A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  “You’ve only been home a few months,” she said acidly. It was so difficult to shore up her defenses when he said everything she hungered to hear.

  He frowned. “I’m not a changeable man.”

  “Which is why I know that your political ambitions aren’t dead. Chin up, James. You won’t be in the cold forever. You’re too exceptional.”

  He stretched out his legs and contemplated the toes of his boots. “That’s kind of you to say so.”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “It’s the truth.”

  “These weeks at Alloway Chase have given me so much.” He shifted from fiddling with her hair to massaging her nape. Pleasure rippled through her.

  “I’m glad,” she said jerkily. When he touched her, thinking became an effort.

  “And one of the greatest gifts, apart from you, is coming to understand that I’ve devoted my life to fulfilling my father’s dreams, not my own.”

  Dismayed, she tugged free of his drugging caresses. “That’s not true.”

  He sighed. “I’m thirty-two years old and asking you to marry me is the first decision I’ve ever made without outside influence.”

  She wanted to tell him that if this was an example of his independent thinking, he needed to go back to taking advice. But she wasn’t so mean, not when she read the harrowing sincerity in his silvery eyes.

  “I know you believe what you say,” she said slowly.

  He frowned. “I want you to believe it too.”

  “Well, I don’t. If I marry you, I’ll make you a laughingstock.” She slid away from him. “And desire doesn’t last.”

  “How do you know?”

  Nell laughed without humor. “Ask those girls in your uncle’s diary.”

  “You can’t compare what I feel for you to my uncle’s selfish lust.”

  She knew she did James an injustice. And that she hurt him. Then she reminded herself that their marriage would hurt him much worse than a refusal now. Still, her voice softened. “I’m sorry, James. Whatever you say, I can’t believe that there’s anything more behind this proposal than desire, guilt over ruining me, and a passing fancy for the rural idyll.”

  Temper darkened his face and he surged to his feet, glaring at her. Once she’d have cringed. He was large and powerful, and his rage charged the air.

  Perhaps she’d changed too. Calmly she stood and met his brilliant gray eyes.

  “What about love, Eleanor? Where does that count in your dismissive list?”

  That one little word “love” made her stagger back. “Love?”

  He loomed over her like a mighty cliff. “I love you.”

  The declaration sounded like a curse. If he’d made a heartfelt vow, perhaps she’d doubt him, but his militant tone convinced her. Still she tried to deny it. “No.”

  He grabbed her arms. “Yes, Eleanor. A resounding yes.”

  “But I’m your housemaid,” she protested weakly.

  “Shut up.” He kissed her with boundless tenderness.

  She wrenched away. “Stop.”

  He caught her shoulders and stared down at her with an urgency that made her want to scream. “Eleanor, I love you and I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?”

  Her mind flooded with what would happen if she confessed her love and consented. Happiness now. An acknowledged place in his bed. Legitimate offspring. James at her side for the rest of her life.

  Then other, bleaker thoughts. Men and women who once respected him sneering at the mention of his name. James seeing unworthy candidates rising to the office that should have been his. James bored and unhappy with his choice, but, because he was a good man, struggling to hide it day after day.

  Nell couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t do that to herself.

  His declaration of love fed her starving heart, but she couldn’t harm him. If she married him, she’d undoubtedly harm him. She squared her shoulders and forced out the most difficult words she’d ever spoken. “No, my lord, I won’t.”

  The agony of denying him multiplied a hundredfold as she read his reaction. Surprise—he’d thought to persuade her this time. Acrid disappointment. Anguish.

  His hands clenched on her shoulders. “I love you, Eleanor.”

  “Stop saying that,” she said harshly, breaking free and trying not to cry. His declaration should be a crowning moment. Instead, it threatened to crush her.

  “I believe I can make you love me.”

  She loathed the bewildered pain in his voice. “You can’t make someone love you.”

  “I won’t stop asking.”

  Dear God, could this get worse? “You must.”

