The Scoundrel Who Loved Me

by Laura Landon

  By forcing her body to relax, she could focus on how he filled her and the pain lessened. As if they knew what to do without her direction, her hips lifted, inviting him to move again.

  Guy kissed her as he thrust slowly, and soon the pleasure she had felt before returned, and the tension grew until she convulsed around him. Guy thrust twice more and called her name.

  Collapsing to her side, he pulled her close to him. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

  Laia snuggled even closer, and laid her head on his chest. “I know what you mean.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Guy couldn’t believe Laia was his. Her silvery blond curls fell down her back as she moved to gaze into his eyes. Plump breasts tickled the side of his chest, and his cock began to harden again. He’d have to get her out of this bed. It was too soon to make love to her again. He just had to keep reminding himself it would not be long before they could stay in bed all day if they wished.

  His valet’s discrete knock came on the door. “Your grace.”

  “Yes, Smithson.” Beside him Laia’s eyes widened.

  “I am sorry to inform you that her ladyship’s mother is in the drawing room.” He coughed. “She is being served tea, while we look for you.”

  “Thank you.” Guy looked at Laia. “What’s a quick lie?”

  “We’re in the attics”—her brows lowered as she frowned—“I’ve found something and will be down soon.”

  “That should do it.” He kissed her forehead.

  The second his valet left, she sprang out of bed. “Help me with my clothing, then I will help you.”

  In a shorter period than he’d thought possible, she was dressed and putting the hair pins in a knot high on her head while he was still trying to tie his cravat in a respectable manner.

  Laia’s light laughter rang out as she helped him into his jacket. “I wonder what she wants.”

  “To make sure we are not doing what we were doing, is my guess.”

  “You are most likely correct.” She cupped his cheek and kissed him, then groaned. “No, she is here because we are to have tea with friends.” Twirling, she looked at herself in the mirror. “I should do.”

  Standing behind her, he couldn’t resist bringing his hands up under her breasts, then slipping his fingers down over the soft swell of her hips. “I have to agree.”

  “I can see that once we have wed, I will never get out of the house.”

  Guy nuzzled her neck, pressing his lips along her jaw. “Not for at least a month. I do intend to take you on a honeymoon.”

  Leaning back against him she sighed. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

  . . .

  Four days later, Laia was in a bedchamber at Roselands dressing for her wedding that would be held in the small chapel attached to the house.

  “Are you nervous?” Thalia, her second youngest sister, asked.

  “No, I am marrying the gentleman I wish to wed.” Something she had not thought would ever happen. She had been shocked that her father had not refused his consent until Damon had pointed out that it would have reflected poorly on Father and might have ruined her. Being betrothed to two Dukes of Bolton and failing to wed one of them would have caused a scandal. Considering Father had arrived demanding she return home, Laia had a feeling there was more to it than that, but this was not the time to question fate.

  “Well, I think his grace is very handsome,” Mary, the youngest, commented.

  “Yes, he is.” Handsome in looks and actions. Laia glanced in the mirror and watched as Smithers, Laia’s maid, was putting flowers in her hair.

  “I wish Mama, Meg, and Lady Phillip would get here soon.” Thalia had been turning a brooch over and over in her hands.

  Laia glanced at her right hand where a modestly sized sapphire flanked by smaller diamonds circled her ring finger. It was beautiful and fit her exactly. Soon it would be on her left hand.

  Lady Engle had the ruby ring. It had been her granddaughter’s.

  “Here we are.” Mama swept into the room. “Thalia, you may begin.”

  She handed the brooch to Laia. “This is borrowed. It belongs to the dukedom’s jewelry and must be returned.” Then her sister whispered in a grave tone. “I think you should be able to keep it, but then it couldn’t be borrowed.”

  Trying not to let her lips twitch, she replied in the same tone, “Very true.” She turned to her youngest sister. “Mary.”

