Once a Rebel

Book 2: Rogues Redeemed

by Mary Jo Putney

Genres: Historical Romance

Synopsis

A rogue redeemed

As Washington burns, Callista Brooke is trapped in the battle between her native England and her adopted homeland. She is on the verge of losing everything, including her life, when a handsome Englishman cuts through the violent crowd to claim that she is his. Callie falls into her protector's arms, recognizing that he is no stranger but the boy she'd once loved a lifetime ago.

Lord George Gordon Audley had been Callie's best friend, and it was to Gordon she turned in desperation to avoid a loathsome arranged marriage. But the repercussions of his gallant attempt to rescue her sent Callie packing to Jamaica and Gordon on a one-way trip to the penal colony of Australia.

Against all odds, Gordon survived. Finding Callie is like reclaiming his tarnished soul, and, once again, he vows to do whatever is necessary to protect her and those she loves. But the innocent friendship they shared as children has become a dangerous passion that may save or destroy them when they challenge the aristocratic society that exiled them both.

Release date: August 29, 2017

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

Kingston Court, Lancashire, 1799

“Richard! Richard!”

Lord George Gordon Richard Augustus Audley, third and most worthless son of the Marquess of Kingston, snapped awake at the hissing voice outside his open bedroom window. Callie? She wasn’t supposed to be home from school for another week. He frowned; it had to be her. Only two people had ever called him Richard, and she was the only one who might be climbing up the thick vines below his window.

In the warm night he wore only his drawers. Though he and Callie had been best friends since they were in the nursery, they weren’t on terms of seminudity, so he grabbed his robe and tied the sash as he swung from the bed.

He leaned out the casement and looked down into the rustling vines. In the light of a full moon, the heart-shaped face and shining red-blond hair were unmistakable. But what the devil was the Honorable Catherine Callista Brooke doing scrambling up to his room in the middle of the night?

“Callie, you’re insane!” he said affectionately as he leaned out and extended a hand to help her up and over the sill. “If I’d known you were home from school, I could have called tomorrow in a perfectly civilized manner.”

Her hand clamped onto his and she scrambled over the sill and into his room. She was dressed as a boy, which was sensible for climbing vine-covered walls.

He was about to say more when the moonlight revealed shining streaks on her face. Callie was crying? She never cried. She had nerves of Damascus steel. “What’s wrong, Callie?” he asked sharply.

“Everything!” she replied in a raw voice.

She was shaking, so he instinctively wrapped comforting arms around her. He must have grown in the last months of school, because she seemed smaller as she buried her face against his shoulder. “Steady, Catkin,” he said quietly as he patted her back. “We’ve been in and out of enough trouble to know how to fix problems.”

“Not this kind of problem.” She took a deep breath and stepped back, though she kept hold of his arms as if not trusting her balance.

Moonlight touched her face, revealing a dark mark on her left cheek. Swearing, he skimmed a gentle fingertip over the bruise. “Damnation, your father has been beating you again!”

Callie shrugged. “I’m used to that, being the most disobedient, rebellious, devil-touched daughter in England, as he informs me regularly. But this time . . .” Her voice broke before she continued. “It’s much worse. He’s going to marry me to some horrible old planter from the West Indies!”

“Good God, how has that come about?” Gordon steered her to a chair, then retrieved his hidden flask of forbidden brandy. He poured a small measure into a glass and added an equal amount of water before handing it over. “How would a planter from the Indies even know you exist?”

“He’s some kind of distant connection of my father. A widower.” She sipped at the watered brandy, coughed, sipped some more. “He called at Rush Hall to discuss business, saw me, and offered marriage because I’m so beautiful!” She almost spat the words out.

“Beautiful?” Gordon blinked at the thought. She was . . . Callie. Pretty enough with that sunset red-gold hair, and she was athletic and graceful as well. An old man might consider the hair and Callie’s vibrant good spirits enough to be beauty. “You’re only sixteen, so surely that means a long betrothal.”

