Darling Rogue (A Regency Grand Tour #2)

Chapter One

Rome, 1817

Philanthropist Lady Claudia Fitzwilliam is back in Rome, and the Eternal City has never been more peaceful. Ancient feuds are mended, and proverbial rakes redeemed. Visconte Caiani was sighted kneeling at her feet. ‘Leave Rome, I beg thee, ere you bankrupt my Temple of Venus!’

Her latest miracle was persuading the Duke of Montgrove to give his blessing to the marriage between his sister, Lady Iris Clarendon, and man-least-likely-to-become-an-antiquarian Mr Eric Campbell. Alas, not even Lady Claudia’s wisdom was able to prevent a fistfight between the lovebirds’ aggrieved siblings, Mr William Campbell and the Duke of Montgrove. His Grace now sports a broken nose—some say it becomes him. Mr William Campbell, to our delight, emerged unscathed. Yet again.

LA GAZETTE INTERNATIONALE

***

Mark my words, daughter. Those Campbell brothers came from the gutter, and they’ll return to the gutter. It’s only a matter of time.

Mr William Campbell didn’t know whether Lady Claudia Fitzwilliam, to whom those words had been addressed, had marked them, but he most certainly had. It had been a week already, and the charming prophecy of the Countess of Eddington was still ringing in his ears. As he caught sight of Lady Claudia perching regally on a settee in a cloud of diamonds and silks, the words boomed deafeningly across the ballroom of the Antiquarians’ Club. It was surprising that the enormous windows weren’t rattling, and that the champagne glasses didn’t burst in the hands of the revellers.

Those…Campbells grew up among drunkards and thieves. I cannot believe they are “family” now.

Well, neither could he, for that matter. For there was no doubt whatsoever that he had come from the gutter. A drunk, violent idler of a father and a prostitute for a mother was all he could boast in his pedigree. But he had no intention of going back there, thank you.

‘Now, there’s one you haven’t added to your collection yet, Campbell.’ The rakish Baron de Bransac raised his glass in Lady Claudia’s direction, and she nodded politely from afar. Her features were barely distinguishable from there, but her face had been impressed in his mind for a couple of weeks already. Since the whole fistfight business, that is. Prominent cheekbones. Enigmatic grey eyes. A face like a Roman statue’s, stern and somewhat remote, framed by intricately-braided red-blond hair. How old could she be? Eight-and-twenty? Well, she looked way too solemn for her age, like a queen who had deigned to make an appearance at a mundane event.

‘Not my type.’ William shrugged nonchalantly, as though he really had a type. His only type was the sort who would fall for his pretty eyes hard enough not to notice what he got up to once he had flattered his way into her circle. The idea of tasting the flesh of a pretty woman gave him no pleasure. Discreetly slipping away prized artefacts from her collections very much did.

‘And yet she’s obscenely rich, Campbell. Which your type generally happens to be,’ Viscount Malombra interjected.

‘I agree with Campbell, she’s not my type either. Just look at her,’ de Bransac muttered as though personally affronted. ‘Cold like marble.’

An inspired simile. She was reclining regally on the settee at the far end of the ballroom, surrounded by a small cortege of adoring women. They looked like a frieze above the entrance of a public building—a courtroom or something. In the evenings she was probably hoisted up into a niche to the solemn chanting of priestesses and acolytes.

‘I wouldn’t mind her.’ Malombra shrugged. ‘Besides, she’s still unmarried. In fact, why is she still unmarried?’

‘And you ask?’ De Bransac scoffed. ‘Just look at her. Frigid. Meddling in other people’s business must give her more pleasure than a man’s—’

‘Ah, shut up,’ Malombra grumbled.

‘Besides, she’s rich enough to wait however long she pleases. She’s got the old Earl on a leash.’

Well, the old Earl may well be on a leash, but the mother was a bloody dragon. She was hovering a few steps away from Lady Claudia, stiff and alert, incinerating with her gaze any man who dared approach her daughter.

The final words of the Countess’s tirade made their way into his mind.