  She handed Laia a handkerchief embroidered with whitework on the edges and pulled a face. “This is new. I meant to give it to you for your birthday.”

  “That’s all right, sweetie.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “I did not give you much time.”

  Lady Phillip Paulet, Guy’s mother, stepped forward, bussed Laia on her cheek, and handed her a necklace of gold filigree set with sapphires, pearls, and diamonds. “This is old, and you will be allowed to keep it. Welcome to the family, my dear.”

  Smithers fastened the necklace around Laia’s neck.

  “And these are blue,” Meg said rushing into the room. “I was afraid I’d be late.” She handed Laia sapphire tipped hair pins.

  A few moments later, after her maid had replaced aquamarine tipped pins with the sapphire ones, they left the room and made their way to the hall where her father waited.

  Laia curtseyed to him. “Father, I am glad you could be here.”

  “You have done the family credit, by accepting the current Duke of Bolton. I trust you will be an obedient wife.”

  Standing behind her father, Meg rolled her eyes.

  “I will be just as his grace would like me to be.”

  From the corner of Laia’s eye, she saw Euphrosyne grin, then cover her lips with a handkerchief. Lady Phillip pressed her lips together. Laia had not known her mother-in-law long, but she knew that her ladyship had not approved Father’s statement.

  “We should be going,” Mama said.

  They made their way into the chapel, entering by the side door. The rector of the nearby church stood talking to Guy and Damon. Yet, something must have alerted the man to their presence, as he stepped back and opened his prayer book.

  Guy’s gaze captured hers as she strolled forward and the rector began the ceremony. They each said their vows in firm voices, exchanged heated looks when he promised to worship her body. It was not until the ceremony was over that Laia realized she had not vowed to obey him.

  Taking her arm, Guy escorted her to the register, and whispered, “I see that you realized something was missing.”

  “Your doing, I suppose.” She picked up the pen.

  “There was no point in having you make a promise you could not and should not keep.” She signed the page and handed the pen to him.

  “How very modern of you,” she commented as he signed the register as well.

  Guy placed the pen down and turned to her. “A marriage should not mean bondage for the woman.”

  Laia’s heart swelled with joy. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  Guy drew her into his arms while Meg and Damon signed the book as well. “I will never tire of hearing it.”

  “I love you.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  I hope you enjoyed the third book in The Trevors. For those of you who have read my series, The Marriage Game, you’ll recognize Damon and Meg and the Duke and Duchess of Somerset. If you are reading my books for the first time and wish to know more about my stories and me (including how to get the first two books in The Trevors), visit me on www.ellaquinnauthor.com.

  Not much is known about the summer season in Bath. The list of entertainments is accurate, as well as the fact that the waltz was not danced at the assembly rooms. Yet, I could find no description of the illuminations, although, it seemed to me that the planners were likely to copy other places that had illuminations.

  It is true that relics differ in England and on the Continent. Churches in Germany and France really do have skeletons dressed in silk, satin, velvets, and j
ewels.

  And finally, you’ll notice, if you care about that type of thing, that I didn’t capitalize “your grace.” After discussions with some English authors and a bit more research, it appears that our American source is incorrect.

  See Ella Quinn’s books on Amazon.com

  Visit Ella Quinn’s website

  Books by Ella Quinn

  The Worthingtons

  Three Weeks to Wed

  When a Marquis Chooses a Bride

  It Started With a Kiss

  The Marquis and I (March 2017)

  You Never Forget Your First Earl (July 2017)

  The Marriage Game

  The Seduction of Lady Phoebe

  The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh

  The Temptation of Lady Serena

  Desiring Lady Caro

  Enticing Miss Eugénie Villaret

  Madeline’s Christmas Wish (Novella)

  Kisses for Lady Mary

  Lady Beresford’s Lover

  Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince

  The Trevors (Novella series)

  A Promise of Love

  It Takes a Hero

  One Scoundrel or Another

  A SCOUNDREL AT HEART by Laura Landon

  Prologue

  Radburn Manor

  April 1, 1859

  Thomas, Earl of Renfrew, had found it difficult to take his eyes off the woman from the first moment she’d appeared at the carriage door. He’d been standing in the window at Radburn Manor, a guest here since the day Lord Radburn had rescued his sister and himself from their burning home.

