The Taming of a Wicked Rogue (The Lords of Scandal Row Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “Why?” He gestured to her. “If it is some fear of scandal, I would suggest skulking around, dressed as a boy and sleeping—well, I can only assume amongst pigs from the smell of you—is hardly the behavior of a respectable young lady.”

  “I do not care about that,” she muttered. “My father brought enough scandal upon us as it is.” Her chin jutted out. “And it was sheep actually.”

  “Livestock then.” He stared her down, but her glare did not waver. “You know Rebecca, you make it hideously difficult for me to help you.”

  “I did not ask for it.”

  “True, but you will have it regardless, so you might as well resign yourself.”

  She eyed the house over her shoulder. “I cannot be seen,” she repeated.

  “Because of your father?” He shook his head. “My servants can be trusted. Lord knows, you know most of them from when we were younger.”

  “That does not change what he did.” She thrust her hands into her trouser pockets and kicked a stone aside. “The damage he wrought was unforgivable.”

  “He is not well-liked here, to be sure.”

  “So you understand why it is imperative that I not be seen?” Her gaze lifted to his, her olive eyes wide and imploring.

  “Then you shall not be seen,” he declared.

  “How?”

  “Do you fail to recall how we snuck around Eastwick Hall when we were young?”

  A little color appeared on her cheeks. He hadn’t meant to bring up all of the memories but there had certainly been a great many kisses and fumbles conducted in shadowy alcoves in the house. Despite their young age, the feelings between them had been palpable.

  He had a sneaking suspicion those feelings had not faded with time, despite himself. However, he would not be giving in to them. He offered aid because he might be a rake, but he was not a cad, as she had suggested. Rebecca needed help and he might not forgive himself if he did not offer it.

  He also might not forgive himself for offering it either. Especially if he did not move his mind swiftly on from how kissable her lips were and how poorly the boy’s garments hid curves that had certainly developed with age. His fingers twitched with the desire to slide a hand down her side and trace said curves, slowly and intimately.

  Inhaling deeply, he gestured to the house. “I will get you in unseen, I promise.”

  She nodded, her jaw clenched, and they continued on along the path worn into the grass that would eventually join with the main road to the house. Leo would lead Rebecca along the line of trees, out of the sight of the house and into the ballroom entrance. No one stepped foot in there unless they were hosting a dinner party or ball, and that rarely happened given he and his brothers spent little time here.

  “Will you tell me where you have been? What you have been doing all these years?”

  A few beats of silence followed, marred only by the swish of grass underfoot. “Florence,” she finally answered.

  A knot tangled briefly in his throat and he swallowed it. “So close.”

  “Still another country.” Her gaze met his briefly before fixing upon the house ahead.

  “I was in Florence only last year.”

  “My mother and I keep to ourselves. My father ensured we take no part in society anymore.”

  “There would be those who would still greet you, surely?” He pointed at his chest. “Myself, for example.”

  She gave a half-smile. “He borrowed and stole and left people penniless. He schemed and broke hearts. I do not blame anyone for giving us the cut.”

  Leo shook his head, wishing he had been there to console her. There were plenty of scandalous characters within the ton but none quite like Roger Fortescue. He had not only accrued great debt and run from it, after using whatever means necessary to amass new wealth, he had left not one but two wives in the wind before committing fraud and trying to wed a young lady from Grasmere, the village next to theirs, who had a large fortune to her name. There were other more minor crimes committed too, but it had been the fraud that had seen him hanged. Pretending to be a peer of the realm was more often than not punishable by death.

  “It must have hurt you—to know the truth of him.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “My mother and I managed. There are many others who suffered more at his hands.”

  “But after sixteen years of him in your life...”

  She put hands to her hips. “I have no desire to speak of him, Leo.”

  “You cannot blame me for having questions. You did rather vanish in the middle of the night with no word.”

  “Yes, well...that could not be helped.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you wish me to come with you or not?”

  He considered his options. If he sent her on her way, he’d never forgive himself, but he’d be damned if he would not get the answers he sought eventually. Rebecca Fortescue had broken his heart and changed his life irreparably at a tender age.

  “You owe me answers,” he said.

  “You have not changed,” she replied simply.

  Oh, he had changed. In many ways. He had hardened himself, ensured he would never be hurt again. Now would be the true test. Could he have Rebecca in his life once more without having his heart broken all over again?

  ∞∞∞

  TRUE TO HIS promise, Leo snuck her into the grand house undetected. Little had changed in the time she had gone. The beautifully carved staircases and painted ceilings still stole her breath. A few different paintings adorned walls, including one of Leo and his brothers. Rebecca averted her gaze from it and realized the folly of her action. She had the real man next to her and he was far more devastating to look at than a painting.

  Why had she agreed to this? She could have survived another night in a barn. Those years in Italy, when their life had been ripped from underneath them thanks to her father’s debts, had taught her to survive on her own. She had gone from pampered young lady to practically a penniless urchin with rough fingers and holes in her dresses. Their fortunes had changed over the years, mostly thanks to her mother’s skills as a seamstress and Rebecca’s determination to ensure they did not starve. Now they had enough money set aside so her mother could cease working while Rebecca managed the modest shop in Florence.

