated himself in the middle of the sofa and began tugging his cravat loose.

  Bathsheba cast a hateful glare on the lamps, burning brightly. The draperies were closed, but the door stood wide open. Defiantly she went and closed it.

  Liam laughed as he flung aside his neckcloth, letting his shirt fall open at the collar. “There’s no one else in the house. I do have some idea how to conduct an illicit affair.”

  “There was a draught,” she lied. She put down her reticule and took out her notebook.

  “What’s that?”

  “So I can record anything noteworthy.”

  Liam laughed again. “If you feel the need to take any notes tonight, I will have failed abysmally. Leave it.”

  She hesitated, but decided not to argue. She reached behind her back and pulled loose one of the tapes holding the dress closed.

  “Where did you get that dress?” Liam slouched lower on the sofa, his arms spread wide of the back of it and his eyes glittering as he watched her.

  “I made it. The velvet was a great indulgence.” She untied the second tape.

  “Why brown?”

  Her fingers paused. His tone made his distaste clear. “What color should I have chosen?”

  “Blue,” he said softly. “Green. Even rose. You chose brown because it’s unobtrusive, didn’t you? Unremarkable. Not a color to seize anyone’s attention and command their interest.”

  Bathsheba plucked at a sleeve before drawing it down her arm. “It cost less than those colors.”

  “Hmm.” He watched as she struggled out of the gown, and that made her proceed all the slower. “Do you give no thought to how others perceive you?”

  She huffed. “I know exactly how they do.”

  “And it pleases you, that everyone sees a plain quiet mouse of a woman?”

  Bathsheba paused as he echoed the very words she had been thinking. Were her thoughts more apparent than she knew? Danny never seemed to guess, and he had known her far longer than Liam had. “I cannot control what people think, so it hardly matters to me.” She finished stripping off the sleeves of her gown and untied the remaining tapes, so she could slide it down over her hips. Even though she was completely covered by her corset and petticoats, an unaccountable blush warmed her face as she stepped out of the gown and laid it aside.

  “You can control what people think, far more than you believe,” he said thoughtfully. “Come here.”

  She headed for the opposite end of the sofa, but he caught her hand and pulled her close. “Sit here,” he said, gently but firmly, and spread his knees. Bathsheba flushed as she realized he meant for her to sit between his legs.

  Idiot, she told herself bracingly. You asked him to make love to you and you’re as skittish as a cat to think of sitting on his knee? She turned around and sat on the very edge of the sofa between his legs, hoping she hadn’t made a big mistake.

  Chapter 4

  Liam was glad she was facing away from him; she couldn’t see the amusement that must surely be visible on his face as she perched on the edge of the sofa, spine rigid and hands folded primly in her lap. Not a virgin, she’d said, but also not a woman of experience. He’d never known Bathsheba to be awkward or skittish, which showed how out of her depth she was tonight.

  He put his hands on her waist and tugged her closer, until her bottom was snug against his groin. Hers was a very nicely rounded bottom, and Liam’s anticipation of the evening jumped an alarming amount. Aside from a catch in her breathing, she made no protest. He ran his palms up her arms. Bathsheba shivered. In her plain white undergarments, she looked younger and more innocent than ever. Thank God he knew she wasn’t—or at least, didn’t want to be. Liam shifted his weight and reached for the pins holding her dark hair in a simple knot.

  “How would you like to be seen?” He drew out one pin and set it aside.

  Bathsheba started at his touch. He saw her eyes flicker toward the pin, but she didn’t move. “As a decent, respectable woman.”

  “Decent.” He drew out another pin. “What does that mean?”

  “Honorable. Honest. Kind.”

  “Ah.” One more pin and the long braid collapsed into his hands. He plucked at the end of it, noting with mild surprise how silky soft it was. Or perhaps he hadn’t paid enough attention to a woman’s hair before. “And respectable?”

  “The opposite of this,” she said tartly, although he noticed a tremor in her shoulders as he leisurely loosened the plait.

  “I am the only one who will see you like this,” he replied. “The only one who will ever know, if that’s what you desire.”

  “Of course!” She seemed to get tenser as her braid unraveled in his hands.

  Liam was somewhat distracted by how sensual it was, running his fingers through her hair. There were threads of bronze in it, and he caught the faintest whiff of lavender. “Whatever you wish,” he murmured.

  “I wish—” She stopped and spoke in her normal voice, not a breathless rush. “I wish you would get on with it. Danny will be expecting me by a certain time, and it was a long drive here.”

  “Where did you tell him you were going?”

  “To the public assembly rooms where I usually collect gossip.”

  A frown touched his brow. “You go there alone?”

  An impatient sigh; she was drifting back toward her usual take-charge-and-charge-onward demeanor. “No one wants to accompany me, Liam.”

  “Do you wear that?” He glanced at the brown velvet dress, which really did make her look drab and insignificant.

  “I told you, it’s my best dress.”

  “Don’t wear it again,” he said brusquely, and then, to keep her from arguing, he leaned forward and feathered his lips down the nape of her neck.

  He felt the shudder run through her; he caught the swift flexing of her forearms as her fingers clenched in her lap. He also felt a sharp zing of arousal through his own muscles. He didn’t intend to make love to her tonight, but his body was ready and eager. A little too eager, to be honest—already his plan, to spend several evenings stoking Bathsheba’s desire to a feverish pitch before actually taking her, seemed pointlessly restrained. She’d come here to be ravished, why shouldn’t he get on with it?

  Liam didn’t quite know what to make of that. He was a healthy man with hearty desires. He certainly had expected that when the moment came, he would rise to it and give Bathsheba every pleasure she could imagine. But he also possessed a he
retofore iron will and a strict personal discipline that seemed to have gone missing tonight.

  Perhaps it was the way she had propositioned him, instead of the other way around. There was something very exciting and unexpected about a woman asking him to make love to her.

  He pushed her hair forward so it spread over her shoulders, baring her back, and let his mouth roam her skin. She was warm and soft, and the touch of his tongue sent another shiver through her. Silently Liam smiled; it was damned arousing, the way she responded to the slightest thing. When he finally had her naked in his bed, she might well go up in flames.

  “Not a virgin, you said,” he whispered in her ear. His fingertips skated up her arms, barely contacting her flesh. “When was your first time?”

  Her head was thrown back, her breathing rapid. With her hair down and her drab dress off, she looked completely unlike her usual self. Liam didn’t know about decent or respectable, but she damned sure looked like a woman now.

  “It was years ago.” Her voice was even softer than his. “A man who worked for my father. He was charming and I was . . . curious.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” He ended the question by tracing a circle on the sensitive skin below her ear with his tongue. She jolted, but then slowly angled her head to the side, inviting him to repeat the action, so he did. “Did you?” he asked again.

  “What? Oh—not much. It began pleasantly enough but he—he took none of the care . . .” Her voice trailed away in a quiet gasp as Liam caught her earlobe between his teeth.

  “No care?”

  She wet her lips. The pulse in her throat beat rapidly. “None of the care described in Fifty Ways to Sin. That was what caught my attention about them, you know—Constance’s lovers took such care for her pleasure. William took very little for mine, although I didn’t realize how little until later.”