  His young sister Polly bore no scars from the terrifying ordeal, save those she would always carry over the loss of her parents. And her home.

  Thomas could not say the same. And now he would have to stand before this delicate beauty to be introduced. Scars and all.

  He heard the rustle of her skirts, the welcoming greetings from others in the room as she was seated just yards away from where he stood. In moments he’d have to step forward, take her hand, and endure the shock she would be unable to disguise.

  He lifted his shoulders and turned to face her. Every instinct of self-preservation screamed for him to turn his head so the scarred side of his face wasn’t noticeable. But cowardice was not his way, so he stood with the disfigured side of his face in full view.

  “Allow me to introduce our guest, Lord Renfrew.”

  He barely registered who it was making the introduction, so intent was he upon maintaining his pride in this withering moment.

  Thomas stepped forward. He knew she was the daughter of the Earl of Palmerston and a niece of Major McCormick, who his sister Millicent’s fiancé, Barnaby Linscott, held in highest regard. But he didn’t know why she was here for Millicent and Barnaby’s wedding.

  And he hadn’t known she would be a young woman of rare beauty.

  “Lady Cleora Wentworth, may I present Lord Thomas, Earl of Renfrew.”

  He felt every eye in the room upon him as he fought the urge to turn away. But her graceful, delicate gestures captivated him, and he found himself drawn toward her. Her eyes were cast down as her fingers fussed with the folds of her gown.

  And then she lifted her head.

  Thomas felt as if the earth had lost its mooring. Her rosy cheeks and shy smile were nearly his undoing. But the true test would come when she realized the extent of his disfigurement.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said as regally as he could.

  He waited for her to turn her head away, for the small hand to cover the shocked expression she couldn’t hide.

  But when her eyes flitted up toward his, she merely smiled. A wide, sunny, open smile. An accepting smile. A smile meant to engage and delight.

  He’d anticipated her look of horror, but there was none. It was as if she hadn’t noticed the pulled scars that so grotesquely contorted his face. As if his deformed flesh didn’t sicken her.

  “The pleasure is mine, Lord Renfrew,” she said in a voice as clear and calm as a fresh breeze. “I so look forward to being here. There is nothing more enjoyable than the country at this time of year.”

  Her demeanor robbed him of any kind of proper remark. He was stunned but at the same time thrilled at her acceptance of him. It was nearly more than he could bear. But rather than withdraw, he felt drawn toward her, as if he might kneel and bask in her silky words and drown in the depths of her sapphire eyes.

  It was Lord Radburn’s butler, Childers, who broke the spell a moment later when he entered to announce that the guests’ rooms were ready. The drawing room came alive with the rustling noise of ladies daintily managing their skirts as they all stood. Everyone except Lady Cleora.

  Major Bennett and his wife, who had accompanied Lady Cleora on her journey into the country, stepped to the young woman’s side. “I’ll send Maggie to escort you to your room, Cleo,” the major said softly.

  “Please, allow me,” Thomas offered. He held out his hand to assist her to rise, anxious to remain near her in any way that he might.

  But her hand stayed in her lap.

  He swallowed, frozen by the rebuff. It was an intolerable affront. She was ignoring his offer, just sitting there with the same perfect smile on her face and the same ethereal expression but not moving a jot to place her hand in his.

  What a fool he was!

  A stabbing of offense, then anger, raged through Thomas at the insult she’d just lobbed in his direction. He prepared to pull his arm back and walk away from her. But Major Bennett lifted a staying hand, then reached out to take Lady Cleora’s hand. He gently placed her gloved hand in Thomas’s, and she wrapped her delicate fingers around his.

