Rogue's Lady

By Robyn Carr

Born to a respected family, seventeen-year-old, English beauty Vieve Donnelle always gets what she wants. But when word arrives that her father’s estate isn’t as wealthy as it appears, the noble heiress must rethink her betrothal to an impoverished aristocrat.

Enter Captain Tyson Gervais, an infuriating colonial sea captain traveling to England for business in foreign trade. Despite high tensions between England and the colonies, Vieve can’t resist thinking about the dashing American merchant who elicits such conflicting reactions from her--making her feel both the sensual temptress and the childish fool in the same moment.

Tyson never imagined he’d be dallying with a spoiled noble, but Vieve’s young, tempting curves seduce him against his better judgment.  Though he knows a designing woman can wreak havoc, he aches for the chance to claim one as his own.

Spanning two countries in the Georgian era, ROGUE’S LADY is a sexy tale of forbidden love that fans of romance will devour.

Robyn Carr is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Virgin River novels and the Thunder Point series.

PRAISE FOR ROBYN CARR’S HISTORICALS:

“She has done it again. Robyn Carr is absolutely marvelous.” —Danielle Steel

“Adventure, danger, derring-do, as well as doings at the glittering anything-goes court of Charles II...Carr tells an entertaining yarn.” —Publishers Weekly

“A fast, gripping story...The reading public can anticipate good books from an imaginative new author.” —Best Sellers

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Dawson Associates
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781939481191

Robyn Carr

Robyn Carr is an award-winning, #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty novels, including highly praised women's fiction such as Four Friends and The View From Alameda Island and the critically acclaimed Virgin River, Thunder Point and Sullivan's Crossing series. Virgin River is now a Netflix Original series. Robyn lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. Visit her website at www.RobynCarr.com.

Book preview

friendship.

Chapter One

Virginia, March 2, 1794

Six men anxiously waited for the early morning fog to thin over a flat patch of ground alongside the James River. The dawn mists were too thick for a duel. The opponents, Tyson Gervais and Michael Everly, kept a discreet distance from each other. Alexander Gervais, Tyson’s younger brother, was his second, and Peter Dunsby, Everly’s manservant, was his. The other observers were the sheriff and the surgeon, both so distressed by the prospect of what was taking place that they passed a flask between them to gather courage.

As the sun rose, the fog lifted. A landau rattled down the road toward the river field, and Tyson Gervais scowled as he recognized Lenore Fenton, the antagonist in the midst of this battle. Alexander leaned toward his brother. What is she doing here? She should have stayed away.

Lenore allowed the sheriff to help her out of the carriage. Her cape, clasped at her throat, was spread back over her shoulders to display her enticing décolletage, tight waist and abundant bosom. She was unmindful of the chill, dressed as if prepared to strut along the Richmond boardwalk in the afternoon sun rather than witness a duel between her lovers.

Then you don’t know Lenore Fenton, Tyson replied. She has lived her whole life for this—to see two men do damage to each other...as if this duel were really over her.

Don’t go through with it, Ty, Alexander said. Let us both walk away now.

Tyson’s dark brows drew together broodingly, his gray eyes glittering silver in the early morning light. Do you think he will cease? You know I don’t want Lenore, and you have heard Everly’s demands. I am going through with this at his insistence. He has pushed too hard and it must be finished.

Tyson, it is not worth it—

I could ignore the rumors he started, Tyson said lowly, cutting his brother off. Telling Richmond at large that I raped his fiancée was amusing, since almost everyone assumes I’d visited Lenore’s bed for some five years. Following me to my banking and business appointments to hurl insults at my back, calling me a coward and a fool—that, too, I could abide. But when he could not intimidate me and began to harass my family, I found the limit to my patience. He needs to be chastened and sent away from this country. Tyson took a deep, stabilizing breath and looked to the north end of the field, where he saw Lenore in conversation with Everly. If I am quick and good, he will have enough blood left in his veins to take the presumptuous whore out of Virginia.

Alexander, too, observed the couple. Tyson had ended a liaison with Lenore after many years of casual intimacies. There had never been any commitment between the two, and Lenore had entertained a number of men. Tyson had urged his ex-lover to find a worthy man with whom she could settle into marriage, and she had quickly developed the relationship with Everly, the visiting Englishman. Her new courtship with Everly had been only two months old when Lenore called Tyson to her bed and Everly found them thus. Tyson had crawled between her sheets almost out of habit. Tyson’s mistake had come when he apologized to Everly, who claimed to be Lenore’s fiancé. Everly took the apology as an admission of Tyson’s guilt.

