Free Captive Bride by Carol Finch

answer.
      Determined to test that theory, she swept into the elaborately decorated study where her father spent his evenings, laboring over his ledgers. "I have a most exciting evening planned," she gushed as she threw back the drapes and peered out into the darkness. "I thought I would take a drive along the wharf and then set your warehouse afire."
      "That's nice," Aubrey mumbled stoically as he plopped down at his massive desk. After rummaging through a drawer, he located his ledgers. "Try to be home at a reasonable hour. The streets are not safe after dark these days."
      What did he care if she were brutally assaulted and left in an unconscious heap in an alleyway? Aubrey didn't even know she existed. He really didn't give a fig what she said or where she went. It was a crushing blow to Rozalyn's pride that her father would not even spare her five minutes of his precious time. What had she done to deserve such disinterest?
      Hurt by his indifference, she ambled out of the study without saying farewell. Why should she? Aubrey was paying no attention. He'd already buried his nose in his ledgers and had blocked out the rest of the world.
      Rozalyn burst through the front door and then planted herself on the bench that sat in a corner of the porch that stretched across the front of their home. Tears triggered by wounded pride swam in her eyes, but Rozalyn refused to release them. She had spent the past nine years braving her father's lack of concern so why should she fall to pieces tonight? He didn't care about her. If she faded into the woodwork, never to reappear, he probably wouldn't even notice she was gone.
      A pensive frown puckered her brow. Was it because of Aubrey's cool indifference that she played her mischievous pranks? Did she hope to make him notice her? Most likely, Rozalyn decided as she considered the past few years of her life. She had led a boisterous existence: chased her own rainbows, followed her every whim, and cavorted with lively characters whose way of life varied greatly from hers. Yet she had not gained her father's attention. Although she had failed to do so, she had learned a valuable lesson. Money does not make the man nor credit him with morals. She had met many delightful characters in the streets. Although most of them were desperate for coin, by and large they retained a certain amount of goodness and conscience. They focused upon survival, and Rozalyn often helped those who were less fortunate. Then, too, she spent many a night listening to the tales and joining in the adventures of the raucous waterfront crowd.
      Indeed, her association with so-called ruffians had earned her a scandalous reputation in the sophisticated social circle of the French aristocracy. But her friendships with the earthy men of the streets were more gratifying than her association with the shallow gentility.
      Dismissing these thoughts, Rozalyn pricked her ears at the sound of an approaching carriage. She had important matters to attend, she reminded herself. Gracefully she descended the steps to accept the groom's supporting arm. Then, breathing a thankful sigh that Dominic had remained at his estate, Rozalyn settled herself on the tufted seat. Staring at the opposite wall, she concentrated on her purpose as the carriage rumbled down the street. She had to tame this lusty beast who had suggested they become intimate since they were supposedly head over heels in love with each other.
      She must pretend to be enamored of this tall, dark, ruggedly handsome cavalier, though he could never truly steal her heart, especially after he had attempted to blackmail her into his bed. If he were a noble gentleman he would expect nothing in return for aiding a damsel in distress. But Dominic Baudelair is a philanderer, she thought resentfully. She would flirt with him and string him along for a while, but she would not allow herself to be seduced. Someday the right man would come along, and Rozalyn would offer