The Last Rogue. Deborah Simmons

      His lashes drifted closed once more, shutting out the worst of the light, while he attempted to regain his blissful state of slumber, but the hammering in his temples continued unabated and a thundering of footsteps echoed outside his chamber. Dash it all, who is here? he thought groggily. Better yet, where was here? For as he came more awake, Raleigh became distinctly aware that his surroundings were not those of his London town house.

      Turning onto his back, Raleigh blinked at the ceiling, where vaguely familiar saffron and blue silk hangings slowly came into focus. The faint scent of flowers made him wonder if he were not in a lady’s chamber. Gad, he could not recall. Putting a hand to his aching forehead, he racked his brain. He remembered receiving a summons from his father and drowning his displeasure in a bottle or two. Or three.

      Lud, he must have gotten completely foxed. He had been lonely, missing all of his friends, now married, and he had decided he would much rather see one of them than his parents, and so he had taken off in a hired coach, without his valet or any servants. Had he even packed a trunk?

      Raleigh groaned. Lifting his fingers from his throbbing temples, he stretched out an arm, groping among the bedclothes for some sign of a companion who might enlighten him. When his questing hand found someone, he blinked in her direction, but all he saw was a lumpy form covered in blankets. Had he worn the poor woman out during the night that she slept so soundly, or was she suffering the ill effects of imbibing as well as he?

      Sighing, Raleigh pushed himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her, but his perusal was interrupted when a horrified squeal erupted from across the room, followed by a deep bellow that rang in his skull like a hammer.

      “My God, Raleigh! What’s the meaning of this?”

      “Oh, my goodness, Jane!”

      Recognizing the feminine voice, as well as the bellow, Raleigh winced. Apparently, he had made it to Casterleigh, the Sussex home of the earl of Wycliffe and his wife, Charlotte. As to the source of their distress, Raleigh had only to glance at his bedmate, who had finally roused herself. She had her back to him, displaying a long, thick braid that bore no resemblance to the flowing tresses of his paramours.

      A sinking feeling descended upon him as Raleigh watched her fumble with something at the bedside table, and it was soon borne out, for when she faced him again, she was wearing spectacles and the outraged expression of Charlotte’s younger sister. Groaning, he fell back upon the pillows in disbelief.

       What the devil was he doing with Plain Jane?

      His head threatening to burst, Raleigh somehow managed to dress himself without assistance, after his companion, wearing a prim, long white nightrail, was hustled from the chamber. He still couldn’t figure out how the chit had gotten into his bedroom—or what might have happened there. Raleigh shuddered at the thought, his memory returning in bits and pieces that refused to include Charlotte’s sister. Lud, some might call him a rogue but he hoped he was not so far gone as to molest young girls, let alone the sister-in-law of one of his friends. And she a vicar’s daughter!

      Groaning, Raleigh looked down at his twisted neck cloth and gave up on tying it to his satisfaction. At least he had possessed the foresight to bring a trunk. Heaving a sigh of disgust at his less-than-perfect appearance, Raleigh wandered into the adjoining sitting room, where the participants in this morning’s debacle had hastily assembled.

      No one appeared to notice his entrance, for Charlotte was already talking, rather desperately, to her husband. “I told Jane to sleep there because you always insist that guests be lodged in the yellow bedroom, and I did not want to upset your routine by making other arrangements.”

      Raleigh would have smiled if his head hadn’t hurt so badly, for Wycliffe’s strict attention to detail was well-known, though he had relaxed his rigid schedule since his marriage. The viscount’s amusement faded when Charlotte resumed her speech in what seemed like an excessively loud tone. Couldn’t she lower her voice? he wondered as he touched his throbbing temples.

      “She came yesterday afternoon to help with the twins. They were so fussy and restless, they must both be bringing in teeth!” Turning toward Raleigh she said, “Max keeps telling me to hire a nanny, but we never had one at the vicarage, and I am loath to entrust my babies, or even Barto, who is all of three now, to someone else’s care.”

      “Charlotte.” Wycliffe’s booming voice brought her attention back to her husband and the matter at hand, while making Raleigh wince.

      Charlotte glanced at her husband helplessly. “In the evening when it began to rain and blow so terribly, I told Jane that she must stay. I lent her…something to wear and planned to send someone down to the vicarage in the morning for her clothes. Indeed, one of the maids, Libby, I believe, was right behind Ann, who had brought up a tray when…”

      “They opened the door, and instead of quietly informing you of what they had seen, they screamed and dropped their burdens all over the parquet floor,” Wycliffe said with disgust. Raleigh couldn’t decide if the earl was more distressed by what the maids found in the bedroom or by the spilled breakfast. He had always accused Charlotte of causing mishaps involving foodstuffs.

      “I agree that they could have shown more discretion,” Charlotte said, “but I cannot fault them for being startled. And I am still confused about Raleigh. How did you get here?” she asked.

      Raleigh smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid that’s not quite clear. I received a summons to the family seat, but sometime during the night, I appear to have changed direction.” He remembered going to his club, but finding no comfort there. It seemed filled with strangers and upstart cits, while his friends were ensconced in the country, getting heirs. He, alone among his circle, was still making the rounds of parties and gambling hells, though he could hardly claim to like it. Sadly flat, it all seemed these days.

      Several bottles later he had decided to forgo his sonly duty in favor of visiting one of his married friends. Although Wroth lived closest to London, one simply did not just pop in on the marquis of Wroth. Ever. And so Raleigh had considered Cornwall or Sussex, eventually tossing a coin as to his destination. “It appears to have been a last-minute decision,” he admitted.

      “You know you are welcome any time,” Charlotte hastened to assure him. “But how did you…get in?” she asked him, looking a bit awkward. Apparently, Wycliffe’s countess turned a blind eye toward housebreaking as long as she knew the perpetrator.

      “I hate to disappoint you, but I came in through the front door—opened by Wycliffe,” Raleigh said, relieved when she transferred her questioning gaze to her husband.

      “I had but recently arrived home, having been delayed by the weather,” Wycliffe explained, “and Richardson was the only one about. I dismissed him since it was so late, and so when the knock came, I answered it myself. Seeing that Raleigh was in no state to communicate, I sent him up to the guest room. No one told me Jane was there!”

      “What about your valet?” Raleigh asked.

      “I do not use Levering at night,” Wycliffe answered, a slight flush climbing up his neck. Raleigh’s budding grin was forestalled by the earl’s grim visage. “But what of you? Couldn’t you tell the…room was occupied?”

      “Not when that deep in my cups!”

      “’Cups?’ You mean he was…drunk?” his heretofore silent bedmate asked in shocked tones. Eyes open wide behind her glasses, Jane Trowbridge shivered visibly, though Raleigh couldn’t see that his sobriety—or lack thereof—could have affected her in the slightest.

      Unless he’d done something while blissfully unaware. Alarmed, Raleigh surveyed her up and down, from her prim hair, pulled back tightly from her face, down the length of her drab gown to her sensible shoes. No, surely he was never that inebriated. Leaning back against the settee cushions, he studied her closely. “Yes, I admit that I was castaway, but what is your excuse? Didn’t you notice someone crawling in beside you?”

      Raleigh had the distinct pleasure of