Page 7 of The Rogue’s Offer

“Perhaps not, but my brother is not always discreet in his liaisons. It’s my responsibility to ensure the women he indulges himself with are not in pursuit of a title.”

“I want nothing more from your brother than for him to return my childhood home to me. And I was willing to pay in the only currency I possess. Unfortunately, I underestimated the depths of your family’s depravity.”

Her face pale, Ophelia’s brown eyes flashed with pale gold sparks of anger as she quickly stepped around him and headed for the door. He matched her pace and held up the key he’d pulled from his pocket.

“I will escort you back to the ballroom, my lady.”

“No. You will not,” she snapped as she tugged the key from his grasp and proceeded to unlock the door.

With a sharp movement she jerked open the door and allowed it to fly open. Caught off guard by her action, Mathias didn’t move fast enough to avoid the door hitting him. An oath escaped him as he released a low cry of pain. Preoccupied with his injury, he failed to halt Ophelia’s flight from the room. One hand pressed to his nose, he felt a warm trickle of blood touch his lips.

“Damn it to hell.”

Mathias pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against his nose to staunch the bleeding. After several moments he was able to straighten his head while gently wiping the last bit of blood from above his upper lip.

He deserved every bit of Ophelia’s anger. There was no doubt in his mind that her outrageous proposal had been born of desperation. He’d been so blinded by his preconceived notions as to her motives, he’d failed to see the humiliation layered beneath her initial proposal.

His failure was compounded by his inability to control the lust she’d aroused in him. Not only had he allowed her to believe he was his brother, he’d negotiated an agreement with her. There was no doubt in his mind that Charles would find his behavior worthy of Ophelia’s contempt. He grimaced at the thought.

This was the first time since he was a boy that he’d done something less than circumspect, not to mention dishonorable. Generally, it was Charles who chafed at the constraints of society. Mathias bit down on the inside of his cheek. As much as he loved his brother, he knew Charles was far removed from a saint. Even when they were children Charles had always walked the fine line between acceptable behavior and outright defiance of social conventions.

Tonight Mathias had been the one to cross the line. The fact he’d not attempted to quickly correct Ophelia’s mistaken belief as to his identity was reprehensible. It illustrated how jaded he’d become since first taking on the task of guarding Charles’s reputation. Protecting his brother from scandal was a duty he’d performed ever since their father had died ten years ago.

From the moment Charles had inherited the Thornbury title, Mathias had served as his brother’s confidant and estate manager as well as the wall any woman intent on becoming the next Countess of Thornbury would have to breach. But none of that excused his conduct in bartering with Ophelia and accepting what she’d offered in exchange for the return of her home. He deserved every bit of her contempt, particularly when he considered his base reaction to her.

Reluctantly he admitted it had been difficult not to be fascinated by her proposition. His admission that she intrigued him was true. When she’d shared Havenstock’s opinion of her wifely duties, he’d been outraged the man had convinced Ophelia she was incapable of passion. The idea that she thought herself incapable of feeling passion or arousing a man’s desire would have been laughable if he’d not seen the look of humiliation in her brown eyes.

Everything about her reaction to him illustrated she was more than capable of great passion, but it was obvious she believed what Havenstock had told her. In all likelihood, the old bastard hadn’t been able to raise his cock and blamed his wife. Mathias had only met the old viscount a couple of times, but had never really cared for the man. Havenstock had been a bombastic, pompous ass. Ophelia was better off a widow.

With a grunt of frustrated disgust, Mathias strode out into the corridor and headed back to the ballroom. He was far too preoccupied with the woman. He’d done what he’d needed to do to—protect Charles. It was a poor attempt on his part to explain away his behavior tonight, which was inexcusable. The thought made him feel even worse. He muttered a harsh oath beneath his breath. He’d allowed matters to get out of hand to the point he’d failed to apologize or reassure her that he would see to it her home was returned to her. As he entered the ballroom, he saw two of the Rockwood family members conversing with Ophelia. Both Percy and Louisa laughed at something Ophelia said, and he debated whether or not to approach the three of them.

Almost as if she sensed his presence, Ophelia turned her head and their gazes met. Revulsion flashed across her features before she quickly looked away. That answered that question. Mathias bit down on the inside of his cheek. She was right. He was a bastard. The question now was how to make her understand he wasn’t the man she believed him to be. The instant the thought filled his head, Mathias went rigid. And he’d been worried about Charles becoming infatuated with Ophelia. He uttered another oath beneath his breath as he spun around on his heel and left the ballroom. Tomorrow Viscountess Havenstock would have her home back, and he’d be able to apologize.

§ § §

Mathias stepped out of the hack onto the sidewalk in front of the small, plain townhouse. When he’d seen Percy at the club earlier this morning, he’d managed to subtly secure Ophelia’s address. Now as he stood in front of the nondescript residence, he frowned slightly. By all accounts, Havenstock had been quite well off. Surely Ophelia could afford something more in keeping with her title.

He quickly strode up the three steps and grabbed the knocker to rap firmly on the door. The door was answered almost immediately by an elderly gentleman who arched his eyebrows at him. The look evoked a childhood memory of being under the stern gaze of his school master, and Mathias bit back a smile.

“Mr. Mathias Gilchrist to see Viscountess Havenstock. I believe I’m expected.” The small fabrication made the butler open the door wide to give him access to the narrow entryway.

“Who is it, Taggert?” The voice echoing out of a room on his left made Mathias turn his head as a younger version of Ophelia emerged from what he assumed was a parlor. “Lord Thornbury.”

“Actually, I’m Mathias Gilchrist, his brother.” At his brief reply, the young woman’s eyes widened in surprise before she recovered her wits and smiled.

“Good morning, Mr. Gilchrist. I’m Elizabeth Sheffield.”

“A pleasure,” he murmured as he stepped forward to kiss the young lady’s hand. A blush crested over her cheeks as she quickly pulled her hand from his and gestured toward the doorway behind her.

“Won’t you come in? Taggert, please inform Lady Havenstock we have a caller, and ask Mrs. Barstow to bring us some tea.” Elizabeth Sheffield led the way into a modest salon. She pointed to a chair beside the fireplace and a small fire burning in the grate. “Please, Mr. Gilchrist, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly as his gaze swept around the room. There was barely room for the couch and two chairs that filled the parlor while the small piano against the wall took up what little space remained.

“Please forgive my staring, Mr. Gilchrist. Your resemblance to the earl is quite striking.”

“We’re often mistaken for one another,” he said with a smile. “And there are times when it’s most inconvenient.”

“Since we’ve not met before, I can only assume you are here to call on my sister.”