He is a pompous ass, Alexander breathed. Look at him.

Tyson observed the British dandy dressed for an early morning duel in a ruffled shirt, a lavender coat, and wearing sparkling buckles on his shoes. Tyson, garbed only in britches and a linen shirt open at the neck, shook his head in bemusement. Either the two of them have an appointment at a formal soiree following this contest, or he plans to stop a lead ball with his satin and lace.

Damn, Alex cursed. Here she comes. Both men watched Lenore swirl away from Everly and begin the long trek across the field toward Tyson and his brother. She held her dress above her ankles, picking her way through the damp field grass. When she stood before them, Tyson felt an urge to squeeze the life out of her.

I’m sorry, she said. He will not change his mind.

Tyson looked down into her green eyes, a cynical smile twisting his hips. "Where do you stand for the duel, cherie? In the north field, or the south?"

Lenore looked between Alex and Tyson, her lips quivering with the strain of confusion. How can I make you understand? I love you both. Michael came to me with honorable intentions after you threw me down. After all the years you and I had...could you think I want your blood? Good God, Tyson, all I ever wanted was your love.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. This woman, whose experienced affections he had sampled over the years, had, until now, deceived only to play at courtship games. But the lies that led up to this occasion were too much. You told him you were a virgin when he laid with you. You should have corrected the poor young rooster. You were not a virgin the first time I had you, some five years ago, and you were little more than a girl then.

The color rose to Lenore’s cheeks, and Alexander looked away. Would you strip me of my last ounce of dignity before the only man to offer me decency through marriage? she asked, her mouth pinched in a furious line. You played as if no price whatever accompanied your roving. You used me at your leisure, and would you save your own reputation with some public statement from me that I am fallen from any virtue? Do you draw yourself some sweet lad debauched by a wicked woman? I am twenty-four years old...you are five and thirty. You can take care of the largest family enterprise in Virginia, but you cannot be responsible for your own manly acts.

Come, coward, Everly shouted from across the field. Does the field give you favorable enough view, knave?

Lenore’s head snapped around to look at the man she had claimed as a fiancé. You have ruined me in my own city, she whispered furiously at Tyson. And you won’t be happy until you have ruined my whole life.

She spun away from him and took angry strides back to her landau. She stood there with her driver while the sheriff, a bit wobbly on his feet from too much of the flask, signaled for the men to come together. The six met in the center of the field.

Everly sneered at Tyson. So, at last you find the courage to fight as honorably as you should.

The sheriff spread a cloth on the ground, laying it open to expose two pistols. They have been shot and reloaded. You are allowed one shot each at the end of the ten count.

I warn you once more, Everly, Tyson said slowly. I have never missed my mark. If you walk away from this now, there will be no injury. I pose no threat to your future with the woman. It was a passing affair, at her will, no more.

Ha. Passing affair? Even now you malign her reputation, making it seem that I take a common whore to wife. There will be no injury, Gervais. I mean to kill you.

Tyson’s mouth was set in a grim line. Don’t be a fool. Take this one last chance to leave the field.

You are brave enough to bed another man’s woman, Gervais. Is that the limit of your courage?

The sheriff belched and turned away to cover his mouth. Tyson...Tyson speaks true, sir, he will not miss. He is the best aim in the country. Heed his advice... take your fiancée away.

Never, Everly shouted. When a gentleman beds a woman, he weds her, and when a gentleman beds another man’s woman, he answers his actions in the duel. To the death.

Tyson growled low in his throat, his ire stretched to the snapping point by the slight, fair-skinned dandy. Take your pistol."

Everly made a quick dip to pick up a pistol, looked at it briefly, held it before his chest, and turned his back, ready for the count. Tyson slowly did the same, each man waiting for the sheriff to back away from the line of fire and begin. They took their paces, and as they marked space between them, Tyson tried to steady his nerves. He doubted Everly could shoot, but hoped to hit Everly’s pistol arm before the Englishman fired. Tyson did not intend to dodge a lead ball.

They turned. Tyson took quick aim, fired, and heard the explosion mingle with Lenore’s scream. Everly’s hands clutched his chest as his legs crumpled beneath him. Tyson was paralyzed for a moment, amazed at his poor marksmanship. He had meant to hit Everly’s right arm, yet if he wasn’t mistaken, the man’s left chest had taken the ball.

