Free Have You Any Rogues? by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

snorted. “You were intoxicated by that Jezebel.”
    “I hardly think Lady Astbury qualifies as a—”
    “A Jezebel, I say. And you were flirting with her. She unfortunately possesses all the beguiling airs her Aunt Zillah used to prance about town—and look at her. Lady Zillah Seldon has never married, but oh, the houses she’s gained over the years, and not in the proper way.” The lady’s brows rose. “Her niece is no different.”
    Yes, he got her point. But that was Lady Zillah, not Henrietta.
    Yet his aunt wasn’t done. “Oh, Crispin, what did those wretched Frogs do to you that would make you forget the basic tenants of being a Dale. And you, the Dale.”
    “I assure you, Aunt Damaris, that any hint of interest I might have showed Lady Astbury was naught but a momentary lapse in judgment. A trifle, a meaningless dalliance over dinner—”
    “Just make sure it stays that way. Another few courses and she would have had you spellbound with her Seldon wiles. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened to Ruston Dale? He was never quite right after he was seduced by that witch Yolande Seldon. He had to be restrained.”
    “I do believe that had more to do with the fact that he was prone to fits.”
    “Harrumph !” Aunt Damaris deplored being contradicted. Or thwarted. Still, she adjusted her course ever-so-slightly. “You have your lineage to consider. Your duty.”
    Translated, his aunt’s words were clear: As the Dale of Langdale, he was obligated to ensure the family line.
    And not with a Seldon.
    Yet when he looked at Henrietta Seldon, he saw everything he wanted in his viscountess. A lady of beauty and wit. Noble and intelligent.
    She’d grace his life, his house, his heart, with a fiery passion, one he’d spent the last few years of imprisonment and deprivation promising himself he’d gain once he was freed.
    If anything, that hope, that tiny spark, had carried him through the years of captivity.
    But given the look of abject horror on his aunt’s face, he knew he needed to placate her. “Lady Astbury is a widow. Certainly not the sort I’d consider for marriage.” He glanced down at his nails as if bored beyond distraction by this entire conversation.
    “I would hope not,” Aunt Damaris said, then she smiled at him, a faint, weary tip of her lips. “I worried so for you, my boy. What would come of all of us if we’d lost you? And if you were to—”
    She stopped short of saying the words.
    If you were to marry one of them—
    “You shall not lose me, dear one,” he said, taking her hand and laying a gentle, gallant kiss on her fingers. “Now off to bed with you. Why Cousin Prudence hasn’t seen you to bed hours ago, I don’t know.”
    “I’m not a child to be coddled or bullied,” she shot back.
    “Be that as it may, if Prudence won’t take care of you, I’ll replace her with Philomena-”
    “Enough!” Damaris protested, for they both knew that as nearsighted as Phi was, she wasn’t as malleable as Prudence Dale, Phi having inherited an excessively stubborn streak from her non-Dale mother. “I’ll go, but only on the condition that you swear, Crispin—”
    “Swear what, Auntie?”
    She wagged a finger under his nose. “That you stay away from that dreadful woman.”
    Crispin laughed. “Do you doubt that I would? Aunt Damaris, I would think that at your age, you would know that a gentleman will flirt, he might even have improper dalliances, but when it comes to marriage, family is first.”
    “You have a duty and obligation to marry,” she reminded him yet again as she went to the door.
    “Auntie, this I swear: While I will only marry for love, my duty to you and the family will always remain of the utmost importance.”
    I mproper dalliance . . .
    Henrietta had heard enough and turned from the garden windows, moving quickly along the side of the house.
    Grief, and its all-too-familiar blackness, closed in around her.
    She’d known better than to listen at