To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4)

by Collette Cameron

  Katrina glanced over her shoulder, straight into Richard’s brown eyes, and gasped. “Blast and damn.”

  * * *

  Taller than most everyone present, Nic searched behind Katrina for the source of her upset. A slender, swarthy fellow tastefully dressed in all black, save his crisp neckcloth, strode toward them. A path opened before him, and the room settled into a taut silence.

  Domont.

  Nic knew without being told who the striking fellow was. A marquisate certainly qualified as a change in circumstance but didn’t excuse his not contacting Katrina.

  Maitland’s inquisitive gaze raked Nic before dismissing him, and he settled his attention on Katrina once more. He bowed, lifting her hand. “Miss Needham.”

  “Major. That is, my lord.” Remarkably composed, Katrina dipped into a slight curtsy.

  Maitland smiled and addressed the Needhams. “Please forgive me for not informing you sooner, but matters took time to settle. I am in mourning, and it would be most improper to remain, but it is urgent I speak with Miss Needham.”

  “You may call tomorrow.” Expression steely, Needham offered the major ... er ... Maitland no succor.

  A tight smile bending his mouth, Maitland peered around before stepping nearer. “I cannot. I must return home immediately. Things are in chaos there, but I didn’t think a letter to Miss Needham would suffice. I should like to explain, if permitted. Osborne told me I might find you here.”

  Maitland couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and Nic balled his fists. The dastard ignored her for weeks then inherited a title and came round? For a few minutes? What did he expect? She’d fall at his feet weeping? Throw herself into his arm with undying declarations of love?

  Maitland had robbed Nic of his one night—his only promised night—with Katrina, and the urge to pummel the man, though unjust, overwhelmed.

  This afternoon, his impulsive, bumbled proposal had been heartfelt. The timing and execution ... not terribly romantic. Fine, as romantic as a ship grounding on a reef during a typhoon. Nic had finally admitted that wanted Katrina more than his ship, sailing, adventures and, damn it all, he’d waited too bloody long to tell her.

  But above all else, he wanted Katrina’s happiness, even if it meant he’d lost her to Maitland.

  Maitland wasn’t the interloper, Nic was, though it galled him to his fancy new shoes.

  Katrina drew herself up and boldly met the curious gazes of those lurking nearby. “Papa, please give our excuses to the Granvilles and call for the carriage. Matters such as this are best settled in private, I think.” She angled to face Nic. “Please don’t feel compelled to leave on our account. The carriage can be sent for you later.”

  “No, I shall depart as well. I wish to look in on my aunt. She wasn’t feeling well earlier when I peeked in on her.”

  Maitland frowned, his confusion evident. “Your aunt? Are you staying with the Needhams?”

  Nic inclined his head. “Yes.”

  Think of that what you will.

  Papa stepped forward. “Maitland, may I present, Dominic, the Duke of Pendergast, formerly Captain St. Monté? Your Grace, his lordship, Richard, the Marquis of Maitland, formerly Major Domont of His Majesty’s Army.”

  “Ah, a captain in His Majesty’s service.” Maitland, the damned handsome cull, flashed Katrina a charming smile, though she appeared unaffected.

  Given the feminine whispers and titters, she might have been the only female present under fifty who wasn’t agog.

  “No, his grace was ... is a commissioned privateer.” A decidedly naughty smile tipped her pretty mouth when several ladies gasped. “A very, very successful privateer.”

  Well, perhaps not two verys’ worth, still Nic summoned a rakish grin and nodded. “Indeed.”

  A few minutes later, they piled into the Needhams’ carriage, Maitland squeezed between Nic’s and Needham’s larger forms. With every jolt in the road, Nic dug his elbow into Maitland’s side. He’d bet his best rum Needham did the same on the other side.

  “I say, old chap,” Maitland grumbled after a particularly nasty jab.

  “Beg pardon,” Nic muttered, nearly choking on a laugh when Katrina’s mouth twitched before she gave a dainty cough into her gloved hand.

  Minx.

