Going Rogue (Ribbons and Rogues Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  GOING ROGUE

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  GOING ROGUE

  A Ribbons and Rogues Novel

  JESSICA JEFFERSON

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  GOING ROGUE

  Copyright©2015

  JESSICA JEFFERSON

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-61935-789-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is dedicated to

  Dawn and Meredith McCaskill

  for helping me find inspiration

  in the most unexpected places

  and to Violetta Rand

  for assisting me in effectively channeling

  that same inspiration.

  Acknowledgements

  A special thanks to the team at Soul Mate Publishing. Debbie Gilbert, Cheryl Yeko, and my editor Cynthia Brannam. They’re a great group to work with. Also a big thank you to Gina Conkle for her sage words of wisdom and Victoria Vane for her much needed words of encouragement.

  Prologue

  Lady Cynthia Browning lifted the candle higher, the flame barely piercing the darkness. As she cautiously made her way down the stone steps descending into the cellar, the eerie sound of chanting female voices echoed around her. She covered her nose with a handkerchief to block the musty smell of old oak and earth assaulting her senses. A cold draft blew up the narrow corridor causing the flame to dance and every hair on her body to stand on end.

  She stopped when she finally felt the give of soft dirt beneath her slippered feet, the voices in the darkness suddenly quiet. She held the candle out, its light revealing half a dozen hooded figures.

  “What are you girls doing in here?” she asked, placing her hand on her hip. “And why are you wearing those hideous cloaks?” She shook her head, lighting the torches that lined the walls. “Grace, what’s the meaning of this?”

  One of the girls stepped forward, lowering her hood. “My apologies, Lady Browning. I thought it would be all right to use your home since you weren’t expected back for another week.”

  “You thought I’d approve of all of you trespassing in my wine cellar?”

  Another girl stepped up, removing her covering, revealing a pretty head of russet-colored curls. “We needed somewhere private to perform our inductions. We thought as a former Ribbon, you’d understand.”

  Although she understood perfectly, that didn’t mean she approved of a gaggle of unchaperoned girls bumbling around her private reserve. She’d created the group years ago but had relinquished her status as one of the Ribbons after she’d married. Still, she insisted on keeping watch over the revolving group of London’s most beautiful, privileged, and often times difficult to manage ladies.

  “A ritual? Is that why you’re all dressed as death and chanting like the witches in MacBeth?”

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you of all people would understand the need for tradition. I’m trying to add a bit of grandeur to the occasion.”

  “Save the formality for Court. It’s dramatic enough earning a ribbon, without the added pomp of some secret ceremony. Hiding in cellars? Dancing around in sacks? For heaven’s sake, what’s next? Spilling the blood of goats?”

  The girls grew conspicuously quiet.

  Cynthia rolled her eyes, muttering a curse under her breath. The Ribbons were flailing. There hadn’t been a decent leader for years, and an overindulged group like this required the guidance of someone strong and determined. Under Grace’s influence, they’d be little better than a collection of wallflowers within a Season.

  The privilege of wearing a primrose-colored ribbon on your left wrist indicated you were the crème de la crème of London society. Being one of the Ribbons meant you had it all—except for a husband, of course. Only eligible ladies could earn a ribbon, and after the age of four and twenty, rules dictated retirement from the organization. But no Ribbon had ever remained unmarried for that long, and no one had ever willingly left the Ribbons before their time had come—except for one. Almost twenty years prior, she’d recruited her niece, Lydia, thinking she had the potential to lead the group. But she’d quickly come to regret her decision. Lydia had been a failure, turning her back on the Ribbons and her family.

  “Ladies,” she stated for the benefit of all. “Go home and get some rest. For now, Grace, I’d appreciate it if you would consult with me prior to organizing any future ceremonies.” She nodded her head for emphasis and started to make her way back up the stairs.

  After the debacle with Lydia, she’d promised herself never to intervene again. But without help, she was convinced that the waning group would disappear into obscurity. The Ribbons had been a presence in ballrooms for years, and she’d be damned before she let the tradition die off. She had no choice but to take matters into her own hands.

  She needed someone she could mold, an ingénue she could groom into a proper leader for the Ribbons. It was times like these she wished she’d had children of her own. She’d been far too self-involved to even think abou
t breeding. And it wasn’t as if she had any family to speak of—save for her two nieces. And those bonds were tenuous at best. She’d disinherited Lydia after her fiasco, and Jane, well . . .

  Jane had never gotten over the fact that she’d chosen her younger sister over her. Since then, Jane only reached out when she needed money, which was often. There was always some sort of desperate situation—mysterious ailments, home repairs, her daughter’s education—

  Suddenly, a plan began to form.

  She knew just where to look for the next leader of the Ribbons, and when she found her, she vowed to turn that girl into the finest leader they’d ever seen.

  Since herself, of course.

  Chapter 1

  Middlebury, 1811

  CRACK!

  Meredith Castle’s hand whipped across his cheek with a surprising amount of force, the sound of the slap resonating up the stairwell.

  Derek Weston nearly fell from his step, the blow catching him off guard.

  She gasped, her hands flying up to her chest. “I’m so sorry!”

  “No,” he said, sitting back, testing his jaw. “There’s no need to apologize. You had every right. In all honesty, you probably should have hit me harder.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what came over me, Mere. You just looked so sad sitting there. I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties. You’re my best friend and I’d be devastated if you couldn’t forgive me.”

  “No.” She rubbed her stinging hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a reflex, that’s all. I’ve never actually been kissed before and slapping you seemed the most appropriate reaction. I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Not at all,” she answered with a most serious tone. “In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it and perhaps one day we could even repeat the experience.”