  “No.”

  He pushed her too far. “Then I can’t be your mistress.”

  He staggered as if she’d hit him. “What?”

  “I don’t want to leave you.” She was surprised to sound so sure. “But your demands are impossible.”

  His ironic gesture sliced at her heart. “My apologies.”

  She watched him withdraw, attempt to protect himself, struggle to salvage some pride. She understood pride. She might be a poor soldier’s daughter, but her spirit was unbending. It was yet another thing she and James had in common.

  He couldn’t hide the blow she’d struck to his soul, no matter how he tried. Witnessing his wretchedness came close to smashing her determination. The words “I love you, James,” rose to her lips, but she savagely bit them back and tasted blood as she sank her teeth into her lower lip. If she admitted her love, he’d win. She knew enough of his tenacity to understand that.

  And in that victory, he’d lose everything he’d lived for.

  “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.” She knew how inadequate that sounded.

  “I’ll survive,” he said grimly.

  She bit her lip again, but that pain couldn’t compare to the pain in her heart. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  From under lowered dark brows, James regarded her like an enemy. “You’ve escaped pretty scot-free so far for your sins. After all, you lied from the beginning, you thought absolutely the worst of me despite all the evidence, and you offered me up to a man you thought plotted my destruction.”

  She raised her chin, wishing she was angry. Anger would be easier than this sorrow. “You’re not upset about any of that.”

  “I’ll make you marry me.” He caught her and swooped to press his lips to hers in a passionate kiss that continued the argument without words. To her distress, her body, already primed, melted into liquid arousal.

  “Stop,” she choked out. “For pity’s sake, stop.”

  For a long moment, she wondered if he heard. And if he heard, whether he’d heed her.

  James released a despairing groan and slumped against her so heavily that she swayed. “I can’t do this.”

  The black misery in his voice knotted her stomach. With a muffled sob, she curled her arms around him and let this strong, marvelous man rest in her embrace.

  His ragged breathing slowly calmed and the desperate clutch of his hands on her hips gradually eased. Finally he shifted away and regarded her with lifeless gray eyes. “I’m sorry, Eleanor.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she whispered, glancing toward the blazing hearth because she couldn’t bear his scrutiny. She loathed herself for what she did to him. If she stayed here, she’d end up in his bed. Feeling as she did now, weak, needy, eager to soothe his pain, she’d surrender. And that small surrender would lead inexorably to the larger surrender of consenting to marry him.

  With one shaking hand, she made a curtailed gesture. She retreated toward the door. “I must go.”

  “Eleanor…”

  She turned away. If she cried, he’d use it against her. “Please, leave me be for tonight.” She gulped for air, as if she hadn’t taken a breath in hours. “Please.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned the handle and stumbled into the empty corridor. She leaned against the wall, struggling to dam her tears.

  James returned her love, an
d she could hardly endure it.

  The clock downstairs struck one. The inn was quiet. Maidenhead’s best hostelry didn’t encourage carousing.

  On wobbly legs, she straightened. She couldn’t return to her room. If James pursued her, that’s where he’d look. Right now, one more touch could prove her downfall.

  The inn had a small garden that she’d discovered this afternoon while awaiting news of the ambush. Perhaps fresh air and solitude would offer a new perspective, and she’d stop wanting to crumple into a sobbing heap because she’d hurt a good man.

  Greengrass huddled into the shadows in the Royal Swan’s garden. It was a perishing cold night and he clutched his thick coat around him, although a man of his bulk was insulated against the chill.

  Who would have thought that Lord Leath turned out as slippery as his late-lamented uncle? Now Greengrass had lost the diary that had provided such a steady income. He was richer by a miserly fifty quid and piles of useless paper. Someone would pay for this unfortunate situation. Every penny he was owed.

  It would be safer to retreat to his cottage in Lampton Wyck, but after that scuffle in the alley, he was angry. He’d easily tracked Leath and those other hoity-toity sods to the Royal Swan. Where else would men with such sense of their own entitlement stay?