That William Campbell is the worst of the lot. He thinks he’s one of us because he studied at Oxford. All paid for by a charity, needless to say. Hush now, he’s looking at us!

The Countess turned around, and their eyes met. He malevolently raised his glass in her direction, and her gaze turned vacant.

Really? Pretending not to see him?

Now, that was a challenge if he had ever seen one.

The venom of ancient humiliations pooled in the pit of his stomach. He strode right across the crowded ballroom, determined to ask her daughter for a dance.

***

‘He’s a scoundrel! A rogue! A devil from Hell! Ah, Lady Claudia, if you only knew what he—what he—what he—’

Lady Claudia sighed as Mademoiselle de Rastignac let out an explosive sob and pressed her face to Claudia’s shoulder, her wet tears warm against her bare skin. Claudia groaned inwardly. For what must have been the twentieth time she cautiously craned her neck to spy the ballroom. Could the man over there be—she froze.

A familiar mixture of rage and nausea made her breath catch.

No, thank God that wasn’t Edward.

She exhaled slowly, and Mademoiselle de Rastignac’s lamentations re-entered the periphery of her consciousness.

‘…he’s a rake! A seducer! A bigamist!’

A bigamist? Now that was a story worth hearing.

‘There, there, my dear.’ Claudia sighed distractedly.

‘If you only knew what he did—if you only knew—’

She clenched her jaw not to scoff audibly. It was her first social occasion after one year spent hiding away in Austria, rejecting any contact with the outside world. It would have been good to just sit quietly in a corner, taking her time to get used to people again. Instead, she had been recognised as the author of the advice column in The Lady’s Magazine the moment she had entered the room. Within minutes she had found herself surrounded by doe-eyed girls asking for advice and—

Oh no…

Mr James—was that his name?—shifted a fraction of an inch closer to her on the settee, observing her out of the tail of his eye. He leaned perilously towards her like a human Tower of Pisa. She had been discreetly moving to her right in tiny increments for the past hour. Unless she sat on Mademoiselle de Rastignac’s legs, she would soon run out of space. What would happen then? Perhaps Mr James would drape himself over her like a pathetic, languid shawl. She was almost curious to find out.

‘—you are wisdom incarnate, Lady Claudia. If you were me, what would you do?’

Mademoiselle de Rastignac looked at her expectantly.

‘I’m awfully sorry, my dear,’ Claudia tried to focus on her, ‘but for the life of me I cannot understand who we are talking about.’

‘About Mr Campbell!’ Mademoiselle de Rastignac sobbed.

‘Which Mr Campbell?’

‘The one who looks like a prince!’ Lady Alice chirped behind her. ‘Over there.’

She glanced over. Ah, yes. William Campbell. The antiquarian. Iris’s brother-in-law. A cad, sure enough. But a bigamist, that he really couldn’t be.

‘I am quite sure Mr Campbell isn’t a bigamist, my dear. I came across him at my cousin’s wedding last week and he was still a bachelor then.’

‘Do you know him?’ Mr James asked a little too quickly.

‘A bit,’ she hid her mouth with her fan to conceal her amusement. Well, less than a bit. She had spoken to him just once, and in rather odd circumstances. But Mr James did not need to know about that.

‘Then I don’t need to tell you that Mr Campbell is a charlatan. And worse,’ Mr James muttered morosely.

‘He’s hardly going to try and sell us some overpriced Roman pottery at a ball, Mr…James.’

Was it Mr James though? She should really have listened more carefully.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he muttered. ‘Campbell has a silver tongue. He could charm even a paragon of virtue such as you are into believing exactly what he wants.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘He’s a male courtesan when there’s money involved. They say he likes to be kept by rich lovers.’

Maintaining her perfect poise, her mouth set in a pleasant smile, Claudia laughed inwardly. Ha! Being kept by rich lovers didn’t sound like too bad an occupation. Especially if it was true that, as her mother did not tire of saying waving her hands about in the air, those Campbell brothers came from the gutter.