She shook her head violently. “He wants to marry immediately, before he returns to the Indies! He’s staying at the Hall now. As soon as my father said he could have me and good riddance, the fellow sent to London for a special license. It came today. My father told me this evening that I’ll be married the day after tomorrow.”

“He can’t force you to marry a stranger!” Gordon said, aghast. “Just keep saying no. It won’t be easy, but you’re practiced at disobedience.”

She shook her head, shaking again. “If I don’t obey, I’m afraid he’ll take his anger out on my sisters.”

Damnably, she was probably right. Callie’s sisters were vulnerable, and her father was quite capable of bullying or hurting them to insure Callie’s cooperation. Gordon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, murmuring soft, comforting words until she pulled away with a smile that almost worked. “You’re talking to me like I’m one of your horses.”

“It works with frightened fillies, so it seemed worth trying.” He smiled when she rolled her eyes with elaborate disdain, but sobered swiftly. “What do you want me to do, Callie?”

“I’m going to run away and I need money,” she said bluntly. “Can you lend me some?”

He frowned. “Run away to where?”

“My Aunt Beatrice. She’s my godmother and has said I’m welcome to visit anytime. I’ll be safe with her.”

“But for how long? If your father comes to drag you off to get married, she won’t be able to stand up to him.”

Callie bit her lip. “Then I’ll change my name and disappear into Manchester or Birmingham. I’ll find some sort of work.”

“Become a mill worker?” he asked incredulously. “This is not a good plan, Callie!”

“Not a mill worker! You know how good I am at sewing. I’m sure I can find a job as a seamstress,” she said impatiently. “If you can lend me twenty or thirty pounds, it will be enough to get me away and support me until I’m established somewhere my father will never find me.”

He bit his lip, thinking how many disastrous things might happen to a pretty, inexperienced girl, even one who was intelligent, ingenious, and brave.

He caught his breath as a thought struck. Yet it made sense. “I have a better idea, Callie. Marry me. We can be in Scotland in two days and we’re old enough to marry there without permission.”

She gasped, her hazel eyes widening. “And you think I’m insane! We’re too young to get married, even if it is legal in Scotland. Marriage is forever.” She bit her lip. “I’ve always wanted to marry for love.”

“My parents did that and it didn’t work out particularly well,” he retorted. “I’ve always thought that in the unlikely event that I marry, it would be to a friend, and aren’t we best friends?”

She frowned as she considered his proposal. “I suppose marrying you would be better than a fat old planter with damp hands.”

He grinned. “I am so very flattered.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just that marriage seems so . . . so extreme.”

“It is, but so is being bullied into marriage to a man you can’t stand.” He shrugged. “If someday you meet someone you really want to marry, I won’t stand in your way. It’s easier to get a divorce in Scotland than in England. In the meantime, you’d be better off with me because I won’t try to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“There is that,” she admitted. “If we’re married, we’ll both be free of our fathers and able to look out for each other.”

“It would be a grand adventure,” he said, liking the idea more and more. “At twenty-one I’ll have control of half the money my godfather left me. It’s enough for us to live comfortably. Between now and then, we’ll discover what life is like for average people. We’ll find work with some decent country squire. You can be a lady’s maid and I’ll look after the horses.”

Callie’s face lit with laughter. “You’re right, it would be an adventure! Far better than marrying a dreadful stranger. We’ll make it work. We always do. No more adults telling us we’re too rebellious and ill behaved!”

“Too wild and fated to come to a bad end!” Exhilarated, Gordon swept Callie into his arms and kissed her. He started the kiss as a friend, and ended it as . . . something else. She was sweet and warm and strong in his arms, and for the first time ever he thought of her as a girl. No, not a girl, but a young woman ripe for marriage.

She also reacted to the kiss, leaning into him, her lips parting. Heat kicked through him. He’d admired his share of pretty girls and stolen a few kisses, but this was different. More. She would be his wife and they would have physical and emotional intimacy beyond anything he could imagine. The prospect was alarming, but also exhilarating.

Callie drew back, her eyes shining. “The adventure of a lifetime,” she breathed. “And the sooner we begin, Richard, the better!”