  Since escaping through the tunnels, he’d watched the inn. It would be easier to track his prey from inside, but even he wasn’t that cocky. Still he’d learned a lot about Leath and his cronies. Including the fact that they traveled with a woman.

  He’d tipped a maidservant a penny to tell him about the rich gentlemen and their doxy. The whore had her own room and dressed like a nun. That didn’t gull Greengrass. A woman alone with a pack of men was at best, mistress to one, at worst, a strumpet brought to amuse the lot. After working for Lord Neville, Greengrass knew the peccadillos of the so-called upper classes.

  The chit was his obvious target. Leath might cheat a poor man, but he’d balk at abandoning a female to a villain’s mercy.

  Greengrass had paid the obliging maid another sixpence to smuggle him up the servants’ staircase. He’d glimpsed the slut as she went to dinner with her keepers. A looker. Rich men had the brass to pay for beauty. And that air of innocence never came cheap.

  Aye, he could see why a self-satisfied ass like Leath wanted to tumble this wench.

  Greengrass’s problem was getting his hands on her. If she slept alone, he could break into the inn and abduct her. But odds were that at least one lucky bloke shared her bed.

  He’d asked the maid to keep an eye on the doxy. That hadn’t cost him anything but a quick tup against the stable wall. The girl was a plain thing with a wall eye and no acquaintance with soap and water, but Greengrass wasn’t fussy. As he emptied himself inside her, he’d found himself thinking about the pretty blond piece instead of the sturdy maid with her heavy thighs and grasping hands. The Fairbrother men might be a rum lot, but by God, they had excellent taste in trollops.

  As if Satan himself eavesdropped on his thoughts, the door from the inn silently opened—no squeaky hinges at the Royal Swan—and a slender figure slipped into the walled garden. Unable to believe his luck, Greengrass remained hidden as the girl wandered into the moonlight. Pale hair. A dress he wouldn’t keep for a dish clout. Graceful.

  A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face and he gave a low hum of anticipation.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The cold made Nell shiver, but she couldn’t go inside and face James again. Not until she felt strong enough to resist him. Wiping roughly at her tears, she stepped onto the moonlit grass.

  Could she follow her ultimatum through? How could she stay if he persisted in this ludicrous quest to marry her? She recoiled from more than just the prospect of conflict. She knew herself well enough to recognize that somewhere, someday, he’d find the words to persuade her. And she couldn’t do that to him.

  A rustle in the shrubbery interrupted her frantic thoughts. She retreated a step, then exhaled with relief when a lithe black shape darted through the shadows. Tonight the Royal Swan’s cat was on the prowl.

  The cat stopped to study her with unblinking eyes. Nell leaned down and made encouraging sounds, rubbing her fingers together. The animal flicked its tail in disdain and disappeared into the bushes.

  Nell straightened with a sigh. She was feeling so low that even a stray feline’s rejection stung.

  Another rustle. The cat must have company on its midnight revels. This garden would offer good hunting. Like everything at the Royal Swan, it was well kept, but filled with hidden bowers.

  A cloud passed over the moon and the fairyland garden turned dark. Nell wrapped her arms around herself.

  A twig cracked to her left. Her nerves pricked. That didn’t sound like a cat. With a quicker step, she turned toward the inn.

  A huge hand covered her face, while a brutal arm clamped across her stomach and slammed her backward into a massive body. “Not so fast, lass.”

  She struggled, but her screams emerged only as muffled squeaks. She kicked hard at the man’s shins.

  “Stop that, you little bitch.” The low, menacing voice with its flat accent was unfamiliar. He jammed his arm against her so hard that she retched. Pain stopped her wriggling.

  “That’s better. Do what I say or I’ll shoot. Do you understand?”

  Her nostrils flared as she struggled for air.

  “Understand?” he barked.

  She nodded.

  “Do you know who I am?” The very quietness of his voice iced her skin with terror.