‘What nonsense, Mr James!’ Lady Alice behind her interjected, leaning down to speak to them. ‘If that’s the case, name a single woman who can claim to have shared her bed with him. For a year now there have been bets at Viscount Caiani’s Tempio di Venere on which woman will claim him first in Rome. No one has won, yet. And yet women do follies for him. He has half of this town at his feet.’

‘Why do you soil Lady Claudia’s saintly ears with this filth?’

Claudia coughed hard not to laugh. Her saintly ears! Many things about her had been called saintly. Her saintly deeds, her saintly words, her saintly appearance. But her ears, that was a first.

‘Ah, if only you knew!’ Mademoiselle de Rastignac resumed her lamentations. ‘If you knew what he did—if you knew what he dared—’

‘For the love of God, mademoiselle, what on earth did he do, then?!’ Claudia snapped back abruptly.

The people around her held their breath in surprise. There, she was disappointing them already. One-year-ago-Claudia would have found wise, soothing words to reassure Mademoiselle de Rastignac, words fitting for the benevolent goddess she was known as. Present-day-Claudia just wanted to be left alone.

‘I’m sorry, dear,’ soothing, wise Claudia said. ‘What did Mr Campbell do?’

‘At the last ball, he looked at me for the whole evening. We exchanged fiery glances. And then—and then—’

‘And then?’

‘Then he asked the woman sitting next to me for a dance and scampered off with her into the garden!’

Yet again Claudia had to suppress laughter. Maybe it had been a good idea to come out after all.

‘The cad!’ Was all she could say.

‘Oh my—look, Lady Claudia! He’s coming our way.’

‘There, you see? He’ll ask you for a dance this time.’ Claudia patted her hand.

‘Oh, isn’t he handsome?’ Lady Alice chirped from behind her back. ‘He looks like an angel!’

‘He looks like a devil,’ another woman purred.

Claudia glanced over.

Perhaps the crowd had really parted with a gasp to frame his slender figure ambling towards her, or perhaps her long isolation was starting to play tricks on her mind. But when Mr William Campbell appeared, all the lights in the room dimmed and a cone of heavenly light appeared above his head.

He was walking without haste, his eyes fixed on her.

The lean, athletic build of a young stag. Wavy, unruly hair of a blond so similar to the colour of honey that she could almost taste it on her tongue. His deep blue eyes were flashing with mischief, and his cheekbones were so sharp and perfect that he must have sold his soul in exchange for them. Yes, that face must be the prize for some ungodly pact, because cheekbones so sharp and a nose so straight did not belong in this world. They gave him a mercurial, almost elf-like appearance. Perhaps he would disappear in a burst of flames at the click of his fingers, or relay her a message from a sinister divinity like a trickster in an ancient myth.

William Campbell halted right opposite her and looked at her in silence. Then he bowed slightly. There was a malevolent shade in his smile.

You handsome devil!

‘Mr Campbell.’ She tried to smile politely, but it felt forced. A spell had been cast in her world, that numb, foggy world of hers, and she did not want to break it. She just wanted to witness it in silence.

‘Lady Claudia. I am delighted to see you here.’ A markedly aristocratic accent, so different from his brother’s. His voice was crisp with a sensuous note in its wake, like the thin icy surface on soft cushions of snow. ‘I must have fallen asleep and awoken in a dream, for where am I if not in the presence of Venus and her cortege of nymphs?’

She had expected a little better from a silver-tongued seducer, but an ohh-ing and ahh-ing of female voices fluttered like a cloud of butterflies to the vaulted ceiling.

‘Venus, no less. And who would you be, Mr Campbell?’

‘Mercury of course. God of commerce—’

‘—of trickery, deceit, and thieves,’ she interjected, raising an eyebrow, making him smirk devilishly.

‘—and messenger of the gods.’

‘And what message do you bring me, Mercury?’

He held out his hand to her. His fingers looked so smooth and delicate. Their touch must be lighter than a feather. She could picture them working their way with ease down the back of a woman’s dress. No doubt the devil had such lovely fingers to entice naive mortals to seal ungodly pacts with a handshake.