  Maitland attempted trivial conversation, but when his efforts met with one word answers or vague noises, he reverted to silence

  Still silent, everyone tracked into the house, and Osborne, wise servant, had a fire burning brightly in the drawing room along with a cold repast. “Water’s on for tea. I shall bring a tray at once,” he said, gathering their outerwear.

  Curled on an armchair, Sir Pugsley slept, twitching every now and again in his sleep.

  “I need something stronger than tea.” Maitland gestured to the liquor cabinet. “May I?”

  “By all means,” Needham agreed, helping himself to a finger’s worth too.

  Nic could use a tot. A whole bloody bottle, truthfully.

  Damn Maitland for appearing when he had. Nic had almost convinced himself to propose to Katrina again tonight. Properly this time. Then she could choose between him and Do—Maitland. At least then Nic would have tried to win her, even if she’d rejected his offer. She would’ve known he loved her, loved her so all-consumingly, he’d sell The Weeping Siren and never captain a ship again.

  He hesitated at the drawing room’s entrance. This was private family business. “I’ll bid you good evening.”

  Katrina’s eyes rounded a fraction, and she opened her mouth then snapped it shut, her lashes lowering as she shifted her attention to the fire. “’Til the morrow, Your Grace.”

  “I must say,” Maitland said a distinctly peeved tone to his voice, “I’m not altogether keen on some fellow I don’t know—a privateer to boot— residing beneath the same roof as my intended. Will somebody please explain to me how that came to be?”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s really not your concern, Richard, but suffice it to say, my parents extended his grace, his sisters, and his aunt an invitation to stay with us for a period. He is newly titled too, and I’m sure you of all people can appreciate the difficulties a sudden change in circumstances creates.” Katrina poked the fire, more for something to do than any need to encourage the flames. “Mama, Papa, might I have a few minutes alone with his lordship?”

  Richard—a lord. That had taken her unawares—totally flabbergasted her, truth be told.

  Her parents exchanged a telling look.

  Mama kissed Katrina’s cheek and squeezed her hand. “I’ll check in with you before I retire.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Papa picked up Sir Pugsley, and, after leveling Richard an unreadable look, followed her mother from the room, leaving the double-doors cracked a respectable distance.

  Katrina replaced the poker before facing Richard and folding her arms. The irritation she’d kept buried bubbled ever gradually upward. “So, you’re a marquis now. I suppose congratulations are in order. I wasn’t aware you were in line for a title.”

  Richard took a long pull from his second glass of brandy.

  She scrunched her brows. Had he always drunk so freely?

  He finished the spirit in one gulp and, setting the glass heavily on the table, cocked a smile. “My cousin held the title, and a fortnight ago, influenza took his life along with his heir’s.”

  “I am truly sorry for your loss, Richard, but why didn’t you contact me and tell me? I would certainly have understood your delay in returning.” She waved her hand in the air before planting both hands on her hips. “You were seen out of uniform in Stratford-Upon-Avon with a woman. A pregnant woman, I might add. I didn’t know what to think but the obvious.”

  “I know, darling, but it’s a mite more complicated than simply resigning my commission and inheriting the title.” He combed his hand through his hair, a gold signet ring glinting on his little finger. “The woman is, was, the marchioness, and we were leaving her solicitor’s office.”


  “She’s in the family way, and she lost her husband and son? How utterly tragic.” Remorse for her suspicious musings bathed Katrina.

  Richard eyed the crystal decanter wistfully before his mouth edged upward. “Certainly for her, but not for me, you must agree.”

  “How can you take pleasure in her circumstances, Richard?” Katrina barely managed to keep her jaw from crashing into her chest. Who was this cold-hearted mercenary man? He’d kept this side of his character well-hidden. “Wait, if she’s expecting, you can’t be positive the title is yours yet.”

  “That’s why I had to dally at Stonewater House, to see what the babe’s sex was.” He grinned fully then, a skin-prickling show of teeth, and practically crowed as he sauntered toward her. “A girl, born last night. A scrawny, red-faced, ugly, wrinkled thing. I told Amanda, she’s the marchioness, I’d permit her and the infant to stay on for a month or so until she found other accommodations.”

