The Rogue to Forever (Of Rogues, Rakes, and Scoundrels #1)

Prologue

Dark clouds gathered in the sky, slowly making their way toward Peregrine Castle.

Ophelia Smythe, the dowager Countess of Peregrine, studied their progress through the large window in her upstairs sitting room—hopefully the rain that threatened remained at bay a little longer.

She had sent an invitation to a special guest to join her for afternoon tea, and she expected that gentleman to arrive soon.

A grin spread across her lips as she caught sight of a lone rider in the distance.

Of course, he would choose to arrive on horseback rather than in a carriage.

He was a big, imposing man with hot Scottish blood coursing through his veins.

His temper was as fiery as his father’s—her elder brother.

Once, her own passionate nature had ruled her decisions.

But those days were long gone. She was no longer that young girl and she did not make any rash decisions.

Now, she approached life with a calculated coldness, letting reason guide her actions.

Not that it was always easy. Especially when it came to her family.

Her nephew would be arriving shortly, and she had plans for him.

Big plans. Plans she knew he would resist, at least until he realized her true intentions.

He would believe she was steering him in one direction, but her ultimate goal would lead him elsewhere—quite reluctantly, she imagined.

It was high time her dear nephew set aside his ridiculous feud with his neighboring earl.

Such quarrels never ended well, and this one was no exception.

She intended to intervene and ensure that his pride did not lead him to ruin.

She would orchestrate his change of heart, and when all was said and done, she would be victorious in her quiet campaign against his obstinacy.

As the rider came into focus, she admired his long auburn hair and powerful frame as he dismounted his fine stallion.

He handed the reins to a nearby footman, likely instructing him to see the horse stabled.

It mattered little what was said between her nephew and the footman—what mattered was that he had come.

Finally. Now she could begin her plans for him.

A maid entered the room, pushing a tea cart. “I have brought the tea, my lady,” she said. She nodded at the tea cart, and then turned her attention back to Ophelia.

“Thank you, Sally,” Ophelia replied. “Set it over there. I will serve my nephew myself. Do not disturb us for any reason.” This conversation was far too important for interruptions. “Send him to me as soon as he arrives.” Anticipation flowed through her as she waited for him.

“Very well, my lady,” Sally said with a curtsey before departing.

Ophelia remained by the window long after the maid left, her thoughts drifting.

She had been alone for many years. Her son and daughter rarely visited.

Her husband had died more than a decade ago, leaving her with only her projects to occupy her time.

Her son was now betrothed, and her daughter married, expecting her first child.

That left a handful of nieces and nephews to see settled.

and Ophelia was determined they would be.

She would apply the proper machinations to see that done.

It was her duty to them—even if they did not wish to see the fulfilled.

“Hello, Auntie,” a gentleman with a deep voice said as he entered the room.

“I trust ye are well.” His thick Scottish brogue was rich with an unidentifiable emotion.

Ophelia had long since tempered her own accent, though a faint lilt remained.

She found that she garnered more respect when she spoke with less of that accent in her tone.

“I am quite well,” she replied, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Ye didna give me much choice, now did ye?” His tone was begrudging. “Was this not a command performance, my lady?”

“You could have chosen to stay away,” she said coolly. “I did not force you to attend to me.”

“Did ye not?” His belligerent tone was matched by a pointed look. “Yer note suggested ye had information of interest. What is it, Auntie? Doona hold it back now that ye have me before ye.”

She sighed, holding back a smile. He would not make this easy, but she had expected as much. “I understand you are still feuding with your neighbor.”

“And if I am?” He tilted his head as he studied her. “What business is it of yers?”

Ophelia schooled her expression into one of mild concern. “You know I abhor violence. What will it take or you to put an end to this animosity?”

“Nothing ye can offer me,” he said sharply. “Stay in yer drafty castle, Auntie. Let me handle the earl. He willna best me.”

Her patience was tested, but she persevered. He needed a reason to stop this feud, and she would give him one. “If that is your wish, then I will help you.”

“I already told ye—”

“That you do not think I can aid you,” she interrupted. “But what if I can?”

His frown deepened, and his gaze narrowed. “Ye know something. Tell me.”

Finally, she had him. Ophelia allowed a small, triumphant smile to form. “I may have information you could find useful.”

“And what might that be, Auntie?” he coaxed.

She leaned slightly forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “Your neighbor is expecting a visitor. She is already on her way to his estate.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that so? And is this visitor arriving for a particular reason? Is she important to the earl?”

“She is,” Ophelia replied. “I believe she is his betrothed.”

His smile widened, though it held a sharp edge. “Thank ye, Auntie. If ye doona mind, I will be skipping tea. I have some plans to make.”

“Happy scheming,” she said, watching as he exited the room.

Ophelia allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She had set the pieces in motion. Soon, she would hear news of her nephew’s endeavors. With luck, it would be the kind of news that brought joy—and proved her instincts right once again.

Ophelia remained seated long after his footsteps had faded down the corridor, the delicate porcelain cup cooling between her fingers. The fire crackled softly at her back, but her thoughts were already far from the quiet comfort of the room.

She had always known how to prod her nephew into motion.

Ambition and curiosity were twin vices he had never quite mastered, no matter how carefully he cloaked them beneath charm and civility.

If there was a puzzle to be solved or a prize to be claimed, he could not resist temptation and now, armed with the knowledge of an impending betrothal, he would certainly not remain idle.

Ophelia set her cup aside with measured care and rose, crossing to the window.

Beyond the glass, the gardens lay serene and unsuspecting, the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel paths.

How deceptively peaceful it all appeared.

She knew better. Lives were rarely altered in moments of quiet reflection; it was decisions made in haste, in pride, or in wounded vanity that reshaped destinies.

She did not pretend to innocence. What she had done was deliberate.

Necessary, she told herself. The Earl had grown too comfortable, too assured of his position and his future—Ophelia had plans to stir him into action as well.

Her nephew—well—he had always needed a reminder that the world did not move according to his wishes alone and he soon would realize exactly the lengths she would go to ensure he found what he truly needed in his life.

Her nephew would take action, and once he interfered, there would be consequences.

There always were. But Ophelia had lived long enough to understand that stagnation was far more dangerous than upheaval.

Sometimes the truth only revealed itself when tested…

When it was placed under strain that would prove its mettle, and well, it was time her nephew felt that to his very soul.

She clasped her hands loosely before her and allowed herself a thin, knowing smile. “Let us see,” she murmured to the empty room, “if it all goes as I plan...” Whatever followed, it would not be dull. And if hearts were bruised along the way—well. Such was the nature of carefully laid plans.