He gave her another flash of that malevolent smile.

‘Would you like to dance, Lady Claudia?’

Mademoiselle de Rastignac exploded into loud sobs, a jarring noise in the vaporous cloud of the spell he had cast.

‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘I would be delighted to dance with you.’

***

The idea of inviting Lady Claudia to dance to ruffle her mother’s feathers had seemed thoroughly amusing—and, let’s be honest, also rather exciting given that his thoughts had been straying to her since their first meeting. But now that he found himself standing in front of this majestic creature, so aloof and stern that she looked as though she had been carved out of pearl and ice, he didn’t quite know what to do. Her pale grey eyes, prominent cheekbones, and intricate braids would suit the marble head of a goddess worshipped in a Roman temple. Except—her pleasant smile was more than a little tense. She was hiding it well, but her eyes had darted over his shoulder a couple of times already. Lady Claudia looked alarmed, and it was not hard to guess why. Her mother was watching on in horror, exactly as he had hoped. He chuckled inwardly as the orchestra struck the first notes of a waltz.

How deliciously inappropriate.

Lady Claudia blinked a couple of times, as though waking up from a dream, and their eyes met.

Dear Lord, those eyes! A precise dark line contained glacial, silver irises. But there was more. The pale grey was dabbed with slithers of yellow, reminding him of the sunny shimmers cast by the water on the marble fountains of Rome. He had never seen anything quite like that. He took her right hand in his and placed his other hand just above her waist. At the contact with the silken fabric, the heat of her body radiated through to his palm, sending an unprecedented jolt of excitement right through him.

Oh-oh…

He looked at her again, perturbed, really seeing her for the first time. He followed the elegant line of her neck to her smooth shoulders and a pair of not just toned but finely muscular arms. Now, that was something new. Why would a spoilt woman like her have such strong arms? He tried hard not to stare at what he could see between her shoulders, a triumph of curves soft as butter, spilling from her silken bodice like white foam from a glass of champagne. He always had the suspicion that de Bransac was an idiot, but his assessment of Lady Claudia confirmed it. Cold like marble? Lady Claudia was made to give a man a couple of uncomfortable nights. Luckily for himself, he had no interest in the pleasures of the flesh.

Something tugged at his hand, and he blinked. His eyes met Lady Claudia’s, hers wide and a little drowsy, as though she had just emerged in her nightdress from a night of languid pleasures.

‘Now, Mr Campbell,’ her voice was low and husky. It sent a long shiver down his spine. ‘If I recall correctly, you asked me to dance. We can stand here as long as you want, mind you, but I may start feeling a little foolish.’

God, how long had he been staring at her? The other couples were waltzing away already, and the Countess looked absolutely livid. He could almost see a little cloud complete with rain and lightning hovering above her head.

‘Shall we, Mr Campbell?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Lead on.’

Lady Claudia danced well. There was a secret force vibrating through her slender, strong body. He sensed it every time she swung closer, it transferred from her hand to his like a crackling of embers. Her grey-yellow eyes had stopped darting around the room. They were fixed on his now, and they were veiled with a subtle mockery. She bit her lip. Her thin, lovely upper lip was marked by a little red scar. He had not noticed it the first time he had seen her.

‘Are you laughing at me, Lady Claudia?’

‘Not at all.’ Oh, her husky voice! ‘I was just recalling the day I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance a couple of weeks ago, Mr Campbell. Would you like to remind me how that happened?’

No, thank you. He hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory that day.

‘I believe, Lady Claudia, that we were introduced by my sister-in-law, your lovely cousin Iris.’

That is, your boring cousin Iris.

‘One could phrase it that way, I suppose. And what happened on that day?’

‘I offered to walk you home after your pleasant visit. Alas, you refused.’

‘Almost. And before that?’

‘Before that—ah—let me recall, Lady Claudia.’ He pretended to think. ‘Your other cousin, His Grace, the Duke of Montgrove said something…something I cannot quite remember…something not so nice…about my family, I believe? For the life of me, I cannot remember what happened after.’

