Never Romance a Rogue Read online

  He was used to doing for himself.

  Indeed, he knew how to turn a cuff, repair the lining of a coat, and replace a collar. He’d shined his own shoes more times than he could count and traded favors with the cobbler to keep his boots and shoes functioning. It was troubling to think he’d missed something. Or perhaps Belle was simply used to so much more.

  The carriage bounced over a rut just then, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She waved a hand to keep it from her face. Owen waved a hand to keep it from Jasper’s eyes.

  “You are very fond of him, aren’t you?” she asked as if she had just noticed.

  “I am,” Owen admitted readily. “I was orphaned as a lad and raised by various relations until my great-uncle took me in. He seemed to think he’d made a good bargain. In bringing me to live with him, he had footman, valet, and groom all in one, without having to pay for more than the food I ate and the clothes I quickly outgrew. I was seventeen when he purchased Jasper, also at a bargain price. But Jasper had more spirit than I did. He wouldn’t allow the stable master to break him, and he wouldn’t allow my uncle to ride him. He wouldn’t pull a carriage, much less a plow. The only one he’d consent to have on his back was me.”

  He ran a hand along the pale grey neck, and Jasper twisted his head to eye him, mouth twitching on the bit as if he were laughing at Owen.

  “Your uncle must have had some confidence in you to give you the horse,” she ventured.

  Owen chuckled. “Uncle Wentworth had wanted to see the horse put down, but he hated losing money more than he loved his pride, so he agreed that I might take care of the horse, in addition to my other duties. When he passed away, he left Jasper to a distant cousin of mine, who was willing to allow me to keep him.”

  His parsimonious uncle had left him nothing directly, but she didn’t need to know that. Nor did she need to know that his cousin had now sold Jasper into Mercutio’s hands. Unless Owen did as he asked, the Italian could bring Owen to court, take Jasper away from him. That he would never allow to happen.

  No, he couldn’t tell Belle that part of the story. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he’d told her what he had. What was it about those big green eyes that made a fellow spill his secrets?

  He would have to be more careful, or this house party could be his undoing in more ways than one.

  Chapter Five

  They finished their tour of the island at her father’s lock. Belle always smiled to see the mechanism he had worked so hard to install on the channel between the island and the village. Though they had been repaired and improved many times over the thirteen years they had stood, the massive wooden gates and bronze capstan and chain had helped protect the island and village from floods time and again.

  “An impressive feat,” Owen said as the carriage headed back toward the castle, the riders following. “It seems your father is a man of vision.”

  “That he is,” Belle agreed. The carriage had picked up speed, as if the occupants were eager to return to the castle. So was Belle. The sooner they dismounted, the sooner she could bring Tuny and Owen back together again. She urged Unicorn a little faster.

  Jasper lengthened his stride to keep up, the movement effortless.

  “And what vision is he pursuing now?” Owen asked. “Funding a scientific expedition, perhaps? Supporting the re-establishment of Batavaria?”

  Belle laughed. “Not the former, to my knowledge, but certainly the latter. King Frederick and his sons have been cruelly used for political purposes.”

  He nodded as if wholeheartedly agreeing. “Yet how can one fight from a distance?”

  “Oh, I don’t think physical fighting will be necessary,” Belle assured him. “Father is working with Uncle Julian, Leo, and Fritz to see things settled. I have no doubt they’ll bring the matter to a satisfactory conclusion.”

  “I commend you for your faith in your father,” he said as the castle mount appeared ahead. “The matter seems daunting to me. King William of Württemberg is surely not amendable to ceding lands his family has held for more than ten years now. How can your father hope to persuade him?”

  “You haven’t seen my father at his finest,” Belle told him. “When he sets out to accomplish something, nothing will dissuade him.”

  “Rather like his youngest daughter, I see,” he said with a smile.

  “Exactly like his youngest daughter,” Belle agreed, grinning. “Still, it’s not my father whose good opinion you should be seeking. Perhaps when we return to the castle, you should have a talk with Sir Matthew.”