  Leo led her up the stairs, through the corridor to the east wing and unlocked the door separating it from the central part of the house. With no lamps lit, a shiver ran through her as the cool air of the unheated section of the building touched her. A plush long rug sunk underfoot, and she grimaced when she spied her muddy footprints trailing behind her. She tapped Leo’s arm.

  “Uh...I think we might end up detected.”

  He paused and eyed where the footprints followed them. “I shall take the blame, never fear. Mrs. Jones still thinks of me as an unruly sort of boy anyway.”

  Unruly. Yes, that was a fine way to describe him. Though, the unruly boy she had known was far different to the man she had read about all these years. When she had known him, unruly could have been used to describe the way he rode horses bareback faster than anyone she knew or how he always snuck injured animals into his room. Now it meant he bedded every eligible woman in London. Not unusual behavior for some members of the ton she supposed, but it did not stop her heart from giving a painful pang.

  She rolled her eyes to herself. Honestly, what did she expect? That he would save himself for her after she had vanished? She’d be a fool to believe that and the last thing she wanted to be was foolish. She’d been enamored with her father for years, admiring his ability to charm anyone, and truly believing him to be the best of fathers. While other girls had fathers who ignored them or constantly dismissed their ideas, her father never once made her feel small or useless.

  That was until he had dragged them all to Italy in the dead of the night, forcing them to abandon all they knew, before leaving them several weeks later with promises of wealth and comfort.

  He never returned.

  And she woul
d never let herself believe such stories again.

  “I believe this room should do it...” Leo twisted the doorknob and eased open the door, revealing a bedroom she had not seen before. She blinked at the sudden invasion of light. It did not surprise her that she did not know it as Eastwick boasted forty bedrooms, though she had seen enough to know the elegant cream room with its gold touches, and pale blue silk swags upon the bed, was not unusual. Leo’s mother had impeccable taste.

  She slipped into the room, grateful for the wooden floors that allowed her to skirt the heavily detailed rug. Remaining close to the wall, she peered out of the window. The room overlooked the kitchen gardens where she spotted several workers. She ducked back from the window and flattened herself against the wall. “Are you certain no one shall know I’m here?”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned. “You shall be my little secret.”

  A frisson of pleasure swirled through her, landing deep in her stomach. The words were scandalous and roguish. Proof of the sort of man he was, and a clear example of why she should not respond to his flirtations.

  “I shall not stay long. As soon as I have—” She paused. “As soon as I have finished my business in Langmere, I shall depart for Florence.”

  “Naturally.” His smile remained, but his blue eyes hardened in a way she had never seen before. “And what exactly is your business here?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “It’s private.”

  “You are staying in my house,” he reminded her.

  “I agreed to stay here because you forced me. I made no promises of divulging my business.”

  “If it is something nefarious, I should be inclined to know.”

  Rebecca pressed her lips together. “It is nothing nefarious, but I understand why a man such as you should imagine it might be so.”

  “A man such as me?” He moved a few steps closer, taking strides across the rug until he had joined her on the other side, leaving only a pace or so between them. “And what sort of a man is that?”

  “A rake,” she said simply. “I am not an ignorant fool, Leo. I know who you are.” She removed the hat from her head and clasped the brim in both hands for want of something to do. The rough fabric underneath her fingertips would prevent her from doing something ridiculous like reaching out to him or running her hands over his broad chest too, surely?

  “Do you really?” he murmured.

  His hand flexed at his side and he stretched it out, moving with enough deliberateness that she could have ducked away. However, she found herself held captive. Not physically restrained but held by the way his gaze searched hers then flicked down to her lips and over her person. Held captive by the sheer presence of him. She swallowed hard.

  He flicked a thumb over her cheek, and she jolted at the touch. His lips tilted. “Mud,” he murmured.

  Breaths rasped in her throat and he did not move his hand, instead letting it linger on her skin. She smelled, was filthy and likely about the most hideous she had ever looked, but when he stared at her so, she felt like the youthful, utterly enraptured sixteen-year-old she had once been.

  Her stomach gave a grumble and his hand dropped back to his side. She exhaled slowly, uncertain whether to thank or be angry at her stomach for its interruption.

  “You are hungry,” he stated.

  Even if she had not been, she would have said yes. Anything to send him on his way so she could focus her thoughts once more. She nodded.

  “I’ll get you some food.” He twisted on his heel and then paused. “I do not suppose I need to tell you to stay here.”

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice, then dropped back against the wall once he left the room. “Fool,” she told herself.

  She would never stay in Langmere. She could not. No one would accept her back. Most especially not Leo. The rake had not forgiven her for leaving, she suspected. In some ways, she did not blame him, even if it had been out of her hands.

  Oh yes, and he was an entirely different man. She would not forget that.

  Chapter Five

  Leo should not have gravitated toward the sound of female chatter coming from the long gallery. But then neither should he have installed Rebecca in the house as a secret guest.

  If his mother saw him now, she’d have his head. Or at least be exceedingly disappointed in him and tell him so in that sort of manner that made him feel like a boy again.