‘Let me remind you, Mr Campbell. During my “pleasant visit” you punched my poor cousin and broke his nose. He’s still recovering from the injury.’

‘He deserved it,’ he replied curtly.

The bastard.

‘As it happens, he did.’ Her voice was serious, but the shadow of a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. ‘It was a fine moment, Mr Campbell.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. She had a sense of humour. Good. He could work with that.

Work with what? And why? This one was not for duping and robbing. Her family already detested him enough.

He had just started to enjoy himself when Lady Claudia’s eyes widened. Her nostrils quivered, and her body froze under his fingers.

‘I am dreadfully sorry, Mr Campbell. I—I forgot about something. Thank you for the dance. I need to go.’

And with that, she released his hand and walked away.

***

Claudia’s heart pounded in her throat as she ran into the street, her stomach knotted by an unbearable nausea.

Edward. He was there. No doubt about it.

Had he seen her? She should have left Rome earlier. She knew he always travelled to Rome this time of the year!

Thick drops of rain hit her face. The cobbled street was the back of a prehistoric monster arching its back, conspiring to make her slip. She wrapped her thin, wet shawl around her shoulders.

‘Lady Claudia!’

Who the—ah, that Mr Campbell again! Hadn’t he gotten what he wanted already?

He jogged good-humouredly after her, his lean figure cut against the barely lit street.

‘Now that’s a first.’ He smiled charmingly. ‘I must be a worse dancer than I thought if you felt the need to abandon me mid-dance.’

She glanced over his shoulder. Warm light emanated from the large wooden portal of the Antiquarians’ Club. A lean statue of Mercury guarded the entrance.

Edward. Edward is in there.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to disappear.

Mr Campbell’s face became a smudge behind thick blobs of tears.

‘Lady Claudia? You are not well.’

She inhaled deeply and forced her lips into a polite smile. The scar on her upper lip tugged at her skin.

‘I am perfectly fine, Mr Campbell. But I am tired and I need to go home.’

‘Crying. On your own. In the dark.’

‘Yes. It’s just a short walk away.’

‘Perhaps this time you will accept I accompany you?’

Maybe she should. Rome at night was no place for an unaccompanied woman. She nodded.

‘Excellent!’ He clapped his hands enthusiastically. Well, at least someone was happy. ‘Tell me, Lady Claudia, which of those carriages do you like best?’

He theatrically gestured at the carriages lined up opposite the Antiquarians’ Club, like a magician about to perform a trick. The drivers were smoking and muttering, waiting for their wealthy employers. Rain dripped from their wide hats.

‘Excuse me?’

His eyes flashed. He positively looked like a young devil.

‘I asked you which of those carriages you like best.’

‘What does it matter? That one.’ She pointed impatiently at a jumble of horribly misshapen gilded cherubs. A carriage so huge and ornate that it rather looked like a travelling circus, or the wheeled stall of a wandering quack.

‘We have a different taste in carriages.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But follow me.’

She followed him passively. The little angels looked even more terrifying up close.

‘Good evening, Mr Francesco.’ Mr Campbell addressed the driver in fluent Italian. ‘Now, I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but Visconte Caiani has kindly offered his carriage to my dear cousin. She has a terrible headache and I’d like to accompany her home. It’s not even five minutes away, just behind Piazza Navona.’

The man scrutinised Mr Campbell’s face suspiciously, then hers. She tried to look ailing—not that she had to pretend much.

‘Vicino a piazza Navona?’

‘Yes. She would be most grateful.’

‘Step in.’

She turned to look at Mr Campbell, surprised.

‘Never fail to befriend the house staff. It’s a rule I live by.’ He winked at her and followed her into the carriage. She almost sank into enormous clouds of velvet cushions. Mr Campbell took place next to her. Then he shut the carriage door, and it all went dark.