  He cocked his head to one side to eye the broad back of the man beyond the carriage. “Sir Matthew? Is he involved in the Batavarian restoration as well?”

  “No,” Belle said with a shake of her head. “But he’ll be the one you’ll want to approach when you decide to offer for Tuny. He is the head of the family, you know.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, relaxing back in the saddle, but she couldn’t help noticing he made no promises.

  “He isn’t as fearsome as he might look,” she said. “He was a pugilist of some renown years ago. They called him the Beast of Birmingham. He was elevated when he saved King George’s life. Sir Matthew and Charlotte are devoted to each other and their daughters. And I know he has Tuny’s best interests at heart. He’ll listen.”

  He nodded, but his gaze seemed to have gone off into the distance. Belle looked in that direction as well.

  Near the lane that led to the bridge to the village, a man sat on a chestnut horse. He appeared to be watching the cavalcade’s progress, but a broad-brimmed hat shadowed his face, so she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t recognize him, and she was certain she hadn’t seen the horse before. She’d have remembered such an elegant creature.

  “Do you know him?” Owen murmured.

  Belle shook her head. “I don’t think so, and that’s rather odd. I know everyone on the island and many of the people in the village.”

  “We seem to be lagging behind,” he said, facing forward again. “Shall we?”

  Belle nodded, and they urged their horses into a canter to close the distance between them and the other members of their party.

  Owen was everything she could have asked for the remainder of the day. He partnered Tuny for a game of whist, praising her for her inspired play. The two were so attuned that they won hand after hand. Surely Tuny appreciated that! He also spent dinner in conversation with her friend, with only a polite sentence here and there to Belle. She should be in alt, but, for some reason, the veal in mushroom sauce was less delicious than usual.

  Where were the longing looks, the stolen moments with heads close together, holding hands, looking deeply into each other’s eyes? Where were the blushes, the kisses! The latter might require some privacy, true, but she never saw either Tuny or Owen slip away from the rest of the guests.

  Until she discovered him disappearing down the stairs Wednesday morning.

  It was only by chance that she caught a glimpse of raven hair under a tall-crowned riding hat over the top of the stair railing. She’d just come out of her room in her tailored black riding habit, hoping for a ride before breakfast. She lifted her skirts and hurried to tap on Tuny’s door.

  Her friend opened it, blinking sleep from her brown eyes. “Belle? What time is it?”

  “Morning,” Belle assured her. “Mr. Canady is going for a ride. I thought you might want to wish him off, if nothing else.”

  She glanced down at her blue flannel nightgown. “I’ll never change in time.”

  “I’ll hold him up as long as I can,” Belle promised. “Hurry!”

  Tuny snapped shut the door.

  Belle dashed for the stable, raising the footman’s brows as she passed through the entry hall.

  “Mr. Canady?” she asked Mr. Walters, who was standing just inside the main doors of the stable, broom in hand.

  “You just missed him, your ladyship,” he said apologetically. “He went riding with the prince and count.”

  It would have been rude to call him back for no better reason than that Tuny wished to see him off, but Belle ventured to the gate just to see how far they’d gone. Easy to spot the three gentlemen, their Imperial Guard attendants, and Dolph near the turn that led to the bridge.

  Nearly as easy to catch sight of the chestnut horse and its rider watching them from the cover of the nearest group of trees. Why did he find her father’s guests so fascinating? Or was it Leo and Fritz who had drawn him to the island?

  ^^^

  Owen congratulated himself on winning a place at Prince Otto Leopold’s side as he ambled along the lane leading east along the side branch of the Thames. The sun on His Highness’ curly hair made it appear he wore a halo instead of a riding hat. A shame Owen could not believe he’d earned a heavenly sign of approval. He hadn’t met anyone among the aristocracy who had.

  “Fine day for a ride,” His Highness ventured, blue gaze moving leisurely from the reeds along the water’s edge to the grass of the fields inland.