Within a quarter of an hour, they were on their way. Gordon had always been good at saving, and he had nearly a hundred pounds, a small fortune. He tucked it into a money belt around his waist, then dressed for the journey. He gave Callie a hat to stuff her hair under and a shapeless coat he’d outgrown. He grinned at the result. “You can pass as my little brother if no one looks too closely.”

“That should make us harder to follow.” She folded a light blanket into a canvas sack that could go into a saddlebag. “What route should we take?”

“There’s only one decent road toward Scotland from here, but once we get beyond Lancaster, we can cut east on some less traveled roads. Slower, but we’re less likely to be discovered.”

“Do you think we’ll be pursued?” She slung the canvas sack over one shoulder. “Even if they figure out that we’ve run off together, they might just think good riddance to both of us.”

Gordon shook his head. “My father won’t miss me. I’m just a third son and one he doesn’t like. Since your father has an advantageous marriage for you, he won’t shrug off your disappearance. But it will take them time to realize that we’ve eloped. If we travel fast, we should be in Scotland before they can catch us.”

Silently they left his bedroom. He wondered if he’d ever see it again. Callie’s father might not want to let her go, but his own father would be glad if he disappeared.

They left through the kitchen, adding bread and cheese to their bags. The wind was from the west and there was a faint, sulfurous smell of burning from the smoldering coal seam not far away. He wouldn’t miss that smell.

In the stables, he saddled two horses that he knew had excellent endurance, and they headed out. They made good speed along the moonlit roads for several hours, but rain blew in from the Irish Sea as dawn approached.

Callie was drooping with fatigue, though she’d never admit it, so he suggested, “Let’s stop for a few hours in that barn there. We and the horses need rest, and with the rain, it’s hard to see the road.”

Wordlessly Callie turned into the lane that led to the low barn. No farmhouse was near, so they should be safe for a few hours. In the barn, they tended to their horses, then curled up together in a pile of hay since the night was chilly. As Callie tucked the blanket around them, she murmured, “Thank you for saving me, Richard. We will do well together.”

He brushed a kiss on the top of her head, feeling a tenderness and protectiveness that were new to him. “We will. Sleep well, Catkin.”

He knew society would find their elopement outrageous, but they were both used to outraging people. It gave them so much in common. With a smile, he drifted off.

“They’re in here!” a voice bellowed as the barn doors swung open.

Sunlight flooded into the barn as Gordon fought his way free from the blanket and hay. He knew this was disaster even before the looming figure of Callie’s father, Lord Stanfield, appeared in the open doorway. Behind him—dear God, it was Gordon’s father, Lord Kingston! And two Stanfield grooms.

“Lord George Audley. You filthy bastard, you’ve ruined my daughter!” Stanfield carried a driving whip in his right hand, and he slashed it viciously at Gordon.

The lash knocked Gordon off balance, and before he could regain his footing, the two grooms had grabbed his arms. Stanfield closed in and began pummeling Gordon with his huge fists, smashing into his face and gut. Gordon had learned some fighting skills at the Westerfield Academy, but he couldn’t break free of the grooms.

Callie screamed and tried to wrench her father away. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”

“Good!” Her father jammed a knee into Gordon’s genitals.

Gordon collapsed in agony as the world blackened. Callie dropped to her knees and covered him with her own body. “He hasn’t ruined me! He was helping me to escape that vile marriage you’re trying to force me into!”

Stanfield grabbed Callie’s arm and wrenched her to her feet. “You’re still a virgin?”

“Given the amount of ground they covered during the night, there hasn’t been time to do much else,” Gordon’s father drawled. “I’m not sure the boy is capable of anything more. I’ve wondered if he’s a molly boy. He certainly doesn’t look like a son of mine. He’s far too pretty. His mother was the worst mistake I ever made.”

The insult pulled Gordon to consciousness and he tried to struggle to his feet. “Shut your evil mouth!”

Stanfield kicked him back into the hay, then kicked him again. “Mind if I beat him to death, Kingston?”

“Feel free to kill him,” Gordon’s father said with exquisite malice. “I have better sons.” He turned and strolled from the barn.