She turned to him. The sharp lines of his cheekbones were dimly lit by the faintest slither of moonlight. His eyes were flickering like a cat’s. The shadows suited him. He rather looked like a panther, at ease in the folds of the night. His delicate cologne caressed her nostrils with notes of honey and fig. Such a fine fragrance, much subtler than those of other men. It smelled ancient and vaguely melancholic, like that rainy summer night. Suddenly that fragrance was more real than anything she had experienced in the past year. More real than her life itself. Again, she had to fight her tears.

‘So beautiful.’ Mr Campbell whispered, so quietly she could almost have imagined it. ‘And yet so sad.’

When his long fingers lightly traced the outline of her cheekbones, she was spellbound. She had not been that close to a man in what felt like an eternity.

‘I think we both deserve something nice tonight, don’t you think, darling?’ Oh, his seductive, crisp voice! ‘You deserve a reason to smile, and I…well, perhaps a little reward for driving you home in Viscount Caiani’s carriage.’

A small pang of disappointment. Completely unjustified of course.

‘How about a kiss, Lady Claudia?’

‘Is that why you offered to accompany me home?’

‘Maybe…’ He lifted her chin with his elegant fingers to inspect her face, and a shiver rippled from her jaw to her neck. ‘Or maybe not. But now that we’re here together, all alone, I’d be a fool not to try my luck with you.’

The thought made her smile. It was all so simple for him.

‘Yes,’ she convened. ‘You would be foolish not to.’

‘Because you look divine, darling. What’s with your eyes? And your voice…Has anyone ever told you that you could get a man in trouble with a voice like that?’

‘Not really.’ People had always been more inclined to praise her moral virtues—and her saintly ears.

‘Well, what do you say, darling, love? Shall we find out whether we can kiss as well as we dance?’

He looked at her with a silent challenge. And summoned by his words, after a year of complete silence, it was there again.

That reckless, joyous, exhilarating appetite for trouble.

It spread to her fingers and her heart like a current.

It would vanish in an instant, she knew it—

So she cupped his face with her hands and pressed her lips to his.

Mr Campbell froze. He pulled back hastily, as though he hadn’t just asked for a kiss and she had gone completely insane. For a long, incomprehensible second he looked utterly disconcerted.

Then his gaze softened. His eyes dropped to her lips, lingering on her scar.

‘This,’ he whispered breathily, running a light finger on it. ‘This first.’

He leaned in and barely grazed his lip against her scar. Her whole body came alive in a surprised, grateful oh! Only then did he seek her mouth. He brushed his mouth gently against hers. He caught it tentatively, hesitated, and pulled back a little. Then he took a bit of her lower lip between his lips.

The shyness of that kiss half delighted her and half unsettled her. Still, it was not entirely surprising. It wouldn’t be the first time her stern appearance intimidated a man.

‘Delicious.’ He ran his thumb on her lips. ‘Shall we do that again, darling?’

The carriage halted.

‘Oh, well. Maybe next time.’ He sighed, and he let her step out.

As she dismounted, it turned out that she was not very steady on her feet. She had to blink a couple of times. Mr Campbell’s voice reached her in a daze.

‘When are you travelling back to England, darling?’

‘Soon.’

‘I want to see you again before then.’

The spell broke and the real world gushed out like a torrent. Edward was in Rome. She had just escaped from a ball, and she had kissed Iris’s rakish brother-in-law just because he had asked her to.

It was all absurd. So utterly, ridiculously absurd. She burst into a laughter so mirthless that it almost felt like crying.

‘See me again? Come on, Mr Campbell, I’m no debutante. You don’t need to pretend this is anything more than what it is. Go back to the ball, find yourself a woman who can give you what you’re looking for. It should be easy enough.’

‘You don’t know what I’m looking for.’ His eyes narrowed.

He was pretending to be affronted. It only made her laugh more.

‘Of course I do, Mr Campbell. You are looking for love, aren’t you? That’s why you’re kissing strangers in a stolen carriage.’

Laughter flashed in his catlike eyes.

‘But you are not a stranger, darling.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Campbell. Bring my regards to your brother.’