  Katrina gasped and, taking a reflexive step backward, extended a palm to ward off his advance. “You turned her out? A grieving widow who’s just given birth? My God, how could you be so heartless? So cruel?”

  His dark brows dove together. “For you, my love. I didn’t want you to have to share your new home, especially as newly-weds. Amanda has family. Don’t fret about her and the child.”

  He tried to take Katrina in his arms, but she spun away, and he scowled.

  “For me? No, for you. You didn’t want to share your home with her.” Putting the sofa between them, she clenched its carved mahogany top. “I would never have required her to leave, most especially under these tragic circumstances.”

  “Well, if it means so much to you, then of course Amanda can stay, although it may be a trifle awkward. We were pledged before she scampered off to Gretna Green and married my cousin.” Bitterness dripped from every clipped syllable.

  “Good God, and you didn’t think I needed to know you’d been betrothed once already?” Arms folded, Katrina tapped one foot’s toes rather than throw something at him.

  “I told you I was estranged from my family.” He eyed the brandy snifter longingly again. “The subject wasn’t something I cared to discuss.”

  “Not even with the woman you professed to love?” Secrets before marriage never boded well afterward.

  Richard wrinkled his forehead, his eyes slightly narrowed for an instant before pride lightened his countenance, and he pointedly changed the subject.

  “Stonewater House is a grand old place, Katrina, though she needs updating. Think of the fun you’ll have refurbishing the manor to your taste. Your dowry will help enormously, but unfortunately, it won’t be sufficient for everything Stonewater needs. The estate has been rather neglected. But I’m confident your father will aid us. After all, you are his daughter, and he dotes on you.”

  Shaking her head once, not positive she’d heard him correctly, Katrina examined Richard’s face. Had he always been this scheming, or had his new position so swiftly corrupted him? “Tell me something, Richard. If I’d been poor, from a family of humble means with no social standing, would you still have pursued me?”

  He laughed and scratched his jaw. “But you aren’t, and you don’t, so the point is moot, isn’t it? True, I’d prefer aristocratic blood in your pedigree.” Like a blasted hound or horse? “But your beauty and family wealth offset the deficiency.”

  “Deficiency?” Oh, the bloody ... knave. Katrina gritted her teeth and stalked to the doors. “This conversation has been most enlightening. And since we’re being honest with one another, I should tell you that I decided before I learned of your new status that I wouldn’t marry you.”

  “You cannot be serious.” His hands propped on his hips, confusion, disbelief, and anger paraded across Richard’s face in quick succession. “You love me ... and I ... adore you too.”

  The last he sputtered. As an afterthought. Adore, not love? Most telling.

  “Oh, I assure you, I am.” She pushed a door open further. “Now, please see yourself out.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Shooting a swift, edgy glance at the doorway, he enunciated each softly spoken, ire-filled word. “The marquisate is nearly bankrupt. I need your dowry to pay for the improvements ... and a few debts I owe.”

  “That is not my concern.”

  “You cannot renege on your word.” Prowling in her direction, he pointed and sneered. A demanding tyrant had replaced her good-natured, charming major.

  Katrina jutted her chin up a notch despite the unease churning in her stomach.

  “I most certainly can. There was never an official betrothal announcement. In fact, you haven’t even asked Papa for my hand.” Where was Papa? Had he retired? Osborne ought to be nearby. Surely someone lurked in the corridor. “You’ll have to find another wealthy woman, God help her.”

  “Don’t think I can’t,” Richard said, arrogance lending him an unbecoming air. “I’ve already been approached, but I wanted to do the honorable thing by you. Amanda would have me still.”

  Katrina jerked her hand toward the opening. “Please go. Thank God, I discovered your true character before we married. And to think, I really believed I loved you. I’ve been such a stupid, blind fool.”

  Richard flinched and swallowed audibly.

  “You truly don’t love me any longer?” Pain darkened his eyes, and he sucked in a long breath. Finally, he aimed his gaze at the floor, scrubbing a hand across his forehead. He made a noise, half snort and half caustic laugh. “And I suppose you think yourself in love with Pendergast? I didn’t take you for a fast chit, Katrina.”