Stanfield was winding up for another kick when Callie threw her full weight against him. “Stop this! You’ll have to kill us both because I’ll never let you get away with murdering him!”

When her father hesitated, Callie said frantically, “If you stop beating him, I promise that I’ll marry your horrible friend and act like a good and obedient wife! I’m a virgin—he’ll never know this happened. But you must promise to stop hurting Richard!”

Her father paused, frowning. “For all your wild behavior, you’ve never been a liar.” His eyes narrowed. “You swear that you’ll be a good, obedient daughter and go through with this marriage?”

“You have my word,” she said bitterly. “But tell me, how did you find out so quickly that we’d eloped?”

“One of your sisters has a better sense of duty than you’ve ever had,” her father replied. “She saw you sneaking out and guessed where you were going. After she woke me up, I drove over to Kingston Court. When Lord Kingston saw you were both gone, we set after you. Satisfied?”

Callie’s lips thinned. “I can guess which sister it was. May she rot in hell!”

Her father shook her. “Don’t forget your promise! You behave and I won’t touch your filthy lover again.”

She yanked free of his grip. “You can’t order your servants to hurt him, either.”

He frowned, then nodded. “But you’d better be a damned obedient bride!” He gestured to one of the grooms. “Take her outside.”

As Callie was escorted roughly from the barn, Stanfield stood over Gordon’s bleeding body, his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry that I can’t finish the job, Lord George, but she’s worth a pretty penny married off.” His lips twisted in a vicious smile. “I won’t kill you. But, by God, you’ll wish I had!”

London, summer, 1814

Gordon was bored. Months had passed since anyone had tried to kill him. Luckily, this tedious spell of safety should end soon. Lord Kirkland had summoned him, and Kirkland was an excellent source of missions that required Gordon’s varied and nefarious skills.

Gordon was bemused by the fact that he and Kirkland had become friends of a sort. They’d known each other since their school days at the Westerfield Academy, a small, elite school for boys of “good birth and bad behavior.”

Gordon had hated all the schools his father had sent him to, of which the Westerfield Academy was the last. He actually enjoyed learning, but he picked up new material very quickly, and then was physically incapable of sitting still. When he was a boy at Kingston Court, he and his brothers had been tutored by a young curate who had allowed his most restless student to prowl around while his brothers struggled to master Latin or maths or the globes.

The marquess had never understood, so when Gordon reached an age to be sent off to school, he was placed in one of the most brutal academies in Britain so the masters would force him to sit still and behave properly. Despite the school’s best efforts to beat him into submission, Gordon had become ever more difficult. At the end of the year, he was asked not to return. The same thing happened at the next school. And the next. Gordon was rather proud of that fact.

By the time he reached Westerfield, he was so angry and rebellious that even calm, caring Lady Agnes Westerfield, founder and headmistress of the school, had been unable to reach him. He’d hated the school, hated his classmates, and rejected all friendly overtures. He skipped classes whenever possible, and when he showed up, he acted conspicuously bored and uninterested. To amuse himself, he’d perform brilliantly on exams just to madden his teachers.

Gordon had particularly hated Kirkland. Despite his youth, Kirkland had a cool, ferociously intelligent composure that was damned unnerving. Gordon felt disapproval whenever the other boy looked his way.

His hatred had been sealed during one of the school’s Kalarippayattu sessions. The ancient fighting technique had been introduced to the school by the half Hindu young Duke of Ashton, and learning it had become a school tradition. Gordon had enjoyed the fighting, which helped him work off his restlessness.

Despite his general anger with the forced captivity of school, he seldom truly lost his temper. But one day in a fighting session he succumbed to fury when matched against a sharp-tongued classmate. He might have killed the boy in a rage if Kirkland hadn’t intervened, yanking Gordon out of the fight, slamming him to the ground, and pinning him there. “Control yourself!” he’d ordered with razor-edged menace.

Later, Gordon was grateful he’d been prevented from committing murder even though he despised the little bastard who’d provoked him. But the public humiliation made him hate Kirkland even more.