  His brother made a sound that appeared to be agreement, his gaze following the track of the massive hound that paced them, head down and sniff audible . The more muscular of the two brothers, Count Montalban sat with less ease on the saddle of a fine dapple grey. Perhaps he’d had less call to ride in Batavaria. Certainly the two Imperial Guards following them looked stiff in the saddle, but it might be hard to relax with all that braid crossing their chests.

  “Thank you for allowing me to join you,” Owen said to the prince. “I’d hoped for a ride this morning, but I’m still learning my way about the island.”

  “As are we,” Prince Otto Leopold assured him. “This is our first visit to His Grace’s home here.”

  There was his opening. “But I thought the duke was a staunch supporter of your cause. Surely you’ve needed to retreat here to plot strategy before.”

  “I prefer not to retreat,” Count Montalban informed him. “Even to plot strategy.”

  “The duke has been all graciousness in allowing us to take up his time,” the prince said, “here and in London.”

  “Then you know your next move,” Owen said, as if the matter was no more than a passing fancy.

  The count narrowed his eyes at his brother as if in warning.

  “We do,” the prince said. “Rest assured, all is in hand, Mr. Canady. But I thank you for your interest.”

  Just as quickly as the door had opened, it closed. He could not demand answers without raising questions he could not afford to address.

  But perhaps he could ask a few questions from a different direction.

  “By the by, I believe I met an old friend of yours,” Owen said as they reached the end of the island and turned for the north. The waters of the Thames tumbled past, and the hound planted his feet along the shore before the count called him to heel.

  “Oh?” the prince prompted.

  “I believe you know him from your travels in Italy. Alonzo Mercutio?”

  The prince’s horse shied. The count urged the dapple grey to cut off Jasper. Jasper tossed his head and stomped his feet in challenge, even as the hound bounded around the group, lifting his head and bellowing a bark.

  Owen managed Jasper. It took a moment for the others to bring their horses back under control. But it was clear the count wasn’t nearly as calm.

  “When did you meet him?” he demanded, eyes flashing. “Where?”

  Owen stroked Jasper’s neck and kept his voice measured. “Earlier this summer, in London.”

  “Have you seen him recently?” the prince asked. His voice was cooler, but it reminded Owen of the calm before the storm. He must go carefully if he wished to avoid a lightning strike.

  “It was a chance encounter,” he extemporized. “He seemed to know I was an acquaintance of the duke. He asked me a few questions about what you were up to. That’s what gave me the impression you knew him well. I take it I was mistaken.”

  “We know of him,” the prince allowed.

  “But Alonzo Mercutio is friend to no one,” his brother added. “Least of all the House of Archambault.”

  “Our family is not on good terms with some of the Württemberg noble houses,” Prince Otto Leopold allowed, but the dangerous tone had left his polite voice as he guided his horse forward once more. “Signor Mercutio serves as their spy. Fortunately, he was sent home in disgrace, and we have every hope we will not meet again.”

  Owen wouldn’t have been surprised if Mercutio didn’t share that hope. He managed to keep up a conversation about commonplaces as they continued along the shore, but he couldn’t forget the prince’s words.

  Mercutio was in England illegally. A word to His Highness or the duke might see him imprisoned. But what of the bill of sale for Jasper? Could Owen find it and destroy it? That wouldn’t make the horse any more his. Alfred would know the horse had value since Mercutio had paid him. If Owen approached him to purchase Jasper outright, his cousin could well ask a price beyond what Owen could pay.

  Until he had that bill of sale in his hands, he would never feel secure that Jasper was safe. He needed more information if he was to best the Italian. He would have to continue playing the game, for now.

  ^^^

  Belle made a point of telling Mr. Quayle, their Master of Horse, about the strange rider. A tall fellow with sandy hair, Mr. Quayle had succeeded his father in the position a few years ago. Like his father, little rattled him, so she wasn’t surprised when he gave her a nod and promised to look into the matter. She did not doubt he would do just that.