Lenore shrieked in horror and ran across the field toward Michael Everly. His servant was already there, cradling his head, while the sheriff and surgeon stood in shock with the others. Tyson exchanged puzzled glances with his brother. Both had been wary of the Englishman, worried that by some freak accident he might injure Tyson with a chance shot, but no one had been prepared for Tyson actually killing the man.

Tyson was here only because he had been ruthlessly goaded into the duel. In spite of Everly’s threat to use his one shot to kill, Tyson had meant only to stop the Englishman from firing and, he had hoped, silence him with the shame of losing. Tyson had hoped his anger would not compromise his ability to hit his mark to such an extent that Everly would be maimed, but he had never even considered that he might accidentally kill the man.

Tyson’s hand was damp as he gripped the pistol and slowly walked toward Everly. Lenore looked up as he approached, tears streaking her cheeks. You’ve killed him. My God, you’ve killed him. And you, the better aim, you could have spared him. She let her head drop over Everly’s face as she sobbed. Tyson looked at the man’s chest in total amazement. There was a black smudge where the ball had hit, and the crimson stain of his blood had spread over his chest. He was still and ashen, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

Tyson felt his stomach lurch. The surgeon knelt to look at the man, but Lenore hysterically pushed him away. Leave him be, you drunken fool. You were called here to attend to any injuries. There is nothing you can do for him now. The surgeon remained a moment beside the dead man, but finding no usefulness in that, he finally rose and turned forlorn, glassy eyes toward Tyson. He slowly shook his head.

The sheriff looked at Tyson. It was a fair contest, Tyson. You’ve got nothin’ to fear from me. He wouldn’t give it up before this. The men all stood looking down at Everly, but Tyson handed the sheriff the hot pistol and turned away. He walked briskly toward his horse and once there, donned the jacket he’d brought. Alexander ran behind him. You couldn’t help it, Ty, Alexander said.

He’s dead, Tyson said bitterly.

You had to defend yourself.

He didn’t fire.

You warned him to give up his idiocy, Tyson. Leave it be.

Both men turned as Lenore came running toward them, gasping and panting in near panic. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her gown stained with the man’s blood. Tyson, what will you do? she demanded.

His head gestured toward Michael Everly, who was being carried toward Lenore’s carriage by her driver and his servant. I have done my part, madam. It was a pitiful waste.

Will you marry me? she asked.

He looked down at her, his eyes glittering with carefully subdued rage. Did you think to back me into marriage through a duel, madam? I warned you it was useless. No doubt you urged him on, but your scheming cost him his life. He put his foot in the stirrup, swinging into the saddle. Pray for forgiveness, madam. I shall pray for greater wisdom.

She grabbed at his ankle. If you don’t marry me now, I will be worth nothing here, she screamed. It was all because of you that this has happened. Will you end two lives?

Let go of me, woman, he growled. I have made one serious mistake; I will not couple it with a second. Go bury your man.

She backed away from his steed. Will you cast me off again and again, to be fed upon by the hungry wolves in their gossip circles? Now that everyone knows about us?

Tyson looked at his brother, who still stood by his own horse, having not yet mounted. Alex, see if there’s anything you can do here. I am going home. I will be packing.

Packing? Alex said. You have no reason to flee from this. There will be no charge.

I do not flee, he said evenly. If the stench of lies and death will not leave me be, I will leave it. He gave his horse a sharp heel, and the stallion reared and carried him away from the site. He rode the horse hard, not slowing until Lenore’s wails failed to vibrate inside his skull.

Chapter Two

England, May 4, 1794

The gelding’s hooves threw back huge clods of dirt as the animal tore up the rain-softened country road. Vieve leaned into Tristan’s mane, her hands loose on the reins and her heels shoved hard into the stirrups. The horse did not respond to her control with his usual obedience, perhaps confused by his mistress’s tension. Her heart was pounding. She lacked courage for this nighttime ride; she had always been afraid of the dark.

Her hood was pulled over her golden hair, and her long black cape rippled in the wind behind her. She knew she should slow the horse. It was most unwise to indulge in such speed along these winding country roads, especially at night. But it was the half-covered moon, which seemed so haunting, the oppressive darkness all around her, and the black, claw-like branches that loomed threateningly above her that caused her to mistreat the horse.