Yet here he was, whistling as he climbed the steps of Kirkland’s handsome townhouse in Berkeley Square. He stopped whistling before wielding the knocker. It would be bad for his reputation to appear too cheerful.

Soames, the butler who admitted him, said, “His lordship is expecting you, Captain Gordon. He told me to send you to him immediately. He’s in the music room.” Soames gestured to the stairs.

“No need to take me up,” Gordon said as he handed over his hat. As he climbed the steps, he heard piano music. Lady Kirkland, he presumed. She was said to play superbly.

The door to the music room was closed. As he quietly opened it, the full power of the performance swept over him. Gordon wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about music, but he recognized skill when he heard it. He paused, drinking in the vibrant harmonies. No wonder young ladies were taught to create music. Though few would be this good.

He stepped into the room and saw that Kirkland and his lady were seated side by side on the piano bench and playing together. Their flying fingers perfectly coordinated as they produced that powerful, mesmerizing flood of sound.

Gordon caught his breath in surprise, and Kirkland looked up, startled. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” He swiveled on the piano bench and rose to take Gordon’s hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“My pleasure, Kirkland,” Gordon replied. “I never know what interesting project you might have for me.”

“I hope what he has for you isn’t too lethal.” Lady Kirkland also stood to greet him. She wasn’t a classical beauty, but her deep warmth was a perfect complement to her husband’s cool composure. “It’s lovely to see you, Captain Gordon.”

“I greatly enjoyed your playing,” he said honestly. “I’ve heard of your talent, but it was still a surprise and a pleasure. Even more so in your case, Kirkland. Beautiful ladies are supposed to be musical. Such skills are less expected in spymasters.”

Both Kirklands laughed. “Would you like to come to one of our informal musical evenings?” Lady Kirkland said. “Every month or so we invite a few friends over to make music.”

“And talk. And eat,” Kirkland said. “Several of life’s greatest pleasures.” His fond glance at his wife suggested what the greatest pleasure was.

“That’s sounds enjoyable, but I have no musical ability whatsoever,” Gordon said. “I know nothing of instruments and have an alarmingly bad singing voice.”

Lady Kirkland smiled. “You don’t have to perform. It’s enough to enjoy. We performers need an audience, after all. I’ll send you an invitation the next time we have such a gathering.”

He inclined his head. “I will be pleased to attend if I can, Lady Kirkland.”

“Call me Laurel. I owe you too much for formality.” She brushed a kiss on his cheek and glided from the room.

Gordon touched his cheek as he gazed after her. “You’re a lucky man, Kirkland.”

“A fact of which I am very aware.” Kirkland gestured toward a pair of chairs set by a front window. “We might as well talk here. I’ll ring for coffee.”

After he’d done so, they settled in the chairs and Kirkland said, “I believe you’ve lived among our young cousins in the United States?”

Gordon frowned. “You know that I have. I’ll tell you now that I won’t do any spying against the Americans even though our countries are at war. I like them.”

“I don’t want you to spy against them. This particular war has been a damned fool waste of blood and resources and should never have happened,” Kirkland said forcefully. “There are reasons why our countries came to blows, but Britain should have stayed focused on France. Now that Napoleon has abdicated, Wellington’s Peninsular army has been freed to turn elsewhere, which means the war in our former colonies will become much fiercer.”

“All sadly true,” Gordon agreed. “What has that to do with me?”

“I’m hoping to enlist you in a rescue mission,” Kirkland replied. “No politics involved. There is an English-born widow who lives in the American capital, Washington. That whole area has become a war zone, with the Royal Navy rampaging up and down the Chesapeake Bay, burning towns and farms and bombarding American forts. Anything might happen. Her family is concerned about the dangers and would like her to be brought back to safety in England.”

Gordon frowned. “Mounting a rescue across the Atlantic will take time and money. Anything could happen between now and when I’d reach America. Doesn’t this woman have the sense to get out of the way of an invading army if one appears?”

“There’s family estrangement, so they aren’t sure of the woman’s financial situation, but she’s likely in reduced circumstances.”