  She returned to the castle to find Tuny coming down the stairs. The white satin ribbon at the dress’s high waist was crooked, testimony to the speed at which she’d donned the green gown.

  “Missed him,” Belle reported.

  Tuny shrugged. “There’s always breakfast.”

  But though they made the beef steak and eggs last as long as possible, Owen never appeared. In fact, Belle didn’t find an opportunity to bring the couple together until they all ventured down to a field near the main stables for an archery tournament.

  Her father had had erected a long earthen mound across the field, about a hundred yards from where he stopped. Affixed along the mound were targets, a set of concentric circles painted on linen. She recognized the colors—gold in the center, surrounded by red, then blue, black, and white at the edge. Quivers of arrows and bows of various lengths sat waiting on a worktable nearby.

  Her mother and Sir Matthew had stayed at the castle with his daughters and Belle’s brothers, but Charlotte, Larissa and Leo, Callie and Fritz, Mr. Huber and Mr. Keller of the Imperial Guard, Tuny, Belle, and Owen all stood up before her father as he explained the rules.

  “The next quarter hour for practice,” he advised, pacing off the summer grass in front of them. “Then we will take turns shooting. We’ll start at sixty yards, then eighty, and finally one hundred. A hit within the gold earns you nine points, with seven for red, five for blue, three for black, and one for white. Highest score of the three flights wins a prize.” He held up a gold medallion on a silk ribbon.

  Mr. Huber and Mr. Keller exchanged glances, then joined most of the others in heading for the plank table to select a bow and quiver.

  Belle sidled closer to Owen as they followed. “I don’t recall Tuny ever shooting with us before. I’m sure she’d appreciate your tutelage.”

  Owen glanced around Fritz in front of him. Tuny had already chosen a bow and was standing to one side, pulling back on the string and mimicking the actions of Mr. Huber beside her.

  “I have a feeling the Imperial Guards will be the ones to beat,” Owen said, straightening. “You might ask them to instruct Miss Bateman.”

  Oh, why must everyone be so stubborn! “She doesn’t know the Imperial Guards half as well as she knows you,” Belle told him. “Besides, Mr. Huber and Mr. Keller must divide their time between practicing and keeping an eye on Leo and Fritz.”

  He glanced around. “Do you expect an attack here?”

  “No,” Belle admitted. “Please, just help Tuny so she doesn’t feel left out.”

  He went to speak to her friend.

  Belle took her turn at the table, selecting one of the shorter bows and drawing it to test the strength. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted an arrow heading for the target, where it struck and quivered, nearly in the center.

  “Well done, Miss Bateman,” Owen said, offering a blushing Petunia a bow.

  Well!

  Belle moved to take up her own stance, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. It landed in the grass about a foot short of the target. Disappointing!

  A moment later, and strong arms came around her. “Perhaps you’d allow me to tutor you too,” Owen murmured in her ear.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She must have managed a nod, for his hands cupped hers, steadying the bow.

  “The key, I find,” he said, voice caressing her ear, “is to point in the direction you want it to go and keep the pressure consistent.”

  His hands guided her fingers against the string as he helped her pull it back. She closed her eyes a moment, reveling in the feeling of being held next to his lean body. She almost cried out in loss when he released her.

  “It helps to open your eyes, Belle,” her father said.

  She snapped them open to find her father regarding her with an upraised brow from a few feet away. Face heating, she scrambled for an arrow from the quiver and nocked it to the bow. This time, it flew completely over the mound.

  She bit her lip a moment before turning to Owen. “Perhaps a little more instruction would be advisable, Mr. Canady.”

  Chapter Six

  The minx. Owen was fairly sure Lady Belle Dryden could shoot an arrow as easily as she rode a horse or danced a waltz, both of which she did with grace and style. She’d encouraged him to teach her friend. He wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted his instruction now.

  But he wasn’t about to refuse.