Have You Any Rogues? Read Free Page B

fingers and stalked into the woods, his dogs following in unison, silently, as if they too felt their master’s grief.
    When he got nearly out of sight, he turned once more and took one last look at her. Longing and desire filled his eyes, but the set of his jaw told the true story.
    There were some lines that couldn’t be crossed.
    And that very image of Crispin, Viscount Dale—handsome and rugged, steely and determined—Henrietta Seldon carried in her heart until the next time they met.

 
    C HAPTER T WO
Every Dale is given the same middle name: Obstinate.
A SELDON FAMILY ADAGE
    Owle Park, 1810
    “I ’ve come to see Preston,” Viscount Dale told Henrietta as he came marching up the steps, his announcement, or rather demand, wrenching her back to the present.
    Well, of all the arrogant, presumptuous . . .
    “He’s not here. He and the duchess have returned to London. Seek him there,” she told him, turning on one heel and about to slam the door in his face, but he was too quick for her, having wedged his boot in the doorjamb and then easily shouldering it open, striding in like the conquering hero.
    She pointed toward the drive. “Get out or I’ll have you tossed out.”
    An idle threat if ever there was one.
    There was only Mrs. Briar and her son in the house. And dear Mrs. Briar was deaf as a post, while her son was a kindly, simple boy who was perfect for fetching horses and carrying in more kindling, but hardly the type to toss this devil of a rogue out by his well-appointed breeches.
    Nor was Tabitha’s renowned dog much help. Mr. Muggins sat beside her and watched the viscount through narrowed eyes.
    Henrietta hoped that meant the dog was about to make good his wretched reputation and chase this villain from the premises.
    But not even that was meant to be, as Mr. Muggins just held his position.
    For his part, Lord Dale hardly seemed to care that the object of his quest wasn’t available. He turned his sharp, blue-eyed gaze on Henrietta, and she nearly shivered.
    Because it was when Crispin Dale looked at her thusly that mayhem usually ensued.
    Mayhem of the heart.
    The worst sort, in her estimation.
    “Get out,” she told him, pointing again at the door. Before you wreak havoc on my life. Yet again.
    Words she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing.
    “You’ll do,” he told her, setting down a large hamper before her.
    At this, Mr. Muggins sat up, softly whimpering, then coming over to nudge the lid of the large basket.
    “Yes, you hell-bound mongrel, your sins have finally come home to roost,” Crispin told the dog.
    “Whatever are you talking about?” Henrietta demanded. “What is the meaning of all this?”
    “The meaning?” he sputtered, then reached over and flipped open the lid.
    There was a brief second when Henrietta realized exactly what was inside the basket, before the contents erupted in a whimpering, barking melee of puppies.
    “That . . . that beast,” he told her, pointing at Mr. Muggins, “got my best hunting bitch pregnant.”
    So there it was. History repeating itself. Wasn’t this how the entire feud had begun all those centuries ago? Over an ill-begotten litter.
    A litter of prized hunting pups intended as a gift for Queen Elizabeth—set to have been born when Her Majesty had been due to arrive at Langdale during one of her summer progresses. Save the puppies had come out looking exactly like one of the Duke of Preston’s infamous mongrels.
    Oh, how the queen and the duke—one of her favorites—had laughed over it, but the Dales had never forgotten the humiliation.
    So here was Crispin, glaring at her as if she had sent Mr. Muggins over with just that intent.
    To impugn their reputation once again.
    Well, he could glare all he wanted. Henrietta wasn’t a Seldon for nothing. She scowled right back at him.
    After all, hadn’t Crispin’s cousin, that vixen Daphne Dale, recently seduced Henrietta’s own dear brother, Henry—sensible and responsible