Page 1 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Chapter One
Likely, there should be more than a second floor and a glass window to separate a joyful, innocent family from a villain, but it would have to do today. Below, the Cavendish family frolicked in the Earl of Beckingham’s gardens. And Cass, from his second-story perch, could not look away. But he wouldn’t get any closer. He shrank a bit away from the window, hoping to blend into the navy-colored drapery of the library. If they even glimpsed him, he’d contaminate the children, shock the matrons, enrage thepaterfamilias, and send the maidens swooning with fright.
That’s what happened when villains were about.
And Cassius Adgate, the heart-shadowed Viscount Albee, was just that—a villain. He’d been exiled, for goodness’ sake, and by his brother, too. Damning, that.
Not surprising, though. He had tried to kidnap his brother’s betrothed.
But reformation shone on the horizon. If he could figure out exactlyhowto reform. Surely, torturing himself by looking upon a rosy scene he could not join—exiled, you know—played a part of his damned penance.
Damn. He should not have thought “damned.” Reforming wasdeuceddifficult work. Yes, better, more gentlemanly language, that. Not perfect, but he could only expect better at this stage of the process. He picked up the book he always kept near—The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin—and flipped through its well-worn pages.
True, Franklin didn’t write about foul language in his chapter on moral improvement, but it could fall under the category of silence. Cass wandered away from the window and read. “Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.” He peeked out the window once more. At least he remained safe from trifling conversation up here. That would not be so down below. He flipped through the pages, checking the thirteen areas for improvement once more.
There were Temperance and Moderation. He’d stopped drinking. Hadn’t had a single drop of anything in months.
Then came Silence. Without company—he peeked out the window, ignoring the pang of longing—he could keep that. And in the process gain Tranquility.
Next, Order, Resolve, and Industry. He’d spent his time since returning to England putting his estate and lands in order and repairing his relationship with his father. The time for making things up with his brother would come soon, but not yet.
Frugality, of course. He’d stopped seeing his mistress, and without a second residence to keep in London and baubles to shower his former mistress with, he’d certainly been more frugal than ever before.
Sincerity and Justice were difficult ones. Easy to do in solitude, more difficult to practice when in company.
Cleanliness he’d never had an issue with.
Chastity… well, frugality meant he had never been more chaste than this current moment. Except, of course before he’d discovered, at the age of fifteen, Miss Twyla Green, a barmaid with all the patience a green boy could hope for.
Humility. If he claimed to be excelling at humility, did that automatically negate the statement? And did he feel humility or self-loathing? Too bad Franklin no longer lived. Cass had so many questions.
His gaze still drawn through the clear glass of the window, he flopped into a chair with a groan loud enough to wake the dead and make them roll their eyes at his self-pitying state.
“This is going to be deuced difficult.” Deuced instead of damn, and the first time, too. There. Progress.
Difficult or not, it was necessary. It’s why he’d accepted Nathan and Lola’s offer to stay with them in London. He could resist temptation and behave well when isolated in the country. Easy enough. No temptation to resist, behaving the only rural pastime.
London, though, London offered true temptation round every corner. Resisting, reforming, returning to London—the only way to prove himself worthy to his father, his brother, and maybe even one day to himself.
“What’s going to be difficult?”
Cass swung toward the voice, though looking away from the window felt like a bad shave with a blunt razor. It scraped and irritated. The Countess of Beckingham, Lola, stood in the doorway. A woman with sound intellect. And misplaced trust. They’d met when her husband had helped Cass improve his estate, and she’d taken him up as a project ever since. She liked him for some illogical reason.
“My plan of improvement.” He waved Franklin’s book in the air and slumped deeper into the chair.
Lola marched across the room and snagged it. She thumbed through the pages as he turned his attention back to the window.
“Come outside and join us,” she offered quietly, eyes on the book.
“No.” He snorted.
“Is it the Cavendish clan you’re scared of? Baron Eadon? My brother-in-law is, at heart, a kitty cat, though he looks like a lion. He will not bite.” She stopped her thumbing and tilted her head, frowning at a page. “Not much anyway. Join us. I’ll introduce you by a false name.”
Cass spied the tall older man with shaggy, golden-white hair and large arms likely kept strong for the sole purpose of smashing in the faces of any man who looked his daughters’ way. He knew little of Baron Eadon except that he’d traveled the world, wrote books, got plenty famous. Oh, and he had two eligible daughters. Both pretty, too, at least from this distance and through a window. Baron Eadon would bite all right. Hard.
“No,” Cass said. “Done with your perusal?”
Lola sighed and tossed the book at him. It pelted him in the center of his chest and dropped to his lap.
