Conspiring with a Rogue by Julie Johnstone

Author:Julie Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love, suspense, humor, historical, regency
Published: 2014-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

“Please.” Whitney grabbed Drake’s arm and pulled at him. “Don’t make a terrible scene.”

Disbelief stilled Drake. Whitney was pleading for this man, Jonathan. She worried for Jonathan’s safety. Drake took a good look at his enemy—the man who had taken Whitney from him. Was his enemy really wearing a purple waistcoat adorned with gold flowers? Hell, yes, those were flowers and voluminous green trousers under his purple silk waistcoat. And he had rings on four fingers and three—one was apparently not ostentatious enough—three diamond pins.

Hellfire. Johnnie-boy was not only impotent, he was a fop. His shirt collar was so high and stiff, the dandy probably could not turn his head from side to side without pricking his cheek with a shirt point.

Drake stared for so long, Whitney huffed. He couldn’t help it. He was amazed that she loved the effeminate man standing beside her. “I’ve the name of a good tailor, if you’d like it,” Drake said.

Whitney gasped, and Johnnie-boy tugged on his trouser seam to smooth them.

The ridiculousness of the man defused Drake’s desire to kill him. Simple hatred would do. He threw his head back and laughed, until Whitney jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“You are a rude American,” her impotent lover mumbled.

Drake wiped the moisture from his eyes and met Whitney’s glare. “Thank God.” Drake motioned toward Johnnie-boy. “Look what being a polite Englishman turns you into.”

The room fell silent except for the ticking of an antique clock on the side table, which enhanced the tension vibrating in the air.

Whitney’s hand struck his face with a force he had not realized she had in her. The room erupted into a scuffling of feet and protest. Rutherford towed Lady Audrey toward the door, as the woman objected loudly. Johnnie-boy turned as if to retreat. Drake could not help but chuckle, but as Whitney reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, Drake’s amusement vanished. He wanted to rip the dandy’s arm out of her hold. Hell, he wanted to rip the man’s arm off his body.

Whitney’s gaze froze on Drake’s. “Now we’re even,” she said.

The skin of his cheek stung. He hated himself for his nastiness, but he hated her more. Even now, her eyes bright with anger, her cheeks flushed red and her small hands clenched around another man’s arm, Drake wanted her. Damn her. “We’re far from even,” he said.

“Perhaps not, but there’s no need to continue.”

He rubbed his flesh, his anger flaring back to life. There was a need.

His need. And it was definite and fierce.

If he was going to live the rest of his life without her, he had nothing but hell to look forward to. She was his other half, his soul. She had condemned him to perdition by making him love her, and damn her—he wanted her sentenced to the same miserable existence.

He would make her love him, beg him to stay, and then he would leave and take her pride, her soul and her peace when he departed. He smiled, and she blinked, a frown of confusion creasing her brow.

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