Trembling as she did, she couldn’t imagine what had prompted her to agree to this late night meeting. But Andrew had been so insistent; the longing he expressed was so contagious. He simply wished to be alone with her, to hold her, just for a while. And she had come to desire the same. Their romance had been so awkward, their merest embrace or slightest kiss interrupted by family members, friends, or servants. They were never allowed any privacy, and she chafed as much as he against their interfering chaperones. How were they ever to discover their love under such conditions of restraint? And how could they marry without first letting love find a way?

Yet, was the answer a secret meeting in the old abandoned keep on her father’s property? She had never thought she would be convinced to participate in such a hoyden antic, such a scandalous escapade. However, she had begun to think Andrew was right. They had a right to some time together, away from the prying eyes and the cold, calculating business propositions that accompanied marriage contracts. No one would ever know...

As she rounded the curve in the road less than a mile from the site of the old keep, Tristan reared in sudden panic, causing her to drop the left rein. A coach approached them on the curve. The driver might not see her at all, completely covered as she was in her black cape.

As she grabbed for the rein futilely, her fingers slipped through the gelding’s mane and her left heel came out of the stirrup. The driver veered the coach sharply to the right, a shout of surprise accompanying his action. The wheels made a loud screeching sound as they swerved to the shoulder of the road and into the tall grass. The coach did not topple, but Vieve did. She grabbed for the mane, the saddle, the glistening flank, but caught nothing to break her fall. Her rump hit the ground first, knocking the breath out of her, with only her petticoats cushioning her landing. She lay stunned for a moment, listening to her horse gallop away.

What the hell...

A man’s voice and the sound of a coach door opening came simultaneously. Vieve struggled to sit up and had a difficult time breathing. She felt as though her hips had been pushed into her chest. She was too dazed to take note that had the driver of the coach been any less skilled, she would probably be dead. Never... she never should have agreed to this madness.

She finally managed a gasp of clear air and looked up into the eyes of the man who crouched over her.

My...horse... she whispered weakly.

Are you hurt? the passenger from the coach asked.

I... I...

Can you stand?

I think so.

His hands were under her arms, and her legs trembled with the effort of getting to her feet. Once standing, she let out a long, slow breath. She wasn’t maimed, which was a miracle. She looked up into the face of the man who supported her shaky stance. He towered above her, and over his shoulder she could see that the driver still stood atop the coach with the reins in his hands.

Nothing broken? he asked.

I... I think not, she replied. She looked into his eyes, hoping she would not cry for sheer fright. Her chin quivered, but only slightly. My horse...

The man released his hold on her arms and seemed to stand even taller as his expression changed from concern to irritation. You nearly caused a bad accident, little one. Is it the custom in this country for a woman to be out riding alone at night, or are you fleeing from the law?

Once he had spoken more than a few words, she was conscious of a foreign accent, but uncertain as to the origin. She was immediately relieved to find that he was not an Englishman. She would die of humiliation if a neighbor had found her and reported this escapade to her father. Lord Ridgley was impossible when he was angry with her. She sighed heavily, thinking ahead to getting back into her bedroom, having retired there earlier with a feigned headache. Not being caught was the only thing she yearned for now.

I’m sorry, she said haltingly. It was entirely my fault.

Indeed it was, miss. Where the hell are you bound in the dark and at such speed?

She winced slightly at his harsh, parental tone, but she was still more willing to be berated by a stranger than by her father, brother, or maid. She lifted her chin a bit. Of course I should not be out alone, unescorted, which is my only excuse for my reckless speed. I see my error quite clearly now. She looked at his coach, noticing the lack of a blazon or displayed arms of an English family. There was a handsome dark riding horse tethered to the rear, and atop the coach there were traveling bags tied. She hoped he was just passing through. I apologize for my carelessness. If there is any damage, I have a little money.

His white teeth gleamed in the dark as he smiled. Well, now, I can hardly scold you any longer when you so willingly accept responsibility. I suppose you should sit down for a moment, to collect yourself. You shouldn’t venture on to your assignation in such a flustered state of mind.

She flinched at the comment, but reminded herself that he was speaking from assumption and not knowledge. At that precise moment she’d rather have been bound anywhere but to a lovers’ tryst. Her cheeks flamed. Sir, I appeal to your honorable nature. Of course you must know that if I am discovered by my...ah...my master, I will be severely punished.

He smiled down on her and touched her cheek with a finger. Your master should be advised, little vixen, so that he can bolt the door at night. Surely even you would agree that some discipline seems in order. He looked over his shoulder at his driver. Pull the horses a safe distance off the road, Bevis. The lady and I will sit in the coach for a moment.