  When she felt secure, she rose.

  And Thomas realized the beautiful woman who’d caused his emotions to scatter in disarray . . . was blind.

  Chapter One

  Radburn Manor

  Ten days later

  “Are all of the guests gone?” Lady Cleora Wentworth asked.

  Thomas Chandler, 7th Earl of Renfrew, focused on the lady sitting on the rich floral sofa in the center of the room. Every time he glanced at her he was struck anew by the perfection of her features.

  It wasn’t only the shimmering hues of gold threaded through her hair that glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window, or the midnight blue of her sightless eyes. Nor was it her heart-shaped face, or the slight upturn of her nose. Or her high cheekbones and flawless complexion. It was the way every feature had been perfectly placed, as if God had taken additional time to fashion her so there wasn’t another female to compare to her in beauty.

  Thomas brought his hand up to his face and touched the puckered skin that pulled the flesh of his right cheek to form a hideous sight. He’d survived the fire that had nearly destroyed Renfrew Manor, but the fire hadn’t left him unscathed. He was—and would always be—grotesquely disfigured.

  Lady Cleora placed her hands in her lap while awaiting his answer. As if blessing her with uncommon beauty wasn’t enough, she’d been given an extra amount of grace and elegance that set her apart from any other woman he’d ever encountered.

  “I believe the only two remaining are Major Bennett and his wife. They’re scheduled to leave shortly, but I’m certain they will stop to bid you farewell before returning to London, Lady Cleora.”

  Thomas fought his attraction to the lady. He couldn’t allow himself to think he could form a connection with her. Not someone as scarred as he was.

  He stepped to the chair opposite where Lady Cleora sat and sank onto the cushion. His body ached from being on his feet for so long already today and he stretched his legs out in front of him. He’d healed a great deal since the fire, but the burns he’d suffered across his back and legs still caused him pain.

  “I can’t imagine Lady Claire is looking forward to the return trip,” she said with a smile on her face.

  “I imagine you’re right. She looks close to birthing her babe.”

  “O
h, it’s not the babe that’s the problem.”

  Lady Cleora giggled and Thomas felt an unfamiliar tug. Her laugh was infectious and he quashed his impulse to laugh with her. That was something he couldn’t do and still keep the distance he required of himself. “Then what is?” he asked.

  “It’s Major Bennett. On our way here he was impossible. If he asked her once, he asked her at least ten times every fifteen minutes if she was all right. If she wanted the carriage to stop for a while. If she needed another pillow. Or another blanket. By the second hour on the road, Lady Claire threatened to stop the carriage and let him out. She said the walk to Radburn Manor would do him good.”

  Thomas smiled. “I think the major met his match when he married Lady Claire.”

  “Oh, most assuredly,” she agreed. “They are a unique couple. But there is no doubt they love each other. You can hear it in their voices.”

  She was right. One could hear that in their voices. And see it in their eyes and their smiles and the little pecks on the cheek they stole when they thought no one was looking.

  But Lady Cleora had to rely only on what people’s voices revealed. Or didn’t reveal.

  Thomas thought how unfair that was. He wanted to talk to her about her blindness, but he doubted she wanted to discuss her infirmity any more than he wanted to speak about his hideous scars. Except thankfully, Lady Cleora wasn’t aware of his imperfections. Perhaps that was why he was able to form a friendship of sorts with her. Because he was safe. Because she didn’t know how horrifying he was to look at.

  With Lady Cleora he could pretend to be whole again. He didn’t have to hide, or avoid human contact. He could imagine he was no different than he’d once been.

  “How is it that you arrived with the major and his wife?” Thomas asked. He had thought it odd that the lady would come to stay with complete strangers, for the wedding of someone with whom she was not even acquainted. He wondered what had compelled her to want to visit so far from her own family.