In Bed with a Rogue

July 1819

Benjamin Hillary—Ben to his family and friends; “that damned heartless rogue” to most of Society—tried the back gate leading to the Eldridge’s garden.

“Locked,” he muttered. Of course it was. He’d had nothing but bad luck since his return from Delhi almost a month earlier.

“Balderdash.” Crispin Locke, Viscount Margrave, shouldered him aside and grabbed the weathered iron handle. Gas lamps flanking the gate bathed the stone wall in a golden glow. “You have to put some brawn into it. These old gates stick.” Ben’s friend shot him a superior look before yanking with a loud grunt.

The eight-foot-high gate didn’t budge.

“Peculiar.” Margrave’s brow furrowed as he smacked his hands together to clear the orange residue from his riding glove and proceeded to soil both gloves. “Why do you suppose Lord Eldridge had the gate secured?”

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “To keep out unwanted guests?”

Perhaps the Earl of Wellham had warned Lord Eldridge that Ben might show up tonight. That would explain the small army of footmen at the front door. If Wellham would stop dashing off every time Ben called on him at home or the club, Ben wouldn’t be reduced to sneaking into the assemblies.

An invitation might be nice too, but he understood the reason his name was omitted from most guest lists. He had unintentionally destroyed the reputation of an innocent young lady—a lady he still pined for two years after walking away from her. Fortunately, he’d been able to set things back to rights for Miss Eve Thorne upon his return to Town. She was back in Society now, and Ben was determined to win her back into his arms.

Eventually.

She claimed she wanted nothing to do with him now, but Ben possessed the letter her confidant Mr. Cooper had sent to India stating otherwise. The clergyman had become very concerned for Eve’s welfare and thought all could be set to rights if Ben would only return to England and marry her.

Ben wanted nothing more than to spend his life with Eve, but neither of them could withstand a repeat of their wedding day. He needed to find a way to make peace with the memories of his childhood sweetheart’s death. For years, he’d kept the mental images sealed in a tomb he had never intended to open. Nonetheless, some tragedies refused to stay buried. Ben had never known memories could slam one to the ground or drop him in a pit of insanity, but they could. And they had chosen a hell of a time to make an appearance: while Ben stood in the vestibule with his brother, waiting to exchange vows with the woman he loved.

Ben just wanted to be free from it all, to begin anew with Eve, and he believed Wellham could help him put his past behind him.

“You won’t be getting in through the gate.” Margrave swiped a lock of hair from his forehead and left a smudge. Ben really should tell his friend, but the idea of Margrave bowing over Lady Eldridge’s hand all pristine and proper, except for an orange smear on his face, made Ben grin.

“Why do you look so pleased?” Margrave grumbled. “I thought you wanted to get inside.”

“I do, and I will.”

Ben’s sister had warned him away from the Eldridge Ball, because Eve would be here. And even though Ben had come for Wellham, she was the reason he wouldn’t allow a locked gate to defeat him. He walked alongside the wall, searching for a way over.

A tree branch hung over the stone wall just low enough that he could reach it with Margrave’s help.

“Give me a leg up?” Ben said.

His friend made a stirrup with his hands for Ben’s foot and hoisted him into the air. Ben grabbed the branch, and when Margrave stepped out of harm’s way, he swung his legs to build momentum, hooked one over the branch, and hauled himself up to straddle it.

“Well done. Wellham is in for a surprise, I think.” Margrave saluted him, as if assisting a friend to scale a wall was nothing out of the ordinary.

“This seems like old hat to you, Margrave. What were you up to while I was away?”

He flashed a jaunty smile up at Ben. “Oh, you know. Things and such.”

That barely qualified as an answer, but Margrave had never been the chatty type. It was probably just as well he said nothing. Then Ben might feel obligated to share his own goings-on, and some of his nights in India were better forgotten.