  The barb didn’t strike home as he’d intended. She was in love with Nic.

  “I now know what real love is, and what you and I shared was not pure, unselfish, sacrificing adoration.” Tears burned behind her eyes nonetheless. Bidding farewell to her first love, even if he’d turned out to be a feckless, selfish cawker, hurt. She raised her head and met his gaze square on. At one time, she’d lost herself in his eyes’ warmth and devotion. No longer.

  Breaking their gaze, he gave one short, sharp nod.

  “Goodbye, Richard,” she whispered thickly, her throat constricted with relief and regret.

  Silent and neck bent, he strode from the room. A few moments later, the entry door thudded shut, and she released the breath she held.

  Richard was gone. Out of her life for good. A week ago, she’d been sure she’d grow wrinkled and gray with him.

  “I suppose I ought to tell my parents I’m not getting married after all.” Yet her feet wouldn’t move. “I’ll probably wind up a daft, bonbon-munching spinster with a parlor full of fat, indulged dogs.”

  On cue, Sir Pugsley trotted in and, after snuffling around her skirt, looked up hopefully, his bum wiggling in excitement.

  Katrina bundled the dog into her arms, kissing his fawn-colored head as she wandered to the sofa. Sighing, she sank onto the cushion before kicking her slippers off, shutting her eyes, and resting her head. She scratched behind Sir Pugsley’s stubby ears.

  “I believe I shall reserve my affections for you in the future, good sir. At least I’m sure you love me, and I needn’t fret you’ll leave me or break my heart.”

  “Then there’s no hope for me?”

  Katrina jerked upward so swiftly, she launched poor Sir Pugsley off her lap.

  He yelped and turned offended button eyes on Nic, still wearing in his evening attire.

  What on Earth had Nic meant by that?

  “Oh, Pugsley. I’m sorry. Come here.” She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was startled.”

  Nic rescued the affronted animal, but instead of passing him to Katrina, he cuddled the dog as he sank onto the sofa beside her. Stretching his muscled legs before him, and running his long fingers over Pugsley’s haunches, Nic cut her a sidelong look.

  “Well, Kitty? Is there?”

  “I ...” She clamped her lower lip between her teeth. Precisely how much had he he
ard? “I take it you saw Richard leave?”

  “Aye.” He crossed his ankles. “Concerned for your safety, Osborne fetched me from the library. He suggested a privateer might be more skilled at ridding the house of unwanted guests than an aging majordomo or your father.”

  “Barehanded?” She peered pointedly at Nic’s hands as he petted Sir Pugsley, contentedly curled onto his thighs.

  He lifted a shoulder and shifted the dog onto the sofa.

  “Your major ... marquis might have been an army officer, but I sincerely doubt he’d eagerly go a round with me.” Nic brushed his rough fingers across her cheek before trapping her hand in his, his gaze so loving, it stole her breath. He pressed a hot kiss to her knuckles before turning her hand over and kissing her palm. “You still haven’t answered me, Kitty, love. Do I have a chance with you? Even the remotest one?”

  “You do,” Katrina whispered, her focus on his mouth. Lord, how she wanted to taste his lips again. “More than a remote one, actually.”

  “Thank God.” Joy lit his face, and he scooped her onto his lap, burying his face in her neck. “I was terrified, more terrified than when I was captured by pirates, that you’d say no.”

  Sir Pugsley gave them a disgusted glance and jumped to the floor, where he resumed his nap.

  Katrina leaned away. “You were captured by pirates? Real pirates?” She touched his scar. “Is that how you came by this?”

  “No, this was the result of another battle, but enough of this talk. I want to talk about us, our future.” He dropped a kiss onto her parted mouth, and she cupped his head, pressing her lips to his.

  A deep, gravelly groan echoed deep in his throat, and Nic tilted her into his arms, pillaging her mouth, his tongue exploring—teaching her this new form of sensual play.

  Katrina met each stroke of his velvety tongue, squirming to press nearer.

  A hard bulge nudged her bum, and he rotated his hips upward.

  “See what you do to me?” He pulsed against her bottom before tenderly pressing his forehead to hers.