Thank you, but I’d better be on my way.

On your way where, miss? Your horse is gone and you are in need of a ride. I can take you where you’re bound on the way to my appointment. I have business with the baron of Chappington at his home. I assume this is his estate.

The color drained from her face and her mouth opened, but she caught herself before she gasped aloud. Dear God, the man was on his way to see her father. Her knees became weak and she wobbled slightly, trying to seize both balance and wits.

Oh...my...perhaps I will sit for a moment— just a moment.

His hand was firm on her arm, leading her to the open door of his coach. As he handed her in, he spoke to his man again. Tie these horses and take the stallion back down the road a bit. See if you spot the girl’s horse.

Once inside his coach, Vieve tried to take a quick accounting of her situation, seeking first to determine which threat was worse. Should she fear this stranger, her father’s wrath, or a long, lonely walk home alone? He sat down opposite her. Outside, she could hear the driver softly coo to his horses as he tied them to a nearby tree, followed by the sound of his gentle murmurs to the saddleless stallion as he mounted; and then, all too soon, there was only the quiet spring night again.

Are you going to tell me where you were going? the man asked her.

It... it is of no consequence, surely.

I am only curious, miss. Does a lover await you nearby?

A small lantern lit the inside of the coach, and though it cast only modest light, her view of him was better than it had been on the road. She eyed him cautiously. He had a strong chin, deep gray eyes beneath thick dark brows, and since he had removed his hat, she could see an abundance of thick, black hair. She could not judge his age; he was younger than her father and older than Andrew.

The man I am to marry, she said evenly. Admitting that a lover waited nearby was embarrassing, but far safer than telling him there was no other man within earshot if she was forced to scream for help.

Do not marry him, mademoiselle, he said with a chuckle in his voice. He has too little regard for your safety. Any man who would coerce one so young into a late night ride, all alone, is only interested in himself.

She took a breath and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself, wishing to disappear into the folds. She did not know where this man came from or what his business with her father might be, but she desperately hoped that a little lie, if well executed, would preclude a worse predicament.

Please understand, sir. I am a servant of Chappington Hall, and Lord Ridgley is a hard master. I am not allowed to see my betrothed, and the baron refuses to let us marry. He’d rather have an unhappy servant than a contented wife who would leave his employ. We are hard pressed even to speak to each other and are driven to dangerous lengths for just a few private words. I am sorry you were endangered by the risks we have taken, but if Lord Ridgley finds out what I have done, he will surely beat me.

The man watched her face closely. He slowly reached across the short space that separated them and pushed back the hood of her cape to reveal her thick tresses of golden hair. His fingers touched the frogs that held her cape at her throat, and he gently opened the wrap to expose the rich, cream-colored velvet riding habit and the diamond brooch she wore. Again, she saw the gleam of his smile. Lord Ridgley dresses his servants well, he observed.

Vieve pulled her cloak back together. The dress is borrowed, sir. I do not own such fine clothes.

And what work do you do, miss? A scullery? Laundress? He reached for her hand and turned it over in his palm. A governess, perhaps? Your hands do not labor with anything more abusive than a quill or a book. Do you teach the baron’s small children to read and write?

She was tempted to assume that role, but something cautioned her. She had no idea how much this man knew about her father or the rest of her family. No, messire, I am an attendant and companion to the baron’s daughter. This is her gown and jewelry. She is the only one who knows that I am on my way to meet my fiancé.

He laughed at her then, as if amused by her story. And how old is this daughter of the baron’s?

We are the same age, seven and ten. We were raised together. My mother once served in the manor.

I see. How convenient for you to have a good friend in the heiress, and one who can lend you decent clothes, too. But, miss, if she were truly your friend, she’d have loaned you an escort along with her gown and jewels. I think perhaps I should take you back to Chappington. The baron needs to caution his daughter not to become involved in such romantic dramas with a servant.

Oh please, sir, I beg you, do not. He’s a mean-tempered man and would whip his daughter as well. And my fiancé would be banished forever. Lord Ridgley has warned me against seeing him and has threatened to separate us. This was as much a lie as the other things she had said. Boris Ridgley did not really dislike Andrew and had never threatened to separate them. Vieve had never been whipped in her life, but her father would be in a fit of pique for an indeterminate length of time if he ever heard of this. Whippings, she fantasized, would be easier to bear.

