The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott

to a stop.

       Dressed in a forest green coat, his sword causing one of the long coattails to flare, he swept them a bow, one hand behind his back, the other outstretched to the side. “Cousin Samantha,” he greeted her as he straightened. “Were you looking for me?”

       Samantha shook her head, gaze on the floor, and Adele was certain the girl was fighting tears. Samantha must have hoped they’d all been wrong when she’d seen her cousin down the corridor, anything if that meant her father was still alive. Adele started to lay a hand on the girl’s shoulder in comfort, but Vaughn shook his head as if to suggest another approach.

       “It’s all right to cry, you know,” he said softly to Samantha. “Someone should grieve his loss.”

       How kind. Adele offered him a smile, which he returned briefly before bending his head to look at his cousin again.

       Samantha nodded, raising her gaze to meet his. “Do you?”

       “Assuredly. Uncle was like spice to me. Without him, I find life rather bland.”

       Adele could imagine that. When her father had died, she’d felt as if the light had left her world for a while. But she’d found another Light. Gratefulness welled inside her. But it would take time, Adele knew, for Samantha to reach that point in her grief.

       “Your father is still alive,” Samantha pointed out to Vaughn.

       “He is,” Vaughn agreed, “but he is also very bland. He cares only for his books and his studies. Sometimes I wonder how he managed to woo a beautiful, sought-after actress.”

       “Or a gypsy princess,” Samantha said, her lips curving.

       Adele and Vaughn both returned her smile.

       “Ah, but that was a different father,” he said, “one who understood the lure of the exotic, who was willing to brave the call of adventure. Someone more like me, or Uncle.”

      Was Jerome also one to brave the call? Did beauty and position matter as much to him? Was he just as willing to run off with an actress or an heiress? Or a governess?

       “Was my father so adventurous?” Samantha asked. “He never seemed particularly so to me.”

       Vaughn’s chin wiggled back and forth, as if he were chewing on his thoughts before sharing them. “Perhaps,” he said at last, “children never see the spirit of adventure in their own parents.”

       Samantha put her hands on the hips of her sprigged muslin gown. “Well, if he wasn’t adventurous, how did he die so suddenly?”

       “Samantha,” Adele chided, with a quick warning glance at Vaughn, as well. “Your eldest cousin said this was not a topic for discussion.”

       To her surprise, the swordsman agreed. “Your father never told you anything about his life in London, so obviously he thought there were some things you shouldn’t know.”

       Adele recognized the look in Samantha’s eyes as the girl raised her chin. “I’m certain he would have told me sooner or later. Perhaps he was waiting until I was old enough. You’ve no right to keep it from me.”

       “That is quite enough, miss,” Adele said. “I suggest you apologize to your cousin.”

       Samantha’s dark eyes filled with tears once more, and she thrust out her lower lip just the slightest, even as her lashes fluttered. “I’m so sorry if I offended you, Cousin Vaughn.”

       Adele nodded, satisfied, but her charge wasn’t finished.

       “I loved my father so much,” she murmured, and she did not even glance at Adele before continuing. “I must know how he spent his last moments. Won’t you tell me, please?”

       “Samantha Everard!” What was the girl thinking, to behave so boldly?

       But Vaughn didn’t seem to mind. He merely chuckled. “Oh, you’re an Everard all right. Uncle must have delighted in you.”

       “Mr. Everard, I must ask you not to answer that request,” Adele said, trying to recover her proper governess’s voice.

       He didn’t seem to be listening to her any more than Samantha was. He leaned closer to her charge and lowered his head until they was nearly nose to nose. Adele braced herself for his answer. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper.

       “There we stood, Uncle and I, as the enemy drew closer. We knew we’d have no rescue that day. We’d seen our comrades fall one by one, friends he’d had for years, boys I’d known since childhood.

       “‘Stay with me, lad,’ he said. ‘I’ve been through worse, and I swear to you, I’ll bring you safely home.’

       “Back-to-back, we held them off, slicing and thrusting until our blades ran red with blood, and the corpses piled at our booted feet.”

       Samantha’s eyes were huge.

       Adele stared at him, aghast. “Where was this?”

       “The fall of Jerusalem, 1244,” he said, straightening. “You’ve heard of the crusades.”

       The crusades? Adele didn’t know whether to sag with relief or scold him for scaring her half to death. “You made that up?”

       He swept her another bow. “I have the distinction of being a poet, Miss Walcott.”

       “You have the distinction of being a liar!” Samantha cried.

       Vaughn’s face tightened. Adele stepped between the two of them. “Samantha! It is a very grave insult to say a gentleman lies.”

       Samantha’s gaze was stormy. “Then he should tell me the truth!”