  But, damn it, he was a grown man, and a little conversation with ladies was hardly scandalous, and would serve him well. Namely, he rather hoped assisting the ladies in their tour around the house might distract him from said guest.

  There had been too many moments yesterday when he’d battled the desire to stride over, tear off that boyish hat and kiss her until he forgot himself and forgot any promises to his mother. He’d be breaking vows to himself too, though. If he kissed her, there was no telling what would happen to his heart. Would it fall for her all over again?

  She’d always had a hold on him, ever since she’d grown into a young woman. Now it seemed that hold had not faded, and despite stinking to high heaven like a bloody farm and being smeared in dirt, he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss her again and recall those heady younger days of being so in love, so damned hopeful for the future.

  He shook his head to himself and strode through the open gallery door. The cluster of eight women were a mix of ages, spanning from early teens to much older. He fixed the smile that had carried him through the past decade of his life and walked over to them. The housekeeper lifted a brow when she spotted him. He had a horrible suspicion his mother had written to Mrs. Jones about her request for Leo to remain a staid, boring recluse but did that also mean the woman would be reporting back to her?

  Well, let her. The worse that could be said was he had charmed a few pretty ladies. His mother simply wanted him to avoid scandal. What was scandalous about greeting guests in his brother’s house?

  “Are you enjoying what the house has to offer, ladies?”

  The ladies turned, their gazes wide. He fixed his attention on the prettiest girl—a petite, fair-haired thing with rosy cheeks. The color in her face deepened when he widened his smile.

  “Ladies, this is Lord Leonard. As I said, he is in residence and we expect Lord Preswick to join us soon,” Mrs. Jones said. “We were just finishing touring the house, my lord,” she met his gaze boldly, “and shall be out of your way presently.”

  “Oh, there is no rush.” He held up a hand. “In fact—” He paused, spying movement outside. The large windows leading down the righthand side of the room offered plenty of light to view the paintings but were carefully set on the side of the house where the sunlight would not hit the paintings directly. It also gave him a fine view of Rebecca slipping along the side of the house. She paused, peered around the edge of the next window, spied him and rolled her eyes.

  Blast.

  “Forgive me, ladies, I just recalled a...meeting to which I was meant to attend.”

  Mrs. Jones’s mouth opened and then shut. Her gaze narrowed but Leo hastened away before anything could be said by either her or the visitors.

  That woman was most certainly spying for his mother, so he’d have to be cautious or sway her to his side. She’d always been fond of all three of them so with any luck, he could persuade her not to write of his deeds—or misdeeds to his mother.

  Not that he had done anything wrong of course, nor did he intend to.

  After all, he was merely helping a lady in need. His mother could hardly complain about that. If one thought about it, it was practically a noble pursuit and she should be pleased indeed her son behaved so.

  He caught up with Rebecca a short way from the house. She ducked behind a tree, her attention fixed on the house rather than him, and he strolled around it, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Good morning.”

  She whirled in his direction and pressed a hand to her chest. “Leo!”

  “I prefer this.” He gestured up
and down her.

  She wrinkled her nose and glanced down at the crumpled muslin gown. “As you said, I do not make a good boy,” she muttered.

  “Are you admitting I was correct?”

  “Maybe,” she mumbled.

  He let his gaze linger on the womanly figure presented to him. Despite the state of her pale blue gown, it clung to curves that had certainly developed since he had known her. There was a softness to her arms and shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and it made him want to grind his teeth as he wondered if there was a softness to her thighs and belly too, and how her figure would feel under his palms.

  “Where are you going?” he asked gruffly, forcing his gaze to her face.

  It did not help matters much. The softness that had him so enraptured had found itself to her small mouth. Though delicate, the lips were full, and he still recalled how soft they were, even after all these years. Her brown, red-tinged hair was wild, tumbling about her shoulders, no doubt a victim of her having no one to do it for her. It framed her chin and kept his focus on her mouth.

  She scowled. “Do you not have guests to see to? No doubt they are missing you.”

  “They are there to see the house. Not me.”

  “I rather think they’d prefer to see you.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe so but they will have to content themselves with Mrs. Jones.”

  She tilted her head. “You are forgoing an opportunity to charm young ladies?”

  “Hardly forgoing,” he drawled. “I do believe Mrs. Jones had several other requests for tours over the coming weeks.” He let his lips curve. “Plenty of opportunity to charm young ladies.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and he wished to God he did not regret the words.

  ∞∞∞

  WHY REBECCA FELT the need to mention the ladies, she did not know.

  Liar.

  Very well, she knew. But she had given up any right to feel jealousy a long time ago. If Leo wanted to charm and flirt and likely bed whatever woman he so chose, it had nothing to do with her.

  “Where are you going?”

  She blew out a breath. She’d been putting off this visit as it was, but she did not need Leo questioning her about it too. It was the last place she could think of that her father’s belongings might be, but she had dismissed the idea as any discoveries of riches in the house would have been declared, sold, and the profits would have been paid to her father’s many, many creditors. She had to conclude he had either hidden them well or they were not at the house at all.