The man crossed his arms over his broad chest. You should not have to earn your sustenance under such horrid conditions, my pet. I could offer you employment with conditions not nearly so brutal.

Oh, I could not. I am very happy where I am...except for his lordship. I do love the mistress...and my betrothed is here.

Perhaps I could take you both, he generously offered, but his eyes twinkled and he smiled in such a way that Vieve suspected he was mocking her. It would be better for you than being forced to steal away from the manor house at night to see your lover. Think of the many perils on the road.

I shan’t do so again, she said in a burst of honesty. And then she added, These roads have always been safe. It is just that I... ah...I am afraid of the dark.

Young woman, there is good reason to be afraid of the dark, he replied, sliding toward her and reaching again to open her cloak. She raised a hand to stop him, but he gently grasped her wrist, preventing her protest. As one hand held her, the other slipped inside her cloak until his long fingers circled her slim waist. His eyes glittered almost silver in the lantern light, and her breath caught in her throat. Was his rescue at an end? Could he abuse her and then casually travel to a meeting with her father? She opened her mouth to blurt out the truth, that she was the baron’s daughter. Her father’s anger seemed preferable to what she feared this man might do to her.

Hush, he said before she spoke. I have never treated a lady unkindly. I am just a little curious about you, that is all.

She sat stone still as he moved closer to the edge of his seat, his knees spread and pinning her legs between them. Please, don’t... she whispered.

I will not hurt you, he said, caressing her waist and looking into her eyes. The light is not good, but it is easy to see that you are lovely. And young. You must be made aware, little damoiselle, that it is not necessary to sell yourself for such a low price as love. Tell your selfish lover that there are men who will pay a king’s ransom for what you have to offer. They will clothe you so that you need not borrow your mistress’s gowns, and they will carry you abroad in jeweled coaches, never asking you to brave the dark night alone for want of a tryst. He shrugged. It will not matter much that you are not a virgin. You are still young and sweet.

But... but, you misunderstand, she argued, not only frightened now, but annoyed by his assumption. I care nothing for riches. I am not a harlot.

He laughed in genuine amusement. At least not a very successful one. Prostitutes have the sense to take a good return for their virtue. You, on the other hand, are prepared to trade your decency for some promise of love... in a borrowed gown, yet.

Please, just let me go, she begged.

From outside she heard the faint sound of an approaching horse and the whistling of a tune. As the man cocked his head to listen, he withdrew his hand and she tugged her cloak closed. When he opened the door of the coach and stepped out, she was right behind him. Coming down the road toward the coach was the driver, pulling Tristan alongside him. Her rescuer looked over his shoulder at her, smiling as if he harbored some secret You’re in luck, miss, for Bevis has recovered your mount... a fine-looking horse. He raised an eyebrow. Borrowed, no doubt, from your mistress.

She held her tongue and checked her anger, but on whom she wished to vent this emotion was still uncertain. Her father, for failing in her remedy of a quick and decent marriage? Andrew, for convincing her to partake in this foolish escapade? This stranger, for his cocky intervention and advice? Or herself...?

The driver dismounted and handed Tristan’s reins to his master. He then tethered the stallion to the coach. He’d not gone far, Cap’n, he said as he stroked Tristan’s handsome white head. ‘At’s a good lad, now.

Vieve had no wish now but to find Andrew at the old keep and bring this adventure to an abrupt halt. He might have set his mood for some lovers’ tryst, some passionate kissing and murmuring, but she’d been through quite enough. It was her intention to go on to the old keep solely because it was closer to where she now stood than was Chappington Hall. She would insist that Andrew escort her back until her home was in sight. There would be no dawdling in the dark tonight.

Thank you for your gallantry, sir, she said, reaching toward Tristan and getting his reins in hand. Would you be so kind as to give me a hand up?

With pleasure, my sweet, he said in a teasing tone. She grasped Tristan’s mane, placed her foot in the gentleman’s hand, and was in the saddle again. She felt completely safe when in her saddle, for despite her poor judgment, she was a skilled equestrienne and the distance yet to travel was fairly short. She would be easy on Tristan and, after giving Andrew a piece of her mind, get on the road home. But one thing detained her: the stranger’s hand was wrapped tightly around her ankle. Heed my words, ma petite...do not sell your virtue at such a low price. There are men who will honor you with a great deal more than this boy offers. He smiled meaningfully. "They

Reviews for Rogue's Lady

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another great book by Robyn about early history and love