Page 2 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
“It certainly appears the part of a wild, windswept retreat,” Finn noted as the boat neared the island. He added warmly to Tabitha, “Looks as though it’s stepped from one of our favorite gothic novels, love.”
“Will you prowl after me as I roam the corridors, holding my candle aloft as I wear nothing but my night rail?” his wife asked with a teasing, affectionate smile.
Finn’s eyes darkened. “I look forward to catching you.”
Dom kept his gaze trained on the island, growing larger with each moment, rather than watch the intimacy between Finn and Tabitha. From this distance, he could just start to make out details of Longbridge’s private retreat. Rocky cliffs formed a border around a beach, and on one of those cliffsperched a three-story stone building with pointed roofs and even a crenelated tower. Behind the manor house stretched rugged terrain, velvet green in the early spring, and though the trees dotting the landscape were minimal, they formed little adornments here and there.
“The island is beautiful,” Tabitha said, gazing across the water. “Don’t you think so, Dom?”
“I suppose. Kieran’s the poet and likely’s got any number of pretty and ornate metaphors and similes to rattle off.” But for someone who had spent the first eighteen years of his life in the riverside Ratcliff slum, wide open spaces like this island only created a seething uneasiness in his gut, as if there was nowhere to hide, and no means of fighting.
That’s all it had to be, just a city bloke’s apprehension at being in an unfamiliar environment. Not a premonition.
Dom’s mother had been a modern woman of profound sense and reason. She also held a touch of her old Welsh foremothers’ superstition. She was always careful with wrens’ nests found in the eaves of their tenement, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to bring hawthorn flowers into their rooms. Perhaps some of Ma’s old beliefs had seeped into Dom, making him susceptible to suggestion. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something loomed on the horizon. Something other than the sprawling stone manor house perched atop a lonely and remote island.
It was the sort of place nobs believed romantic but working people like Dom thought were out of the way, hard to care for, a bit frightening, and overall, a substantial pain in the arse.
The best part about this place was that it was far, far away from anywhere that could make Dom remember Willa. Every corner of London was saturated with her—parks where they’d strolled together, tea shops, museums. Everywhere genteel courting couples could be found, and since she was an earl’s daughter, that’s exactly where they’d gone.
The city was haunted by Willa. Even when she’d fled to the Continent in the wake of their disastrous almost-wedding.
But now she was back in England, back in London. He’d done his utmost to avoid seeing her, which meant hiding at home during the day and only going to the city’s seediest corners at night. A prisoner of his own guilt. Longbridge’s far-flung Scottish retreat seemed exactly where Dom needed to be, at least for the next fortnight.
“The party’s already underway?” Dom asked while the heaving boat drew nearer to the island.
“A week’s passed since Longbridge opened his doors to what I’ve been promised is the most amusing and uninhibited company,” Finn said with a smile.
“Byuninhibited,” Dom said dryly, “you mean a collection of sluts of all genders.”
“The same,” Finn replied.
Dom waited for a kick of expectancy at the prospect. He’d be far away from the wagging tongues, disapproving eyes, and suffocating morals of the ton, and no doubt there’d be plenty of bed hopping. But while the pitching of the boat didn’t disturb his stomach, he grew nauseated at the thought of welcoming anyone into his bed. Anyone who wasn’ther. And since that wasn’t ever going to happen, he’d have to settle in for a long two weeks of listening to other people fuck in adjoining rooms.
Worse yet, he might be next to Kieran and Celeste’s chamber. Kieran had married Dom’s little sister last year, and it was evident through their heated looks and lingering touches that the two were ardently in love. The very last thing Dom wanted to hear was his own baby sister in the throes of passion. If that was the case, Dom would go sleep out on the moor or the heath or whatever these country folk called a big plot of dirt.
Kieran and Celeste had left for the island three days ago, so if, by some horrendous stroke of misfortune, Dom’s roomwasnext to theirs, hopefully they’d gotten all the passion out of their systems.
Casting a wary eye toward Finn and Tabitha in their own heated embrace on the deck of the boat, he thought it seemed unlikely. In their bachelor days, the Ransome brothers had been infamous, and now that they had both found love matches,they seemed randier than ever, always fondling their brides and whispering things that made their wives blush. It was enough to make a man want to swallow rocks.
Dom turned to the skipper, a bloke with the requisite full gingery beard and knit cap.
“Do you live on the island, too?” he asked the man.
“Where you boarded the boat, in Oban,” the skipper answered in an accent so thick it would require ten lanterns to see through. “That’s my home. I come back to Mr. Longbridge’s as he needs me, but as soon as I drop you folk off, I’m headed back.”
“So, you’ll return daily to reprovision,” Dom surmised.
The bloke only gave him a craggy, weathered smile. “Nearly there.”
That wasn’t an answer, and apprehension prickled along Dom’s nape. He ought to tell the skipper to turn around, but that was ridiculous. It had already taken days on bumpy roads to reach the port, and then there’d been this boat trip of several hours just to reach Longbridge’s front door. Turning around now would make him look a ruddy ass, and he’d no real proof that anythingdidawait him, so he’d continue on this journey and make himself enjoy this bloody house party. If notenjoy, thentolerate. As much as he’d been able to tolerate anything since last spring.
At last, the boat reached a small jetty that arrowedout from the beach. Several uniformed footmen stood at attention, clearly having seen the craft’s approach, to await the visitors’ arrival. The skipper brought his vessel in and tied off before helping Finn to disembark. In turn, Finn assisted Tabitha in climbing onto the little pier. When it was Dom’s turn, he waved off offers of assistance.
“Eighteen years climbing on and off ships,” he said gruffly, “I should be able to do this on my own.” From the time he’d been able to walk, Dom had worked the London docks as a stevedore, his size and strength invaluable assets. On the wharf, at least. In the ballrooms of the ton, the fact that he was built like a hulking stone tower made him the object of ridicule and disdain.
To hell with those snobs, he told himself, which had been his motto for over a decade.
Thank God he didn’t embarrass himself as he stepped from the boat to the jetty. Da might not have been proud of him these last few years, but he didn’t disgrace his father now.