“Being poor always complicates life,” Gordon agreed. “But what if she doesn’t want to return to England?”

“Exercise your powers of persuasion,” Kirkland said dryly.

“I have done many reprehensible things,” Gordon said with equal dryness, “but I’m not in the business of kidnapping reluctant women.”

“Nor am I. I told the government official who asked me to arrange this that I wouldn’t countenance forcing a woman against her will.” Kirkland smiled a little. “Which would be not only wrong, but difficult since females tend to have minds of their own. If she doesn’t wish to return to the bosom of her estranged family, you’re authorized to escort her to a safer place, at least until the fighting is over. If she is impoverished, provide her with what funds she needs. At the very least, discover her situation so her family will know how she is faring.”

Family matters were the very devil. Warily Gordon asked, “Why is the widow estranged?”

“I don’t know. The official who asked me, Sir Andrew Harding, wasn’t forthcoming, but I believe the woman is a relation of Harding’s wife.”

Gordon had heard of Harding. He was extremely wealthy and had a great deal of political influence. A man who expected results.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I should accept this commission. If the widow has been out of touch with her family, the address might be wrong. Even if I can find her quickly, she might not want to return to England if she’s estranged. Sir Andrew should save his money. He and his wife are unlikely to achieve what they want.”

“Quite possibly not,” Kirkland said quietly. “But sometimes, people need to do something because it’s unbearable to do nothing.”

Gordon understood that impulse to action. His brow furrowed as he considered. Though he’d wanted some excitement, hurling himself headfirst into a war zone on what was likely a wild goose chase was rather more than he’d bargained for. But he’d been feeling restless, and there was some chance that he might be able to rescue the damsel in distress. Assuming a widow qualified as a damsel and she wanted to be rescued.

“I would need to go in prepared to be either British or American,” he said, thinking out loud. “If I end up dealing with the Royal Navy or the British Army, it would help if I had letters of introduction from high level men in the government. You know the sort of thing. ‘This is Lord George Audley, give him anything he asks for.’ ”

Kirkland chuckled. “I can’t produce anything quite so sweeping, but I can certainly give letters that will gain you some consideration. What about transportation?”

“If I do this, I’ll need to charter a ship willing to go into a battle zone, and that will be expensive. Preferably a ship that has sailed the Chesapeake Bay.”

“Understood. You’ll have all the funds you need. I can provide a ship, but I’m not sure I have sailors experienced in those waters.”

“This is going to be a very pricey exercise in futility,” Gordon said wryly. “The ship will need to appear nondescript, but be fast, well armed, and willing to fly flags of different nations if required. I might know a vessel that would be suitable if the captain is available and willing. If he isn’t, it will be up to you.”

“It sounds like you’ve decided to accept this commission,” Kirkland observed, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Apparently I have,” Gordon agreed. “What’s the woman’s name and address?”

Kirkland handed over a paper with a name and address written on it. “Interestingly, her married name is Audley, like yours. Do you have any American relatives named Matthias Audley?”

Gordon shrugged. “There may be a connection, but Audley isn’t an uncommon name. I doubt if sharing the same name will weigh with the widow if she’s reluctant to return to England.” He got to his feet. “Now to see if the ship and captain I have in mind are in London, willing, and able.”

“Do what you think best, Gordon.” Kirkland also stood and drew a folded piece of paper from an inside pocket. “Here’s a bank draft toward expenses. I’ll collect the authorization letters and send them to your house. If you need anything else, just ask.”

Gordon whistled at the size of the bank draft. “They really want her back safely!”

“Yes, and if she won’t come, the family wants to insure that she has what she needs to live comfortably.”

“If she’s impoverished, she might be more willing to come with me. Here’s hoping she’s eager to return home and all goes smoothly.”

“That seldom happens,” Kirkland murmured. “Which is why I thought of you.”

Gordon grinned. “I’ll take that as a vote of confidence in my shifty skills.”

“Exactly so.” Kirkland offered his hand. “Let me know if you need anything. Good luck and Godspeed.”

As Gordon shook the other man’s hand, he felt a prickle at the base of his neck, and a convictio. . .