  She nodded again. The minute he’d grabbed her, she’d guessed that this must be Hector Greengrass.

  “Clever puss, aren’t you?” He paused. “And I know who you are. Lord Leath’s fun.”

  Horror tightened her throat. If he knew her connection with James, her chances of escape were nil.

  She stared at the inn, praying that someone was awake and looking outside. In the moonlight, she and Greengrass must be visible. But the windows remained dark. A high brick wall surrounded the garden, hiding it from the street. Even if anyone was out and about in the town at this hour.

  “He’ll have to pay me twenty thousand to get you back in his bed. But first you’ll warm mine.”

  Her instinctive jerk of revulsion made him laugh. “About time you got a real man between your legs.”

  She gagged against his hand. She could smell his lust, that and stale sweat and tobacco. Nor did she mistake the ominous weight pressing into her lower back. She made herself stand still. Her squirming clearly excited him.

  Oh, James, help me. Please, please, help me.

  Only as she made the silent plea did she realize that she prayed to the man she loved rather than the Almighty. Hoping that blasphemy hadn’t doomed her, she sent a plea to heaven too.

  The Lord helped those who helped themselves. She bit the hand covering her mouth until she tasted blood.

  “Bloody hell,” Greengrass spat without, damn him, loosening his grip. He crushed her midriff until she near suffocated and kneed her in the back. Despite her vow not to cry, hot tears of agony pricked her eyes.

  “No more of that, flower.” Greengrass hauled her around to face the gate. “If you’re too much trouble, I’ll wring that pretty neck faster than you can say King George. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, too scared to muster further defiance. There must be something she could do, but with his heavy body wrapped around her, she felt powerless and thickheaded.

  “Good.”

  Abruptly Greengrass released her. She lurched away, but before she could take advantage of the moment, something cold pressed into her temple. “No games now. I’d hate to spoil that pretty face.”

  Nell gulped, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. “You…” She stopped to lick her lips, her mouth was so dry with dread. “You’re wasting your time. Lord Leath doesn’t care about a doxy.”

  Greengrass’s low chuckle made the hair rise on the bac
k of her neck. “He’s a gallant fool. He won’t leave a woman with me. He knows what I’ll do to her.”

  Bile soured her mouth. She knew too. “Twenty thousand pounds is a fortune. Nobody will pay that.”

  “He will. And I have a feeling that you’re more of a bargaining chip than you say. Start walking. Slowly now, and no tricks.”

  She should be relieved that he no longer held her. But the chill iron of the gun proved she was as helpless as ever.

  Nell straightened and moved, only to stumble on a dip in the path. Nearly ripping her arm out of its socket, Greengrass wrenched her upright. “Careful.”

  She took another step before he dragged her to a staggering stop. “What was that?”

  Nell’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she’d heard nothing. The faint, unlikely hope that James had arrived crumbled to ash when the cat reappeared, a mouse struggling in her jaws. Nell knew just how that mouse felt.

  “Move.” Greengrass released her arm and shoved her between the shoulders. With grim resolution, she obeyed.

  Trees shadowed the wooden gate, making that corner of the garden as dark as a coalmine. Nell shivered with dread as she entered the tunnel of vegetation, although common sense insisted that Greengrass wouldn’t rape her so close to the inn.

  “Open the gate,” Greengrass snapped.

  She pushed without result. “It’s locked.”

  “There’s a bolt. Find it and pull it back.”

  She dreaded leaving the garden. Out in the street, she had a superstitious fear that she’d be beyond rescue.

  Greengrass jabbed the gun at her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’d rather you stayed right where you are.” The deep voice emerged from the impenetrable blackness further along the wall.

  James?

  Nell stiffened in shock. Then strangling fear rose anew. Now the man she loved was at risk too.

  “Well, bugger me dead,” Greengrass said. “Don’t try anything smart, your lordship. I’ve got a gun pointed at your whore’s head.”