  He leaned into her, but she held out her hands, stopping him from coming any closer. “Just not now. Especially with your parents and my mother in the next room over.”

  He sighed, reclining against the step, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Of course.”

  The two sat on the stairs outside the Weston’s drawing room, just as they had a hundred times before. The Westons often invited Meredith and her mother over for dinner and cards on Friday nights. After her step-father had disappeared, the inhabitants of Middlebury made it a point to provide for the two women whenever possible, Derek’s family being the most generous by far. Only this time, it was different. Their parents weren’t discussing soil conditions, the cost of cattle, or politics—but rather Meredith’s departure to join her great aunt in London.

  London.

  Meredith knew nothing about the city, save for what she’d read in books. She’d never had the opportunity to travel outside the country, but couldn’t remember ever wanting to either. She’d always been happy in Middlebury, the place she’d called home her entire life.

  She cast a sideways glance at Derek, sitting quietly next to her, deep in thought. “Does it hurt?”

  “Does what hurt?”

  “Your cheek?”

  “It’s not my cheek that hurts,” he replied in a soft voice, looking down at his feet.

  Meredith followed his gaze. His boots were well-worn and the sole on the left was starting to separate from the leather. The Westons were rumored to have titled relations somewhere in Scotland, and despite his father owning a modest parcel of land, one would never have guessed it by the simple manner in which they lived.

  Meredith sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I can’t remember the last time I felt so awful.”

  Derek placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s not as bad as all that, Mere.”

  “No, it’s worse.” Tears burned her eyes. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Now, now,” he soothed. “You’re going to London to stay with your rich aunt. There are far worse things in this world to cry over.”

  “I’m sure there are, but at the moment, I can think of very few.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Perhaps Mama will change her mind and let me stay?”

  He hesitated for a long moment, clearing his throat before answering, “Perhaps.”

  It was the nicest thing anyone could have said to her, even if it was a lie.

  There was no way she could reject her aunt’s offer and they both knew it. It had been the answer to their prayers. Her great aunt was willing to take her in, to provide her with a proper London debut. She’d never have such an opportunity otherwise. And it wasn’t just the idea of an advantageous marriage that appealed to her mother.

  Jane had been born the eldest of two daughters. As her mother told it, the girls’ Aunt Cynthia had offered to sponsor one of them for a Season. Lydia, the fairer of the two, convinced their aunt that she’d be the most likely to find a match. She promised after she was married, she would send for Jane. But Lydia never did send for her sister, and as a result, Jane never left Middlebury. She was haunted by that reality, often reminiscing about what could have been—what should have been.

  Jane lived her life in the shadow of that missed opportunity and Meredith remained her mother’s only chance at redemption.

  She looked squarely at Derek. “Let’s get married—right now. We can run off to Gretna Green. You kissed me. That must mean you harbor some sort of feelings for me. Marry me and I can stay here . . . with you. Your father could give you a plot of land. Surely we could earn enough to help with my mother’s expenses. I don’t care about being rich, I just want to be happy . . .” Her voice cracked as she buried herself against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. She’d do anything to remain in Middlebury, to stay with Derek.

  He gently stroked her hair. “Mere, I can’t marry you.”

  She abruptly pushed him away. “I’m good enough to kiss, but not good enough to marry? Now, I wish I would have swung harder.”

  He gestured for her to keep her voice down. “It’s not that. You’re too good—too good for me. You shouldn’t have to settle for a farmer when you could easily win a prince.”

  “And what’s wrong with being a farmer’s wife?”

  “Nothing . . . for anyone else. But you deserve better. At the very least you deserve a choice in the matter. You’ll never get that here.” He stared at her unblinking, his cornflower-blue eyes growing dark.

  “Of course I have a choice. You’re not the only man in Middlebury, you know.”

  “Close enough to it—unless you fancy one of my younger brothers. You know as well as I do that you’ll have far better choices in London. You deserve the right to choose, not just settle. Lady Browning is giving you the chance of a lifetime. Think of all you’ll learn in the city. I’d never want you to miss out on that. You’d resent me for it. Hell, I’d resent myself for stealing such an opportunity from you.”

  She hadn’t expected him to take her mother’s side. But now that he had, it made sense. There were so many opportunities, so many more things to learn about the world. In London, she’d have access to books and teachers. Her mother wanted nothing more than for her to have the chance she’d been denied. Leaving for London was the least she could do. “I barely know my Aunt Cynthia,” she mused. All she could remember about the woman was her scent—reeking as if she’d bathed in a vat of rosewater. “And what about you?” Meredith asked with a twinge of worry in her gut. “What if I never see you again?”

  “You’ll see me. I promise.”

  Her heart fluttered. Suddenly, the stairwell felt quite small and the air around them, unbearably warm. “Do you mean it?”

  He finally looked at her again. “More than I’ve ever meant anything in my life. I’ll write to you. Every week. And who knows? Perhaps one day I’ll be able to present myself to you as the gentleman you deserve—not the boy you r
esolved to marry just because you were scared of leaving.”

  He leaned over, stopping just a hair from her lips. She could feel his warm breath on her face, the sensation sending chills up her spine, her pulse pounding in her ears. He placed the lightest of kisses on her mouth, his lips barely grazing hers. A moment later, he retreated, and she felt a deep sigh escape.

  He sat silent for a moment, then without warning he rose and walked toward the drawing room where the adults were finishing up their game. She sat there, alone, her mind full of questions, her heart aching for something she didn’t have a name for.

  Chapter 2

  London, 1811

  Meredith sat at the pianoforte, playing Beethoven. Her nimble fingers leapt from key to key, the well-loved arrangement memorized from the countless times she’d played it before. She’d been playing more lately, her music the only thing she had to occupy her mind.